-
1.
>be Anon
-
2.
>been in Equestria for a long time now.
-
3.
>you landed here, a human anomaly, unwanted but tolerated
-
4.
>Ponyville. A town of ceaseless, saccharine cheer, of vibrant colors that assault the eyes, and of voices that chirp and trill like a flock of sugar-addicted birds.
-
5.
>you have a small house on the outskirts, a cottage really, that Fluttershy helped you find and set up
-
6.
>she's one of the few you can almost stand, for she understands the virtue of silence
-
7.
>the other ponies, though… they are a constant, irritating hum in the background of your existence
-
8.
>you tolerate it, you tolerate them, because what else is there to do?
-
9.
>you've tried to leave. The Everfree Forest is impassable for you, its magic too potent, too disorienting. The Crystal Empire too far. The Dragon Lands too dangerous. You're trapped.
-
10.
>so you exist, a walking storm cloud in a town of sunshine, a permanent scowl on your face that most ponies are too polite, or perhaps too oblivious, to acknowledge directly
-
11.
>you don't actively harm them, no. You don't need to. Your very presence, your quiet disdain, is enough to slightly dim their relentless glow, and that, in its own small way, brings you a sliver of satisfaction.
-
12.
>you spend your days observing, dissecting their simple lives with a cold, analytical eye. Their friendships, their petty dramas, their endless festivals. It's all so transparent, so predictable.
-
13.
>you often sit on your porch, watching the pegasi practice their cloud work, the earth ponies tending their fields, the unicorns performing their mundane enchantments
-
14.
>you see Derpy Hooves often. She's a mailmare, of all things. Bumbling, cheerful, perpetually a step out of sync with the world. You’ve had a few packages from her, usually slightly singed or flattened.
-
15.
>you find her particularly irritating. Her boundless, unthinking optimism, her wide, unblinking eyes, her clumsy yet somehow endearing antics. It's like watching a perpetual cartoon, only you're stuck in it.
-
16.
>she's always smiling, always bouncing. She seems to radiate an energy that directly contradicts your own preferred state of quiet, cynical resignation.
-
17.
>you avoid direct conversation with her when possible, offering only noncommittal grunts or curt nods when your paths cross. She, of course, never takes the hint.
-
18.
>this afternoon is no different. You're on your porch, nursing a bitter herbal tea you'd brewed from some local plants. The sun is shining, of course. A perfect, irritatingly perfect day.
-
19.
>a shadow falls over your porch. No, not a shadow. A cloud, of course. A fluffy, slightly off-kilter pegasus, descending with a gentle clatter of hooves on your wooden steps.
-
20.
>it's Derpy. She lands with a small puff of dust, her wings giving a final, happy flutter. She's holding a small paper bag, the kind used for baked goods, and the sweet scent of something fresh from an oven wafts towards you.
-
21.
>'Nonny!' she chirps, her voice bright and unbelievably cheerful. 'I was just delivering a package to Twilight, and wouldn't you know it, I made far too many muffins this morning!'
-
22.
>her eyes, those large, golden orbs that seem to see the world through a permanent haze of innocent wonder, twinkle at you. 'Blueberry! Your favorite, I remember you saying once, didn't you?'
-
23.
>you hadn't said that. You hadn't said anything about your favorite muffin flavor to anyone in Equestria. You simply grunted once when Rainbow Dash had offered you a muffin sampler and picked the blueberry.
-
24.
>but denying her now would require effort, and she looked so genuinely pleased with her imagined connection.
-
25.
>you eye the bag. Muffins. Free food. You're perpetually low on bits, as you haven't quite figured out a stable way to earn currency in this bizarre economy.
-
26.
>a fleeting thought crosses your mind: perhaps you could poison one. No, too much effort. And besides, there's a certain perverse enjoyment in tolerating them.
-
27.
>you offer a noncommittal grunt. 'Hmph.'
-
28.
>Derpy seems to take this as enthusiastic consent. Her smile widens, if that's possible.
-
29.
