Road of No Release

I AM DEATH

I hate my job. I really do. It's always the same, always hurts, and never gets any easier to do. I suppose I should introduce myself. I have many names across many tongues, but the name most often used by the creatures of Equestria and the rest of this world is Death. Yes, that's right, DEATH. My job is to kill creatures; ponies, griffons, dragons and so on, and ferry their souls to the other side. I myself do not know exactly what comes after this life; I wasn't given much information when I was created, only my purpose. The only thing I only know for certain is that someday when I am no longer needed I shall join all the souls I have harvested.

I don't know if I want to though. To face all those whose lives I've ruined, taken. If I can choose I think I will ask for sweet oblivion. I know it's more than I deserve.

Today I have several jobs to do, several hundred in fact. When the world was young I hardly had any work, but as the planet's population grew and grew so too did my workload. I thought being so busy would help alleviate my pain, not give me time to process it. I was wrong.

My first job today is in Stalliongrad. I hate coming here. Life is already hard enough for these industrious ponies without my help. The city is a cold place, snow swirls around constantly and the fields barely produce any food in the short growing season. The silver mines are the lifeblood of the town, but also the ball and chain to those living here. Long ago greedy ponies set up the city despite it being out of Princess Celestia's range of power, but for the silver they scorned the pleas of their benevolent ruler to return. Needless to say I've been busy here ever since.

I glide over the frigid city looking for my target. There are few buildings but they are tall and many ponies live in them. I see an imposing block of concrete ahead and float through the snowy storm towards it. I quietly glide through the walls of the sad, grey shell into the fifth floor. Why do I have such a large heart? Why has it not frozen over like this town and hardened to the guilt?

Before me is a small grey room. The residents have tried in vain to liven it up with some faded paintings, and sagging pieces of furniture that even new must have been cheap. In the middle of the room is a bed containing a blue colt with a green mane, both greyed and stained with soot and grime. He doesn't look very old but his half open eyes are clouded and his coughs echo off the hard walls. His wife, two small children, and a few friends are gathered around him. All faces in the room are sullen, most filled with tears. The children huddle together weeping, unable to understand why this tragedy has befallen them. I sympathize but can't answer that question myself. I do not make the rules, I only carry them out.

I move in closer and put a bony hoof over the battered colt, unseen by the others in the room. He is an earth pony and I can tell from his strong frame and dirty appearance that he has done hard labour in the mines. Through my hoof I can sense the disease inside him, killing him. Unrelenting work has helped the disease spread quickly, a stubborn attitude had kept it hidden from his loved ones, and a low income has prevented him from getting the medical care that would have saved his life. From me.

My hoof hovers above his once mighty form, now withered from illness, hesitant to do the deed I came here to do. I always make this more difficult for myself. I can never just get the job over with; I always have to take my time. I can never just come in, not look around, not see why they are dying, and just kill them and lead them on. I don't know why I do this to myself. Curiosity? Shame? Masochism? Maybe it's the fact that I would find it unfair to them to be so cold, to treat them as nothing but dirt I have to shovel into the next life. Regardless of the reason though I always do my job and I always hurt myself over it.

I finally control my shaking hoof and touch the colt gently on his chest over his heart. I can see his body relax; hear his last breath escape his lungs. Suddenly a translucent copy of the colt, clean and looking fresh and strong sits up on the bed. Only I can see him, and only se can see me.

"What's going on? Who are you?" He asks, then realizing no one else has noticed him sitting up he continues. "Why can't they see me?"

I only look at him, expressionless. I hate it when they ask questions. Some ponies know exactly what's going on and accept it with silence and grace. Most however ask me who I am, how they died, and worst of all, why, as if expecting me to know the answers.

"You are dead and I am Death. I am here to take your soul to the other side." I sombrely quote my tired explanation.

He gasps and tries to get up to get away from me. I seem to have that effect. I understand though. In appearance I am a simple earth pony, for I need neither wings nor a horn to do my job. My fur is black as midnight as is my dishevelled mane. My face is gaunt and two white eyes rest there. My skin stretches over the bones of my body, giving me a sickly look. I used to be beautiful once, at the beginning, and ponies would marvel upon seeing me, but now they fear me. It is appropriate. I also now wear an ash grey travelling cloak which I use to cover my bony ribs and legs, not for warmth, just to alarm my wards less.

"Do not try to run; this is the natural order of things. You must come with me now." I say my rehearsed lines to the fearful pony. He calms down at my saying this, I am glad my voice has this power. His face now becomes dour as he looks around at all the ponies who have come to see him off.

"I..." he starts, choking up. "I wasn't ready. I still had my children to look after, my wife..." He stops, unable to go on through the tears running down his cheeks. After a few seconds he manages to stutter "M-may I h-have a m-minute to say g-g-goodbye?"
I need to go. He is only the first stop in a long list for today. I have a tight schedule to keep, but I can never say no. If they ask I always let them have a few minutes. "You may say your farewell, but tarry not for time is short." He smiles weakly, gratefully, as she turns to each of his friends and family and says his last words to them.

I back into the corner, I do not listen. His words are not meant for me, even though now I am the only one who can hear them. His friends and family have noticed his departure and now begins the mourning. Sometimes I'm lucky and they die alone and sometimes I can leave before they notice. Most often though I have to suffer through the wails of agony and despair of those around as they grieve. After a few minutes the blue colt with the green mane trots over to me. I hold out my hoof which he grabs and the apartment around us dissolves as we head to the gate.

I cannot describe the portal to you, it is beyond mortal comprehension. It is set in the midst of a field of white roses with an ivory path leading up to it, and that is all I can say.

I stand back at the end of the path as the blue colt walks towards the gate. A blazing white alicorn with a gold mane greets him. As always he speaks to the colt as he has all the others who pass by him. Whatever he says it always cheers them up. Even from behind and far away I can see the colt is happy now, radiating pure joy. I do not belong here.

As always as I slink away the gatekeeper motions for me to come to him, to talk to him. As always I shake my head. I'm sure whatever he has to say would help lighten the load of my burden, but I do not wish for him to do so. If I did it would...remove the gravity of my position. Make it routine. As much as I wish for the pain to be gone, I won't let it go. It would be disrespectful.

I turn my head to see the blue colt disappear through the gates as the alicorn watches him go, smiling. I do not look back again as I leave.
I hate my job.
____________________________________________________________________

I am back in the mortal realm, back on the job. My next assignment will take me to Manecouver, on the fertile western coast of Equestria. As usual it is raining in the big city, they grey skies seem to herald my arrival.

Because of the almost constant downpour maintained here the trees grow large, as they have for millennia. I remember this place when the trees were not larger than a filly, and the ponies lived in huts on the forest floor. Now however they live in the trees themselves, creating massive tree houses that tower over the misty ground below. The only buildings on ground level are the fisheries, ship factories and docks. Massive staircases lead from the ground to the branches above. It is a unique city to say the least.

The part of me that can still feel some amount of happiness enjoys coming here. The pitter-patter of rain is always soothing, be it a light drizzle or a torrential downpour. The trees themselves are hundreds of feet high, and I love descending through the canopy of dark green foliage. Then I come to the houses and my cheer fades as I'm reminded of my job.

I silently drift through the trees as I come to my target. It is a giant cylindrical tree house that hugs the trunk almost all the way to the bottom of the tree. A large red "H" is emblazoned on the side of the wood building. It is a hospital.

I float through the walls of the hospital somewhere near the top and enter a hallway. Despite its natural appearance on the outside it is stark white and clean inside. Magically enchanted balls of white light dot the ceiling keeping it constantly lit. I glide towards the unit marked "Obstetrics".

I know what the word means but hope that my target is not who I think it is. My assignments are always clear on exactly who I have to kill and exactly where. I always ignore the "who" though, that way I don't stew on whose life I'm about to take. Whenever I reach the destination I just instinctively know who it is, and I've never been wrong. But as I enter the patient room I wish I was.

A young, pale green mare with a yellow mane is lying asleep on the bed. He breathing is weak and she is sweating profusely. A doctor in a white lab coat brushes through me as I enter, exiting the room. In the corner of the room a dark green colt is sitting on a chair, his head tilted to one side. He snores quietly.

But none of them are my goal. No, the small, frail blue-green baby pony wrapped up in her mother's weak arms is. I curse myself, curse myself hard.

The baby is small; she must have been born too early. Thanks to modern medicine this rarely happens, and even more rarely results in the sad conclusion this poor soul is about to face.

The baby breathes in weakly, struggling to draw in breath. I wish I could wake the parents, tell them what I have to do. Tell them to say their goodbyes now. But I can't. I never can.

I lean in close and raise my hoof. My hoof is hovering inches in front of her tiny chest. DO IT, DO IT NOW! I scream at myself. But I just can't bring myself to do this. I've taken babies before, but never one so young, never one so weak. It's unfair. I back away and scream in anguish, a cry none can hear.

Or so I thought.

The young infant opens her eyes sleepily and looks directly at me. She has no fear of my frightening visage, no comprehension of who I am or the reprehensible act I must commit.

This sometimes happens. There are rare cases where someone can see and hear me. Very special, rare cases. I never quite know what to do. This is no exception.

She continues to stare at me as I move closer. I now have tears in my eyes, something that hasn't happened to me for hundreds of years. Even in the worst of situations I am able to keep my professional stature; it would not do for an already scared and confused creature to see me just as torn up as they are.

But this.

I lean in close and raise my trembling hoof again. I have to do this. If I can't then I will never be able to do my job again. I try to remind myself of the natural order of things, that death is as normal as life. It is something I often hear distraught ponies tell each other, and although it rings hollow for me, the reaper, it works in getting me back to do my duty.

I look at each of the three members of the room in turn. "I'm so sorry for taking your baby away from you two." I say to the new parents who still slumber blissfully unaware of the impending tragedy. I look at the baby who has now rejoined her parents in slumber. "And I'm especially sorry to you. I wish-" I break off, unable to say the words. Instead I slowly inch my hoof forward and touch the infant's barely moving chest and the life rushes out of her.

I gently pick up the soul of the newborn with my mouth by the pink blanket lovingly wrapped around her. She coos gently as she once again wakens. I take one last look around the room. Soon the doctor will return and the parents will know of their loss. But I will not be there. I turn away, ashamed.

Already I am back in the field of white roses before the portal. This time however I walk up the gatekeeper as I carry the defenceless infant. He smiles at me, a sad smile full of empathy as I lay the child down at his hooves.

He can plainly see the grief on my face, the tears tracing themselves down my cheeks. "Please, let me help you bear this burden." He pleads, speaking the first words I have heard out of his mouth in over a thousand years. I shake my head again and turn around.
At the end of the path I hear him shout "We will take good care of her! Don't despair!" I quickly spirit myself away before he has the chance to say anymore.

________________________________________________________________________________

It has been a long and terrible day. Not that I ever have a good day, but some are less painful than others. This however has been the worst day of my existence.

The rest of my list was tragic and terrible. Today I've split up families, torn friends away from each other, left a town bereft of its beloved leader, and even taken the soul of a young colt to the portal who wasn't even old enough to have his cutie mark. Nothing however could match what I had done to the newborn and its family.

Through every assignment today I kept thinking of her and her parents. I kept wondering what they'd do now that she was gone, and how the baby would be raised in the world through the portal. I wondered if the parents had even named her yet. I had taken to calling her Evergreen, since her color was the only thing I knew about her.

I had slogged through the day, each life harder and harder to take. I seriously considered just stopping. I know I fill an important role, but surely those who made me can make another to take my place. Maybe he will handle my post better than I. Then I can finally melt into the black nothingness of oblivion.

Throughout the day the gatekeeper had made a greater attempt to talk to me than usual, and I had made a greater attempt than usual to ignore him. It's getting harder to avoid him though, I believe he senses what I'm thinking. He probably is just trying to make me stay.
But this is my last job for the day. Maybe my last job ever, I haven't decided. I will finish today and go home to think and rest. Even I have to rest and gather strength for the next day, if there is a next day.

The sun is setting over the land as I consult my list one last time and see the name of my last stop. Ponyville. It is a small town in the heart of Equestria. The majestic city of Canterlot towers above it in the distance where Princess Celestia and her sister Luna reign. I've often seen the two of them during my travels. I've taken their guards, court members, and friends. They can see me, I know they can; we've never talked however. I don't know what they think of me. Perhaps they fear me? Death is a strange concept to them though they've seen it many times. Having lived so long though death must seem such an alien concept. But I know one day I will escort them both to the gate, at the end.

Or maybe I won't.

I tear my mind away from thoughts of the sisters and fly down to the town. From above the town is a patchwork quilt of unique and colourful houses and shops. I can see a library in a tree, a bakery that looks like a gingerbread house, and a boutique that looks like a circus tent. Off in the distance I spy a floating house all made of clouds, and a tree house surrounded by animal pens and pastures on the edge of a dark forest.

But none of these places are my destination. Instead I head away from the town to an orchard on the horizon. I can see in the fading light the words "Sweet Apple Acres" painted in white on a red sign hanging above the farm entrance. Hundreds of apple trees surround the farm which consists of a barn, several chicken coops and a well. I can see a light on in one of the top windows of the barn and I know that is where I must go.

I enter the room, unnoticed as always. I can see a scene before me I've had the misfortune to see many times before. I decide to look around the room to take my mind off my work.
The room is brightly colored, its walls striped with green and red wallpaper. Dozens of photos hang on the walls, many of them in black and white or sepia tone. I can see in most of them a happy young mare, either surrounded by family, friends, or hard at work on the farm. The newer pictures turn to color and I can see the mare is a slightly faded yellow green with an alabaster white mane.

Through the pictures I can see the young mare grow older, her once long braided mane now cut shorter, now tied in a bun. The number of family members grows and grows through each passing family reunion photo. Though I don't recall all the lives I've ended I recognize a few faces in the crowd. All the ponies in the photos are happy though. They are in stark contrast to the ponies in the room now.

Around the bed in the center of the room sit three ponies. A large fire wagon red stallion with an orange mane is standing next to a smaller orange mare wearing a felt trail blazer hat. Beside them both is a tiny filly with a yellow coat and a mane that matches the color of the large stallion's fur. All wear varying degrees of sadness on their faces, from the stallion who is trying to keep his composure in front of the others, to the mare with tears in her eyes, to the filly who is unashamedly crying her eyes out. All three stand around the bed which holds the green mare with the white hair, looking quite a bit older than in even the most recent photos I had looked at.

The green mare seems quite tranquil despite her haggard appearance. She is my target and soon I will lead her soul onwards, but if this is to be my last job I may stay a little bit longer and see what they have to say. As stated before I usually don't intrude on private moments like these as it is not my place to hear what they have to say, but today I feel like breaking with tradition.

"But, but why d-do you have to g-go?" The young filly stammers to the older pony while crying. The orange one puts a comforting leg over the younger and pulls her close.
"Don't cry sweetie, and don't feel bad for me. I'm going to a far better place." The old pony responds kindly.

"Wh-what are we g-gunna do without you Granny Smith?" The filly asks again, looking for guidance from the old pony.

"I will be alive in you as long as you hold onto the memories of me." She smiles at what I assume is her granddaughter. I am listening to her words intently. I rarely see ponies, or any creature, face death so serenely. Most go out trying to fight me, or blubbering in fear of the unknown. This mare fascinates me. She speaks again.

"Now Big Mac, you've been doing a fantastic job of taking care of this farm since your parents passed away, and I've saved up some bits to help lighten the load once I'm gone. It's in the top drawer of my dresser." The one she called Big Mac gives a weak smile and heads over to the dresser. He finds a bag and looks at the coins inside.

