Introduce A Little Anarchy…

Written By: Achrones150 (also known as MrGreagoir1 on YouTube)

Author's Notes:
Welcome to my very first "My Little Pony" story! Just a couple of things I'm going to tell you first off. This will be a "human in Equestria" story, but definitely no self-insertion (that would be too predictable…). Secondly, it will (or will not, depending on how you see it) note some underlying themes as well as popular fan-based beliefs about the show. Thirdly, I encourage ideas from my readers and viewers, so if you could include suggestions in your reviews, that would be great!

That being said, I hope you enjoy this first chapter, as well as the chapters to come!

Introduce a little anarchy, upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos.

The common populace would take this as nothing more than a popular movie quote of a charismatic villain, both of which created by the planning of a passionate and visionary director. But there are very few who would dare to apply that concept to the dimension of reality, put forth the belief in a manifestation of itself, and defy the public agenda. The very thought of it would scare the common man, and they would immediately cast it into the wind without a second thought. It doesn't help that the concept was brought about by a madman who wished nothing more than the burning of the world. Only those willing to traverse the pit of the abyss could hold such a belief with a firm, still vigor.

In the beginning, I walked the ravine blindly and without cause, shuffling along with the rest of the beginner souls who were within the same confines as me. I did not know where I was going, and I could never see the path laid before my very eyes. However, as time progressed and I began to understand more and more of where I was, I adapted to what had first been a forever-extending prison and eventually found its weakness. Like a butterfly fresh from the cocoon, I shook off the desires weighing me down and took to the air, escaping the ones who clung to the pitiful chain called "order". Even now, I stand above them all as a symbol of defiance, their chained hands grabbing at my neck in an attempt to silence me forever.

I am an agent of chaos, and I am free.

It all started back to my life in Texas, after my family had moved from the state of Oklahoma. At that particular time, I was only three years old, so I honestly don't remember much about my childhood. My father and mother had a job in... well, it really doesn't matter now, does it? Don't get the wrong idea or anything like that - it's simply because both of them lost their jobs far too early for them to mark any significance. They spent most of their life inside the home, living as best as they could while raising me. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary in my childhood, anything spectacular or anything to write in the history books. For the first seven to eight years of my mortal life, I lived, played, laughed, and cried just like any other child at my age would have. I got into trouble, and I was scolded for it. I did something they believed to be out of my age limit, and everyone praised me for it. I made several friends, though most of them either moved away or either distanced themselves from my life with time. Only two of them would grow up to stick by me to the very end... true friends, indeed.

After those eight years were over with...

...well, that's when it really began to unwind for me.

My parents, jobless and having to endure the cruel life factor of taxes and bills, were not faring well under the stress of the matter. They often argued with one another, and it wasn't uncommon to see at least one of them with a bruise or scar on their skin, and that was minimal. This constant, dogging factor continued to dog them to the point where it effectively snapped the sticks of their patience and scattered them onto the floors. In my late eights, it was only a slap, kick, or punch at first from one. But the level soon increased at an alarming rate, and I soon found myself on the end of their unrestrained anger and their desires to blame someone else for their troubles. Every day when I came home from school, my mother would always hold me down while my father gave me a good thrashing with that leather belt of his - a common punishment out of the many they had for me. I didn't understand at the time, and for that very reason, my hole was dug deeper and deeper. I had become the outlet of their pain, I suffered for their cause, I writhed in agony just to make them smile through their own.

I'm far from the likes of Jesus. But I was still one step higher than the Devil. I continued to live my life with a smile to assure everyone that I was okay and that everything would be fine. I became a puppet on automated strings, a tool to be used and abused. Everything I did and even what I myself did felt like nothing more than a prepared song and dance. My soul continued to surf the crowds of lies and deceit, descending deeper to the point of touching the tip of Hell's flames. But my rebellious body stayed on the surface and took every bit of abuse with the knowledge that both it would be destroyed completely along with my soul if it broke. But my mind? It was the only thing that was not trapped within their prison and the only part of me that could ever be free. I used that to my advantage, sheltering it within the vital innards of my school and keeping it locked within my studies. In the process, I had to distance myself away from everyone else, and they soon began to distance themselves from me as an excuse to use me as a target for ridicule and humiliation.

Remember those two friends I spoke about? The only thing that was keeping me from descending into madness was their company. They shared my pain and embraced it as if it was their very own. From experience in a different way, they could understand where I had come from and what I had to suffer due to the harrassment of life itself. We talked, and we remained silent. We laughed, and we cried. We fought, and we made up. I shared what I learned, what I lived through, and they never made fun of me for it... not even one time. They understood, and even poured back a little bit of their souls into me in order to keep the balance. We were each other's comfort, connecting to one another like a hive mind. In the three years that passed, they helped me withstand the wrath of my parents.

It was then and only then that I realized who and what I was dealing with.

My parents had never been unleashing their wrath on me or using me as an outlet, no no! They were teaching me the ways of chaos! They were showing me how blind I really had been to the world around me, why the majority of my friends fell victim to the times, and what I really was to the ones that tortured me every day of my life. Through the violent physical contact, they were showing me that I wasn't destined to follow in the footsteps of the mechanical beings that make up society! I was destined to be something more than that, a prodigy meant to rise above them all and become their Jesus Christ! Everything had been fine, after all! I understood it all, knowing what I had to do in order to pay my debt back to them. I knew what I had to do in order to free myself as well as everyone else from the chains. The path was all too clear to me, and from that point on, at twelve years of age, I took my first steps in walking down those inviting flames.

