Okay, once again. Before I post this onto FIMFiction, I want to see what you guys think. Please let me know in the comments, both positive and negative feedback. Thanks :)

And I only own my OC characters.

Special thanks to ROBCakeran53 for giving me permission to do this. What does this have to do with My Little Dashie? Read to find out :)

A Rainbow of Redemption

Cold-hearted, ruthless, disgusting, despicable, a disgrace to everything right and decent in this world. This was the city where I lived, and these were the things I had to become. There were no "ifs", "ands", "buts" or "maybes" about it. It was an ugly necessity, an inconvenient truth.

I never wanted to join a gang; I never wanted to hurt people. I despised every form of violence, even something simple like slapping someone across the face or pushing someone into the grass.

But for us teenagers in the middle of the boonies, where crime was as natural as the sun rising, we only had two unpleasing choices. Join a gang for protection, or stay independent and become a target; the equivalent of choosing to become a murderer, or being murdered yourself.

I didn't want to have anything to do with those sadistic bastards that walked around town, their black-leather jackets glistening under street lamps, their cold, heartless eyes scanning the dark surroundings, scoping a potential target to rob or kill.

People that had their heads screwed on right were leaving. Flocking away from this dead place and moving either to the suburbs, or somewhat safer cities like New York or Chicago.

Sure, those places had fucked up sections as well, but that's all they were; isections/i. Not the majority of the city. I could count on a single hand the number of areas I'd consider safe within this city's limits-mostly neighborhoods that had been nearly abandoned or consisting mostly of adults.

I envied those that escaped, wishing that I could do the same. I wanted to do better, more wholesome things with my life. I wanted my name printed in newspapers under headlines like "doctor discovers cure for cancer", instead of "criminal teen gets twenty-to-life for armed robbery". I wanted to do things people would respect me for. Something noble.

But the longer I lived here, that less realistic it seemed.

I asked my father to take us away from this God-damned place, but he didn't, he was too drunk. I often wondered if he was even aware of anything that was going on. All he did was sit in his armchair, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, his eyes glazed over as he mindlessly watched the latest rerun of "Seinfeld".

He wasn't a bad, violent and dishonorable person. In fact he used to be the hardest-working, most straight-laced guy I knew. Always going to work in a nice collared-shirt. It didn't matter that he worked at the auto-plant, he always made himself look presentable. In fact, when I was younger, he would never get drunk. Sure he'd drink the occasional beer or scotch, and would sometimes get a bit tipsy. But he never got plastered, which is more than I can say about him now.

The only reason he binged was to forget about the past. The alcohol enabled him to calm himself into an almost Zen state, soothing the guilt he carried with him from that fateful night five years ago, when both of us watched my mother die in her hospital bed, one of the many victims of drive-by shootings.

Her face was as pale as the white walls surrounding us, and the white sheets pulled up over her chest. My father hunched over her, hands pressed together in a praying. He sobbed, pleading with God to take him instead, to kill him and revive my mother back.

He loved her so much, and if he hadn't asked her to drive home so he could read a book she gave him for their anniversary. She agreed and took the driver's seat, which took the brunt force of the bullets, while he took the safe passenger-seat.

Ever since then, he's blamed himself for what happened. He refuses to leave, feeling that he deserves to perish in this shit-hole like his wife. He refuses to work and after our saving ran out three years ago, we've been living off the state, something I felt terrible about.

With the child labor laws enacted in the city, I was too young to seek work, so I tried to find ways to acquire things we needed. This included, to my own disgust, stealing.

I've also begged on a number of occasions, which was much more degrading than I originally thought. I tried to get my dad out of his rut. To get him off his butt and back to work, looking at the few "help wanted" still in the paper. As with people, many businesses re-located to safer areas.

But my nagging never did any good. He refused to listen.

With a lack of money and food, and the threats of being harassed if I remained independent at school, I knew there was only one option for me.

So, at the young age of fifteen, I reluctantly decided to join a gang.

Technically, it wasn't my decision. My best friend, Marty, was actually the one who suggested it.

Marty was the antithesis of a stereotypical gang member. He was a pale, thin and timid guy, with a phobia of both bees and his own shadow. He would go out of his way to not kill a fly, even if it was hovering over his dinner plate.

I could never see him joining a gang. But, like me, he understood that refusing to join was begging to be shot. Sure gang members shot other gang members, but at least he'd have the others to back him up, which was much more than you could say for teens without an affiliation that often went missing for two days before popping up in the sewers with either a bullet-hole to their head or a stab-wound to their abdomen.