"This...this is so much!" He says, his stoic grief replaced by amazement.

"I know, I've been savin' it fer years now in case we needed emergency money. I now give it to you. Take good care of this farm and your sisters." She says smiling at her grandson. He just nods solemnly in return and the tears he has been holding back flow freely. Next Granny Smith turns her gaze the orange mare.

"Applejack, you are the hardest working pony I've ever met. Keep doing what yer doing and I know you'll be just fine. Take care of Applebloom" at this the young filly sniffed a little "and make sure she gets a good education." Applejack thanked her for the kind words and encouragement as the old pony's gaze shifts to the youngest of the group.

"Applebloom, stay strong my dear. Live life to the fullest like I have, through the good and the bad. And always follow your passions no matter what. I'm sure you'll get your cutie mark real soon." Granny Smith finishes and rubs the filly on the head affectionately. I can see her eyes close and her breathing steady as she waits for the end. Applejack takes off her hat and holds it respectfully in with her hoof.

I can tell my time has come and step up the old grandmother. For the first time I find I feel no hesitation as I place my hoof over her chest. I gently tap it and step back. After a few seconds the green mare sits up and looks around at the crying faces of her family. Finally her gaze rests on me.

"Are you the reaper?" She asks me without a hint of fear in her voice. "Yes, I am Death and you are dead." I reply in my usual professional tone.
"Heh, well that's obvious. I haven't felt this good in years!" She exclaims, catching me off guard. No one is usually this cheerful.

She looks down at her newly rejuvenated body, looking just as she did in her prime. She gets off the bed and trots over to me. "You however don't look so good." She remarks to me, studying me closely. "Are you well?"

Again this pony has caught me off guard. Often ponies remark on my ghoulish appearance, but never has one asked about my well being.

"I'm fine; this is just my normal appearance." I say trying to keep calm and expressionless.

Suddenly she bursts out laughing, I move back a little involuntarily. "Now don't try to lie to me. I've had five children, ten nieces and nephews, and more grandchildren than I can count. I can spot a liar!" She says to me emphatically. Now I'm starting to get annoyed at this pony, a new experience for me.

"I am not a child; I am thousands of years old! Do not assume that you can judge me as such!" I say rather more indignantly and forcefully than I meant to.

"You may be thousands of years old, but you sure are acting like a child." She again smiles that infuriating smile. But she has a point I must confess. Despite my age I have never had any prolonged social interaction with anyone. In that area I am still unaccustomed. When I do not argue against her point she continues.

"Now why don't you just tell me what's on yer mind!" She asks. I consider her point carefully. Why don't I tell her what's wrong? If this is to be my last job, possibly my last day alive, it would be nice to finally have someone to talk to before the end.

"You are wiser than most of the ponies I've met on my travels." I concede to her. "I am tired and miserable. I hate my job. I hate breaking up families, tearing apart friends, ruining lives. I hate the grief I cause; I hate the never ending parade of death!" I seem to not be able to stop now, my feelings flowing freely as if a rusty valve has been turned in my heart. My voice increases in volume and intensity. "I hate never being able to properly rest, I hate not knowing when my duty will end, I hate how every life taken still hurts me, and I HATE, no, LOATHE myself for every misery I've caused!" I finally end my tirade. Granny Smith seems just as shocked as me by my vehement outburst. I am honestly surprised the mourning ponies behind us, laying the covers over their grandmother's head, can't hear me.

I sigh as I sit down on the floor. For some reason just letting it all out, having someone hear my troubles seems to have relieved a little of the constant pressure on my chest. I bring my white eyes up to look at the earth pony standing in front of me again. She says nothing; I suspect she wasn't expecting me to open up like that. She sits down in front of me, seeming to consider what words she wants to say next. Finally she decides.

"I may not be thousands of years old but I daresay I know a might more about ponies than you." She responds to my outburst. "How many lives do you take a day?" She asks. It seems like a strange question to me but I am curious to see where she is going with it.
"Hundreds. Why do you ask?" I question her.

"And how long do you stick around after you've finished your work?" She continues with her line of questions.

"I don't stay after I've completed my work. I have too many souls to collect. Even when I had time long ago to do so I never did. Why would I want to expose myself to the suffering I cause?" I notice that behind us the siblings have left the room.

"Then stay a while before you take me away. I want to show you something." I consider this then nod in agreement and she gets up. She walks out of the room and I follow her.
We continue down the hall and I can now hear a murmuring sound from down the hallway. When we reach the end she opens a door. The noise gets even louder and I can see stairs leading down to a landing. We descend onto a loft overlooking the interior of the barn.
I don't know what know what I'm looking at.

Below me are dozens of ponies of all ages, colors, and types. The barn is decorated with streamers and ribbons. Tables of food of all kinds are set up and many ponies are enjoying the many and varied apple treats. On the walls of the barn are many of the photos of Granny Smith I saw in her room, but blown up in size. All the ponies are engaged in conversation with each other and laughing with one another. I turn to the old pony.
"What is this? I don't even..." I trail off as I notice an almost offensively pink pony bouncing around the crowd.

"Can't y'all recognize a party when you see one?" Granny Smith asks jokingly.
I look at her confused and ask "A party? Why are they throwing a party? Don't they realize you've just died? Are they celebrating your death?" The old mare laughs at this.
"Of course not silly, they're celebrating my life! All my family and friends threw this party as a final gift to me! I was enjoying it until I realized it was my time and went upstairs to spend my final moments with my closest family." I continue to look at her quizzically.

"Why are you showing me this? What does this prove?" I ask her. She chuckles softly at my lack of understanding and explains.

"You seem to think that all you do is ruin lives. Well look at them down there. Do their lives look destroyed?" The wise pony asks me. I look down again. I can see the three siblings standing in a corner, a large group of friends and family around them. All seem happier than when I last saw them despite still looking a little upset. Even the yellow one, Applebloom, has cheered up considerably and is talking to two other young fillies. One of them tells a joke I can't hear and Applebloom laughs.

"Death is a natural part of life; we've learned to accept that fact. When it happens we don't let it ruin us. We pick up the pieces, and move on, often with the help of our friends. Through hardships we grow stronger. We endure." She finishes then smiles at me, hoping I've understood her message.

I have.

I smile back at her, the first smile I've made since, well, I don't even know if I've ever smiled. "I understand." I say to her, and her smile grows even wider.

"Well finally! I knew you were smarter than you looked!" She jokes. Unbelievable. She is laughing in the face of Death itself as if we were old friends. "Now, I believe we should be moving on." She says, her voice quieter and a little bit graver.

"Yes we should." I agree. I hold out my hoof as I have to so many before, and as I will for so many yet to come, and she grabs on to it. The barn begins to dissolve as a field of white roses with an ivory path leading to a portal takes its place.

This time I walk towards the portal together with my ward. The gatekeeper smiles at us both. He and Granny Smith exchange a few words which I won't repeat here; it's not your place to know them, and then walks up to the portal, ready to cross over.

"Thank you." I say simply. She looks back at me and smiles, then steps through.
I look at the gatekeeper. He smiles at me, and I smile at him. There is no need for words. I turn around and head back for home.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It has been several years since I gained purpose to my life. I still do not like my job, but I do not hate it anymore. I do not hate myself anymore. I have returned to my old self. I look sleek and young again, healthy and strong. All creatures gaze at me in wonder again instead of fear, and now I don't mind that anymore. I try to be as comforting as possible now, no longer the severe professional.

My workload has not slowed down; it has only increased, as it ever has. I still however let all my charges take their time in saying goodbye if they wish to.
The gatekeeper and I still rarely talk, but not because of resentment. We don't need to talk. We understand each other perfectly well.

I wish sometimes I could see the little pony Evergreen, but I cannot go beyond the portal and neither can she. But I do visit her parents sometimes after I've finished my work. They now have another baby, a healthy filly who is green like her sister and parents. Her name is Red wood on account of her red mane. It makes me happy to see them moving on with their lives.

I am happy I have finally learned to move on with mine.
My questions still remain. What lies on the other side of the portal, when will I get to step through? But they are less pressing, I can wait.

I am Death.

Author's Notes: Wow, this was a really hard piece to write. I had the idea after watching the new (at time of writing) episode with Granny Smith. I sat down and wrote this in just a few hours, meaning for this to be just something to sharpen my teeth on. Holy crap did this grow though. I'm quite proud to say the least, especially as this is my first fic. I must say the middle part was hard to get through though. Sorry if I made you cry, but that's what I was going for. I decided to write in First person present tense so as to get a natural stream of conscious even if it was really awkward for me at first.
ALSO, before anyone says anything YES I did kinda steal this idea to narrate from death's perspective from THE BOOK THIEF. Hopefully however my style is different enough to have added to that concept rather than just be a copy.
Hope you enjoyed this, my first fic. Please don't hold back on critiques, but be nice. Also I am my own editor so point out anything I missed.

Ride into Obsession

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Ride into Obsession (Faster)

A.N: This and all following chapters take place BEFORE chap 1 but don't worry about spoilers as each chapter is self contained.

They say dreams are the mind replaying the incidents of the previous day; a way to sort out the confusing muddle of life. For me my dreams are a constant reminder of my guilt. A replay of the atrocities I commit every day. Atrocities I commit completely of my own will.

I wake up in my home early in the morning. It is not a luxurious palace, nor is it a sty of decay. It is bare, it is simple; it suits me. No pictures adorn the grey walls; no trophies line the empty shelves but dust. No rug colors the dirt floor. My room is empty, save for a bed in the center. Like the rest of the room the bed holds no cheer, its grey sheets cover a black mattress with black pillows. But it is soft, and it is warm. It is the only comfort I allow myself.

This bed is the only way for me to escape my miserable existence, though the dreams follow me always. It is the price I must pay for my rest. If not for them I believe my slumber would last forever.

The silk sheets slide off me like water as I sit up, they pool about my waist. I throw them off me and exit my bed. Taking one last look at my life raft of solitude I leave for the mortal realm.

The sky blanketing the world today is grey. Grey as my sheets. All the creatures living below the mountaintop I perch on revel in the summer sun, but Celestia’s radiant orb parches the earth as much as it feeds the lush flora. So the guardians of the sky must make up for the long spells of sun with a torrential downpour. It is into this I fly.

The heavy downpour has driven all other ponies inside, but it does not trouble me as I head for my first job of the day.

My journey brings me to the majestic city of Cloudsdale. Usually a shining opal in the azure sky, today its grey spires look ragged and torn as they are buffeted by the storm. A few tenacious pegasi are tending to the city’s structures and a few more are flying through the clouds and keeping the raging storm in check.

I fly over the city gazing upon its ashen state, and then fly past it. It is not my final destination. My goal lies just beyond the city limits a few kilometres away.

After around ten minutes flying I reach my target, a small but elegant cloud house floating high above the misty surface of the world. It hangs lonely in the raging storm, fragile and isolated. As I aprais the house one feature captures my interest, a waterfall made of rainbows pours slowly from the top of the house, down several terraces and to finally to the earth below. These ponies must work for the weather factory to have such an elaborate feature. They also obviously enjoy their privacy.

Landing on the cloud lawn in front of the house I realize something is wrong. I sniff the air and realize the stench of death has not yet defiled this home. I am early.

I sit down outside the house waiting for my time. The rain passes through my corporeal body and is absorbed by the cloud beneath my hooves. I can suddenly hear voices from inside, muffled but distinct. I can hear an adult, possibly two, talking. A shrill laugh that can only be the sound of a young pony, most likely a filly, peals across the air only to be lost in the heavy rain.

The hackles on the back of my neck rise, I can feel my time drawing near. I do not look forward to fulfilling my duty but stand vigilant and ready all the same. The muffled sounds of the happy family were a rare, pleasant distraction; I fear such contentment will not come again for those inside. Suddenly I feel the air grow charged.

It’s time.

A blinding flash accompanied by a massive, earth shattering boom splits the sky in two. The echoing thunder resonates across the whole sky, but the world eventually grows silent again. As abruptly as the first a second explosion now rocks the sky home, this time not accompanying a blinding streak of light, but a colossal ball of fire rising from the roof of the house. In an instant I hear a soft but ominous “whoosh” and multicoloured flames spread from the roof of the home down the rainbow falls. Within seconds of the disaster beginning the whole house in on fire, the roof missing, pillars collapsed.

Surprisingly the simple cloud door stands. I enter the ruined home.

The damage inside is even more devastating than it appeared on the outside. I look around at the entrance hall which seconds before must have been gorgeous. Hoof made paintings of various subjects, mostly weather phenomena, are either sitting askew on the walls or lying on the floor in flames. The grand staircase is littered with debris from the ceiling and the walls resemble cracked glass. But the greatest damage comes in the form of the two broken ponies in front of me.

I approach slowly, anticipation and anxiety mixing in my chest. The male pony’s coat was azure, the color of a cloudless sky, but is now singed and covered in rubble. His snow white mane is almost completely burnt off; a delicate wisp of smoke still rises from his once proud form.

I transfer my attention to the second prostrate pony before me, a mare. The female must have been a beauty before I arrived. Her coat, also charred and blackened, was a bold purple, the color of the sky at night. Princess Luna herself would marvel at the color, were she not banished. Her mane however is what catches my eye most. Despite the damage done to it, it is still magnificent. Long silky locks flow from her head, every color of the spectrum weaved into it. It looks as if the rainbow waterfall which adorned the house is flowing from her head and neck. I’ve never seen a pony adorned with such colours.

A rasping breath however breaks me out of my reverie. I should not tarry here. I have many more souls to attend to today, and these ponies are suffering greatly from burns and broken bones. I step up and lift my hoof to the colt deciding to take him first as he is most badly burned. Suddenly the colt shifts. I back up in surprise, and then realized it is not he who has moved, it is a tiny body under him.

My heart sinks as a tiny filly pokes her head out from under the colt’s seared body, her eyes groggy and confused. She eventually pulls her whole self out from under her father. I can see she has inherited her father’s stunning coat and her mother’s unique mane.

She stares at her parents who had taken the force of the blast to protect her small body, unable to think, unable to move. She is clearly in shock. I wish I could put a comforting hoof on her shoulder, but I cannot. I watch her as she sits dumbfounded. I am unable to perform my task while her small magenta eyes watch, brimming with tears.

“Dash...” a weak voice breaks the silence. The mare’s frail voice breaks the small pony out of her stupor as she rushes to her mother. “Dash...get...help.” The filly’s eyes brim with tears.

“But I can’t fly.” Dash squeaks out, her voice breaking. Suddenly the tears begin to flow unchecked. Her mother opens her eyes slightly putting on a weak smile.

“You...can. I...believe...you.” The mare manages to finish before passing out, her slightly raised head making a dull “thump” as it hits the floor.

“Mom! MOM!” The filly screams, seeing her mother collapse. She nuzzles her mother’s ruined mane, still crying.

I still stand before the trio, unable to do my job.

The filly gently tries to wake her mother by gently pulling on her extended wing. It only flops lifelessly when she lets it go from her mouth. Suddenly Dash gets up, wiping the tears out of her eyes. A new resolve grips her and she sniffs once then clears her throat. “I won’t let you down.” She promises, her tiny voice almost lost in the pounding rain of the storm. “Just please don’t die on me.” She pleads quietly, giving both her parents a gentle kiss on each of their bloody cheeks, before walking towards the door.

