I halfheartedly flip through one of your fanfictions on my pine-scented wooden desk. The paper lightly drums against the hard keratin of my hoof. Several teetering stacks, an oversized well of red ink, broken quills, and a half-eaten daisy sandwich clutter my work space. I'm feeling peckish and I'd finish my meal, but it's long since wilted after your fanfiction caused me to lose my appetite.

Pushing away from your soul-draining horsewords, I frown at the pony-shaped imprint left on my beanbag. Small green hairs cling its rosy surface. Am I shedding? I hope not. I rub my fuzzy side and glance at my mane dangling over my shoulder.

Great, my dreadlocks are frazzled and the colors are all mashed together. I'd try to untangle the pale red from yellow and cyan from the green, but I'd rather not waste my time when I know that it's only going to get worse. For whatever reason, my hair responds to my stress, and no amount of grease or conditioning can fix it now.

A bird chirps and my heart sinks. There's a glow behind my window blind. With some trepidation, I snap the cord and let it furl.

“Aaaa!” I have to wince and rub at my poor, stinging eyeballs. The morning sun mocks me with its cheerfulness. Great, just great, I stayed up all night, again. I don't even want to know how bad the dark circles have gotten under my eyes.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I will keep calm and carry on, as I am wont to do. My eyes unconsciously wander back to my cluttered writing desk and I shudder. A pang of hopelessness creeps down my spine. At this point, I'd almost rather try to stare down Death herself than read another word of your fanfiction. Even a mare such as myself has her breaking point.

Bleakly staring outside, I give a heavy sigh. My flowers are drooping, my grass is turning brown, and there's hardly a butterfly in sight. I really need to do something about that. It's a huge embarrassment for an earth pony such as myself to have a dying lawn. I mean—I literally have green hooves!

Well, blame your fanfiction for sapping my will to live.

Speaking of which, it's most certainly not going to review itself. I remember bumping into Moondancer on one of her trips to visit Twilight, and she told me about her experiment to improve Hayscartes' method. Somehow, access to your fanfiction was the result. It was far too amateur for a scholar like her, so like a dumbass, I thought I'd offer my advice to help you improve. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I can't back out now, though; my honor is at stake. I peel my eyes off the cheerful scenery and plod my flank back to my dreary corner. The scent of pine is no longer the comfort it once was.

I pull a sheet off the top of the leftmost pile and scan the first paragraph.

It was a sunny day in Ponyville, the birds chirped. The flowers are lovely, Rainbow dash was clearing the cloud.sky The ponies were all happy, but, it was not last long, Midnight Black Blaze will be needed save them.

Honest to Applejack! I swear that if I didn't already have eyeballs in my head, I'd grow a new pair just so they could bleed. Not only is this a bland weather report rife with tense errors and comma splices, but holy harmony that name!

I roll up the paper and dunk the entire thing into my well of red ink. Pulling out, I wad it up and bounce it off the wall with a dull splat. Wheee! That... didn't really accomplish anything, but it did make me feel better.

I turn my attention back to your fanfiction and—whoops. I frown. I'm leaving inky red hoofprints on it. Meh, it's probably an improvement. Wiping my wet hooves off on my flank—I'll take a bath later—I happen to notice a picture on top of one of the piles. Some gray pony is embedded halfway in a bush, with her blonde tail and bubbly flanks on full display. That looks like Muffins, but what is she doing in a bush?

You are a horribly deformed, strange, grotesque creature who smells like old, recycled farts that have gone through the body several times to maximize their stinkiness. You have been living in Ponyville because of no good reason. You are sexually frustrated, as nopony wants to be with someone as desperate as you. Your nether regions are particularly pent up today, as even the town bicycle, Fluttershy, has rejected you. But then you find a helpless mare stuck in a bush. You will help her. In a minute...

I-I feel sick. I gently set down the paper and try not to die on the inside. How could I have possibly forgotten that particular pile of your fanfiction consists of all the rape and abuse stories? I-I can't even begin to touch those things without a soothing cup of coffee.

