You sit at your kitchen table. The words you scrawl on the paper in front of you feel automatic. Natural.

There's no more tears to be shed. There's no more thoughts to be had. Only action.

There's a knock at the door. You ignore it.

Just finish the note, Anon. Tomorrow it will be done. There will be no more concerns. There will be no more sadness. The door knocks again, begging, pleading to you. Yet it falls on your deaf ears.

You blink, looking up to the window at the bright, sunny day outside. Tilting your head, you look at the sunlight as if it were something new, something you haven't seen before. Rising from your seat, you move to the window, approaching the light. Entering it's rays, you feel it's warmth on your cold skin. As it's light moves over your face, you squint, the sun blinding you with it's aura. Taking a deep breath, you close the curtains and turn away.

There's a knock at the door one more time, as if giving it's ultimatum to you.

You turn to the door, giving up without a fight.

You place a hand on the doorknob and open the door. The yellow pegasus, Fluttershy, stands on the other side, her smile as bright as the sun. You squint reflexively, stepping back into your home, away from her.

She holds up a hoof confidently, as preparing to perform a trick and asking for silence. Reaching into her saddle bag, she pulls out a box of matches and a cigarette. She places the white tube into her mouth and strikes a match. Taking the flame to the tip of the roll, she breathes in, beginning a fresh, red cherry on the end. Fluttershy waves the match, putting out the flame, and tosses it into the bushes. She removes the cigarette from her mouth and holds it out with a hoof.

The pegasus looks back up at you with a smile, blowing out the smoke.

"Is smoking your fetish, Anon?" she asks innocently.

You blink, watching the peculiar mare. Taking two steady steps forward, you take the cigarette from her.

"Don't do that, Fluttershy," you say. "Smoking will kill you."

She looks up at you, curious. Fluttershy opens her mouth, but can't seem to utter a word.

"Is everything alright, Anon?" she asks. "You haven't been seeming yourself lately..."

You put on your mask, your greatest lie, your smile.

"I'm fine, Fluttershy."

She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off.

"Smoking isn't my fetish," you say, closing the door in her face.

You turn around, placing the cigarette in your mouth. Breathing deep, you feel the hot, fiery smoke enter you lungs. You hold it for only a second, feeling the nicotine slowly work it's way into your blood stream. Then breathe out the grey, cloudy smoke into your home.

You move back to the table to finish your note in the light of the cigarette's heat and what little light streams in your closed windows.

Dotting the final period, you push the note across the table, and set down your pen. You take one last drag of the cigarette and breathe out. You look down at the still lit end, now burning down to the last inch or so.

A thought crosses your mind. Would you rather feel pain? Or nothing at all.

With a smile, you take the hot, orange-red tip and impress it upon your left wrist. The burning, stinging pain shoots up your arm, and you grit your teeth. You close your eyes, grunting under your breath. But you relish the pain. Savor it.

This is the most you've felt in weeks.

Soon, the pain ends, and only numbness stays. Tossing the cigarette across the floor, you look down at the blood-red burn on your arm. You sigh, looking down at your suicide note.

"Might as well get this over with," you say.