I follow the pegasus out of the house and into the still pounding rain. For a moment she only stands still with her eyes closed; a statue in the storm. Then she begins breathing deeply, mumbling to herself; probably repeating flight techniques learned from her parents on happier, sunnier days. After half a minute of revision she opens her eyes. They blaze with determination and purpose as she steps to the edge of the house. She does not look down, only ahead to the city, an indistinguishable blob in the dark sky. I hold my breath as she steps back a few feet, pauses, then runs towards the edge.

And leaps into the void.

I wait.

One second.

Two seconds.

Five.

Ten.

I scan the rain soaked air looking for her, but see nothing. I let out my held breath in resignation. It seems I know who is next on my list.

Suddenly however I see below me a tiny blue speck shakily flying through the storm, her small wings propelling her forward. Starting out slow and uncertain at first she quickly gains speed, resolution and fear driving her on through the pelting rain.

Minutes pass as I watch the tenacious filly fly, her colourful form losing clarity as she blends into the rain. Even after her tiny form is lost from my sight however I continue to watch, the rain passing through me.

Eventually I pick up my heavy hooves and turn back towards the house, my duty calling me again. It drives me ever onward. I look upon the two barely breathing ponies, my too large heart aching to do something other than the inevitable. The only think I do though is advance on the two.

The colt stirs slightly, this time of his own volition. He manages to place a tender hoof on the pale face of his love, his lips barely parting to say his final goodbyes. I step closer.

I wish I could give the filly more time, give her the chance to save her parents, but I will not. I wish I could wait until she got back to let them all say their goodbyes, but I will not. I wish I could stop taking lives, but I will not.

One more step.

I look back one last time at the open doorway, the gray dawn filtering through. I turn back, and lift up my hoof. I fulfill my duty.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rain pelts the desperate filly, mixing with her tears; tears not from the hard lump in her chest, but from her speed. She has never flown so fast before. The only flying she has ever done was in her former cloud home, hovering barely a foot above the ground as she moved from her father to her mother.

But now she is like lightning.

The rainbow filly cannot think of anything else but flying faster and faster. Her parent’s lives are in her hooves, if she can get to the hospital in time then they’ll be alright. She’ll be alright.

Icy barbs of rain sting her but the pain barely registers. Her mind focuses on nothing but the beating of her wings. She feels no pain from the rain, from her burning lungs, from her wings which scream in agony for relief.

Speed is all that matters to her.

The blurry shape of Cloudsdale becomes sharper as the distance between the speeding filly and the city closes. As fast as a bullet Rainbow Dash speeds through the drenched city towards the hospital, its large glowing “H” a bulls eye for the filly.

She can now make out the double doors of the hospital, just a few meters ahead. Barely slowing down Dash enters the hospital. She lands on the smooth tile and, unable to find purchase beneath her smooth, soaked hooves, slides twenty feet into the reception desk. The receptionist barely has time to register the rainbow streak before her desk is nearly upturned.

“What in the name of Celestia...” is all the mare has time to say before Dash, ignoring her aching wings, burning lungs, throbbing head and fractured legs, leaps onto the mare, rambling incoherently.

“Calm yourself my dear!” The receptionist cries out over Dash’s panic. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.” The professional pony tells her as she gently pushes the sopping filly off and sits up.

Rainbow takes a deep breath, noticing for the first time the searing pain in her lungs, but starts again. “Please you have to help me our house was struck by lighting and my parents are hurt they are going to die please please please come quick and save them!!!” She belts out all in one breath.

“Oh my goodness!” The receptionist exclaims, unsupervised lighting strikes are a rare event in Equestria. Seeing the worried filly’s expression however she forces herself to calm down. “Don’t worry my dear, we’re going to take good care of you and your parents.” The pony says in a soothing voice. She returns to her desk and picks up a phone, calling the EMT ponies into action. She asks Dash where she lives, surprise once again lighting up her face when she learns that the tiny filly in front of her flown several kilometres all by herself in a storm.

Dash is too tired for adulation though. As soon as the receptionist hangs up and assures her that the doctors are on their way Dash collapses in a heap on the floor, her exhausted body finally winning out.
The world fades to black.

***********

The room Dash wakes up in is warm and cold at the same time. A snug blanket is wrapped tightly around her now dry body, but her eyes are greeted by nothing but white walls and sterile equipment.

An old colt, his coat and mane greyed with age, sits by Rainbow Dash’s bedside, his face grim. He hears her rustle as she unwraps herself and groggily rubs the sleep out of her eyes. Her whole body aches in unbelievable pain. It was worth it though, she thinks confidently.

Then she notices the doctor sitting beside her bed and her confidence flees.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.” He says, his voice is soft but carries weight behind it. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” He asks kindly, but his act cannot hide his solemnity from Dash.

“Where are my parents? Are they okay?” Rainbow asks, her fragile filly heart still clinging to hope; a hope which is soon lost when the doctor shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He opens his mouth, about to say something, then closes it. Explaining this to one so young will not be easy. He tries to choose his words carefully before he begins.

“What you have to understand is the wounds your parents sustained were quite severe. Along with third degree burns present across most of their bodies they also experienced internal bleeding caused by broken bones puncturing-” Rainbow suddenly hits the metal edge of her bed with a hoof. Her sudden angry outburst renders the doctor mute.

“ARE THEY OKAY OR NOT?!” She screams, cutting short the doctor’s rant. She immediately regrets her shouting however as her throat feels like she has swallowed a bag of razors.

The doctor sighs heavily, the burden of his news weighing on his chest. He looks straight into her wide magenta eyes however as he relays the news. She may be young, but she deserves that much respect at least.

“No Miss Dash, they are not. Your parents are dead.”

Silence hangs in the air like a thick fog. The way the doctor states it, such irrevocable truth, strikes Dash like a kick to her face. The doctor eventually resumes his initial jargon filled rant after his patient says nothing. He explains about how a stray lightning bolt had ignited the highly unstable liquid rainbow that had decorated their home and how it had blown up the house, setting everything on fire. Rainbow can’t even hear him however.

All she hears is the disdaining voice of failure ringing in her ears. She had not been fast enough. She had failed her parents; let them down when they needed her most. And now they are dead.

Tears fill her eyes as the realization of her loss comes crashing down on her young mind. Suddenly she begins to sob, interrupting the doctor’s speech yet again with her cries. The doctor tries to comfort her but it was no use. The broken filly merely grabs the pillow her head had rested on and cries into for the rest of the night.

***********

Dash couldn’t remember when she had stopped crying. Most likely it was the unavoidable wave of sleep that had finally stemmed the tide. Thin Rays of sunlight filter through the window and rest on the sad, empty pony. The storm which had claimed her parent’s lives is over. Celestia’s sun hangs alone in the sky. Rainbow Dash laments her loss, no tears left to cry, knowing she is and forever will be alone.

“NO!” Rainbow cries out to herself. That wasn’t going to be her fate! A grim determination grips her as her pain transforms into anger and determination. She will not give into the grief, not give into the fear of the future. She is going to survive this. For her parents. For herself.

The doctors had said some lazy pegasi on the weather team had let a thundercloud get away from them, causing the accident. Dash resolved that when she grew up she would join the weather team, she would join them and then lead them. Never again would this happen to another pony. No one else would suffer as she did.

And she would never be too late again, never be too slow. Sitting up on her bed she vows to become the fastest mare in all of Equestria, in all the WORLD!

Her body screams in pain again at her small exertion. Rainbow Dash lies her head down on the soft hospital pillow, relenting to her tired limbs and wings.

Her body still aches and her heart still hurts, but she decides will not let that pain control her. She will control it, use it, own it. Let it fuel her drive, her passion.

The blue filly with the rainbow mane falls asleep again, her eyes dry this time. Her last thought before sleep takes her is that she will never lose anyone ever again. Never lose anyTHING ever again. She will be the best, the most dependable, the fastest in all Equestria.

A promise she knows she will keep.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The storm never ends. Though the sky eventually clears and the sun shines through, the storm never ends for me.

I enter my bleak home after an arduous day of pain and heartache. No one greets me but the echo of my hoofs on stone.
I hang up my cape on the bed post and crawl under the silk sheets, my body ready for sleep.

Every night I wonder where my dreams will take me, who I shall see again from the previous day’s work. Tonight however I know whom I shall see; the tiny sky blue filly with the bold rainbow mane weeping in the dark.

==============

Author's Notes: I was originally not going to continue this story. It was only supposed to be a one off, but very positive feedback and a rush of new ideas have inspired me to continue. I hope to update this at least every week but with school who knows, BUT I will aim for once a week nevertheless.
This story and all that follow will take each be separate, contained stories in the life of Death. All will take place BEFORE the events of "Road of No Release"
Thanks for reading! Please rate, fave (if you like it), and especially comment. Good or bad I'd like to hear how you guys liked it and how you think I can improve!

Curse My Name

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**A/N: First off let me apologize for how long this chapter took to write. If you saw my blog post you know I flip-flopped between writing this chapter and another, unsure which to release, but this one won out in the end. I struggled with some major writer's block but I hope I'm over that. Also for new readers this chapter, along with the previous one, all take place BEFORE chap 1. It's weird I know but I originally meant this to be a one-off. Anyway enjoy the new chapter!

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CURSE MY NAME

I never forget a face. Though time marches ever on and the memories of ponies fade, I never forget. I cannot. It would be disrespectful to all those I’ve taken, all those who I’ve left broken and alone. Though the tides of history leave countless ponies faces in the dust I hold onto them, for I am the reason they will be forgotten.
I will never forget a face.

Some ponies are content to be ignored, both in death and in life. I find them alone, wheezing out their last breath.
For some the numerous family and friends they accumulate in life ensure that memories of them will live on long after I come for them, though eventually they too will be left by the wayside of time.

But I have met a few who would not go quietly into oblivion, who made sure during life that their name would live on forever; their face and name never forgotten by those who came after. They are the ponies who become famous, become legends.

Lastly there are ponies that try for fame, but never quite make it. Vainly they struggle to fight the onslaught of unforgiving time, but are crushed by its ceaseless march ever onward. Those I try hardest of all to remember. Those who fought against the inevitable, who didn’t want to be forgotten, those I pity the most.

________________________________________________________________________

A new day comes and goes as quickly as the last, as painfully as all the rest. I get busier everyday as the demand for my service grows. It’s getting harder and harder to remember all of the faces, but I won’t give up yet. I can’t.

The day is nearly over, just one last job. I check my list to see where my unyielding task master will lead me. It reads “Cowgary” in simple black letters, so austere and cold. I pick up my hooves and fly off towards my goal.

After an hour of flying I near the town. It is a medium sized town growing day by day as it rapidly becomes the agricultural center of Equestria. Initially a town settled by ranch ponies in the middle of Equestria’s grasslands it has since become a place of business for farm ponies living around the town to come to to sell their crops.

As I fly over I find it hard not to be caught up in its modest beauty. The town itself is a series of old thatch roof homes mixed together with newer brick buildings which tower over the homelier dwellings, but what really stuns me is the setting the town finds itself in.

Thousands of acres of wheat and grass stretch on as far as my eye can see. It is a golden ocean of crops made all the more beautiful by the dying suns last golden rays reflecting off the never ending fields below. The town itself is a ship sailing the limitless amber sea. Rare moments like these distract me from my duties for just a moment. It may be brief, but I cherish all the distractions I can take.

I clear my head and return back to the task at hand. I close my eyes and concentrate. I feel the energy of the life I must take calling me from the city below and I descend towards it. Floating closer I can see I am heading towards a small camp on the edge of the town. The lights from what I now identify as a travelling circus light up the night and the sound of laughter and the smell of sweets fill the air of the rapidly approaching night.

I make my way to the centre of the circus where a magic show is about to begin. A wooden stage has been erected and a large crowd sits on the lawn in front of it waiting. I float closer and hover over the crowd, looking around. A dramatic red curtain hangs behind the platform and on it are hung two large banners announcing to the world “The Great Trixie!” in large bold gold letters.

I feel the time is near, but I have a few minutes to wait so I settle down and hover above the audience below.

________________________________________________________________________

The muffled roar of the impatient crowd outside is all Trixie can hear. Sweat is pouring down her brow which she mops up with her custom made purple mage hat. She takes a second to look at it and smiles seeing the stars her sister sewed onto it a few weeks ago for good luck.

Looking at the mirror she makes sure her light blue mane is perfectly coiffed, her sea foam green coat perfectly combed and her cutie mark of two wands crossing themselves while sparks fly is not obscured by her matching cape. Giving her horn one last quick polish she smiles at herself, perfect as always.

“Ms. Trixie! You’re on in five!” A stagehoof calls out to her from the door to her tiny dressing room.

“That’s THE Great Ms. Trixie to you!” She responds trying to keep the nervous quaver out of her voice. The stagehoof just rolls his eyes and leaves to go over some last minute preparations.

Tonight is a big night for her. Tonight there will be important ponies in the audience, business ponies from the food market and possibly some talent scouts. As Cowgary grows an increasing number of ponies want more and better entertainment, and Trixie would be happy to oblige. Then she could finally get out of this ratty circus life. She is done with the smells of dung, and the long hours, and the hunger. Most of all however she is tired of her sister’s sad, fake smile. Trixie hates this most of all because she knows that look to well, sees it in the faces of her colleagues every day. It is the look of a pony that’s given up hope of finding anything better in life but doesn’t want others to know. But Trixie hasn’t given up, she has too much to gain should she succeed , and so much to lose if she fails.

The door to the humble dressing room creaks open slowly, but Trixie is too absorbed in rehearsing her routine in her mind to notice. It’s an especially tricky sequence she designed herself where she dramatically fights off an enraged Ursa Major and saves a dashing prince (being played by one of the not so dashing circus clowns who had volunteered to help). It is a dangerous, energy consuming performance that she has so far been unable to perform in its entirety, but tonight she is confident she can do it.

A soft, tentative knock on the partially opened door breaks Trixie’s concentration and she looks up at the mirror. “Oh, sister it’s you. Come in, I’m just getting ready.”

The small filly unicorn steps in the room. Her purple eyes have been wet recently with tears but she tries to keep an air of determination to offset her frazzled silver-blue mane and shaggy azure coat.

“I don’t want you to perform tonight!” The small filly squeaks out, her voice betraying her emotions. “It’s too dangerous!”
The older mare frowns; this is an argument the sisters are starting to have far too often. She falls back on her default response, one she has recited a dozen times already.

“Lulamoon you don’t need to worry I’ll be fine. Magic tricks are my special talent, I’ve performed a hundred times before so don’t worry.” Trixie explains while trying to keep her voice calm and comforting, but unable to keep the impatient sting out of it.

“Don’t call me that! You know I hate that name! It’s dumb, unlike yours. And don’t brush me off again! You haven’t been able to do your routine once the entire way through yet and after each rehearsal you practically faint!” Lulamoon argues back as her voice grows in intensity. She knows her points are valid and can only hope her stubborn sister sees reason.

“Sweetie I have to do this. This performance could make my career; we could be rid of this circus by this time next week if all goes well.” She keeps her voice level but anger is creeping in; an anger stemming from the truth she wishes to deny. Her new show is too much for her to handle, but that isn’t something she wishes to acknowledge.

“Who cares about your career? You’re going to hurt yourself!” Lula’s high pitched voice is reaching a new octave as she pleads with her sister. “Besides, I...I like it here. Let’s just stay.” Her voice softens its pitch back to normal as resignation creeps in.