>'Wonderful!' she exclaims, her tail wagging slightly. 'My house is just a little ways down, you know! Come by for tea, won't you? Around… oh, say, tea time?'
-
30.
>she bounces slightly on her hooves, radiating an almost visible aura of anticipation.
-
31.
>you sigh, a barely audible puff of air. 'Fine,' you mumble, hating yourself for it.
-
32.
>'Yay!' she practically shouts, doing a little hop. 'See you then, Nonny!' And with another happy flutter of her wings, she's airborne, disappearing into the impossibly blue sky.
-
33.
>you watch her go, a fresh wave of irritation washing over you. Trapped. Trapped with these simple, irritating creatures. And now, you're committed to a tea party.
-
34.
>you spend the next few hours cultivating your disdain, letting it simmer. You consider not going, but the idea of disappointing Derpy, of watching her confused face, seems almost too much effort for too little payoff. Besides, the muffins. And a morbid curiosity.
-
35.
>you arrive at her small, cozy cottage as the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The scent of baked goods is even stronger here, thick and sweet in the air.
-
36.
>the house itself is... precisely what you'd expect. Slightly lopsided, with brightly colored shutters and a mailbox that leans precariously.
-
37.
>Derpy is already waiting at the door, her wings a blur of motion as she greets you. 'You came, Nonny! I knew you would!' Her voice is high-pitched with delight.
-
38.
>she ushers you inside, and the interior is just as you'd imagined. Cluttered, but in a warm, lived-in way. Mismatched furniture, framed pictures of clouds and various oddly shaped objects, and everywhere, the pervasive scent of muffins.
-
39.
>she leads you to a small, round table in the center of the room. It's already set. Two mismatched teacups sit on saucers, one green, one yellow, and in the center, a plate piled high with golden-brown muffins, steam still rising faintly from them.
-
40.
>you sit in the small, wooden chair she indicates, feeling absurdly large and out of place in this miniature, pastel world.
-
41.
>'Make yourself comfortable, Nonny!' she says, bustling about, pouring tea from a teapot shaped like a miniature cloud. 'I made chamomile. It's very relaxing!'
-
42.
>you take the cup she offers, the ceramic warm against your fingers. You watch her. Her movements are slightly clumsy, a hoof bumping the edge of the table, a wing brushing against a curtain. Yet, she navigates her small space with a peculiar, almost graceful, inefficiency.
-
43.
>she sits opposite you, her eyes wide and expectant. 'So, Nonny,' she begins, her voice softer now, 'how was your day? Did you see the new cloud formation over Sweet Apple Acres? I think it looked a bit like a giant turnip!'
-
44.
>you take a slow sip of tea. 'It was... a day,' you respond, your voice flat. You don't mention the turnip cloud.
-
45.
>Derpy doesn't seem deterred. 'Oh! Well, I had a lovely day! I delivered a package to Mrs. Cake needed a special order, but I accidentally took a wrong turn, and then it started to sprinkle, and then I bumped into Cranky Doodle, and he said something about needing his privacy, but then he helped me redirect my map! He's quite helpful, once you get to know him!' She giggles, a light, airy sound.
-
46.
>you pick up a muffin. It's warm, soft, and smells delicious. You bite into it. Blueberry. Exactly as she said. The sweetness is almost cloying.
-
47.
>'This muffin is… adequate,' you say, swallowing slowly.
-
48.
>Derpy beams. 'Oh, good! I tried a new recipe! Extra fluffy! Do you want another? There's plenty!'
-
49.
>she waves a hoof at the overflowing plate. You shake your head slightly. 'Not yet.'
-
50.
>she continues to chatter, oblivious to your stoic silence. She talks about the weather patterns, about a particularly tricky delivery she had to make to a griffin far up a mountain, about her favorite kind of bubble wrap.
-
51.
>you listen, or rather, you let the sound of her voice wash over you, an irritating background noise. You observe her expressions. The way her eyes widen with enthusiasm, the way her ears twitch when she thinks, the way her nose crinkles when she giggles.
-
52.
