> The Torn Mind
>  by TheCloudtop
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> I'm screaming, can't you hear me?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I sit in my room, as the thoughts I work so hard to suppress run through the edges of my head. Horrible, sick twisted thoughts. Thoughts that if I ever acted out on, and got caught, I would surely be put to death. I shiver, as a wave of revulsion and pleasure course through my body, at the thoughts going through my head.

My name is not important. All you need to know is that I am one step away from becoming one of the most horrific monsters in history. The thoughts of raping and torturing innocents makes me both sick, and fills me glee. I imagine all the details, forcing my victims to do my bidding. Watching, as the hope and light leave their eyes and their souls. Reveling in finding even sicker and more twisted ways of degrading ponies, breaking their spirits, and making them willing slaves to my sick desires. I think of all the different ways I could do it. The boundaries I could break, the limits I could overwhelm, the horror I could inflict on ponies if I so chose.

So, what stops me, from doing so, you might ask? The fear of being caught plays a part. No, what really is my fear is the depths of depravity I would sink to. It is a serious conflict. I want to act out my inner desires, yet I want to hold on to some sense of decency. Madness, is it not? I go out everyday, blending in with all the other ponies around me. I pretend to be the same as they are; not having anything more to worry or think about than such things as what to have for dinner, or some such triviality.

How I wish it were so.

I am the one that most ponies would never imagine to have a care in the world, let alone have any of the thoughts or desires I have. Everypony has thoughts they would never share with anypony, but even then, they do not revel in, or imagine what it would be like to indulge their thoughts.

I do.

It makes no difference to me who my chosen would be. Yes, I have my preferences like anypony does, but in the end it would matter not. Right now, I am just barely restraining myself from going out there, and taking what I want. Namely, a mare, or two, depending on my mood, to twist into a object for me to use. It would be a great undertaking, a true work of art. Any art by normal standards has no living elements in it.

Mine would.

I would take great care of my art. Chiseling away at their psyche, but only enough, at least at first, to make them think I am benevolent. I want them to think I am their friend, so it is that much easier to mold them into their true purpose: My toys. Ponies are a lot more susceptible to manipulation if they don’t think you are out to harm them.

It’s genius.

But there is always that part, that sane part, that compassion filled part, that part of me that is sickened by what’s inside me. It is that part that stops me from taking that step from thinking into doing. It is very much a war, and one that has no clear victor. A war that has been going on for years.

It started with my innocence being taken from me.

Yes, your brain is not playing tricks on you. I was once a victim too. Young, so young, was I when the light was taken from me, to be replaced with a veil of darkness. Never once has the light ever torn down that veil, but the darkness has come through from the other side from time to time.

My pets were the start.

I have always had a fascination with animals. Their innocence, their playfulness, their freedom. They all have all the things that were forcibly taken from me. They are free, free to bask in the light and it’s warmth. Free to express themselves. Free to be free.

That light in them is what attracted me in the first place. I, never really having that light long enough to frolic in it as they do, was, and still am, attracted to that light in animals. That pure light, that pure innocence, appeals to me so greatly.

I envy them.

So, I go on about my life, in between the light and the darkness, never quite going one way or the other. Still, I stand on the edge, that inch wide precipice between two worlds, and take the tiniest taste of the dark.

It scares me at times.

At the same time, I inch ever so closer to the light. The light that was stolen from me, hoping to feel it’s warmth for just the smallest of seconds. The light scares me just as the dark does, but for different reasons. What if, if I ever were to come out from that veil that is between me and light, what if the ponies out there shunned me? Who could possibly understand my pain? My sorrow? My sick twisted thoughts? Who, among those of the light, could understand or accept me? 

None of them could. None of them would.

That doesn’t stop me from yearning, aching for the light. The light speaks safety, warmth, compassion and security. It speaks to everything I do not have. It speaks to all the things I have ever wanted. It speaks to to trust, faith, and dare I say it, hope. Oh hope. How bittersweet that word is to me. Hope is what has kept me fighting all these years, but it also what has tormented me, for what is worse than a hope that is never filled?

So I stand on the precipice, waiting and watching. Maybe, just maybe, somepony will come along that can tear down this veil of darkness, bring me out of this torn mind of mine, and bring me into the light.

Hopefully, they will come soon.