Trixie shakes with anger, she can no longer keep up the kindly facade. “WHY DO YOU THINK I’M DOING THIS?” The older sister shouts in a voice she usually reserves for the many debt collectors she tries to ward off. “I’m doing this for us, for you! So we can live in a house for once! So we’re not hungry all the time! Don’t stand there and lie to me that you like this dung infested sty we travel with just because you’ve given up! I haven’t do you hear?! I am not going to roll over and wallow in this filth for the rest of my life, forgotten by everypony! I’m not going to be a nobody like our parents!”

Silence hangs in the air like a thick fog. Her little sister is now openly crying and Trixie knows she has gone too far. Ever since their parents died of pneumonia several years back the two have rarely broached the subject, and never have either spoke ill of them or their circus background. Trixie only stands before her sister unsure on her next course of action, staring at her awkwardly.

“I...” The older sister starts to speak, unsure what she even is going to say or can say, when she is interrupted by the stagehoof giving an uncomfortable cough.

“Uh, Ms. Trixe, you’re up.” He quietly announces once he has her attention and then leaves the two sisters.

“I’m sorry Lula. I...I should not speak badly of our...” The performer stops, unable to say the words and face her sobbing sister. Instead she puts what she hopes is a comforting hoof around her sister’s shoulder and instead says “We’ll talk after the show.”

With that The Great Trixie leaves her shaking sister behind her, not looking back once, and marches onto the stage confidently to the applause of the exuberant crowd.
But their cheering cannot drown out the quiet sobs of her sister echoing in her head.

________________________________________________________________________

The board is set, pieces are moving. We come to it at last.

I float above the crowd watching as the magician of the hour steps on to the stage to roaring applause from the audience below. She makes a melodramatic bow with a sweep of her hat and then raises it in the air. Fireworks and streamers burst from unseen sources offstage and The Great Trixie basks in the attention as the approval of the masses washes away all her worries. Almost.

The act begins with a few simple tricks to warm up the audience and get them excited. First she starts with pulling bunnies out of her hat, then moving on she ‘saws’ her assistant in half, and a finally she finishes her opener with a few simple card tricks that, while uncomplicated, seem to amuse the audience greatly.

The lights dim, the previous act’s props are cleared away, and The Great Trixie moves to center stage. “And now fillies and gentle colts comes what you’ve all been waiting for!” The crowd cheers enthusiastically. “The daring tale of how I, The Great Trixie, vanquished a fierce and powerful URSA MAJOR!” Her last words she shouts, emphasized by her horn shooting out a small lightning bolt that lets off a deafening boom. The thunder brings back unwanted memories of a job I performed only a few weeks ago. I am anxious for her performance to end as I know mine soon will begin.

The feeling of apprehension grows as she continues to map out the scene. She explains how she fought the giant creature to save a noble prince, and that she will enact her brave feat for her audience.

However the boastful story barely registers as I now notice a small filly peering at Trixie from the side of the stage, almost all of her concealed by the curtain. She looks remarkably like the pony on stage. Her eyes are focused on the pony on stage and watch fearfully, eyes red from heavy crying. I groan as I realize what will so happen, the scene playing itself out in my head. I will have to be quick to avoid the scene which will follow. Taking a life in front of an anonymous crowd is hard, taking a life in front of a single family member is near impossible. I usually slip in and out quietly, attracting little attention, but with this outgoing show mare that seems not to be an option.

I turn my attention back to Trixie who has begun her act. The ‘prince’ is cowering in fear on the left side of the stage while Trixie stands in front of him heroically. Her horn glows a magnificent aqua blue and a mass of sparkles bursts forth from it. I can see the concentration on her face as the form of a massive starry bear eventually forms out of the effervescent mist of magic.
The crowd is completely in awe of the illusion, not even noticing that the best is an Ursa Minor, not major. Having seen the aftermath a rampage by both I can tell the difference.

The tiny filly staring at her sister from behind the curtain however is not as happy as those before her. She is muttering words under her breath, most likely a soft prayer to Celestia. A tiny stab of anger pierces my heart as my mind wanders towards thoughts of this land’s false godess, but I stop myself quickly. It is best not to dwell on thoughts of her right now. I must focus on the task before me.

I return my attention to the show mare, who is now sweating profusely, her apparition roaring and swiping at her in their mock battle. Her eyes are squinted and she grits her teeth. I can feel the moment coming closer even as the oblivious mass below me cheers louder.

The air grows tense as I sense the shifting energies swirling around the magician. Her illusion is fading slightly but she compensates by pouring more of her own energy into her act, her own life force. As her horn grows brighter I wonder if she realizes what she is about to give up for her fame, if she even knows how pointless her efforts are. For in the end even legends are forgotten, their names only recorded in dusty old tomes in the back of an ancient library. Only I am eternal, only I remember.

The moment comes quickly. The air begins to vibrate, something all below feel, as the last of the unicorn’s energy is poured out into the Ursa Minor. The show pony’s energy is all drained. The stream of magic coming from the mare’s horn suddenly stops, and she collapses like a rag doll. In the moment before she passes out the realization of her foolishness flits across her face, an expression only I and her sister notice. The illusion in the air quickly fades as though it were never there. The crowd starts to rise in confusion, the memory of the show already leaving their minds to be replaced by confusion and panic.

I move in, darting forward like an arrow. I must be quick.

Unfortunately I am not the first by her side. The small azure filly all but teleports to her sister’s side, shaking her desperately and yelling in her ear to wake up; but she yells in vain.

Or so I think.

Her sister, weak and barely alive, opens her eyes slowly. Ponies rush around both of them trying to see what they can do to help, but Trixie only sees the crying foal before her.Regret stabs at her heart and tears fill her eyes.

“Lula...” she begins to form words to a sentence she will never finish.

It is at that moment that I do the cruellest thing I’ve ever done. I quickly jab my hoof into the dying mare’s heart. I know the guilt of this act will pain my heart forever, but no worse than having to watch and remember the last exchange between these two sisters.

My touch instantly stops her frail heart. She arcs her back as if she has been shocked by a cattle prod and then moves no more.

“Trixie! TRIXIE!!!” The little filly screams desperately as her sister’s last breath slowly slither’s out of her mouth.

________________________________________________________________________

The wind blows mercilessly at the thin, shivering filly, but she pulls her sister’s cape closer around her body for warmth. The hat perched atop her head nearly flies off in a strong gust but she grabs it quickly and keeps it firmly in place with her magic.
After the funeral there were no tears left. The little foal with the silver mane and azure coat is left empty and alone. She stands by herself for hours by the simple grave under the darkening sky, one name among thousands in the massive field; her gray slab no more special than those that stood alongside it.

Amidst the rows and rows of graves the foal comes to a realization. It pains her to admit it, but her sister was right. Trixie’s last words still stung but only because of the truth that burns in them. Lula had given up, had resigned herself to a miserable existence in a third bit side show. She would’ve died alone and forgotten in that circus had not her sister made her see otherwise. Their parents had left the world unknown, only two ponies in all of Equestria missing them after they were gone. Countless others in this field must have gone the same way and now all that was left was a half inch engraving of their name cut into a slab of rock.

Looking down at the grave which reads “Trixie: Beloved Sister” Lulamoon makes a decision. Her horn glows purple as she focuses her magic on the stone. She carefully recarves the words to read “Lulamoon: Beloved Sister”.

A look of grim satisfaction spreads across the foals face. “Trixie has beaten you death. Trixie has a new chance at immortality.” The new Trixie smiles, a smile without mirth.

She had cheated Death of his prize; instead of The Great Trixie he had gotten the weak and insecure Lulamoon. No pony would miss her, but the Great Trixie would come back, stronger and more powerful.

Trixie smiles again. “The Great Trixie will not fade away quietly. We shall be better than we are now, after we have learned some new tricks we shall be back. The Great Trix-no, the Great AND Powerful Trixie will return, and then nopony will forget her.” She looks down at the freshly dug grave.”Your name shall not be forgotten. I shall make sure of it sister.”

The pony once named Lulamoon, now The Great and Powerful Trixie, walks away from the grave knowing she has no more reason to stay. Her future is uncertain, but her goal is unwavering. The name Trixie will resound throughout all corners of Equestria, and shall echo through the halls of time for all eternity. Her name will slip away into obscurity like so many others.
The Great and Powerful Trixie will become immortal.

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading again! To be honest I wasn't entirely happy with this chapter but after agonizing over it for hours I figured I could do no more with it. Also at time of release it's nearly 2am so if I've made some mistakes proof reading PLEASE don't hesitate to point out my mistakes.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please comment if you liked this! I read all the comments and they really do help inspire me, even negative ones make me want to do better.
Oh also just in case you don't know where I got the name "Lulamoon" from it is from a toy that looked just like Trixie but with a slight color change and they gave it that name. It got me thinking where the name came from, that coupled with why Trixie always speaks in third person led me to think that she wasn't the "real" or "original" Trixie.
Thanks again for the read!

Bright Eyes

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A/N: Once again sorry this is a week late from what I said but life gets in the way. Hope you had a good Valentines; I’m here to ruin it. This story, as with all others, takes place before chapter one. I know it's weird, but I never expected this to become what it has. Once again feel free to point out any editing mistakes I missed and enjoy!

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BRIGHT EYES

The weak pre-dawn light glows orange on the horizon against the dark purple sky. Stars still blaze across the heavens like diamonds and the moon is just touching the edge of the world, like an eye closing for sleep. Mist rises from the trees below me, thousands of emeralds reflecting the dying rays of the moon. An ebony lake rests a thousand feet beneath my home, its black waters reflecting the tiny pricks of light in the sky and turning it into a sheet of shining satin.

All this I see from my mountaintop home as I step out of the door. The sight would stun any other creature into silence through its beauty, but to me the sight has become mundane. After millennia of seeing the same sight each morning it does not inspire me as it once did; instead it mocks me, for how can I take pleasure in a sight I rob so many of every day.

My thoughts about the sunrise I quickly push away. It shall not affect me, I must begin my work. From under by cloak I pull a heavy stone tablet, thick and raw. The unpolished obsidian seems to absorb the frail light of the morning filtering through the low lying clouds, but the blood red words on it, engraved deeply in the stone, shine out. The slab is heavy in my hoof as it always has been. Its weight, while uncomfortable, is welcome as a constant reminder of my duty. The mysterious red letters which magically change by themselves day by day are uncompromising, unyielding. Final.

I do not understand how the tablet works, or where the names come from. I only know I must obey, and I do. I check the location of my first job, and then fly off into the fledgling dawn.

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The tension in the room is palpable, hanging like smoke in the air, choking the resolve from her body. The grey pegasus mare with the yellow mane sits next to a dark blue unicorn stallion, his stark white mane contrasting with his body; a chef’s hat cutie mark matching his mane rests on his dark flank.

Ditzy tries to swallow her nervousness, but her dry mouth won’t let her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, willing the words to come out, but they do not. Across from the pair sits an elderly pegasus, his obviously once mighty white frame now sags around him, as does his golden hair which has lost its once lustrous shine. However the pride in his eyes and his stiff posture seem to ignore what age has done to him, defying the inevitable. In the corner of the living room, decorated with medals on every square inch of wall, shines a polished set of Royal Guard armour, immaculately cleaned and waxed. His obvious distaste for the pair is evident from his glaring eyes and downturned mouth. Ditzy wishes to look away but her eyes are held in place by his piercing steel blue gaze.

Finally, seeing his partner cannot speak, the blue pagasus breaks the silence. “Hello Mr. Doo, it’s good to see you again.” The old pegasus’ stern look shows he does not agree. “We have some important news to tell you about us that-” He is interrupted by the older pony stomping his hoof down.

“If it’s so damn important then why don’t you let my daughter tell me! Or have you lost the nerve to tell me yourself?” His strong, commanding voice belies his age as her barks at his daughter.

“N-no sir.” She squeaks out. She breathes in and exhales deeply. The blue stallion beside her gives her a gentle nudge and a smile. “Um, well, we are, that is to say-” She stops as she is interrupted the same way her partner was.

“Spit it out girl or I’ll die of old age first!” The former guard growls.

“Midnight and I are getting married in the spring, four months from now in April!” She blurts out looking at her fore-hooves.

The silence is palpable, laced with fury and fear.

After a tense minute the seething pegasus speaks. “So this is it, is it? You’re final insult to me before I die?”

“What? No, papa I’m not trying-” Her words are cut short again by an angry hoof.

“Not trying? Not trying to what, exactly? Spit in my face before I go? Ruin the family’s honour, as well as your own, by marrying this, this lowlife UNICORN?” He rages, practically screaming the last word.

“Papa I love Midnight! He has a good job and owns a house here in Trottingham. He won’t dishonour me!” The mare argues back, he voice growing to match her father’s but their eyes still do not meet.

“Won’t-won't dishonour you?” He stammers, incredulous. “He already has dishonoured you!” He barks, pointing at her distended belly which she had been trying to keep out of sight behind her hooves. “It’s bad enough you’re carrying his spawn, but now you’re going to marry him!? A BAKER!?” His voice nearly cracks at this, but he continues none the less. “Our family are PUREBLOOD pagasi! We go back over a thousand years! Our family has always served the Princesses as their guards, and you want to BREAK that by marring a UNICORN, and a BAKER AT THAT?!” He finally stops, unable to go on-his throat hoarse from yelling.

“YES BECAUSE I LOVE HIM AND BOTH THE PRINCESSES CAN GO BOTH BUCK THEMSELVES FOR ALL I CARE!!!” She screams -voice full of anger and hurt- at him, but her eyes are locked onto his hooves.

The old guard glares daggers at her, his voice now venomous and low. “If you’re going to insult the goddesses, at least have the decency to look me in the eyes when you do. Oh right, you can’t! They’re all crossed and derpy!”

He smiles maliciously as indeed her eyes have once again gone crossed from the stress of their argument. One glances at the floor while the other looks to the ceiling. She wilts in shame as her shoulders sag in defeat.

“ENOUGH!” Midnight yells, startling both pegasis. Suddenly his horn begins to glow bright white and the bitter pegaus in front of him rises in the air. He struggles and tries to fly away, but disuse and arthritis have betrayed his once proud wings and he just ruffles them uselessly. Midnight steps off the couch he had been sitting on and walks forward, coming face to face with Ditzy’s scowling father.

“Now you listen to me and you listen well. You can insult me all you want, but if you insult our child again I will break your wings off. You insult my fiancé again-” he says as he gestures with a hoof towards his crying partner, “and I will END YOU.” The last words he nearly whispers but with enough force to make his foe cringe.

After a few more seconds of glaring the unicorn gently sets the old stallion down far away from his weeping daughter. Midnight walks over to Ditzy and whispers some comforting words in her ear. The two get up and begin to walk toward the door, neither looking back.

The ex-guard knows he has lost the battle but he cannot let it go at that, being so soundly beaten. He clears his throat to deliver once last barb.

“You walk out that door, you better never come back you hear! I won’t pay for a cent of your dowry! You aren’t my daughter anymore!” He smiles smugly at their retreating flanks.

Midnight turns around one last time. “Enjoy the company of your medals old colt. I hope they are a fitting replacement for her.” And with that last retort they both walk out. A white aura surrounds the door and it slams with enough force to crack the plaster, knocking many medals and trophies off the wall.

The white stallion simply walks towards the medals, picking each one up delicately and putting them back in turn where they belonged. He notices a small picture of Ditzy as a foal has fallen on the floor as well. Without giving it a second glance he grinds the glass beneath his hoof and then gets back to setting up his fallen medals.

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The doors of the Veteran’s Retirement Home swings shut as Ditzy Doo and Midnight exit it lobby. A few strained minutes pass as the two walk back to their home. Midnight, silently fuming, keeps a comforting hoof around the shoulder of the waddling mare as tears pour down her eyes and she silently cries.

