> Trixie's Last Letter
>  by The Pink Mugsy
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> Stage
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What is a pony, but the sum of their actions?

What is a magician, but the sum of their ability?

What is a stage, but the platform upon which a life is played out?

I had so much opportunity, you know; everypony always said that I had talent, that I was going to go somewhere great. That I was going to do something amazing in life.

Guess I really cheated life then, didn’t I?

I had really good parents. Sure, my family wasn’t rich, but we were far from poor. My dad had a good-paying, stable job in the government; my mom liked to stay at home, and make sure everything was in order. They didn’t spend money wastefully, they always made sure the debts were paid in time, and they always made sure we had something nice under the tree during Hearthwarming’s Eve. They always tried to instill a sense of value in us; they loved to tell me and my sister, “Never give up! Things can always get better!”

How?

My younger sister and I couldn’t have been more different. She was always so joyous, bouncing back and forth, trying to make new friends. Even when she was bullied, her attitude absolutely prevented her from becoming depressed. Oh sure, we would have off days where she cried about one cruel act or another, everypony does. But she lived a happy and fun childhood, even if she was constantly scolded for her poor grades. She couldn’t help it, school just wasn’t her thing. I, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. My grades were always near-perfect, in every subject! Magic, mathematics, language, I could excel at them all with the greatest of ease. I was a delight to my teachers, and a boon to any classmates who asked for help. Not that many ever did; while my sister frolicked and played, I stayed quiet and unobtrusive, always in the background, getting the good grades while staying out of the public eye. In our collective childhood, my sister lived life to the fullest, while I waited for my chance to bloom.

I always looked to my sister with sympathy; I seemed to have a bright future ahead, with the promise of something great. My sister, her childhood fun notwithstanding, seemed to be headed down a path that was utterly unproductive in the long run. Sometimes, I felt troubled for her; how would she fare later in life, how would I be able to support her?

I wish she was here to support me.

We continued much the same throughout high school; I with my grades, she with her fun. My parents encouraged me to apply for many a prestigious place; my future was so bright, they couldn’t possibly say no! 

That was when everything started, really. The boxes around me, the quivering pen. It all started taking form in that year, that accursed year that I let my pride get the better of me. I had been assured for so long that my efforts were not in vain, that what I was doing would pay off in something great, that I had allowed a strange breed of pride to overtake me. It was not the pride of one who boasts, oh no. That is obvious and easy to cull. It was the pride of somepony who is so certain of their actions that no other path seems possible; they are self-assured to the point of blindness. Any wrong action cannot be their own; any move judged immediately to be a bad one can ultimately be shown as necessary in the long run. I was certain that life could grant nothing but promise, that the future could go nowhere except towards a brighter and brighter day.

I didn’t count on life’s ability to throw a wrench into the works.

I had the predictable reaction when I was first rejected. It didn’t matter, there were endless other possibilities that would present themselves; this was only a small bump in the road to a greater glory!

And then, I received another, and another. A few acceptances were received, but the endless well of opportunity I had been promised had seemingly run dry.

Again, my reaction was predictable. I had always had a habit of shutting in my emotions when I received a grade far below what was expected, and it manifested here as well. A cold feeling would form in the pit of my stomach, as my mind clamped down on any and all external stimuli. I had been accepted into a few places, my internal thoughts would announce; surely, I was destined for something, those rejections were based on random chance. They had to happen to somepony, why not to me? Self-convincing became my most powerful weapon; denial, my greatest tool.

Of course, that was not the true start of this, just as a dictator is never born in one hour and a city is never built in a day. I had faced trials and tribulations throughout my small experiences in childhood; I knew I wasn’t invincible. But I’d spent so long working towards a point in the future, I couldn’t believe that the point wouldn’t come to me now. Even then, my ability to lie and deceive myself, to rationalize my actions given enormous evidence to the contrary, was shining through.

It was only the start.

I can trace the flow of years quite easily. I was admitted, I went to my classes, and I did predictably well. I was used to doing well. I was not used to being below the level of a shining example, however. I went against other ponies who possessed the exact same ability I did, ponies who competed against me inside and outside of class. And like a fool, I allowed my previous position to lure me into a sense of security. I couldn’t see that this was a new start, an entirely new level; I would have to work hard to prove myself. I couldn’t see past my own shadow, into the larger world that cared not what a few ponies had told me, or what meager things I had done in the past. To me, I had achieved so much; to them, those events were but a breath in a life that had yet to show anything truly fruitful. 

