Huh. So, this is what dying feels like? It’s kinda nice. I feel warm.

The warmth I felt was from the rapidly-growing pool of blood that I was laying in. Standing over me was the mare who killed me, a bloody knife held trembling in her mouth. As I felt the warmth slide over me I laughed, sputtered really. I was too weak to laugh. I guess this is how it ends for me, huh? Fate be a cruel mistress indeed. I chuckled at my own thoughts. Fate had nothing to do with it. I brought this on myself. The knife and the mare holding it were simply catalysts.

Must’ve hit a lung, I guessed. It was getting harder and harder to breathe with each passing second. Surely by now my punctured lung had filled with blood. A thudding sound echoed as the knife came to rest on the ground next to me. The mare’s mouth was hanging open. Her lips and fur tinged red with my blood. She stared down at me. A mixture of horror, confusion, and regret found itself upon her face. She fell to her knees. Silent tears streamed down her soft cheeks.

I suppose I should clear a couple of things up. You know, like, why I’m here? Or why I was stabbed? Possibly explain who exactly the mare is that killed me? All of that will come in good time I promise. I think I’ll start at the beginning for now though. Make things easy, you know? After all, every story has its beginnings, even mine.

I was born Seymour Grasse, though I haven’t been called that for many years, in a small town a 100 miles or so west of Fillydelphia called Downy Hill. Downy Hill was hardly even a real town. It was just pasture after pasture after pasture. Maybe a total of 300 souls lived there, cows not included. The whole thing was practically one big farm. My parents told me that when they picked up and left for Downy Hill their friends would always ask them, “Why are you moving way out to the boonies?” and they would always jokingly respond, “To see more grass,” hence my name. I always hated my name. My parents, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious. They used to joke about it all the time.

I soon as I had learned to speak my own name I insisted that everyone call me “Seg”. That somehow sounded better to me. At least that way I didn’t have to hear some lame-ass joke every freakin’ time my name was mentioned. Seriously man, it gets old.

But, even my nickname hasn’t seen any use in quite some time. Everyone that knew me by that name, or my nickname, I’ve either lost contact with, or found out they had died. My parents fall into the latter category. Don’t get all teary-eyed just yet. My parents died peacefully due to old age some 5 or 6 years ago. Although, I guess they weren’t really all that old. I suppose I don’t really know how my parents met their end. I never really asked specifically what killed them. I just assumed it was old age. But, they were only in their sixties. Hmm, perhaps this warrants a follow-up investigation.

Oh wait, hold on. Damn, this dying thing is really putting a damper on my plans. Suppose I’ll just have to take a rain-check on that.

Anyways, back to my story, didn’t mean to get side-tracked there. Let’s see, I guess you could say that everything really started when I met Daisy Chain. Now, this was way back when I was still in school, in fact, when I first started school.

I was maybe six or seven years old, I don’t really remember exactly, when I was attending Ms. Ficklebottom’s class. Dumb name I know, right? Anyways, about three months into class we got a new student, Daisy Chain. Now, this, this I remember perfectly. I was sitting at my desk, carving expletives into the wood with my pencil, when I heard the door open. Usually the door opening meant that it was lunch-time or snack-time, or some other food-related time. Also, it occasionally meant bathroom-time. This time however, it meant that a new face was about to enter our classroom.

She walked in as daintily as her name-sake, which I didn’t know at the time, but her walk was dainty nonetheless, and approached the teacher’s desk. She was an earth pony, and she had the most luxurious mane I’d ever seen. It was a gorgeous sunflower yellow and it was complimented by her glorious sky-blue body. The curls of her eyelashes bounced up and down as she trotted her way across the room. The sun streaming in from the window, the only light source in the room (our school was poor), played with her face. I swear that angels themselves must have carried her down from the sky to let her grace the mortal world. That adorable face is what really got me. She had a honey-sweet grin, which showed just the right amount of teeth. Her eyes, brown as baby fawns, sparkled in the sunlight. Ms. Ficklebottom, who at the time was grading papers, looked up at her. She lowered her glasses and asked her, “Yes, can I help you?”

Something that I should mention about Ms. Ficklebottom real quick is that she’s kind of an ass. I mean literally, she was actually a donkey. That and she was also a jerk. So, when she asked Daisy Chain if she could help her, it wasn’t in tone that suggested that she actually wanted to help. It was more of a “Sweet Celestia, why are in my face and what do you want?” kind of tone. Yeah, not quite the welcoming I expect that Daisy Chain was expecting to expect, or had expected, expectably. In any case, she seemed to either, not notice, or not mind, the old donkey’s attitude. Irregardless, which I’m not entirely sure is a word, of Daisy Chain’s minding or not minding of said attitude, what happened next was incredibly important. So, I will come back to it later.