Eventually the flow of tears stop and her eyes dry. Salty diamonds are all that remain of their passing. The small bakery where the two live comes into view as Ditzy ceases crying and Midnight breathes a heavy sigh. Together they walk inside. Midnight, having calmed down, decides to break the silence.

“I know he is your father, but please don’t let his words get to you.” The blue stallion asks, concerned for the shivering mare who has taken a seat on the couch. He retrieves a blanket from the closet and throws it over her.

“WAS my father you mean. You heard what he said. He doesn’t want to see me again. Ever.” She feels a new rush of tears threatening to spring from her eyes. “H-he disowned me, and I couldn’t even look him in the eyes as he did it.” Tears again brimming in her eyes, Ditzy hangs her head in shame.

Midnight, now right in front of her, begins to lift up her chin but she pulls her head away to her side and hides it under her wing, eyes shut tight. Even after all the time they’ve shared together, years of ridicule and scorn have kept the grey mare self conscious about her lazy eye, even in front of Midnight.

“Hey, look at me.” The gentle, caring voice of her lover causes her to slowly unfold her wing and bring her head up. Nervously she opens her eyes. Two golden pools of light stare into Midnight’s heron blue spheres, one slightly tilted up and staring at the ceiling. Ditzy, realizing her eyes aren’t aligned, closes her eyelids again and focuses on brining her rebellious eye on the pony in front of her. After a second she opens them, both eyes now facing the gently smiling stallion in front of her.

“You showed a lot of courage facing him, and I’m proud of you for that. If ever you feel bad about your eyes again just remember this; I don’t care what direction your eyes are facing, as long as one of them is looking at me.” His genuine smile is infections and, despite herself, Ditzy smiles too.

“That’s really corny you know.” She replies, sniffling a little.

“Yeah, but I know you love it.” The subtle blush on Ditzy’s cheek confirms his words. “Now come on muffin, no more tears. I’ll whip us up something to eat.”

The smile on the pegasus’ face grows wider at the promise of food. Still with the blanket around her, Ditzy follows Midnight into the kitchen.

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The sky is growing darker as the sun Celestia has taken as her own sets in the west. The sky is set ablaze as the sun makes one last effort to spread its light across the world and fight off the impending night. Stars will soon dot the sky again like diamonds in a sea of sapphire silk as twilight, mirroring dusk, sweeps across the world.

Once again the beauty of it all is lost upon me.

I move on to my next job, hardly noticing the majestic sky above. My concentration is focused on the modest bakery in front of me. Through the slightly open windows at the back drifts the smell of something being fried; a delicious mixture of grease and salt vainly tries to make my deadened taste buds salivate. I drift closer to the window. My gut wrenches as the uneasy of my time draws nearer.

I peer inside the window and see two ponies, a dark blue unicorn and a grey pegasus. I can tell, despite her wearing a blanket, that the pegasus is with foal. Her belly jiggles as she saunters around the small kitchen, fetching dishes and cups for the table. The two talk amiably, but the mare’s smile seems a little forced at times.

I wait outside the window in the gathering dark. These last moments I will not eaves drop on, they do not belong to me.

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“So what do you think it will be?” Midnight asks suddenly, changing the direction of the conversation which had once again begun to veer towards Ditzy’s father.

Ditzy giggles. “I thought we’d had this discussion. I want a filly!”

“No no no, I don’t mean gender. Do you think it will be a unicorn, a pegasus, or an earth pony?” Midnight asks while tending to the food frying in the pan in front of him.

“Oh, well I don’t know, I mean, I haven’t thought about it. My mind’s been on ...other things.” She looks down at her hooves, but decides to clear her mind of such thoughts. “I guess I hope she’s a pegasus, like me. I may not be the best flyer, but I’d like to show teach her how to fly. It was something I really enjoyed doing with my mom before she passed away.” Ditzy smiles as she remembers happier times. “I suppose you’d like a unicorn?”

Midnight chuckles at this. “Are you kidding? Taking care of baby unicorns is the worst! I used to baby sit my neighbour’s colt and his sporadic magical outbursts nearly burned the house down once!” The two share a laugh at this. “Mainly I just hope he or she is healthy. And I really hope they have your eyes.” He looks into her golden eyes again, causing her to look away sheepishly.

“I don’t. My eyes are all...derpy.” She says looking at her hooves.

“Don’t say that muffin. Your eyes are gorgeous. They’re the color of the sun, and just as breathtaking.” Once again his compliment causes her to blush.

“Stop it! You’re embarrassing me!” She playfully retorts.

The two work in comfortable silence for a few minutes, preparing their last meal for the day. A few minutes pass however and a worried look crosses the pegasus’s face once more. She turns to look at Midnight.

“Do you...do you think we’re ready for this? Do you think we have enough saved up?” She asks, concern in her voice.

“Of course we do. The bakery is earning a steady income, and is mostly paid for. Besides, we have enough bits in the bank to last us a good while.” He tries to comfort her with a smile but her worry persists.

“Yes, but do you think we’re ready for the responsibility?” Her nervousness once again threatens to cross her eyes but she focuses on keeping them both looking at Midnight.

“I don’t know if anyone is ever truly ready, but don’t worry. We’ll get through whatever comes our way together.” Ditzy weakly smiles at this, but the unicorn can tell her fears are still there. “Come on, dinner is almost ready, we can talk more after we’ve filled our bellies. I’ll just get the cheese out of the fridge. Can you turn off the stove?” He asks, already heading towards the fridge.

“Sure.” Ditzy replies absentmindedly, mind still occupied by thoughts of her foal, as she walks towards the stove. Suddenly, losing concentration, her vision blurs as her eye once again goes off and looks off towards the ceiling. Her distracted mind is snapped out of its reverie as she stumbles forward, unable to see where she is going.

All hell breaks loose.

Her hooves trip on themselves as she crashes into the stove. The pan of frying food, full of grease, is knocked about on the stove. The oil spills out onto the confused mare and the gas stove. Both are immediately set alight as if struck by lightning.

Midnight, having heard the commotion, turns around to see the stove in flames, his love lying on the floor, a fire raging on her back as well.

“DITZY!” He cries springing into action. He quickly rushes forward and pulls her away from the fire with his magic. He begins to roll her over to snuff out the flames covering his fiancé when he realizes that only her blanket is burning. He throws it off towards the stove and then examines the pegaus. Only a few feathers are singed but she remains intact.

Getting up Ditzy looks back towards the raging flames. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” She cries. Frantically she looks around for something to combat the flames. On the table rests the cups which she had filled with water and set out for dinner. She grabs one between her teeth and flicks it at the flames.

“DITZY, NO!” Midnight calls, but is too late. The water hits the grease in the pan, evaporating in less than a second. The quickly expanding gas caries the flaming grease along with it and a massive fireball erupts as soon as the water reaches its target.

Midnight stumbles back from the stove. Half the kitchen is on fire now, the orange glow of the flames coloring the entire room. Ditzy stares on in horror.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know-“ Ditzy begins to explain but Midnight cuts her off.

“Apologize later, you need to get out of here, NOW!” He cries at her. Ditzy remains still.

“What about you?” She asks over the roaring flames.

“I can put this out, just go! Keep our baby safe!” Seeing Ditzy frozen he uses his magic to levitate her out of the room towards the door. “GO!” he shouts one last time before he opens the door and pushes her out into the oncoming night.

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As soon as the fireball erupts in the kitchen I sit up. Less than a minute left to go.

I see the grey mare being propelled out of the bakery. After a few stunned seconds she gets up as fast as her pregnant belly will allow. A few ponies have already noticed the strange orange glow and stop to stare. One eye still crossed the pegaus begins to frantically run around, trying to get anypony to help. A pink pegasus takes to the sky and soars off towards the fire hall.

However the grey mare is not my target, so I refocus my attention on the unicorn, fighting a losing battle with the out of control flames which are quickly consuming the room.

His horn glows bright as he tries to use magical frost to quell the fire, but it’s not very effective. His talent in magic is obviously not very strong and he has no chance against the hungry inferno. I silently urge him to run even as I know he won’t. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as the end comes closer. Only seconds are left.

Finally the end has come. The fire has spread to the back of the stove and eats through the gas line which splits open. In the blink of an eye the rushing gas and flames spread through the whole shop, windows blowing out at the sudden pressure. Flames gush out of every window and smoke pours out, heavy and thick. A single scream pierces the night, but I do my best to ignore it. I walk through the wall of the house. It is time to finish this.

The inferno that greets me would be unbearable to anypony else. The heat alone is strong enough to sear the walls and set fire to the wallpaper. The smoke chokes the air, the bright orange light blinds; the roar of the flames is like dragon’s breath. Undaunted however I march through the house which is already beginning to crumble.

I find my target in the living room, thrown through the door of the kitchen by the force of the explosion. I close my eyes upon seeing him and turn my head. His fur is nearly all burned off. The remaining hair on his main and tail is coloured grey by soot and ash. Blood spills from his broken frame and instantly boils from the heat of the fire. His leg, snapped in half and with a piece of bone sticking out of it, is on fire. His mumbling voice reaches my ears over the flames. I kneel down beside him and listen to his last words.

“R-run Ditzy. Run.” He whispers, his mind flitting between consciousness and sleep. His right fore leg twitches in a strained running motion. “Keep...our foal...safe.” He manages to breath out one last sentence. His heart is growing weaker and weaker by the second, the time between beats growing. I lift up my hoof, the ceiling groans ominously above.

“I’m sorry.” I quietly apologize, knowing he cannot hear me yet. I gently touch his heart as the ceiling collapses on top of us.

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Until that moment she had had hope.

Until that moment she had believed Midnight would walk out of the house, singed and coughing, but alive. Even after the fire consumed the kitchen, even after the explosion rocked the bakery and blew out all the windows, she had held on to hope.

And then the roof had caved in, and all hope she had collapsed with it.

The fire ponies arrive, too late. She lays on the ground, numb. Tears stream out of her eyes, but she hardly notices. A fire pony wraps her in a blanket and guides her over to a paramedic who checks her over. She barely hears him as he tells her her injuries are superficial. My injuries aren’t superficial- she wants to say- you just can’t see them.

A month on and she wishes the numbness could have lasted. Days of crying and weeks of worry have followed her relentlessly.

The little money the two had saved up will not be enough to support her and her foal. Even the insurance from the bakery will not last long between the two of them. She doesn't even have a place to live and has been staying in a hostel night after miserable, lonely night.

Her father won’t return her calls, won’t even see her when she visits.

She is alone and all hope is gone.

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I stand outside my cave, a familiar scene playing before my eyes. A breath taking sunrise, a jewel encrusted lake, and an emerald forest. All these things are displayed before my ancient eyes, lost to me.

I long for grey skies free of guilt; guilt at not appreciating the beauty before me. Despite my immortality I know I’m wasting something amazing and fleeting; something that, despite its repetition, is as uniquely awe inspiring as a snowflake. I cannot dwell on these thoughts however; I must attend to the souls of this Earth. I find whenever I feel contemplative it is best to focus on my work lest I find a way to ease the burden of my existence. I cannot let that happen, not ever.

I pull out my tablet, heavy and final, and begin the day anew.

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Ditzy Doo believed it was the end. She believed her life no longer had meaning, no longer had purpose.

And then Dinky was born.

And then everything changed.

Three have passed. Three months of uncertainty, fear, and heartache. They crawled by, every moment a torment. Now however, cradling her infant daughter in her hooves, all those terrible times seem to melt away.

Carrot Top, her friend in Ponyville who offered a place to stay while Ditzy was recovering, gently snores by Ditzy's bed, having spent the last several days in the hospital with her, making sure she was well.

The gentle caress of Ditzy’s hoof on Dinky’s horn wakes her momentarily. She yawns and smiles contentedly before sleep takes her again.

Before her eyes flutter closed Ditzy admires her golden irises and smiles.

"Sweet dreams, muffin."

Author’s Notes: First off, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Second: I don’t really care if her name is “Derpy” or “Ditzy” but in my headcannon “Derpy” is just a cruel nickname.
Also, I am holding an art contest for the cover picture of this story! The winner can commission me to write a chapter based on any character from the show or OC! I only have on entry! Check out here  for more details! http://www.fimfiction.net/blog/6907
Also also, if you like my stuff check this out  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-j2Le4Y0Xw. It’s a video me and my friends made! (and yes it’s pony related, worry not)
So now that I’m done shamelessly plugging just let me say thank’s once again for reading. Please feel free to point out any mistakes and COMMENT! Good or bad I read ‘em all and I love to hear what you think from you guys!

Edit: I have 'continued' with this Ditzy chapter with her own separate story! Check it out on my page!

Sadly Sings Destiny

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SADLY SINGS DESTINY

There have been so many tales told about me that I’ve lost track of them all. Every creature in this world has their own beliefs on whom I am, what I look like, how I act. From a kind, benevolent guide to a cruel, sadistic reaper I have been personified by all, but none has guessed at the truth.

Many claim to have seen me and the realm that comes beyond. A mighty griffon warrior once spun a yarn so convincing and heroic that it has achieved the status of legend among the winged tribe. In his story I dragged him kicking and screaming from midst of a great battle to my lair, Niflheim, in jealously over his many mythic deeds so I could torture him forever. Of course he, being the hero, challenged me to a game of riddles for his soul, which he won. Being the personification of evil I cheated, refused to let him go, and was soundly defeated when he battled his way past me and out of my dark clutches.

Even now I have to give a grim laugh every time I hear this story, or any of the countless thousands like it. How eager mortals are to escape my touch, how desperate to believe I am so easily overcome. I wish it were so, wish I could offer some sort of chance to my victims to regain what they’d lost, but the relentless truth of the years has long since beaten out any notions of escape, for them and for me. In the end the stories are nothing more than that.

Stories.

Stories which never speak of me as reluctant, and so very tired; a slave bound by masters he knows not to a duty he doesn’t understand why he was created for. I’d say I was as much a victim as those I touch, but that would be untrue; I’ve always done my duty wilfully though it tears me apart inside. In the end I’m not sure what to call myself, except tired.

I often wonder when it will all become too much for me. Will I one day just give up? Will I be broken before I fulfill my purpose?

These are the thoughts that torment me when I lie in bed before working up the courage to face the day, during travel in between jobs, and at the end of the day before the silken sheets carry my mind off into oblivion. It is a question I can never find an answer to, and so I simply satisfy myself by saying...

Not today.

The wind whips at my face as I soar through the morning breeze above the city of Manehattan. Even at my height the metropolis stretches out into the horizon beyond my considerable sight. The sun has just risen and as I descend through the dense layer of smog hovering above the city, it tinges the haze an orange-red color that drenches the buildings below in a bloody light.

Descending into the city I fly low over the towering structures beneath, and gaze at what the ponies below have wrought. Buildings of glass, brick, and stone dominate the skyline of what was once little more than a hamlet by the sea. The city, growing ever outward and upward, calls me to it more and more, and every time I answer it seems new buildings have sprouted out of nothingness. The accomplishments of the ponies below seem to stand in defiance of me, and yet their production does little more than add fuel to the flames as the population increases. Nowhere is this fact more evident than at my destination, which is growing closer every second.

Before me is a large building, shorter than those surrounding it but much wider than all, emblazoned with a glowing red “H.” My target is in a room on ground level, and so I descend to complete my job.

She walks into the hospital and closes her eyes, a smile on her lips; breathing in the antiseptic air only causes the grin to grow wider. This is where she belongs.