I suffered under the influence of many evils during those years, they travel under various names; procrastination, forgetfulness, and arrogance are only a few. They all stemmed from the same cause however; confidence overflowing, like a disease born of a body’s own cells. I had held on to this confidence for dear life, it was the only thing that had kept my head up during that fateful year of high school, when I turned my attention away instead of facing the truth. And it was killing me. Still is.

I couldn’t compete. I simply couldn’t. He, with his love of mathematics and pure ability, she with her flowing words and silver tongue, at every corner individual ponies shouted at me silently, their achievements outshining mine in every way. I couldn’t hold a candle to the greats; where was my glory, where was my unrivaled opportunity, while they received boons and gifts left and right for their achievements and ability, where was my promised power? 

That was when I discovered showbusiness. I had been involved with a few local plays before, during my childhood; but there, I discovered a whole new side to the act of being somepony else for an audience. No competitors were there to shame me quietly, no pony was able to take away what I and I alone had done. I had discovered a place where I was superior, and nopony else.

A few years later, and it was settled. I emerged with my training in theatre, a pocket full of hope, and not a bit to my name. But, this was no matter; my certainty had hardened into a superiority, surely I was above everypony else already. Surely, I had gazed deeper into the tragedies and horrors of life than many ponies ever would, surely I understood the consequences of my actions better than any other. With a small loan from my parents, I bought a small cart, and started my career.

It wasn’t easy. I started small, and at first received but a few visitors. But many a successful pony had started small! Many of the wealthiest of society, the most intelligent, had started out small! I was destined for greatness, just as everypony had always told me in my childhood, and this became my mantra, my light against the encroaching logic that demanded I stop turning a blind eye on my own flaws.

The willingness of ponies to play along did not help at all. Perhaps, if I had been booed off a few more times, if I had received a few more dismissals, if I had just been outright chewed out, I would have learned. My façade might have cracked, I might have recognized my own foolishness, my own errors. But, alas, I gained a few fans, and from them, a few more. My fame slowly grew; I managed to pay off the loan, and I started out truly on my own. For a time, my certainty-turned-pride was fed to no end; everywhere I went, I found more and more ponies adored me. I became more and more sure of myself and my own potential, digging my own grave deeper and deeper as I received larger and larger crowds. I even gave myself a ridiculous stage name; perhaps that was the height of my folly, or perhaps it was a sign of a turning point in my logic, I really don’t know anymore. In my mind, I was at the top of the world.

But I couldn’t stop there. The praise of the city I worked in, wonderful as it was, I found growing stale after a while. Only so many ponies can be interested in a show; only a certain percentage can obsess over the same mare and the same act. I had to find a new audience, a new group to wow, a new source of praise which my ego could bathe in.

I began to travel, and before I knew it, my way of life was set. Town to town, city to city, I traveled to small and large venues alike, all to sate the calling of my lust for glory. I encouraged every cheer I ever received; for every bit my reputation expanded, my pride grew further still. At first, I tried to maintain professionalism, just as I had done in the city; every word of praise was acknowledged, every bit of hatred quietly ignored. But I soon learned that if I could reverse these feelings of dislike, if I could push them back towards the source, I could gain an even greater stage presence, as the audience was wooed with my ability and convinced by my conquering of the naysayer. And I became more corrupt; humiliation became my weapon against any who might have jarred me. I was so certain that I allowed my heart to fall victim to what my mind had already been defeated by.

Then, I went to Ponyville.

I wish now that I had never gone to that town; I wish I had never humiliated those ponies, I wish I had never gained the adoration of those colts, I wish, more than anything, that my pride would have lifted, if only for a moment, so that I could see the claims I was making, so that I could hear what kind of a pit I was digging myself into. But, I was blind, and stupid. When the ursa minor came, all of my self-assurance, all of my inflated importance could do nothing. I had long ago given up striving to better myself; I could only tremble in fright as my boasts and bragging were reduced to nothing. And when that unicorn showed her true potential, the power she had, it brought back memories I had kept buried for so long. There was another actor on-stage, and she was better than me. 

I couldn’t handle it; I ran away, once again, from the evidence of my own lesser greatness. I tried to start anew, I blocked out my reflections on that evening as I convinced myself, as I had always done, that greatness was still for me and me alone. But I couldn’t find support for my delusions. Everywhere I turned, I was rejected for the faults that everypony but myself could now see. I was rejected in every town, turned away from every venue. I was forced to take on meager jobs just to survive, jobs that I had thought were below me.