Oddly enough, people not in the school system, such as adults, were often immune from this violence. But not kids. For us, it was an unspoken requirement that we join a gang. And so many good students already left the school, moving to safer places outside the city limits. Now, almost everyone in my class was a member of a gang, which meant chances were Marty and I would eventually become like those poor souls, bodies left to the sewers.

So Marty asked me to go through initiation with him and I begrudgingly agreed. One day after school Marty led me to meet with the gang, called the Blood-Stakes.

We met the "big wigs" in the the shaded area behind the football equipment shed at the back of the school. The leader, Bradley, was a tall, burly bastard with a shaved head and a swastika tattoo on the back of his neck. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, he listened as Marty and I told him why we would be good assets to join his gang. It was like a demented version of college interviews.

After going through our own list of reasons, Marty starting it off and I concluded, Marty getting too scared to finish, Bradley nodded and gave us a creepy smile. But that didn't mean it was a malicious smile. In fact, the smile was creepy because of how friendly it seemed. It was the smile of a typical teenage guy, a smile no different than the star quarterback on our team gave as he passed people in the hallway.

Then again, our quarterback was in a gang too, so my perception on the "friendliness" of smiles was probably a tad inaccurate.

Either way, he accepted our pleas and ordered us to meet him in the park later that afternoon for initiation. They both nodded in thanks and ran off, my mind racing as we widened the distance between us and the three judges of our fate.

What have we done?

What have we gotten ourselves into?

What the hell would our initiation require of us?

I was scared, both for my life and my innocence. I was afraid of what task they'd tell me to carry out. Kids at school told stories, how they heard that rape and murder was common for initiation. There was one instance where somebody had to rob a store at gunpoint without a mask to conceal their identity, and then kill the owner, even though he followed his orders.

None of that mattered, it was initiation, and because of that the cashier had his brains splattered all over the cabinet that held the cigarettes, most of which were untouched.

In our city, smoking was less common than murder.

But Bradley smoked, he smoked a lot. I knew this because I would see him and his gang-members in the hallway. He would be the only one smoking in the group, but he did it so often it made the entire gang look like a bunch of tar-lunged, chain smokers.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, I arrived home. I bade Marty a brief good-bye, having the full knowledge that I'd be seeing him later, and made my way inside.

I closed the door behind me and let out a sigh, glad for even the most superficial block between me and the outside. Our house was small and run-down, old and ramshackle. In laymen's terms, it was a shit-hole that nobody would buy. Maybe that's another reason why we didn't move, because our house was such a shit-hole that it couldn't be sold.

I passed by the living room, my father already passed out drunk on the sofa, the iconic Seinfeld theme playing on the television as he snored. I sighed and made my way upstairs, entered my room and fell backwards onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

A rickety old fan spun slowly above my head, blowing my hair around in a small gust. The sun streamed through the window as I lay on my mattress, my eyes glued to the wall of my room. A small desk, a tiny little space for the ancient texts our teachers handed to us at the beginning of the year. Had I been anyone else, those books would either be collecting dust, or being burned on an open fire.

But not me, I was one of the few, diligent students at our school that actually cared about his grades. I did the readings, sometimes even enjoying them, especially history texts and the occasional book we were given to read for English class. One topic I was especially fascinated reading by was war. The violence the death the horrible nature of it all; it was so similar to our city that I gobbled it up.

I felt horrible about it, but that was the truth.

But the main thing I remembered reading in class, on one of the days our teacher actually assigned us work, was hearing about the loss of innocence for Vietnam veterans. How they'd see such gruesome things, such chaos and death, only to come home to people booing them and calling them "baby-killers".

They were so young too. But because of the war, they quickly matured into unemotional and distant adults. By the time they turned twenty-five, they were already hardened men. It wasn't much different from what happened to people living in this city. The only way you could avoid losing your innocence here, was to find some form of escapism, to take your mind off of the environment.

Most people I knew did hard drugs and drank heavily.

But me, I chose an alternative path. Something I don't think anyone in this city was into. Something that, if revealed, would surely be the literal death of me.

I was into "My Little Pony".

I loved that show, how sweet and pure it was to everything else on television. So unlike everything around me.

I didn't but merchandise, save for a lone Rainbow Dash figurine that was places precariously on top of my desk.

I looked up at the figurine, and it looked back down at me. My living eyes meeting it's plastic ones.

Funny thing was that I didn't see the figurine as an 'it'. I saw it as a 'her', often imagining that having the little figurine somehow made me closer to the real Rainbow Dash, the real element of loyalty.