The newly graduated nurse opens her eyes after a few seconds of savouring the familiar hospital smell and then trots down the hallway to the locker room. She hangs up the saddle bags she had been carrying and removes from them her white nurses hat and stethoscope. She places the hat atop her head and the stethoscope around her neck. In a tiny mirror attached to the locker door she checks herself over to make sure she is looking her best, she wants to make a good impression on her first day. Her stark white coat is spotless and smooth; her dusty rose hair is tied in a professional bun with not a strand out of place. Most importantly her cutie mark, a red cross with four hearts at each indent, is clean and prominently displayed on each flank. Seeing all was as it should be the white earth pony winked at herself with her sky blue eyes. She had waited for this day all her life, waited for the chance to prove herself and make a difference. She was going to make sure she looked damn fine while doing that.

“Redheart!” A sudden, shrill cry from a matronly pony at the door to the locker room breaks the nurse out of her reverie. “We’re not paying you to stand there and gawk over yourself! We have patients, so move your flank!”

A crimson blush adorns the white face of Nurse Redheart as she quickly closes her locker. She quietly apologizes to her senior and slips past the older, grey mare. Even as she makes her way down the hallway she can still feel the disapproving stare from the older nurse’s steely eyes; so much for a good first impression.

The emergency room is busy, it always is. In every hospital across Equestria ponies sit in rooms like this one, large or small, and wait; some worriedly clasp aching parts of their bodies, some flick through the out of date magazines on the tables, most impatiently stare at the clock above the receptionist and wonder if this hour they’ll be seen. For most ponies this barrier to the hospital is torture, for Nurse Redheart it is heaven. This is ground zero, this is where every patient comes first, both great and small, ill or not, all but the most serious cases pass through the sliding double doors which sit below the glowing sign, “ER.”

All her life Redheart had known that she’d wanted to go into medicine, like her father before her. However she had decided not to follow in his hoof steps and become a doctor, instead she had chosen to be a nurse so she could really get to know her patients. She loved her father, but he had a severe persona around him at all times, like most of his colleagues she had met. The air of authority and seriousness he had picked up in medical school created a barrier between him and his patients; even between him and his daughter. Doctors were the few, the proud, the elite; simple ponies cowed before their knowledge and shied away from their cold, uncaring hooves. And that was why there were nurses, to act as aids to the doctors as well as their emissaries. Nurses were able to help medically and provide emotional support to patients as well; that was why little foal Redheart had chosen the path she had.

That is why grown up Nurse Redheart now stands behind the receptionist, stomach doing summersaults, as the name of her very first patient is called.

“Number Cruncher, please come to the receptionist’s desk.” The crackly voice over the loud speaker declares. A chestnut unicorn with a vermillion mane steps up to the counter. From her position behind the receptionist Nurse Redheart can clearly see the calculator cutie mark on his flank. After taking a deep breath and clearing her throat the earth pony speaks.

“Hello, my name is Nurse Redheart, please follow me to examination room two and we’ll get you sorted out in no time.” She smiles sweetly, trying to ease any nervousness, but for which of them she is not sure.

“Finally, I’ve been here for hours! Let’s get this over with.” The impatient pony grumbles while frowning. The white pony continues smiling however it feels somewhat forced now. She had hoped her first patient would be easy to get along with to help ease her into her new role, but life was not always so kind, and so she only turns around and leads him to the examination room.

The bright lights of the hospital are the first thing to greet me as I enter the emergency room. Sterile white walls reflect the fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling which hum a monotonous tone. I hate hospitals. Their austere aura only ever reinforces the notion that what I do is just business, a sentiment I’ve always struggled against.

I pass through the still sliding double doors; they do not sense my entrance. All around the room ponies sit, shift, talk, cough, cry, groan; the noise of life fills the room and threatens to overwhelm my sensitive ears; a cacophonous noise that rallies against my presence and seeks to expunge me, but my job is not yet done, not yet begun. I slip unnoticed through the crowd, past the front desk, and into the hallway.

A dozen doors line the hall but I am drawn to only one. I approach and my heart begins to beat a staccato into my chest. Anything could be behind the door, from an elderly colt coughing out his last wheezing breath to a young foal whose life I must cruelly cut short. For several minutes I stand still, rooted in place. How many times have I been here before, unwilling to go through a door? How can I still be so afraid of a thin barrier of wood after all the years I’ve faced? Then again, I’ve never found anything behind closed doors besides death and despair, usually of my own creation.

The time is drawing near and I cannot miss it. With a sigh I close my eyes and step through. When I open my eyes again I am met with a sight I was not prepared for.

A brown unicorn is sitting on an examination bed while a nurse looks him over, occasionally asking questions about how he’s been feeling lately, the amount of rest he’s been getting, if he has any allergies. To my milky eyes the patient looks perfectly healthy, and yet I can feel his time drawing nearer and nearer. The air is becoming charged as my fur bristles in anticipation, and yet the unicorn sits, somewhat annoyed, but otherwise fine. My shock comes from many years of experience in hospitals; usually those whom I take are emaciated, and pale, with one hoof already in the grave, or bloody and screaming. The fact that my target looks to be fine fills me with dread. This will not be peaceful for him, he will not die well. I close my eyes once more and wait.

A small groan escapes the white pony as she goes over the information in her mind again and again. Nothing makes sense. Nurse Redheart has spent four years training to become a nurse, has studied countless thousands of hours for exams and has graduated with honours; and yet her very first official patient has her stumped. She has looked the patient over several times, has asked him the standard questions and even some not so standard, but nothing about him seems to add up.

From the few curt responses she has coaxed out of the impatient accountant she has deduced little. While working late at the banking firm he is employed at he had begun to feel a pain in his right hind leg. After several more hours what had started out as a small ache had grown into a sharp pain. Eventually he had decided to visit the hospital after it interrupted his concentration too much, and he had sat in the waiting room ever since.

Embarrassment and frustration mix equally as she runs through countless scenarios in her head, rejecting each as soon as it comes to her. After a few minutes of silently stewing Number Cruncher decides to speak.

“What’s the matter, huh? I haven’t got all day and I’ve wasted enough time in the reception as it is!”

Sweat begins to trickle down her face as the tension in the room begins to grow. She knows she has to diffuse the situation somehow.

“Please be patient sir, I-I can do this.” The stutter slips out unintentionally, but the unicorn catches it none the less.

“Can you? Because I’m starting to doubt that!” His voice is becoming raised.

“Please sir, bear with me I’m new here but I can assure you I’m qualified-“ Her now noticeably trembling voice is cut off by an angry hoof stomp.

“What? First I wait three hours to be seen and now I’m saddled with a trainee? That’s it. Either you get me a REAL doctor, or I’m leaving!”

“Sir, if you just give me a chance I can-“

“No! That’s it, I’ve had it! I don’t know why I even came here in the first place!” Standing up Number Cruncher begins to walk to the door when suddenly his path is blocked by the nurse.

“Don’t go, I’ll get the doctor!” Redheart pleads. As much as it pains her to admit defeat and though it may reflect poorly on her service record, what is most important to her is the wellbeing of her patients, even the difficult ones.

“That’s better.” The accountant haughtily snaps and returns to his seat on the bed. Head hanging in shame Nurse Redheart exits the room to fetch the on call physician.

The door opens again as the nurse, now accompanied by a blue colt wearing a lab coat, steps into the room.

I open my eyes at the sound. The doctor goes through the examination almost beat for beat as his counterpart standing embarrassed behind him did earlier, albeit much quicker and with less attempts at small talk. After a few more minutes he presents his diagnosis.

“You’ve been sitting on your rump all night and you’ve developed a cramp. Nothing serious, just walk around for a half hour or so, and make sure to take breaks ever hour you’re sitting down by walking a few minutes. Nurse, please show him out, I have other patients to see.”

Number Cruncher thanks the doctor and slides off the bed, but as the doctor turns to leave Redheart calls him back.

“Wait, doctor that can’t be all there is!” She cowers back as he turns his eyes on her and glares.

“What are you talking about; he just got a cramp and over reacted by coming here. Now please stop wasting my time.”

Again he turns to leave but Redheart will not let this matter rest. Her gut tells her something is wrong, there is something they’ve both missed.

“That doesn’t make sense though! If it were just a cramp the pain would have gone away when he walked over here. I think we should run more tests, we should do some blood work at least.” She insists, confidence growing as both her conviction and anger rise.

“Blood tests? Are you joking me? We have at least a hundred sick ponies in the lobby waiting to be seen and you want to do a blood test on a man with a cramp? He’s been sitting for hours at work and in the waiting room, which explains his pain.”

As the two argue, their volume becoming louder and louder, only I notice the unicorn’s face begin to slip form annoyance to pain. In mere seconds the once healthy pony begins to break out in a cold sweat and sway heavily on his hooves. Anticipation wells again in my chest, stronger than ever as the clock ticks on towards my time.

“Y-you know, I th-th-think she may be ri-” The unicorn tries to side with the nurse, but his legs fail him and he collapses onto the floor. Both medical professionals cease their arguing and rush to his aid. Number Cruncher begins to shake uncontrollably and moans of pain escape his lips. Both look on confused, but knowing they must do something. After a second the doctor comes up with a plan.

“Nurse, he’s going into shock. Inject him with 50cc’s of norepinephrine and monitor his condition, I’ll get a stretcher and crash cart just in case!” Without staying for confirmation of his order the doctor rushes out of the room. The nurse, after searching in a cabinet close by, grabs the materials she needs and injects the patient. His shaking stops, but from the look on his face it is evident the pain has not. Until the doctor comes back there is nothing Redheart can do to help, so she does the only thing she can think of.

“Hey hey, stay with me. We’re going to make you better; you just need to keep calm.” I can tell the words ring as hollow to the nurse as they do to me, but the writhing unicorn begins squirming in pain less as he focuses on the words. Redheart sees she is having an effect and searches for more to distract him with.

“What’s your favourite color?” It seems an odd question to ask, but the accountant doesn’t mind.

“Ch-chartreuse.” Despite the situation I can see the nurse smile slightly.

“Chartreuse? Is that a color, or did you just sneeze?” The brown pony wheezes lightly in a cheap imitation of a laugh and his lips curl slightly upward in a pathetic smile.

“It’s a y-yellow green. It’s t-the color of my w-wife’s mane.” He stammers out this sentence as his breathing becomes more laboured.

“Do you two have any children?” Redheart asks in an attempt to keep his mind on happier things.

“N-not yet.” A haggard cough rushes out of his mouth and the nurse pony begins to massage his chest; this seems to help a little. “W-we’ve been tr-trying though. Cross your h-hooves.” Another weak smile appears on his face, but leaves just as quickly as his coughing returns.

“Well don’t you worry; you’ll see your wife as soon as we fix you up.” The intensity of the coughing increases and the nurses last few comforting words are barely heard.

I watch this exchange from the side of the room desperately wishing the nurse’s words could be true, but I know that the colt’s remaining time is down to seconds now.

Suddenly Number Cruncher begins to shake again, even more violently than before. Redheart rushes over to the norepinephrine and grabs it, readying it for another injection when suddenly she freezes, the gears in her head lock into place as the truth hits her like a train.

“Oh Celestia no.” She whispers to herself as she drops the norepinephrine on the floor. Rushing back to the medicine cabinet she frantically roots around for the bottle that will save her patient’s life. The accountant continues to writhe on the floor as the pain in his heart pushes past unbearable and into incomprehensible.

Finally she finds what she is looking for, an anticoagulant called warfarin, and quickly draws it into a needle and injects it.

Unfortunately it’s already too late. It was too late from the moment the accountant had sat down to work at his desk the day before. It was too late when the unicorn had walked into the Emergency Waiting Room and sat down. It was too late the moment Number Cruncher’s name came up on my list.

With a sigh I step forward, past the nurse, and towards the dying pony. With my hoof hovering over his chest I can feel what’s killing him, causing his heart to stop pumping and his lungs to burn from lack of oxygen. His thrashing has now subsided to a few weak shakes. It’s time.

Before I can lower my hoof however I hear a whispered plea from beside me.

“Please be ok.”

I look over at the nurse, her hat is crooked, her coat sweaty, and strands of hair stick out of her once perfectly neat bun.

And tears are streaming down her eyes.

My heart is moved to the point of breaking. I want for nothing more than to grant her wish, but I cannot. I want nothing more than to comfort her, but I cannot. I want nothing more than to thank her for fighting me with everything she has and staying with my victim until the end, but I cannot.

I quickly turn my head away as the door bursts open and a team of doctors pushing both a stretcher and a crash cart rushes in. No more time for hesitation, I put my hoof down and touch the brown unicorn’s chest. The heart which struggled to push the blood through its host’s body finally stops beating and Number Cruncher moves no more.

For the next four minutes the doctor’s work on the rapidly cooling body of the accountant, but Death has done his work, and no one cheats Death.

Even after the doctors have given up Nurse Redheart grabs the paddles and continues what they have abandoned. After five more minutes she finally has to be pulled off the corpse of her very first patient as she hysterically rails against them, begging them to let her keep trying.

But the deed is done. Death has done his work and left, along with the soul of the former accountant.

I stand in the never ending field once again. Off in the distance stand the only two landmarks on this infinite plane, the ivory gate keeping alicorn, and the gate itself. The towering black obsidian monolith that I can never look at without feeling like it is looking back at me.

Beside me my victim stirs. As I look down on his slowly awakening form I feel the familiar pangs of guilt stab at me, not just because I took this one’s life, but because I didn’t let him say to the world I had stolen from him. In my cowardice I pulled his still slumbering soul to the other side. I just could not stand to watch the tear stained nurse desperately give her all to bringing this colt back from my clutches any longer.

Finally Number Cruncher awakens fully and sits bolt upright.

“Where am I? How did I get...in a field?” He begins to take in his surroundings and his head swivels from left to right. Finally his gaze comes to me, and he freezes in fear. “Wh-who are you?”

How many hundred thousand times have I heard that asked? It’s always the first question thrown at me, yet it’s always the hardest to answer.

“I am Death.” I state simply, all emotion gone from my voice.

“WHAT?” He shouts, incredulous. The implication of my answer crashes around in his head. “NO NO NO NO NO! You can’t be! I’m still young and healthy! Why am I here?”

“Because you died.” I respond, not looking him in the eye, as I stare straight ahead. I can hear him begin to hyperventilate.

“But that’s impossible! How did I die?” His voice is coloured with desperation and fear.

“You developed a blood clot in your leg sitting down for too long. It became dislodged and floated through your bloodstream until it became stuck in your heart, blocking circulation.” My answer is uncharacteristically long, I usually refrain from the bare minimum contact with those I take, but after I had ripped him away from his world without any chance to bid it farewell, I feel I owe him answers.

“NO, YOU’RE WRONG! I just had a cramp, the doctor said so!” His pleading stabs at me, but I can do nothing to help assuage his pain. “I can’t die yet; I have a wife who needs me! That’s why I was working late, I need to support her! You can’t make me abandon her!”

I continue to stare straight ahead and remain silent.

“Fine, I see how it is. Then I challenge you!” This surprises me, and I turn to face him for the first time. He is up on all fours and glaring at me, his mouth a thin line of grim resolve.

“Challenge me to what?” I ask, still trying to remain emotionless even as I puzzle over his words.

“To a duel of course! I challenge you to a duel for my soul! Pick whatever game you wish.” He snarls at me, believing me to be feigning ignorance. A new pang of pity touches my heart for this confused pony.

“I am sorry, but that is not how this works. You are dead. There is no coming back.” The resolve seeps from his face, but he tries to keep up his facade.