Six years later I found myself on a train heading towards –

Nah, I’m just messing with you guys. That would be bad storytelling.

Looking up at Ms. Ficklebottom, with those big, doleful, brown eyes, Daisy Chain said in her charming voice, “Yes you old witch, you can help me.” I knew right at that moment that I was in love, or in whatever six (or seven) year olds are in when they like someone. The odd thing here was that when Daisy Chain spoke to Ms. Ficklebottom, it was with the sweetest smile on her face, as if she was taunting her, hoping to coax some anger out. Unfortunately the only thing she coaxed out was a face-full of spit as Ms. Ficklebottom sputtered incoherently. Wiping away the flecks of spittle that had scattered themselves all around her facial area, Daisy Chain said, “I just moved here from Trottingham you fool, and upon entering the main office they told me to find this class. Imagine my surprise when I enter and find a decrepit, half-blind ass sitting at the teacher’s desk. What’s more, you haven’t even shown me my seat yet.” The sickly sweetness in her voice was still there, tainting every word with its poison. It was actually kind of bizarre to watch, and even more so in retrospect. She continued by saying, “So, unless you are incapable of basic motor functions and pony-interaction, would be so kind as to direct me to said seat?”

Reeling from the verbal smackdown she had just received, Ms. Ficklebottom adjusted her glasses awkwardly, trying to gain some semblance of composure. She consulted her attendance sheet, which also happened to intern as a seating chart, and looked for Daisy Chain’s name.

Unfortunately she had neglected to ask, “What did you say your name was, dear?”

Smiling that deliciously intoxicating smile, Daisy Chain responded with, “I didn’t. But, thanks for asking.” I could feel the sarcasm dripping from her, coating the area with its slickness. It was probably the sarcasm that caused Ms. Ficklebottom to drop her glasses as she fumbled to adjust them again. Sarcasm can be quite slippery. Actually that was sweat I was thinking of. Yeah, sweat. I forgot to mention that she was sweating profusely by this point. I wouldn’t say she was sweating bullets mind you, because that doesn’t even make sense. How someone could actually sweat out the components of a bullet, and have them configure themselves in such a way that, when the firing pin strikes the primer, it would ignite the powder, located in the shell of the bullet, causing the round to explosively eject from whatever medium is holding it, in this case Ms. Ficklebottom’s face, and fly at hundreds of feet per second towards its target, is beyond me. I never understood why that was a saying, it just doesn’t fit with basic pony anatomy.

But, I digress, again. Crap. Where was I? Oh, right. “My name is Daisy Chain, or did you not notice a new name on your attendance roster? There are only ten students in here that I can count. Did it not occur to you that that new name might be a new student, namely me? Perhaps that was too difficult for you to deduce on your own,” she said, not an ounce of unintended hostility in her saccharine voice. The old donkey narrowed her eyes and examined the seating chart/attendance roster once again. “Ah, there you are,” she said, putting her hoof just underneath the name of one, Ms. Daisy Chain. Apparently, whoever ran the attendance charts to Ms. Ficklebottom, had failed to mention that she would be receiving a new student today. However, likewise, Ms. Ficklebottom had failed to actually read her attendance charts where she would have undoubtedly seen a new name.

She lifted her knobbly arm and pointed at the seat located right in front of mine. My heart pitter-pattered with excitement. Daisy Chain made her way to her seat and began to place her belongings underneath the desk. Then Ms. Ficklebottom frowned and looked back down at the seating chart. “My mistake,” she said, “you’re actually two rows over.” My heart sank with disappointment. Daisy Chain sighed, it was a very annoyed sigh as I recall, somewhere between missing the bus and dropping your ice-cream. She picked up her stuff again and moved over two rows, shooting an icy glare at the teacher.

“Get it right the first time you miserable old mare,” she said, “And, for the sake of these students and myself, I sincerely hope that your teaching isn’t as poor as your eyesight.” As she set her books on the ground and pulled a pencil out I thought to myself, This filly!

Now, I know what you all are thinking. “That is quite the lexophilic six (or seven) year old!” Well, that’s what I thought too, in so many words. But, I swear to Celestia, or Luna, or whatever, that I’m telling the truth. That is actually what she said. I wish I could make this stuff up.

This girl really has a big mouth, I thought. And I like it. I wish I could make her say that stuff to me.

Look, I was a bit of a weird kid, alright. My parents never really scolded me, so the idea of being talked to like that aroused my little six (or seven) year old body. That also sounded weird, the way I just phrased that, moving on.