The first one to be paid back was my mother. She came in from wherever she went earlier than my father, so it wasn't really a problem worrying about them coming at once. To prepare myself ahead of time, I snuck into my old man's room and found Garvey, his precious gift given to him by his father. I waited until Mother was a sleep, then I walked in. All I had to do was lay a pillow on her face lightly enough to keep her from awakening, place the tip of Garvey at level with her face, and pull the trigger in order to ensure she would never have to wake up from her peaceful slumber. Mind you, I'm not cruel to the likes of a woman under any circumstances. Some might say otherwise if they saw me simply leaving her with her head shattered like glass. But alas! Once the soul leaves the body, whatever that is left behind exists as nothing more or less than a shell of one's self.

It was soon after that my father came in, and I once again hid myself in the room where the the shell lay. Once he came in, he found himself distracted by the sight, and I chose that opportunity to knock him out cold. Gathering some rope and duct tape, I tied his arms behind his back and sealed his mouth off so that no one else would have to care. From the kitchen, I grabbed a jagged-edge knife as a means to give him payment of the best kind. As he slept, I grabbed the back of his head and ground the teeth of the knife into his throat. He was quick to help, too; though his screams were muffled, its tone, the warm blood spilling onto my hand, and the feeling of me sawing through the mortal flesh pushed me to keep going. It took a total of three minutes for me to finish up. Once I was done, I took his head and stuffed it into a pre-heated oven in order to ensure that his shell got the same treatment as Mother's.

My last act would be the beginning of the end, focused on the very house itself. With the help of an accelerant, I took a match and set fire to the structure, moving quickly to escape the threat of being consumed by the flames. From a distance away, I watched my home as it was eaten by the beautiful blaze. I'm sorry... I wish I could tell you how it was, but such art cannot be described with mere words alone. If not for the threat of retaliation, I would have just sat down and continued to watch the very last ember die out. As I went into hiding, I was eventually found out by my two companions thanks to the close connection we had. My trust was not misplaced; they did not judge me for what I did, even when I told them in full detail. In fact, they even agreed to help me in my newfound endeavor at the risk of running away from their own lives as well.

If that's not a true friend... then I don't know what is.

For six whole years, we continued to stick to one another as we hid and fled. At first, it was only me they had to worry about hiding. However, it wasn't long before our connection resurfaced itself once again. My desires, accidental or intentional, seeped into the cracks of their own worn souls, and in time they too began to see like I did. We did not waste those seven months simply hiding, no no! We were snakes within the grass, striking at the hapless rats with our flaming tongues and searing teeth. We were referred to by the title of "Neolith's Circus", a name that we ourselves had come up with. It had become familiar with the populace after we left a piece of paper buried within the ash with that very title written onto its flesh. For seven months, we lived in the shadows but ruled with an iron fist and romantic power in our town. For six years, we followed Sherman's path and left nothing but destruction and chaos in our wake. Only the police dared chase us down so drastically and desperately like the hound dogs they were, ruthless and relentless in their endeavour to avenge the poor fools who dared stand between us and our fires.

Sadly, the fun did not last. We were eventually cornered, caught, and caged up. We were all legal adults, and as such, we were marked immediately for death. I myself had lost the ability to fear such things, my mortality having been made all too clear thanks to my dear parents. The others, because of the treacherous chase across Texas, were just as steeled in their resolve. The officers kept us together out of fear that we would react violently if we were not together, and so we waited for our last moments to pass. We made small talk about what happened over the years, coaxing each other to purge any doubt or remnants of remorse and guilt out of our minds. It was useless to feel such emotions at such a time. We would die with dignity, and not one of them would dare say that we went down fearing our oppressors.

At the very least... I thought we were going to die.

When they applied the barbiturate, my entire body had shut down completely. However, even as I lay unmoved to the insertion of the two killing drugs, I began to hear this strange voice. No... it wasn't even a voice, for it spoke no words. I can still remember it as if it was speaking to me right now. It was of masculine identity, and it held this malicious, taunting tone about itself. All it did was perform the normally light-hearted notion of chuckling, but the negative enhancements nullified any sort of happiness that would have otherwise been mistaken to be within. My body... I had to assume that I was still comatose, I had no choice! But no matter how dead my nerves were, no matter how long I had stopped breathing, I could still feel the demonic and dominant aura around me to the point of suffocation! For the second time in my life, I was thrown into an environment in which I didn't understand anything, and that struck fear within my heart to a magnitude that not even my parents could've raised it to.

That would be true in both the figurative and literal sense.

You can imagine my surprise when I came to in the middle of what looked like a forest.

You could - heck, you probably did see the look on my face when I saw myself not within a dead and decomposed body, but rather a living body of a horse's!

But of course, that would be ruining the story of it all if I told you everything within my point of view. In my time here, I have grown to understand everything with my immortal mind as as well as everyone that has dared to get close to me with the ignorance of not knowing who I really was. So I'll tell you exactly how it happened just like I was reading a book. Hopefully, my tale won't be too long - I know you're probably busy, and there's the risk of them finding me before I can finish up.

Hope there's a chair for you to pull up, Yahweh...