“You-you’re just trying to trick me, but I won’t fall for it. I’ve heard all the stories, you’re just testing my resolve, but I’ve challenged you, so let’s begin this contest!” His voice quavers slightly as a part of him considers the truth of my word, but his mind ignores it. I am running out of things to say to convince him.

“I am sorry, but you have been misled. No one has ever escaped from me; especially not once I have taken their soul.” The determination completely drains from his face and defeat sets in.

“But how can that be? There are so many stories about ponies defeating you! One of them has to be true! IT CAN’T END LIKE THIS!!!” He screams, wailing against the cruelness of fate.

In the distance I can see the gate keeper coming towards us. His shimmering ivory coat and golden spun mane shine like a beacon as he moves ever closer. No doubt he has left his post to soothe the hysterical pony.

I cannot linger anymore. I put one shrivelled hoof on the shoulder of the now bawling colt. My touch revolts him and he feebly tries to shuffle away, but I keep it there.

“I truly am sorry.” My voice is low and soft, far from assuring, but truthfully apologetic. I can only pray he believes me, but I will never find out. The field, the accountant, the gate keeper, and the gate all dissolve away as I land back in the mortal realm.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The ever present question creeps back into my mind as I sit, hunched over on the roof of the hospital I left not minutes ago. Is this it? Can I really muster the strength to move on, to ruin yet another life? Is this where it ends? I sit there for several minutes as the sun fully rises over the horizon, its blinding light causing me to turn away. Finally I find the answer I am looking for. I take a deep breath, and pull out my list. It may not be the answer I want, but it is the only one I have.

Not today.

Her very first day, her very first patient, dead. And what had they done to her? Stripped her of her rank and sent her home in shame? No, they had given her a commendation.

She had puked after the ceremony. Nurse Redheart did not deserve any praise, she was a failure.

Not that anypony blamed her though. Everyone had applauded her quick thinking and persistence, both against her stubborn superior who hadn’t listened to her and against the life threatening blood clot. In fact the one they all blamed, the one who had been dishonourably discharged, had been the doctor. After failing to listen to his subordinate and take a patient’s case seriously he had then prescribed a medicine without knowing what the patient was suffering from, and in so doing had only sped up his demise. Had he not acted so foalishly then Redheart might have been able to save Number Cruncher with her brilliant deduction.

Or so they all said.

And so she had worked for several months in Manehattan General, doing an exemplary job, and even earning a promotion; but she could not continue to work there knowing she had climbed the ranks on the back of a dead colt. The though sickened her to the point that every day had become an unending struggle to put one hoof in front of the other.

And then finally she had quit. She had given no notice, she had just handed in her resignation letter and left, forever.

But it wasn’t the end, no, it couldn’t end there after all the work she had done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The train rattled along the track which caused Redheart to stir from her fitful sleep. With bleary eyes she looked out the window to see trees rapidly speeding past and mountains towering above the speeding metal carriage. She had long since left the hazy confines of the Manehattan skyscrapers. All that was behind her now; she was going to begin anew.

It had taken a long time to accept what she had done, and forgive herself, but she had. She had reconciled that losing patients was a fact of the profession she had chosen; she couldn’t let it break her. However that didn’t mean she didn’t want a fresh start, to move somewhere where she wouldn’t receive false praise. Most importantly however she wanted to move somewhere she would make a difference, would be needed. Some rural town without many medical personal would be perfect, somewhere where the need was greatest.

She looked down at the ticket nestled between her hooves and smiled. She had nearly broken, nearly given up on her dream, but she had pulled through. Maybe someday she would lose a patient and be unable to cope, but that was in the future, she would not give up now.

Not today.

Today, she was headed to her new home.

Ponyville.

########################################################

Author’s Notes: Once again, thanks for reading! I’m pretty dang happy with this chapter and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed tormenting the life of yet another cute, innocent pony! As always if you see a mistake feel free to point it out. I’m not a bio major or med student so I’m not sure how accurate the medical stuff is, but I did do research, tell me if it was deficient.
Please comment on what you like, or didn’t and what you want to see in future. I always love to get your input!

If you haven’t seen this story how has a new cover art done by lunablue17. Go check out his page, read his story, and give him a hug! He deserves it for his freakin' awesome work. Also, because he did that and won my contest, his OC will be featured in an upcoming chapter, so look for that in the upcoming weeks!
Also I have a new story I’ve started called "Pot of Gold". Like Derpy? Read it! That is, if it's ok with you.
That’s all from me!

Turn The Page

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A/N: I know it has been ages since I last updated, so to make up for that, and cuz I wanted to, I decided to try something a little different. Poetry! The story is not from the point of Death this time, but a teacher telling their class a tale about Death. Enjoy....

Now gather round my little friends,
A story I must tell.
About a foolish bunny so,
Sit down and listen well.

'Twas long ago in White Fang Wood
Where animals would play,
A carefree hare was hopping 'bout
On one dazzling spring day.

He payed no heed to all his friends
As by them he did hop.
They called in vain for him to play,
But for them he'd not stop.

Entranced he was with nature's scene,
Of green and gold and blue.
He blissfully hopped through the trees,
With nothing much to do.

Truth be told this bunny was,
Not of the brightest stock.
His family were but simple folk,
And all were dumb as rocks.

The flowers then would entertain,
For hours at a time.
The joys of nature all, in fact,
Enthralled his tiny mind.

And so, in awe of all about,
The simple minded dolt,
Just blindly bounced in merriment,
Until he met a colt.

Now met, the best word, may not be,
To describe the two's meeting.
The bunny crashed into the colt-
His customary greeting.

The clumsy hare, his head quite dazed,
Then took in who he'd bumped.
An ominous black figure loomed,
Above the leg he'd thumped.

Now ponies he'd oft had seen before,
They often came to play,
Beneath the dappled canopy,
For hours ev'ry day.

But this one was, without a doubt,
The strangest of them all.
From mane to tail, from hooves to snout,
He wore a deathly pall.

His face was gaunt, his mane a mess,
His coat was midnight black.
Clasped 'round his neck, an ashen cloak,
That rippled down his back.

His eyes, pure white, stared straight ahead,
The bump he did not feel.
And so the bunny thought that he'd,
Acquaint himself for real.

"Hello good sir!" The bunny cried,
And broke his reverie.
'Twas only then that he glanced down,
And noticed the bunny.

He did not speak, but in his eyes,
The bunny saw contained,
A sense of weary exhaustion,
And overwhelming pain.

Now being simple minded did,
Not mean he was unkind.
In fact hard pressed you'd likely be,
A gentler soul to find.

And so, seeing the heartache bound
Up in the pony's stare,
He vowed to cheer the pony up,
Post haste, right then and there.

"You look so sad, and this won't do,
So tell me of your woes!
I'd like to help you if I can,
Although they say I'm slow."

The pony seemed to be in shock,
For up until this day,
Of those rare few who'd spied the colt,
They'd wisely stayed away.

But here it seemed a simple hare,
Had dared to him converse.
And what was more, he seemed to wish,
His sadness, to reverse.

And yet he knew the effort would,
In the end, be in vain.
For no one creature could release,
The pony from his pain.

"Small bunny, you'd be wise to go,
And leave me well alone.
I'm sure you've got a family,
Waiting for you at home."

"Of course I do," he then replied,
Yet stood still in his place.
"But how can I leave you with such
A sad look on your face?"

"You seem to think that you can take
The hurt away from me,
But that is just not possible
For I have a duty.

It is not one to be ignored,
Its purpose is too great.
I've long ago resigned myself
To suffer this sad fate."

The bunny sat and listened well,
Then when the colt was through,
He pondered using his small brain,
On what he ought to do.

The colt, it seemed, had a big job,
That needed to be done.
And though it seemed important it,
Did not seem like much fun.

And then the bunny realized,
He'd seen this mess before!
For how could any creature like
Completing household chores?

The bunny knew he had worked out
The bind his friend was in.
And with a grin he began to
Explain it all to him.

"I know your job's important and
You can't just up and quit.
But if you trust me, then I can
Help you to enjoy it!"

The colt looked down at the small hare,
He knew the chance was slim.
How had he figured out that which
Always eluded him?

And yet if the small bunny had
A way to enjoy 'life,'
Then he would gladly listen and
Take the creature's advice.

"Alright" The colt sighed in response;
Of hope he'd oft been robbed.
"Enlighten me on how to find
Some pleasure in my job."

"Whenever I have chores to do
That I find I can't stand,
I try to switch up whatever,
The task is that's at hand!

Like when I sweep the floors I'll try,
A new sweeping technique.
Right-left, up-down, or in circles,
Each method is unique!"

The colt then took a moment to
Think over what was said.
He'd never thought to mix things up,
Because, well, dead was dead.

But maybe this small creature had
A point, for he had not
In all his years doing his job
Pursued this line of thought.

"I think I'll give your way a try,
It's the least I can do.
In fact, you've been so helpful here,
I think I'll start with you!"

Confusion crept into the eyes
Of the small, foolish hare.
And for the first time in his heart,
He could feel danger there.

"What do you mean, you'll start with me,
What job do you perform?"
He asked as closer the colt came,
The air around less warm.

The bunny backed away for now
He could see his own breath.
"The reason why I loathe my job
Is because I AM DEATH."

For one brief moment, clarity,
Came crashing 'round his head,
And he knew that he'd been quite dumb.
And soon he would be dead.

True to his word Death mixed things up,
And killed him in a way,
He'd never tried in all his years;
A messy way to slay.

It was quite quick and painless so
The bunny felt no pain,
When Death touched hare's moist forehead and,
Exploded his poor brain.

As blood and gore flew through the air,
And covered ev'rything,
Death chortled to himself, and then
He Felt the urge to sing.

"You know, I think that was quite fun!"
He shouted out with glee
That he had not expressed before;
Gone was his misery!

Who knew his job could yield such fun!
He'd been so wrong before;
There were so many ways to kill
That he'd yet to explore!

"In fact, why listen to that list,
On whom I ought to kill.
I'll have my fun, with EV'RYONE!
This job is such a thrill!"

And from then on Death did just that,
Killing more ev'ryday.
And soon, like bunny said it would,
His work became his play.

All 'round the world he spread his joy,
No one could stop his fun.
The princesses, the elements;
They all fell, one by one.

So now he roams across the lands,
No one to oppose him.
His purpose: only destruction,
Carried out on a whim.

We know not when, or if, he'll stop,
Or grow bored of his games.
We only pray he'll not find us,
And do to us the same.

So children, recall bunny's tale
On ev'ry April first.
And should you see a sad stranger,
Always assume the worst.

And ev'ry spring commemorate,
That hare who was a tool,
And warn against stupidity.
So Happy April Fool's.

Author's Notes: Oh man, I've had this idea to do a poem forever, and I thought an April Fools joke would be a great time to use it. I also thought that, being so much shorter, it would take less time than a regular chapter. HA HA HA HA! Looks like I'm the fool here.

Anyway, I do hope you like this, I worked really hard on it, and I like how it turned out. I hope it made you laugh, or give a mild chuckle. Also if it seems like I'm railing against less intelligent people, that is not my intent. Its just the character this story is being told by is super resentful and angry.

I do plan on having a full chap complete in the next few weeks, but school has been impeding my progress. Once it eases up I'll get back to serious writing. For now, be satisfied with this sneak peak of the next chap.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to point out any spelling mistakes, and if you like (or didn't) comment and tell me why!

Into the Void

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INTO THE VOID

I often find it hard to silence my own thoughts. In the moments of travel in between victims the quiet fills my head, and demands to be filled. Though I try not to think about it, I often reflect on one of the universe’s most cruel jokes. Something that has plagued me since the very beginning of my existence, and I expect shall plague me until my end.
I do not know what comes after death. I only know life, or at least, the snippets I get to see before I snuff out someone’s world.

Such thoughts come to me now as I float high above the clouds, while below me the mortal world sprawls in every direction. Verdant fields soak up the suns nourishing rays. Small towns bustle with activity as ponies rush about their morning routine. Golden fields bend to the light breeze blowing below, mimicking the sapphire ocean shining behind the massive mountains. In the distance giant cities challenge the heavens with their massive skyscrapers, defiant against the never ending force of gravity.

I look down on all this, on a world I cannot take part in. I look down on life itself, and try to be content with just the view.
After several quiet seconds I rouse myself from reverie. I cannot tarry long. I have a duty to uphold, one that I know I will never abandon.

My first job is an elderly colt. He yields to me with little fuss as sleep and old age takes him. Quickly enough we both find ourselves before the Gatekeeper, who smiles warmly at his new charge. As the two walk through the portal together the Gatekeeper looks at me, and I find I can’t meet his gaze. I know what he is trying to do. To reassure me, to let me know the old colt is going to a better world. To assuage my guilt.

But I don’t want him to convince me however. I do not trust that smile. In the mortal realm, the most charming beings are often the most deceitful. Like a used cart salesman, the Gatekeeper would have me believe the world beyond is an oasis of bliss, when really the souls I give to him are trading a well worn, but reliable wagon for a rickety junker, a hollow promise, and a smile.

Though I cannot take part in it, I recognize the beauty of the world, and of life. I see it every day, all around me. How can what the Gatekeeper offers compare?

Every day at three the door chimes, indicating his arrival. Every day at three he meets her with a warm, cordial smile, and she responds with a cheery hello. Every day at three he peruses her wares, both old and new; sometimes he buys something, most times he does not. Every day at three he enters her store with a hopeful heart and bounding confidence. And every day at five past three he leaves, heartbroken again.

For a solid month he has repeated this routine. For a solid month, ever since pulling her carriage to the Grand Galloping Gala, he has come to see her. He is as enamoured now as he was when she first approached him and Lucky, batting her beautiful eyelashes, and promising them-promising him-a world of never ending joy. That day she stole his heart, and every single day after she has broken it. Not with words though, that would at least be something he could deal with, despite the pain it would cause him. No, her methods are far subtler, far crueler.

It is Monday today. With a new week his hope is restored. It has been two days since his last visit, and he knows this time his presence will have been missed -must have been missed. He will enter, and she will be waiting, eyes puffy from recent crying, mascara running down her ivory cheeks. Her amethyst mane, dishevelled from lack of attention, will sway wildly as she sharply turns her head towards the door to see the stallion she had not realized she loved until he was gone from her life for the most agonizing weekend of her life. He will burst through the door, chestnut hair groomed to perfection, beige coat gleaming in the afternoon sun. She will look at him with awe, tears springing to her eyes anew as she beholds her Prince Charming and says-

“Oh, hello dear, nice to see you again! I have a new selection of scarves you might be interested in, on sale for today only! You should get one now, for as those in the north love to remind us, ‘Winter is coming.’”

And just like that, she has shattered his heart yet again. Not with a venomous, scathing rejection of his obvious affections, but with a polite smile, and a sales pitch about scarves.

“Oh, ok. Thank you.” Caramel lamely mumbles. He is left foolishly standing in the middle of the door to Carousel Boutique as Rarity, his one true love, trots away to the back of the show floor to mend a ripped sweater, humming merrily to herself. Lethargically the beige stallion moves towards the scarves, browsing through the new collection. He lifts his hoof up to examine a cream and blue colored one, running his hoof through the fabric; fabric which has doubtless passed through the hooves of his love not hours before as she set up the display.

For a moment he is lost in thought, feeling the masterful work of his love brush over his fur. The scarf is warm and soft. Somehow elegant despite its simple design. Love and care have been expertly woven between the threads, invisible to all but the most observant.

