To Inflict Suffering


                                            >Agony. Pure fucking agony.

                                            >As you watch the filly's hind legs and rear burn, you try to imagine what they are feeling.

                                            >Fear obviously, pain most definitely, but there is something more.

                                            >The moment when a pony gives up that last little bit of hope is special.

                                            >You broke them, and they understand and accept that they are going to die.

                                            >They are at your mercy.

                                            >You love watching the life leave a ponies eyes. How they can go from conscious and moving and begging to just a still pile of dead flesh. The life permanently gone.

                                            >As this filly screeches and writhes, you wonder what else it is thinking.

                                            >Eventually, its expression twists from a horrific pained expression to a still pained but more 'will I survive and what will be left of me' expression.

                                            >The filly watches as their body deteriorates, as the flames disfigure and take from them their fur and flesh.

                                            >You dump the pail of water on them.

                                            >They lie there, hideous, melted, scarred.

                                            >Their breathe is rapid with on and off sobs.

                                            >They don't dare move. No, they can't move.

                                            >"That was fun. Shame it's gotta be over, though." You say admiring your work

                                            >"You were such a good little filly that I'll let you live. Yay you." You say with convincing sounding enthusiasm.

                                            >You begin to leave the forest, ignoring the violent cries behind you.

                                            >You know the filly will die in those woods, be it infection, starvation, dehydration, or a wild animal attack.

                                            >Those woods are an isolated tomb, and all that filly can do is look at what's left of themselves, shiver through the cold, and suffer.

                                            >And suffer they would.