I decided that I would make Daisy Chain mine. She had to like me, and I knew exactly how to make that happen. During lunch that day I sat one table over from her and began wadding up shreds of napkins. I grabbed the straw out of my milk carton and stuck the napkin ball in my mouth, making sure to soak it with my saliva. Taking aim at Daisy Chain’s beautiful yellow mane I inhaled deeply, trying not to swallow the paper ball. Exhaling as fast as I could, I launched the spit-ball at lightning speed. Time seemed to slow down as the spit-ball gracefully flew through the air, hurtling towards its target. I could’ve sworn I saw the thing do a couple of flips right before crashing right into the back of her head with wet plopping sound. She whipped around. All the fury of a raging hurricane was nothing compared to the look on her face.

Mission complete.

Daisy Chain stared me down with her beautiful brown eyes, now filled with unadulterated hatred. She got up and walked over to my table, where I sat alone. I didn’t have a lot of friends. She reached behind her and pulled the sticky, spitty, mess of paper out of her mane and dropped it in my milk carton. Without a word, she cocked her arm back and sucker punched me right in the snout. Taken aback, I blinked several times, wincing at the pain in my nose. Turning away, she swished her tail right in my face, and for a brief moment, I could taste her. She even smelled sweet, like honey. My heart raced as I felt her tail brush across my face.

I spent the rest of lunch that day nursing my bruised nose and planning my next move.

Admittedly my plan hadn’t been perfect. Namely, I didn’t really have a follow-up after the whole “spit-ball” thing. But, I had accomplished one thing. I got her to notice me, and she wasn’t likely to forget that incident anytime soon. My theory proved correct when the next day, during math class, she whipped an entire book across the room. This was no pansy-ass, hundred page, book either, this thing was built like a dictionary but it flew like an atlas. The pages fluttered as it sailed through the air. However, its majestic flight was stopped cold when it collided with my head. If the sight of the book flying across the room hadn’t already drawn everyone’s attention, then the sound it and my head made when it crashed to the ground did.

I saw stars as I struggled to stand up, fairly certain I had suffered at least minor head trauma. The whole classroom’s eyes were on me, including the teacher, who apparently was too scared of Daisy Chain to do anything. She just looked back and forth between me and Daisy Chain with looks of shock and confusion. Once I had finally managed to right myself, I looked two rows over to where that precocious filly was sitting and stared her down, determined not to be intimidated. She was staring right back at me, no anger in her eyes or facial features, just calm patience. She slowly opened her mouth and said, “Eat it.” I cocked my head to the side, confused. Perhaps I was still a little out of it from the concussion I had undoubtedly received, but I was pretty sure she just told me to eat the book she had just thrown at me. Unsure of what to do, or think for that matter, I picked up the book and tore a page out with my mouth. I chewed it slowly while gauging her reaction.

The look on her face told me that perhaps I had misheard her, likely due to my concussed state. Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth slightly open she stared at me, along with rest of the class. Finally after slowly chewing the page, which was not a pleasant flavor I might add, and eventually swallowing it, Daisy Chain spoke again. “I told you to read it, not eat it. Do you not understand the difference? Or, are you deaf as well as stupid?”

That… makes more sense, I thought. Rather than respond to her I examined the book I was still holding. I hadn’t really gotten a chance to look closely at the book when it was plowing into my skull, but now that I did I noticed something about it. Well, something besides the fact that one of the pages was now missing. Written on the inside cover were the words, ‘Playground’ and ‘6’. Assuming that it meant she wanted to meet me at the playground outside the school at six o’clock I looked back over to Daisy Chain and nodded my head, letting her now I understood. Satisfied, she sat back down and glanced up at Ms. Ficklebottom. “Well? Are you going to teach us or not?” questioned Daisy Chain.

“Umm, I… Yes, well… Everyone, open your books to page 5,” responded Ms. Ficklebottom, who obviously was still not accustomed to Daisy Chain’s unique brand of communication.

Ignoring the instructions I opened the dictionary/atlas’ cover and read the note again. Playground at six huh? They were simple enough instructions, and easy to understand. But, what I didn’t understand was why she decided to convey her message in this manner. I assumed that she didn’t want other ponies to know about our secret meeting and, if so, why did she throw a book at me and force me to read it while the whole class stared at me. Unless she didn’t actually care if everyone else knew, in which case. Why did she throw a book at me and force me to read it while the whole class stared at me? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell me? Thinking back on it, I’m pretty sure she just wanted to throw something at me. Possibly as some kind of recompense for the spit-balling she received courtesy of me. However, my six (or possibly seven) year old self didn’t really care why she did what she did. I was just glad she did do what she did when she did it.

The rest of that day was a blur of numbers and different food-times, and one bathroom-time, that eventually culminated in Ms.Ficklebottom boring the class to death with a lecture about proper restroom usage. Finally able to escape the monotony of the classroom I immediately set my sights on the playground outside the school, eager to meet Daisy Chain. As I was making my way over there I happened to glance up at one of the clocks in the hallway outside the classroom and I noticed that it was only 3:17. I still had two hours and forty-three minutes to go before our meeting. I suppose that is the curse of being in school. You spend what feels like an eternity listening to teachers drone on only to find that mere minutes have passed.