For several minutes Caramel contemplates the craftmareship of his obsession until his reverie is suddenly broken by the bell above the door ringing. Startled, he looks up to see a purple unicorn walking through the door. He recognizes the new arrival as the eccentric librarian, Twilight...something. Briefly he admonishes himself for not knowing the name of one of the elements of harmony, one of Rarity’s friends.

“Hello again Twilight, I was wondering when you would come back.” Rarity says, dropping her work hastily, and trotting towards the other mare. The tone of voice strikes Caramel as odd, and unsettling. His heart begins to squirm with anxiety; something is wrong. The stallion has never heard his lady use that tone of voice before with anyone, let alone him. It was a tone that one did not use with customers, or even close friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long, but I’m here for you now.” Twilight replies, in a voice definitely not for customers. The two mares draw closer, gazes locked firmly on each other’s. Caramel feels his heart beat slowing as the distance between them closes, and the merciless, burning light of realization dawns upon him.

As soon as she is within range Twilight reaches a foreleg out, and hooks it around his beloved’s neck. She pulls Rarity in close, until their faces are mere inches away. Then she hungrily lunges the remaining distance, pushing her head forward, locking her unworthy, purple lips with the pure white, satin lips of the one he has been pining for, longing for an entire month. An entire month spent trying to woo her, charm her, win her love from her.

The seconds pass and as the kiss grows deeper, so does the pit in his stomach. As the kiss moves from heartfelt, to passionate, to steamy, Caramel realizes the depths of his loss. This is not a brief infatuation the two share, this is something...more. Something he will never have with the alabaster unicorn, or anypony else.

As the lovers continue to kiss, desperately trying to pour their affection into the other, they fail to notice the store’s only customer leaving.

At three o’ five the boutique’s bell knells for the rapidly departing stallion, one last time, and the sign on the window is magically flipped to closed.

His hooves take him away from the boutique, away from the mare who had unintentionally stolen his heart. Away from the mare that had given him hope of a happier life, and then ripped it away from him in one fell swoop.

How long had it been since Rarity had given her heart to another? Had it happened over the weekend, when he thought she would long for him in his absence? Or had she always been with Twilight, and he was just too blinded by his delusions to see it until the truth came up and punched him in the gut?

His hooves finally slow down as Caramel comes out of his trance. He looks around at where his hooves have taken him. A mirthless smile crosses his face as he reads the sign of the store he is now standing outside of.

“I guess that’s it then.” He remarks coolly as he opens the door.

At three fifteen the downtrodden beige colt leaves Rusty Bolt’s Hardware Emporium, saddle bag full, and heads for home.

The afternoon sun is failing in the sky as evening takes its place. I am nearing the end of my list. Long shadows throw themselves behind every object on the ground. I fly through the teeth of the Mannulus Mountain range on the way to Ponyville. Half of every mountain peak is blazes with the fire of the setting sun, the other half is bathed in darkness. I approach my destination. It is a small town, one I have visited many times before. The thatched roof cottages greet me as I fly closer. One in particular calls to me, and I answer it hastily. I can feel the time drawing near. The house I come to seems to match all the rest, except for a trio of blue horseshoes on the peeling white paint of the door.

I reach out a hoof to the worn wood. I can feel the suffering of the owner pulsating from the shoddy planks, his agony having seeped into the very essence of the house itself. My heart aches with sympathy and I hesitate to pass through the flimsy wood panel. I know what I find on the other side will be worse than my usual jobs. As always, a tiny part of my brain screams at me to turn around, but I ignore. I cannot let my purpose waver, not at such a crucial moment.

Without further hesitation I push through the door.

The last rays of sunlight illuminate the saddlebag a brilliant orange, highlighting it on the barren wood floor. Everything has been taken care of. Caramel’s room has been tidied, his dishes have been washed and put away, the clothes have been folded, and his Will has been laid out.

Only two things remain.

The paper sits in front of him, its crisp white surface mocking his indecision. It is not that he does not have anything to say, he just has too much. Thoughts bound through his head like a stampede. Everything from long, agonizing soliloquies to short, angry rants push their ways to the forefront of his mind. At one point he just considers writing “GO BUCK YOURSELVES” to silence the raging tide. However he knows those words will not make him feel any better, or help them understand what he is about to do.

Caramel sits back in his chair as he realizes the problem; he has never said enough in life. All the words he wishes he’d expressed are roaring in his mind, begging to escape and be heard. A single tear traces its way down his cheek as the regret begins to overwhelm him.

Suddenly a perfect, high pitched laugh cuts through his gloom. Caramel looks out the window to search for his love. Maybe, just maybe she has finally realized her mistake and come to save him!

He only catches a brief glimpse of white as Rarity passes by in a blur, yet the purple that is mixed with it shines the light of truth on his fantasy. Guilt, shame, and incontinent rage all boil inside his heart, vying for relief.

He now knows what to write.

I’m sorry I was not good enough.

The words stare up at him, cold and uncaring. The truth cuts deep through him, paining him beyond what he thought he could feel. Yet truth it is. He has always been second best. Why would Rarity wish to spend any time with him? To fall in love with him? Of course he has lost to that perfect purple unicorn. She was the student of a goddess, Element of Magic, savior of Equestria. Twilight was an important member of the Royal Court and could finally bring his love’s, no, her love’s fashion designs to the Canterlot Elite and make Rarity the star she always deserved to be.

Caramel looks around at his sparsely furnished living room, at the small cart parked besides the door that he sold his home made sweets out of. This was no life for a noble lady like Rarity. He had always led a frugal, austere lifestyle. He barely scraped by enough each month to pay the rent, and had little left for any luxuries. His small business had been undercut by another sweets maker, Bon Bon, forcing him to take a second job as a farm hand at Sweet Apple Acres. This was no life for her.

This was no life for him either.

Finally he is ready. He looks at the glowing saddle bag, colored orange in the dying rays of the setting sun. Slowly he walks over to it, and lifts up the worn leather cover flap. After taking a deep breath he pulls out his purchase from the hardware store, a fifteen foot braided hemp rope, and sets it down.

The rope sits, untouched in front of him, like a python ready to strike. Caramel takes it in, the reality of the situation settling on his withers. For a second he hesitates.

I’m sorry I was not good enough.

The words echo in his head. He begins to tie the rope.

Loop after loop the rope coils until it begins to take shape. The work is hard and long, forced into using just hooves and teeth. After ten minutes however, it is done.

Caramel wastes no time now to stare and contemplate his actions. Climbing up on his dining room table, he throws the rope over the beam in the middle of the ceiling. With great care he ties the knot tight around the wood. This task is just as arduous as the first as his hooves fumble clumsily with the knots. Finally, twenty minutes after pulling the rope out, the noose is tightly tied up. It rocks slowly back and forth an inch from his sweat soaked face.

His heart beats a rapid staccato now. The swinging loop becomes a metronome, and every beat draws the earth pony closer to it. More sweat pours down his face as the end draws near.

He forces his dry mouth to swallow.

He slips his head through the noose.

Tightens it.

Hesitates.

I'm sorry I was not good enough...for you.

Jumps.

His last thought before a sickening crunch ends his life is ‘Did she even know my name?’

I watch in silence. Every instinct screams at me to talk to him, force him to stop, make him realize what he is so callously throwing away.

But I do not. I stay silent. As always.

All through the process of tying the rope to the beam I will for him to stop, to get down off the table and back out.
But I know that will not happen, it never happens. That is why I am here. No one cheats Death. I have a soul to claim.
He steps up to the noose, and waits. After some hesitation I see his head go through.

Every ounce of my will is going into wishing him to back down, though I know it will not help.

He is shaking now, sweat pouring down his face. He hesitates, but I no longer entertain false hope. The moment is drawing near. I can feel it.

He jumps.

I hear a sickening crack as his neck breaks.

The body hangs down from the neck, now elongated by about an inch, skin stretched to the point of breaking. The colt’s hooves twitch as he gurgles out his last breath, tongue lolling out. Finally the hooves stop twitching, the mouth stops gurgling, and the lolling tongue goes still.

It is done.

The soul of the hanged stallion suddenly drops to the floor, dazed and confused.

“Wha-what the? What’s going on?” The pony sits, looking at his surroundings. He still wears that same resigned face as he did in life, but now it is tinged with perplexity. He looks around at his house, not noticing me, to see everything is the same.

“Did the rope break?” He questions. Finally he looks up, and gasps in shock. His body swings gently above him, hind hooves inches from his nose.

“Am I a-a ghost? Is this it? Is this all there is?” The stallion questions as he once more looks around. His face falls farther than before as the hope for relief he thought Death would bring fades.

I can no longer bear to watch, I finally speak up.

“No.”

He starts, and whips his head around to look at me. I stand before him as I abandon the shadows which had concealed me. He locks his blue eyes with my gaunt, white orbs and takes in my entire form, from my emaciated skin to my greasy, patchy fur. Seeing me in full as I step out of the shadows he now seems more scared than when he was on the table.
“A-are you the reaper?” He questions, slowly backing away.

“Yes I am.” My answer does not seem to calm him. He keeps his distance as I begin to walk forward. After a few seconds of silence he speaks again.

“So, what happens now?”

“Now, I take you to the other side.” The colt is backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. I am now a less than a metre away from him. “Take my hoof.” I command as I hold my bony leg out to him.

Warily he regards my proffered appendage, carefully eyeing the sagging, rotting folds of skin peeking out from the bald patches beneath my grimy, matted black fur.

“I’ll go with you, but first answer me a question.” I can tell he is stalling for time. For all the resignation I saw when this stallion was tying his noose he is still as scared of Death as anypony else. My emotions, so often tinged with sadness and regret, begin to turn in a new direction that they have rarely been before. I understand when my victims are afraid to go with me, but he is not my victim, but his own. Yet here he stands, with the audacity to try to stall me after he has already performed the deed.

“Ask away.” I coldly state, masking my annoyance under the calm professionalism under which I hide all my emotions. I reason it will be quicker to answer his question than to force him to come with me.

“What is it like? The other side I mean? Is it...nice?” He timidly asks, fear evident in his eyes. I realize he is not trying to stall me, but instead asking me to assuage his fearful soul.

Genuine anger begins to fill me now, the likes of which I have not felt for over a millennia, ever since...well best not to let those memories surface again. For this colt to ask me to comfort him over the life he willingly gave up, the thing I have been denied for all eternity but had to take away from so many, the one thing I have longed for since the beginning; it makes my cold blood boil.

For a moment I do not answer. With effort I keep my mask up and remain the consummate professional; it would not do to lose control in front of any one of my charges, even for an instant. Instead I think of the best answer to his question. It is one I have heard many times before, and have always answered with some flowery reassurance of peace and everlasting bliss. Now however I feel no such need to soothe this pony’s aching soul. I decide on the truth instead.

“I do not know for I have never been there. My duty only requires me to take you halfway, to the portal between the worlds.” My answer is honest, my voice cold and sharp. I can see his face fall and the edges of panic seeping into his eyes. I hold my hoof up again in front of his nose once more.

The stallion has run out of places to escape to, questions to ask, or excuses to stall. He tentatively reaches out his own beige hoof, and gingerly places it on my own. As I did at his front door, I feel his misery rising off his coat like an odor. However unlike at the door I cannot find it in my heart to pity him anymore.

As the worlds begin to blur I feel a vindictive side I had never known I possessed speak up one last time.

“I do not think it will compare to this world’s perfection.” I state, my cold milky eyes boring into his fearful azure ones. The house fades away as he seems to realize the depths of his mistake.

False smiles and hollow words. That’s all it takes to put the spring back in the beige colt’s step. He and the Gatekeeper walk through the shining portal, grins on both their faces. I watch as they disappear, wondering how long that grin will last.

I turn around and walk back down the shining golden path, and shift back into the mortal realm. Once again I am high above the world. The sky has grown dark, and the first shining pinpricks of stars reveal themselves against the gloom. In the west a faint orange glow still persists, fighting against the inevitable onslaught of night.

That is how they should all go. Not with quiet dignity, or remorseful acceptance. They should all fight it, tooth and claw, to the bitter end; unwilling to give up what they have been blessed with.

I feel my next job call to me from the darkness in the east. It is time to kill again.

I look to the west one last time and try to convince myself that the view is enough to fill the emptiness. It isn’t, but I still try.

I turn away and fly off.

Morning light filters through the green leaves outside the library window and color the main room a cheerful green. In the middle of the room Twilight Sparkle is engrossed in her latest research project. The sudden opening of the front door however breaks her out of her reverie and she looks up.

“Oh, Rarity. I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. Why-?” She breaks off when she sees the look on her marefriend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Rarity slowly walks into the middle of the room and sits in front of Twilight. Her usually lively face is downcast, and she seems to be struggling for words.

“Applejack just came by and told me...that...” She breaks off as her voice cracks. She draws in a deep breath and composes herself, then starts again.

“Do you remember the colt that pulled our carriage to the Gala?”

Twilight considers for a moment. “The grey one?”

“No, the other one. He has...had a beige coat, three horseshoes for a cutie mark. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah. What’s happened? Is he ok?” Twilight questions with growing concern as Rarity’s trademark composure begins to slip.

“No, I’m afraid not. I met Applejack in the street and she said he was late for work this morning and so went to check on him. When she knocked he didn’t answer, so she broke the door down and found him...found him...” Rarity’s voice cracks once again as tears come to her eyes. Sniffling, she draws on her last vestiges of strength. “He’d hung himself.” She finishes quietly before succumbing to tears.

Twilight gasps. Suicide is not a thing often performed in Equestria, much less the tight knit community of Ponyville.

“Oh Rarity, I’m so sorry. Did you know him?” Twilight’s voice is full of concern as she pulls her crying marefriend into a tight hug.

“N-no I did not.” Rarity finally manages to stutter through her tears. “B-but he came to my store e-every day.” Rarity chokes out as she clings to Twilight. “And I know that this is my f-f-fault.”

“What? How could this be your fault? He was just a customer, right?” Twilight exclaims, trying to calm down her love.

“Y-yes, but I saw him every day. I should have realized something was wrong with him.” Twilight ponders this statement.

“Did he seem sad when he came in?” The purple unicorn asks, trying to shift the non-existent blame off her companion.

“No. He was always quite polite and seemed happy.” Rarity answered, sniffling once more.

“And what did Applejack say? Had she suspected something was wrong with him?” Twilight probed further.

“No, I suppose not. But-”

“But nothing. It wasn’t your fault, or anypony else’s. Some ponies just hide their feelings too well. You have to stop blaming yourself. Okay?” The unicorn gently asks the other. “Besides, you are the most caring and generous pony I know. You would never intentionally let someone come to harm, right?”

Rarity lets a small smile slip through the tears. “No, you are right. I would never do that.” Rarity leans back out of the hug and gives a gentle kiss of gratitude to her marefriend. The two hold it for a few seconds as they bask in the comfort of each other’s embrace.

After several seconds the two break apart. Suddenly Twilight realizes she has forgotten something important.

“Hey Rarity, do you know what his name was?”

The fashionista looks down, shame crossing her face once more.

“No, I’m afraid I do not. He never said.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Author’s Notes: Soooo I realize it’s been a while, but I hope you enjoyed this. I know because of the time delay the tone of Death’s monologue was a bit different, more bitter and less depressed. It fit the whole theme better though I felt, so I hope you don’t mind. Feel free to tell me what you think below. Also, you may or may have not have noticed the tease at the next chap (probably) I made when Death gets angry. Look for that soonish.
Anyways, thanks for your patience, hope you enjoyed, comment below.

Cover Art By Lunablue17
P.S. I haven’t forgotten my promise.