>she's so earnest. So simple. So utterly, completely *pony*.
-
53.
>a small thought begins to fester in the back of your mind. How easy it would be to just… puncture that relentless cheer. Pop her like a balloon. Just to see what happens.
-
54.
>the idea is alluring. A small, dark spark of curiosity ignites within you.
-
55.
>she's telling a whimsical story about a dream she had last night, something about flying through a sky made of jelly, and how her wings got sticky. She's so engrossed in the telling, her eyes twinkling with innocent amusement, a small smile playing on her lips.
-
56.
>she gestures with a hoof, accidentally knocking her teacup. It clatters loudly against the saucer, spilling a few drops onto the table.
-
57.
>she gasps, a tiny, distressed sound. 'Oh dear! Oh, oh my! So clumsy, me!' She fumbles for a napkin, her movements flustered as she tries to wipe up the spilled tea.
-
58.
>she giggles again, a little nervously this time. 'Always me, isn't it? Such a silly mare!'
-
59.
>it's the giggle. The self-deprecating, yet still *happy* giggle. It's the final straw.
-
60.
>you put your half-eaten muffin down on the plate with a soft thud. Your eyes, which had been idly tracking her movements, now fix on her, cold and unwavering.
-
61.
>'Do you ever stop?' you ask, your voice low, flat, cutting through the cozy atmosphere like a shard of ice.
-
62.
>Derpy blinks, startled. Her flustered expression gives way to confusion. Her smile falters, then slowly, hesitantly, begins to disappear. 'Stop what, Nonny?' she asks, her voice a little quieter.
-
63.
>you lean forward, just slightly, your gaze boring into hers. 'Stop being so… *you*,' you elaborate, letting the words hang in the air, each one loaded with contempt. 'So utterly, hopelessly, pathologically *dim*. It's exhausting just being in the same room as you. It's like watching a perpetual accident waiting to happen, only the accident never comes. Just the clumsy, inane chatter. The constant, mind-numbing *happiness*.'
-
64.
>you watch her face. The flicker of confusion, then hurt. Her ears, previously perked, slowly flatten against her head. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of a gentle haze, begin to fill with a watery sheen. The smile is completely gone, replaced by a trembling of her lower lip.
-
65.
>'Nonny… I… I just wanted to be friendly…' she whispers, her voice barely audible.
-
66.
>she looks down, unable to meet your gaze. A single, large tear escapes the corner of her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. Then another. And another. They glisten in the soft lamplight.
-
67.
>her shoulders begin to shake, small, almost imperceptible tremors at first, then growing more pronounced. She pulls her hooves close to her chest, as if trying to make herself smaller, to disappear. A quiet, stifled sob escapes her, a sound like a small, wounded animal.
-
68.
>you watch her. The tears stream down her face now, a silent river of misery. Her chest heaves with the effort of holding back louder sobs.
-
69.
>you stand, slowly, deliberately. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. Derpy flinches, her head drawing further down, her body hunching over on itself.
-
70.
>'But... but I tried my best,' she whispers, her voice shaking.
-
71.
>'Your 'best' isn't good enough,' you say, stepping closer.
-
72.
>you walk around the small, round table, your steps measured, unhurried. You stop beside her, directly over her hunched form.
-
73.
>you grab her by the mane, pulling her head up roughly. Her neck strains.
-
74.
>she gasps, a choked sob escaping her. Tears stream from her eyes. Her body trembles, a small, fragile thing suspended by his grip.
-
75.
>'Please, Anon,' she whimpers, her voice barely audible. 'You're hurting me.'
-
76.
>you rear your hand back, a slow, almost theatrical motion. You watch your own hand as it rises, a strange sense of detachment, yet also immense, dark pleasure. Your fingers are spread, ready to deliver a definitive blow.
-
77.
>you bring your open palm down, aiming for the side of her head, right where her temple meets her cheek. You intend to strike with enough force to send her sprawling, to make her understand the depth of her insignificance.
-
78.
>the smack resounds in the small room, a sharp, unpleasant sound that echoes off the walls.