She and her friends were the only source of escape I had. Hell, the entire show was. I always thought about the show, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in a world like Equestria. To ditch this city, this entire world, and find peace in a place that could actually offer it instead of preach it without being able to live up to it.

I've lived in this reality for fifteen years. Peace was impossible. No matter what, violence would always exist. It was a prison of judgment, a place run by chaos, giving you two choices.

Do you take the honorable path?

Or do you take the thug path?

I tried to take the honorable path. I wanted to be a historian, or a screenwriter, or even someone involved in medicine! I wanted to do something that would allow me to contribute something to this world, something that would last long after I was gone. Something permanent and honorable.

Yet I couldn't. This town wouldn't allow me, this reality wouldn't allow me. I stood from my bed and walked over to Rainbow Dash, grabbing her by the tiny, plastic wings and bringing her close. I looked down at her with a smile on my face.

"I wish I could actually talk to you, to hold you. To know someone as innocent as you exists, somewhere out there." I said to the figurine, thankful nobody was around to hear me talk to myself like some mental patient. Sighing, I gently placed the figure down onto the desk and looked at her in the rose-painted eyes one, last time.

"Please don't hate me for what I do."

And with that, I walked downstairs.

The next few hours were mostly uneventful. I made us dinner; we often ate around three to four anyway since Dad would always be passed out by six in the evening.

I cooked up something simple. Microwavable macaroni and cheese, which I swiped from a nearby convenience store down the road. Truly the epitome of fine dining and moral behavior.

I fixed myself a plate of the gooey, yellow substance and fixed one for Dad as well. I walked into the living room to see he was fully awake. No matter what, no matter how much alcohol was in his system, the guy was always up and raring to go when it came to eating. We ate our meal in near silence, the only sound coming from the ancient, bunny-eared television. It was "The Puffy Shirt" episode of Seinfeld, so I enjoyed it.

I looked over at my Dad; his eyes were glued to the television screen, a misty film covering them. It broke my heart to see him like this. He was so lost and pathetic. I knew he'd rather be dead than continue living on without Mom, continue living like this. Maybe I should've felt angrier at him for failing us.

But I just couldn't.

After I finished my meal I cleaned the dishes and went upstairs, leaving my father to his post-dinner nap, complete with small snores and sniffles as he slept, either dreaming of something sad, or something happy.

I always believed he dreamed about mom, and being reunited with her. I believed this because I, too, had those dreams. But unlike my father, there was one other dream I had over and over. A dream of escape, where I stood in front of a gaping hole in reality. Behind me was the grey city, full of despair and anarchy. In front of me, through the hole, was a colorful land with rolling hills and vast fields. I could almost hear the angelic music playing, as if I were looking into heaven.

On the other side stood six familiar candy-colored ponies, all of whom were looking right at me, beckoning me to enter the hole. Leave my old life behind and enter this new one. I would slowly reach out my hand towards Twilight's extended hoof, her violet eyes welcoming and kind.

"Don't be scared, Josh." She would say, a smile on her face that warmed my heart, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Rainbow Dash flying above the rest, giving me a small wink, as if to wordlessly repeat what Twilight said.

I smiled, a rarity for me in real life. Maybe this was the trigger, letting me know it was a dream so that right before I clasped my hand around Twilight's hoof I'd be pulled back, screaming in horror before waking up in my bed, shirt drenched in sweat and body trembling like I'd just completed a marathon instead of have the most magnificent dream.

I had this dream so often my reaction to it upon waking has become mechanical. I'd get out of bed, walk over to the bathroom across the hall, wash my face in the sink, and crawl back into bed before falling back asleep. I'd try to re-live that dream one more time, to have a second chance to take Twilight's hand and enter paradise.

But I never did. It was a one-time a night dream, and once I had it, I wouldn't have it again until I fell asleep without thinking about it. It'd pop up on me like a skeleton in a haunted house.

I lay in my bed, relaxing until I'd have to go to the park. My eyes gazed up at the fan, spinning round and round and round again. In my hands I held the small Rainbow Dash toy, gripping it like a rosary and muttering prayers into her little plastic ear.

Had I gone insane? Seeing this figurine of a cartoon character as a holy relic?

I couldn't help it. She was my only source of comfort, whether as an image on television or a plastic toy, she was my stress ball.

I knew that in less than an hour, I'd have to complete my initiation, and I would most likely have to kill someone, something I never wanted to do.

But there was no way out. I lived in a city where it was kill or be killed, simple as that.

