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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
300–600
Sounds of Pattering
She said she’d never love me. That I was a fool, that I was a stallion that couldn’t dream of being with a maiden as fair as she, that what I lacked in looks at least was compensated with an even greater lack of talent. She laughed at me, her friends laughed at me. Everyone laughed a cacophony of cackles at the weakest pony in the whole town until everything was mute to me except their laughter.
But they’re not laughing anymore. I made sure of that, oh yes, the days came quick and fast that the name Black Hat meant something. A name that was feared, a name that was respected, a name that possessed weight on par with royalty itself, because to say it any other way was suicide. And it would be heard. Everything was heard in this town.
She was wrong—maybe I had been a talentless blankflank for years longer than everyone else, but I had talent—talent that most couldn’t even fathom in this sparkly world of goody-goods and law-abiding citizens, let alone use.
Ponies say my name with hushed tones, always looking over their shoulders, leery and anxious. “Black Hat hears everything,” they say, and I do. Even the softest of whispers are not muffled in this town. I know their secrets, every single one, from the littlest of white lies to the blackest deceit.
I used that knowledge against her. I listened, and I heard her fears, her thoughts, and her darkest desires. With but a single sentence, I broke her. I had found that one thing, that single inadequacy inescapable from all beings, and exploited it. She had been so surprised that a lowly being such as myself could even be capable of knowing such a thing. I still remember her face contorted in an innumerable number of unattractive wrinkles and laden with tears, finally as ugly as her interior. It was a beautiful moment.
When they finally found her, she had been gone from Equestria for a long, long time. “She’d done it herself,” they’d said, lying to each other on the surface, like a thin layer of cream on the surface of spoiled milk, but even then they knew the truth, what had really had happened.
Some tried to run once they’d figured me out. Smart ponies, poor life decisions—they should have known every tyrant has his lackeys, and I have mine. They came back, one way or another. Eventually they got with the program. Their sins were inescapable, repentance was neigh.
She said she’d never love me. But in the end, she did. They all did, every single one. They’d love me for the truth, and that’s what I gave them, and that’s what destroyed them inside and out.
But they’re not laughing anymore. I made sure of that, oh yes, the days came quick and fast that the name Black Hat meant something. A name that was feared, a name that was respected, a name that possessed weight on par with royalty itself, because to say it any other way was suicide. And it would be heard. Everything was heard in this town.
She was wrong—maybe I had been a talentless blankflank for years longer than everyone else, but I had talent—talent that most couldn’t even fathom in this sparkly world of goody-goods and law-abiding citizens, let alone use.
Ponies say my name with hushed tones, always looking over their shoulders, leery and anxious. “Black Hat hears everything,” they say, and I do. Even the softest of whispers are not muffled in this town. I know their secrets, every single one, from the littlest of white lies to the blackest deceit.
I used that knowledge against her. I listened, and I heard her fears, her thoughts, and her darkest desires. With but a single sentence, I broke her. I had found that one thing, that single inadequacy inescapable from all beings, and exploited it. She had been so surprised that a lowly being such as myself could even be capable of knowing such a thing. I still remember her face contorted in an innumerable number of unattractive wrinkles and laden with tears, finally as ugly as her interior. It was a beautiful moment.
When they finally found her, she had been gone from Equestria for a long, long time. “She’d done it herself,” they’d said, lying to each other on the surface, like a thin layer of cream on the surface of spoiled milk, but even then they knew the truth, what had really had happened.
Some tried to run once they’d figured me out. Smart ponies, poor life decisions—they should have known every tyrant has his lackeys, and I have mine. They came back, one way or another. Eventually they got with the program. Their sins were inescapable, repentance was neigh.
She said she’d never love me. But in the end, she did. They all did, every single one. They’d love me for the truth, and that’s what I gave them, and that’s what destroyed them inside and out.