-
79.
>Derpy lets out a small, choked yelp of pain, a sound that is more breath than scream. Her head snaps back violently from the impact.
-
80.
>but as your hand connects, a flash of something primitive, ancient, ignites in her watering, still-wide eyes. The sadness, the hurt, seems to burn away, replaced by a sudden, terrifying clarity.
-
81.
>her head, which had recoiled from the blow, snaps back again, not from impact, but from a sudden lunge. She moves with a speed you didn't know she possessed, a blur of motion.
-
82.
>her mouth is open. Not a scream, not a whimper, but a dark, gaping maw. She clamps down, not on your head, not on your arm, but on your striking hand.
-
83.
>her teeth, though not sharp like a predator's, are strong, blunt instruments. They meet resistance, then sink into the flesh of your palm, grinding against the bones in your hand.
-
84.
>a scream tears from your throat, high-pitched and ragged. Not of pain yet, not fully, but of shock. Of disbelief. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to fight back. She was just a clumsy, helpless pony.
-
85.
>the pressure increases. You feel bone give way, a sickening, dull crunch that reverberates up your arm. Tendons stretch, then snap. The skin, taut over your knuckles, tears.
-
86.
>blood, hot and viscous, immediately begins to well up, then gush from the wound. You try to pull your hand away, but her grip is impossibly strong, like a vise. She holds fast, her head shaking slightly, grinding your shattered bones together.
-
87.
>the scream finally graduates into a bellow of agony. You can feel the distinct sensation of your metacarpals being crushed, individual bones splintering. A nerve sparks, sending a jolt of incandescent pain up your arm, through your shoulder, and directly into your brain.
-
88.
>she doesn't just bite. She twists her head, using the powerful muscles of her neck and shoulders. Not a clean bite, but a wrenching, ripping motion.
-
89.
>your hand isn't just bitten. It's torn. Ripped from your wrist with a sickening, wet sound, like tearing a thick, fibrous root from wet soil.
-
90.
>the separation is brutal. Bone fragments, jagged and white, protrude from the pulpy mess that was your wrist. Sinews, red and glistening, hang like broken cords. The skin peels back, raw and exposed.
-
91.
>the scream is deafening now, choked with involuntary gasps. You stumble backward, clutching the bleeding stump of your wrist with your other hand, trying to staunch the arterial spray that pumps rhythmically from the severed limb.
-
92.
>you hit the wall behind you with a jarring thud, slumping to the floor, panting, eyes wide with incomprehension and rapidly escalating terror.
-
93.
>Derpy doesn't hesitate. She doesn't drop your mangled hand, but rather spits it out onto the floor, a wet, bloody chunk. Her eyes, still wide and golden, are no longer filled with sadness, but with a cold, focused intent. Her flank, her mane, her very presence seems to shimmer with an unspoken promise of violence. It's not malice, not anger. It's something far more chilling: a primal, instinctual response.
-
94.
>she's on you before you can even register the warning. You try to scramble backwards, fear, raw and absolute, finally replacing your customary conceit. You try to kick her with your good leg, a desperate, flailing motion.
-
95.
>she's surprisingly agile. She ducks under your clumsy kick, her head low. Her mouth opens again, and she bites into your calf.
-
96.
>another scream. This one is higher, more desperate. Her teeth find purchase, sinking deep into the muscle. You feel the sharp tug, the tearing sensation, then the warm gush of fluid - blood, thick and fast, soaking your trousers.
-
97.
>she doesn't rip this time, not immediately. She latches on, her full weight pulling you down. With your shredded hand and your now compromised leg, you're utterly off balance.
-
98.
>she lunges, an impact of solid muscle and bone with your chest. The air rushes from your lungs in a startled gasp. You hit the floorboards with a sickening crack against the back of your head. The world spins, then goes black for a fleeting second.
-
99.
>when your vision clears, it's dim, blurred. You're lying flat on your back, staring up at the stained ceiling of Derpy's cottage. She stands over you, a looming shadow against the soft light.
-
100.