Well, I'd rather not touch them at all, but you keep writing them. What choice do I have?

Uh, speaking of Muffins, why is it that your fanfiction feels the need to change her name into something offensive? Even your stories that treat her nicely do this. It makes no sense!

Leaning back in my chair, the beans scrunch as I shift my weight. I yank open a stiff drawer and remove a small wheel of index cards containing notes I took in school, inspiring quotes, and other things I found useful or amusing. Nosing through the cards, I can't help but notice just how musty they've gotten. I really should pull them out more often. “Ah, aah!”—or not. I rear up and try my best not to sneeze. Thankfully, rubbing my muzzle makes the feeling subside, but now my poor, bloodshot eyes are watery and stinging like crazy. I sniffle.

The roll of index cards fell open to a quote from back in college by Professor Yearling.

For those of you considering writing your next story in the first person, don’t. Just don’t. It’s nearly impossible to pull off, and in most cases, the drawbacks are much bigger than the potential payoffs. The reader is trapped in the head of the main, narrating character, and if the reader does not like said character, his or her misery is intense.

Well, that's sensible, if somewhat irrelevant, advice. I bite the device and plop it back in the drawer. I'm not sure what I was hoping to accomplish by pulling that thing out anyway, and now I've got dust on my tongue. Bleck. I guess my lack of sleep is starting to catch up with me, and I'm not really thinking straight.

Hmm... I tap on my soft, fuzzy chin. Just one more of your fanfictions, then I'm calling it quits. Really, I can stop at any time. I don't have a problem.

I'd rather not read something squick, so I pull a sheet of your fanfiction from a pile of less objectionable material.

pony sno whites say i be except 2 disney skool for super specal future prinses fillys.” i am awsum fily n this is best day evar. Thank u pony snew ite i dream of dis for evr n evr n ii luv u long tim!!!!!!!!

Yes! I can help here! I grumble for a bit as I shuffle through the papers on my desk looking for a quill that I can use. I'm glad I'm not a pegasus, because if I was, I'd have plucked myself clean by now. I eventually find one that's only a little gnawed on. The tip's frayed, though, and I clip it down to a somewhat rough point. Well, it's usable at least.

Dipping the quill into my pot of red ink, I bring it back to your fanfiction like a stupid-seeking ferret. With careful and meticulous precision, I highlight each and every individual error by crossing out the entirety of what you have written. Beneath that, I add some advice.

Well, Miss Future Princess Awsum, I write, Don't let anypony ever try to debase you of the notion that you're worthy to be a princess. It's always good to dream, and there can be no better dream than that. However, I do feel as though you're skipping a few steps in the educational process. Jumping straight into such a highly prestigious and imaginary school can quickly result in burning out due to an intense and stressful workload that you're not yet prepared to tackle. Might I suggest attending kindergarten first? There, you will learn such wonderful life skills as the Equestrian language, and the ability to read and write. Those are all important skills for a princess. Best of luck to you, Future Princess Awsum, and never let anypony crush your dreams!

After completing my work, I proudly place it on my outgoing stack. This pile is tiny and insignificant compared to the sheer mounds and mounds of your fanfiction, but it's still bigger than nothing. See? I'm helping.

I get up and stretch, trying to loosen up those flabby muscles and shake the cobwebs from my bones. A rush of blood to my brain makes me see stars, and I stand there moaning until the world stops spinning. A rumble in my gut brings my hunger back to mind, and just looking at the sun outside reminds me of all the millions and millions of chores that I've been putting off. My eyelids are heavy, and I should probably just crawl into bed.

Hmm... I know I said that I'd only look at one more of your fanfictions, but I'd hate to stop when I'm actually making progress.

Sniffing in the scent of pine, I also catch a hint of mustard. In a moment of weakness, I pick up what's left of my half-eaten, wilted daisy sandwich and stuff it in my mouth. Bleah, how can something be dry, crusty, squishy and slimy all at the same time? In an action more nauseating than satiating, I force myself to chew it up and swallow it in two big gulps. Well, both it and my hunger are gone now. I stare at the crumbs on my hooves. That's one less mess to clean up later, at least, unless my rebelling stomach makes a bigger one.

