For whom?
I sat in the corner away from her, shivering. The cellar was damp and chilly, just like the cold, frosted landscape outside--A sight I may never see again. Across from me, a mere ten feet away, was her. A former teacher from grade school: a complete monster. She was the dangerous sort, pretty and unsuspecting, the sort you’d let your guard down around. She stared at me with her moon-lit green eyes, observing my every move.
I had been awake for two hours in the cellar, trapped with the monster contained within. The oak cellar door was sealed shut with rusty chains, and only a small window in the foundation allowed any light to pierce the darkness. The eerie moonlight stabbed through, but did not completely destroy the shadows. The creature stared at me from across the cellar, occasionally wiping her pink mane away from her eyes. Signs of her imprisonment were beginning to show: her eyes had sunken in, her magenta coat had become matted and dirty; her hooves were beginning to crack. I felt no pity for the beast, not even for myself. I may have been trapped, but I could escape.
I had to slay the beast.
The town I called home was small and quiet; a sleepy town that became the lair for the beast. A town that was forced awake by the sudden disappearance of two individuals by the hands of the Slayer. He was a serial killer who had appeared in the newspaper weeks ago, famous for the way he killed his targets. He chose one individual to mentor, to teach him to kill. He kidnapped his ward after carefully choosing, trapped him with the victim, and issued an ultimatum.
”Your life or theirs.”
At first you may think this is an impossible choice. How can one value their life over another? Are we not all equal? Is not all life equal? Nevertheless, there’s a catch. The Slayer is a vengeful killer. He traps his apprentice with someone with a dark secret, a horrible past. The newspapers have reported on it, some of the slain turned out to be drug dealers or murderers. At first several apprentices had died, not knowing their charge; dying in a futile struggle or losing the will to live. After the Slayer had gained infamy, his victims began learning. No one knew his motives for killing these people. No one knew why he was enlisting innocents to do the deed. But everyone knew one thing:
They were monsters.
The monster before me was a grown mare, or what used to be a mare. She knew full well what fate was planned for us, what I was supposed to do. I had heard tales of several slayings gone wrong, a meek apprentice facing a bloodthirsty killer and dying a horrific death. The Slayer did not discriminate on race, gender, or age. All could be apprentices, all could be killers. There were no advantages. There are no disadvantages.
I met the beast’s eyes with my own blue: the sea and sky met. My eyes bore into hers with intensity, meeting no resistance. She merely peered at me with wonder, her eyes wide and pondering. For a monster, her beauty continued to awe me. Her dual-colored mane over moonlit fur, veiling her deep green eyes; the depth a beauty like her had sunk to astounded me. No one with her blessings needed to force themselves, not to earn but to take. To steal one’s flower. She was the worst kind of monster.
Unlike apprentices before me, I knew full well who she was, what she was. She did not have the same blessing; to her I was none but a stranger. I was the knife to cut her thread of life.
The papers were sure to expose her after the discovery, the one the parents had found. A monster, hidden behind children, committing evil acts in the dead of night. The beast was clever, leaving no trace in the alleys, always slipping away. But she had made one mistake. One stallion knew her name.
Her victim did not remain silent.
There was outrage in the city. Parents withdrew their children, worrying that the beast had corrupted them, tainted them. Citizens protested at court, demanding the worst penalty. At the trial’s climax, she had pleaded guilty and received a minimized penalty. Facing disgrace in her city, the beast fled to the unsuspecting village I resided in, hoping to find a new life in the two years she had spent here. No one knew she was here, only me.
Our stare intensified for an hour. My glare fueled by anger and indignant pity for the legion of stallions before me who had faced her and lost. Her gaze was full of acceptance and curiosity, waiting for me to move. During this match, she shifted from her sitting position and laid on her side. The beast was in rags; a once beautiful Christmas sweater and plaid skirt were now frayed and withered, dirtied by the cellar, like her victims missing innocence. Her horseshoes were lost to the snow the night she was captured.
I heard a small noise in the cellar. It was the first noise I had heard since I’ve awoken that night, so quiet I could not recognize it. For the first time that night, I stood up.
It was time.
I walked up to the beast, the longest ten feet I have ever traveled. Her eyes followed me as I walked, my hoof reaching to the saddlebag placed on my side. The Slayer, a harsh master, was kind enough to place an instrument of death in my bag. I grasped the knife, and held it in front of me. My shadow covered her, hiding her eyes from me once again.
I was no murderer, my conscience begged me to see her eyes again, to acknowledge my quarry’s last moments of existence. I clutched the knife, my hoof shaking in fear. Finally, after an internal struggle, I stepped to the side to allow the moonlight to kiss her face once again.
The knife fell.
The mare’s ocean eyes were watering, a trickle down to her chin. She had began whimpering when I approached, preparing for life’s finale. I could not do it. She may be a monster, but she was still another pony; I was no killer. I slumped down on my knees, resigned to my fate. The mare flinched, expecting a crueler fate.
It dawned on me. Ever since she had moved here, nothing had changed. There were no disappearances, no traumatized stallions in the last two years. The mare before me was clean, her sins in the past.
The mare stood up on her hooves and leaned toward me. I flinched back, preparing for my fate. She grabbed my hooves tightly and forced me to look at her. She turned my wrists and stared at them, widening her eyes. She stared back into mine and pursed her lavender lips as she caressed the wounds on my forelegs. Suddenly she spoke, for the first and final time that night.
“Everyone deserves a second chance…”
“Even you.”