>this is where the true horror begins.
-
101.
>she doesn't use her teeth anymore. Not primarily. She uses her hooves.
-
102.
>the first blow lands square on your chest. A dull, sickening thud. You gasp, a wheezing, desperate sound. You feel the distinct crack of bone - ribs, probably. The pain, already a roaring inferno, flares even brighter, a hot, searing agony that spreads through your sternum.
-
103.
>she lifts her hoof. And brings it down again. And again. Methodically.
-
104.
>each impact is a fresh hell. The sound: a wet, heavy thud, followed by a crunching, splintering noise. The feeling: your lungs compressing, their delicate tissue tearing, the breath expelled in ragged, involuntary bursts. Liquid begins to fill your throat. You try to scream, but only a wet rattle escapes.
-
105.
>the pain is beyond anything you have ever conceived. It's a living entity, consuming your entire being. Your vision swims, red and black. You can see her hooves, large and solid, descending with terrifying precision. They are just hooves, not iron-shod, not sharp. Just hooves. But the force behind them is immense, utterly devastating.
-
106.
>she shifts, moving her focus. Her hooves descend lower, striking your abdomen. A sickening squelch. You feel something rupture inside, a hot gush of liquid that isn't blood, but something internal, foul and acidic. The smell of bile and waste fills your nostrils. Your bladder, your intestines, everything is being pulped, mashed together.
-
107.
>you feel your pelvis shatter beneath the relentless assault, sharp fragments grinding against each other. Your lower body becomes a useless, pulpy mass, soaked in your own fluids.
-
108.
>your body convulses, an uncontrollable spasm, not from conscious will, but from the brutal trauma. You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood, adding to the grotesque symphony of your demise.
-
109.
>the world is fading in and out. The sounds of her hooves, the wet thuds, the bone crunching, are becoming distant, muffled. Your breathing is shallow, ragged, each breath a searing agony. You can feel the life seeping out of you, pooling on Derpy's floor.
-
110.
>she moves again. This time, her attention shifts to your head.
-
111.
>the first hoof lands on your temple. The world explodes in a kaleidoscope of white light and then utter, crushing darkness. You hear a sound like a melon being dropped on concrete. Your skull fractures, the bone giving way with a horrifying crack.
-
112.
>your right eye bursts, a wet, sickening pop, as the pressure from within your shattered skull forces it from its socket. The pain is so immense, so absolute, it transcends any previous agony, becoming a cold, empty void.
-
113.
>she brings her hoof down again. And again. And again.
-
114.
>your face, your features, are systematically obliterated. Your nose is flattened, your jaw shatters, your teeth scatter across the floor like discarded pebbles. The brain, your consciousness, swells and pulses against the splintered bone, then begins to rupture.
-
115.
>the screams are gone now. Only gurgles. Only wet, ragged gasps. Your limbs twitch, but it's involuntary. Your body's final, pathetic dance of death.
-
116.
>the hooves continue, pulverizing, crushing. Your head becomes an unrecognizable mass of blood, bone fragments, and expelled brain matter. The once-distinct features are now a pulpy, smeared ruin on the floorboards.
-
117.
>finally, the hooves stop. The silence that follows is absolute, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of blood.
-
118.
>you are dead. A mangled, formless ruin of flesh and bone, spread across Derpy's living room floor.
-
119.
-
120.
>be Derpy
-
121.
>look down at the pulped mess that was Anon.
-
122.
>the human stopped twitching.
-
123.
>it was quiet now. No more voices, no more sneers, no more threats.
-
124.
>the air still smelled like grass and sugar, but now also like something metallic, coppery.
-
125.
>your stomach rumbles.
-
126.
>a strange thought. Instinct.
-
127.
>you lower your head. Nudging the remains with your nose.
-
128.
>you take a bite. The texture is soft, yielding.
-
129.
>you chew.
-
130.
>a warmth spreads through your mouth. A familiar sweetness.
-
131.
>it tastes like muffins.
by Guest
by Guest
by Guest
by Guest
by Guest