Distracting myself from my queasiness, I grab one of your fanfictions.

“The Elements! Why didn't they work!?” Twilight and her new friends huddled together in helplessness! They were scared!

“Bwa ha ha! You were a fool to challenge me!” Night Mare said, thinking about shooting them with her magic! “I will kill you for opposing me!”

“Not so fast!” a mysterious voice said as a large and handsome masculine figure flew out and blocked Night Mare's magic with his own! He knew he had to protect them! “I will not let you pick on poor defenseless fillies!”

Night Mare screamed and her beam grew larger and pushed against Alex's! “You foal! My magic is stronger! I will win!”

But what's this!? The elements glowing again!

“How could I have forgotten about the secret seventh element!?” Twilight said! She had read about that! “It is the element that ties everything together! Without it, all other elements are useless! Alex who risked his life to defend us helpless girls represents the Element of: Chivalry!”

Stones picked up off the ground and flew around Alex! Instead of a necklace or crown, the crimson alicorn was given an entire suit of obsidian armor plus a cool, flaming sword!

“Noo.” Night Mare said, as she was blasted by a rainbow!

Alex stood proud over the group of girls! Nothing turned him on quite as much as protecting his herd! And farts! He liked farts too!

By Celestia's mane—those exclamation points... Would it kill you to use an occasional period? Hmm, perhaps it would, because that's what happened to Nightmare Moon. As for the rest—no, just no.

This has to be one of the most asinine things ever written! Why is it that in your fanfiction you insist upon rewriting history? Twilight and her friends suddenly all become damsels in distress for the sole purpose of your self-insert showing up to save them with his maleness. Nothing Twilight and her friends do matters because they're girls and all completely helpless without a chauvinistic pig to stand up for them. You might as well have given him the Element of Social Gender Norms!

And Alex, Alex, Alex, of all things! How did you come up with such a horrible, fetid name for a pony?

It's... It's all just too much.

I hate this. I hate your fanfiction so much. There's just one thing it's good for, and one thing only. My stomach churns and bile rises in my throat. The world blurs and turns red. I cackle and howl with a voice from beyond insanity. Kicking away from my desk, I swivel in midair. With the fury of a thousand yaks, I slam my hooves into the floor, sundering the very world upon which I stand. A great abyss opens, rending my house in twain.

I stand atop the fathomless chasm, flanks heaving and steam billowing from my nostrils. From the blackest of depths rises a pony made entirely of bone. An icy chill clings to her grim form. She's clad only in a black, tattered cloak, spun from broken threads of fate. Her empty eye sockets are an eternity of darkness, able to claim one's soul with a mere gaze. This is Death herself.

Ponies across the street stop and look. They are probably wondering whether or not to bother Twilight, or if this is just one of those things that happens on Tuesdays.

“Why have you summoned me?” Death asks. Her voice is made from last breaths, and each word sounds like a hundred dying ponies.

Her presence chills me. Icy vibes reach out to strangle my beating heart, but my rage is too strong to yield against this supernatural assault. I narrow my eyes. “The immortality gambit.”

She stands there completely still. What's left of my lawn withers around her. “I see. The rules are simple. If you can make me feel a single emotion, any at all, then I will spare the life of one pony of your choosing. If you fail, I will take your life. You have until sundown. Do you accept these terms?”

A section of my thatch roof sloughs off into the pit. It leaves little spinning vortices of straw behind as it endlessly tumbles into the black depths of the abyss. The ground shifts under my weight, and I don't think I've ever experienced such sheer terror from such a minor movement. I slowly back away from the edge. “Um, before decide, may I ask why you offer this?”

“It is idle curiosity and nothing more. When I come for ponies to claim their lives, they beg and plead for me to spare them. They wish to cling to their broken bodies, and I know not why. Only the living can feel emotions, and as the avatar of death, I am denied such. If I had some experience of what life was actually like, then perhaps I could understand.”