I decided to kill time by hanging around the playground and making some new friends. Two hours and forty minutes later, I was best friends with Mr. Slide and Mrs. Seesaw. I told them all about my life, and about Daisy Chain. They were very good listeners.

I was too busy enjoying the up and down friendship I had with Mrs. Seesaw to notice that Daisy Chain had entered the playground. She casually walked over to me and cleared her throat to announce her presence. My gleeful happiness was cut short as the sound of her coughing filled my ears. I slowed Mrs. Seesaw to a stop and stepped off of her. Daisy Chain stood there, eyebrows raised, looking me over. I was about to ask her why she had called me out when I was cut off.

“I only have one question for you,” she said. My eyebrows rose to match hers. “Do you like me?” she asked bluntly.

“Yes,” I answered equally bluntly. There was no need to beat around the bush. She asked me a straight-question and so, I gave her a straight-answer. She nodded her head and turned away. I didn’t really know how to respond to that, so I just kind of stood there. As I watched her walk away a thought occurred to me. “Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” I called out. Without even turning around she replied, “Yes.” Butterflies filled my stomach, and tiny elves pinched my skin all over. Or, at least I assume that’s what happens when you get that tingly-feeling. Despite this being one of the weirdest exchanges I had ever taken part in, I walked away from that playground feeling myself. No, not literally you creeps. I was only six (maybe seven) at the time, jeez.

The next day when I walked into class, an hour late (missed the bus), I found that my seat had been moved, and instead there was an extra seat right next to Daisy Chain. Assuming that this was most likely her doing I approached the empty seat, which was now awkwardly placed in-between two rows, and sat down. I placed my bags underneath my seat and glanced over at Daisy Chain. She just smiled at me with that innocent look of hers and then quickly altered her expression to much colder, more frightening one when she looked up at Ms. Ficklebottom. The poor old donkey had probably already received an earful before I got there because she had no objections to the new seating arrangement. She simply picked up a piece of chalk with her mouth and began writing on the blackboard.

This routine continued for several weeks. I would come to class, sit down, and Daisy Chain would be waiting for me. We shared a table at lunch, and during snack-time, and we even went to the bathroom together. Not actually to the same stall or anything, I just mean we would both leave for the bathroom at the same time. Well, I suppose you could say that about everyone, since we all went at the same time, but that’s beside the point. We were inseparable, her and I, at least at school that is. Once school let out she would make me walk her home and then she would leave me on her front door step, balls bluer than her magnificent coat. Usually that’s what happened every day, Monday through Friday, but not today. Today, something special happened.

“Goodbye,” I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I was about to turn around and walk away, as per usual, but something stopped me. I could see it in her chestnut eyes, she had something to say. I waited patiently; knowing that asking her what was on her mind would only serve to piss her off. I stood for minutes, maybe hours, I sort of lost track of time, before she finally opened her mouth. Yes? I thought. No dice. She closed her mouth again, looking as if she had reconsidered her position. Sigh. Perhaps it was best if I just left, clearly she didn’t have her thoughts sorted out and maybe it would be good to give her some space. I backed away slowly, making sure that she wasn’t about to change her mind and say something world-shattering, or silence-shattering for that matter. I would’ve settled for some silence-shattering. Giving up, I turned around and began to walk away. I had just reached the edge of her yard when I finally heard her voice.

“Do you want to come inside?”

My heart stopped and my hooves followed suit. Her words, normally filled with sarcasm and malice, were instead timid and shy. I swore I thought I’d never see the day. Daisy Chain was actually nervous, and what’s more, it was because of me. My heart started beating again, racing up and down my chest. Her sweet voice echoed in my ears, sweet and sincere. I had assumed for a long time that her false sugary sweetness, and callousness, was an act. But, I never thought I would see her break character, or even falter. I did it though, I gained her trust.

Forcing my legs to move, I turned around to face Daisy Chain and looked into her eyes. She still had that same confident look about her. That same self-sure air, but her voice betrayed her. I knew that I had cracked her shell, now I just needed to pry it apart.

Author's Notes:

This story was written about two years ago. As you can probably tell, if you've read my other stories, my style has changed greatly since then. Paragraphs are shorter. I no longer use seven words when four will do. In short, this little piece is rather indicative of how much I've improved in the past few years. I owe much of that to the /fic/ community on ponychan. Anyway, the idea behind this story was going to be that Seymour was a professional con-artist, and he would sometimes spend years making mares fall for him before taking all their money. For him, it was more about the thrill of the con than it was the money. He was a master of the long con. However, after one particular mare takes great exception to his betrayal, she goes a little bonkers and ends up finding him with another mare (it was going to be Twilight) and stabs him in the chest. Dunno what the point of the story was, really, but I still like the idea of it.