My mind kept on turning over the events of that day. This had all been because of her. I was surely meant for greatness; her act of sabotage had taken my security away from me, had left me bereft of hope. She was to blame for all of this. And slowly, in my heart, I became truly corrupt. It was at this point that I was blinded, at this point that I was well and truly converted from the mare my parents knew to a different, darker, evil pony. I found the Alicorn Amulet, and I used its power to take what was rightfully mine. Some might say that the Amulet caused my actions; in truth, it only amplified them. I was satisfied, at every turn, with the oppression, with the cruelty; these ponies had rejected me, me, the unicorn who was clearly meant to be above them. I enjoyed every bit of cruelty. 

And then, she used my pride against me, just as I should have known she would. She knew me better than I knew myself, she knew how much my lust had corrupted me, how easily I was swayed by opportunity. I had finally achieved what life always seemed to deny me; at the height of my power, I was willing to do anything, sacrifice anypony, to keep it. I was defeated by the overconfidence that was my curse since the beginning. 

It’s funny, actually; after I was defeated a second time, after I had seemingly had ample opportunity to learn from my mistakes, I was still blind. I was not the best unicorn in the land, but I was still destined for something great, right? I stopped writing my parents after that. They had nothing but love for me, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a sham I’d become, even if it was in my own eyes. I knew that every moment I spent with them would burn me with memories of how I used to be so special, of how I used to have so much potential. So I went on, from city to city, hated more than ever. Even the smallest of jobs I was unfit for; at every turn ponies spat on me and cursed me, tearing down the mountain of pride I had built for so long.

And so here I am. The emergency funds I saved over the years dried up weeks ago; not that it was much to begin with, after all, when could I ever possibly run out of money, right? I still haven’t contacted my parents or my sister, and it looks like I never will. I stole these papers and this pen from a shop just barely an hour ago; the paper would be useful in starting a fire, to keep me warm through the night, but I won’t use it for that. There’s no point. I’ve already stopped feeling hungry, and I know it’s not because I’ve eaten recently.

Who am I even writing this letter to? The answer is, nopony. I will vanish from this world with not a single coin to my name, with not a single word of praise to remember me by. Ironically, it’s only at the end of my life, at the lowest point, when I see clearly how everything went so wrong. Only now, when I’m about to die, can I see how destructive my path was. And it’s sad, really, to see how I changed over the years. Maybe, if I had poked a hole in my confidence all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here. Maybe, if I had just boasted a little more, a little earlier, somepony could have taken me aside, somepony might have shown me the error of my ways before my fate was set. I twisted what my parents tried to teach me, and in the process I ruined myself. 

And now I’m baring my soul to a few sheets of paper. It’s actually soothing, in a way; everything is making sense as I’m writing it. I can see where I went wrong, how I could have changed, how I still can change. But it’s too late now. My strength is fading. Even as this is being written, I can feel my hooves growing numb, and not from the cold. 

I don’t have the energy to be great anymore.

Goodbye, mom and dad. I’m sorry I never really took your advice to heart. I’m sorry I never gave you grandchildren, I’m sorry I never wrote back at least letting you know how I was, I’m sorry I couldn’t break down my pride long enough to ask you for help.

Goodbye, my dear sister. Thank you for always being there for me, thank you for always being there to cheer me up. I’m sorry you didn’t have 'success' like I did, if you can even call it that; perhaps if our situations had been reversed, you would have made something of the talent that I threw away. I’m sorry I started to look down on you, even if you never knew it.

Goodbye, Twilight. While your actions may have ended my life, oddly enough I feel no hatred. Perhaps I’m too tired; perhaps I’m thankful that you helped me see my own folly. Either way, I am truly sorry for all of the heartache I caused you and your friends. I hope that I served as a lesson, and that you don’t make the same mistake I did. I’m sure you won’t; after all, you are much better than I.

Goodbye, my dear audience. The years have been kind, and they have been cruel. I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay pure and uncorrupted, that I couldn’t be as truly amazing and great as some ponies believed. I’m sorry I let my ego build up and hurt you all. Thank you for all of the great years; they are some of the happiest memories that I have to look back upon, bittersweet though they may be. Though nopony will ever read this, it feels good to take a final bow all the same. I am sorry for the mess I’ve created on-stage, but I hope that I brought a few smiles to your faces. You’ve brought one to mine.

Sincerely,
The Great and Powerful Trixie