I snort. “Life is not always something to be desired. I accept your terms.”

“What you say is odd. Why seek immortality if you do not want to live?” It unnerves me just how still she stands. Even when she speaks, her jawbone barely moves.

“Perhaps I want the bad end?” I say that in jest, but there is truth to it. I'm angry at the universe in general, and do not wish to share it with your fanfiction. But now that Death is before me, I'm having a change of heart. My body shudders and I whimper. Of course, it is too late. She said sundown but I have less time than that. Any creature who gazes into the empty eye sockets of Death, as I have done, will lose their soul. My body is slowly dying.

“There are easier ways to off yourself than by summoning the avatar of death.”

Still, there is a chance. I just have to fulfill the terms of the bargain. Behind me, I am glad to see that my desk survived my impulsive sundering of the world, but something isn't quite right. I hesitate. The odor! It's missing.

With a pang, my eyes cross. My muzzle has grayed over, and my sense of smell is gone.

With a sweep of my foreleg, I clear the entire desk with one fluid motion. All of your badfics, all of your terrible writing, all of your rotten, horrible ideas are in my grasp. I dump them in a heap at the feet of Death. “Read this.”

She snorts with the wind of last breaths, and picks up a piece of paper. The eternal grimace of her naked bony smile does not change. My heart falters as I stand upon the brink of life and nothingness. I can hardly feel my chest move. My own breath will sound like hers soon.

Bones in her hooves tremble, and I see something rare. The sheer terribleness of your fanfiction has transcended both life and death, bringing agony upon all who would dare to read its horrible, telly narration. A thick drop of liquid creeps down her skeletal cheek. Blood.

This is my chance! With a trembling hoof, I point at her. “Death,” I say, “I spare you.”

Her jawbone drops and she stares at me. Where she had nothing before, she now has a bloodshot pair of green eyes. Their blood continues to ooze. “No...” Her voice sounds raspy and real.

Since her eye sockets are no longer empty, she's lost her grip on my soul. I grin. I can feel my heart beating again, and my color returns. Only the living can feel pain. In that brief moment when she was hurt by your fanfiction, I sentenced Death to Life. Forevermore, she will be forced to relive the moment she set her eyes upon your fanfiction and partook of its lazy, asinine, writing.

“Why? Why would you do such a terrible thing?” She looks upon me with those pitiful eyes, oozing and teary with blood. I avert my own.

Death collapses on the ground and pleads, “Please, make it end! I'll do anything you ask of me—anything!”

Forgive me if my sympathy is lacking; that's the same pose hundreds of ponies have taken before her just before she ended them. Still... I don't have the luxury of being an emotionless force of nature and she is rather pathetic. As crazy as my heart's been these past few moments, it now beats with regret, but, well, I have to shake my head. I can no more reverse what I have done than I can look upon your fanfiction and actually enjoy what you have written.

In a final whimper unbefitting Death, she dives into the abyss and the ground snaps shut behind her. My house crunches together, and loose items crash and fall to the floor. That sounded expensive, but it's not like I don't replace my house every other week anyway. Life in Ponyville can be rather tumultuous. What I'm really worried about is my lawn. If my plan worked...

I yank open the left side of my broken window and stick my head out. The grass is vibrant and green, my flowers are in full bloom, and butterflies swarm in flocks thicker than ever before. Yes! I'm wearing a huge grin right now. My lawn is no longer dying because the realm of death beyond life is Closed For Repairs.

That's right; the only thing your fanfiction is good for is torturing Death so that she'll stop killing my lawn. Hmm, I suppose I could have just gone outside and watered it instead. Oh well, this works too, and I'm far too tired to second-guess a good result. With wobbly legs, I crash on my beanbag. Shuffling my weight around, I flick my ears, slowly shut my eyes, and take in a deep breath.

Mmm, pine.

Author's Notes:

While the story examples were created as parodies and only loosely based upon existing works, the advice about writing in first person is real. You can find it here.