I held up Rainbow Dash and looked her in the eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt for what I was about to do. But it wasn't for my benefit, or my dad's, or even the poor soul whose life I'd be asked to take.

It was for her, Rainbow Dash, and her friends. What would they say? What would they think of me? Would they see me as a monster? Would they sympathize?

Would they forgive me?

Shame. Shame and disappointment was all I felt thinking over these questions. I didn't need anyone to answer them to know that they'd loathe me, seeing me as nothing more than some horrid beast beneath even a violent manticore or timber wolf.

I could feel my eyes start to water, a lump swelled up in my throat. It was a rare occasion for me to break down in tears, living in such a city often made people cold to things that outsiders would consider the worst possible thing, such as death.

But when I gazed into the rose-colored eyes of the pony figurine, I couldn't help it.

"Dashie...please forgive me."

It was about five in the evening when I finally arrived at the park. It was lifeless and empty, perfect for carrying out crime and other illegal activity, even in broad daylight.

I scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of life outside of the occasional stray cat. I did see a mangy fox, though they're supposed to hunt at night so, assuming it was rabid, I kept my distance.

After about five minutes of walking further into the park, I found the gang. Bradley, some of his thugs, and, of course, a very nervous and disheveled-looking Marty. They were all present, standing around what looked like one of the many park's grills, often used for Fourth of July barbecues and birthday celebrations.

Sighing, I made my way over, not exactly ecstatic over what I'd have to do. The ember end of Bradley' cigarette like a beacon, guiding me to my fate. For better or worse, my life was going in a very different direction tonight, and I couldn't stop it.

I finally reached the group and stood next to Marty. His hands were shaking and his head was down. He didn't want to be here anymore than I. We should've bailed, we should've run.

Instead we stood there like two, dorky kids about to go through some terrible hazing process to hang out with the 'cool kids'.

Bradley grinned, "Happy to see both of you make it shows great character."

I gave a small nod, as did Marty, though he kept his eyes down. Bradley saw this and immediately snapped.

"Hey!" he snarled, getting Marty's attention. Their eyes met, Marty's filled with terror, and Bradley's filled with authoritative control. "Pay attention to when I'm talking to you, you little shit-fuck."

Marty nodded. Bradley sighed and walked over to the grill.

"Okay, so tonight you two are going to have to perform one deed we assign to you. It's something each of us had to do in order to become a Blood-Stake member. Your initiation process will involve this grill."

Bradley tapped his fingers against the metallic surface of the grill.

"Now, the most important necessity for any gang member, is to take a life, no matter how 'precious'. You cannot let your emotions or morality get in the way. If you do, you'll have no place with us."

Bradley chuckled, "Normally the initiation process would involve giving each of you a small German-shepherd puppy, which you would toss onto a lit grill and watch it burn alive."

My blood ran cold. Did he just say they initiate people by cooking dogs...ialive/i?

What kind of sick fucks did that? Even for a street gang that was despicable. Hell, it was downright satanic!

I knew that these ass-holes killed people, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise that they'd kill an innocent puppy. But I still couldn't get over the shock of hearing it. There was something about killing a dog that disgusted me more than anything else, even more than killing a person.

I had to remember the stealing for food, the dangers of not being a gang member, to convince myself not to reject their offer right then. I continued to listen, mentally hoping they'd have us do something less horrible. But it was more denial than it was hope.

Bradley continued, "But today we have something a bit different. We have a special guest to cook that we found sleeping right here in this park not ten minutes ago."

Bradley held up a pillow-case that clearly had something inside. And from where I was standing, I could've sworn it was moving, like something was alive in it.

"Today, both of you will cook...this."

Bradley reached into the bag and pulled out what was inside. Once I saw what it was, or rather iwho/i it was, my eyes went wide and I swear I my heart stopped beating.

There, in the gang leader's hand, was the familiar, animated face of a filly Rainbow Dash. I couldn't believe she was here, I didn't iwant/i to believe it. But the proof was right in front of me, and all of the denial in the world couldn't convince me otherwise.

She was very young. Not foal young, but younger than at any point in the show.

Heck, she didn't even have her infamous cloud and lightning-bolt cutie-mark yet. She was a blank-flank filly with an extremely terrified expression on her face. I understood being in a new world would be terrifying, but she looked even more scared than I thought she would. Her entire body was shivering like she had a cold, and her eyes were the size of soft-balls.

Maybe she knew Bradley was planning to do malicious things to her. To harm her, to kill her. To make ius/i kill her.

I slowly began to shake my head. I didn't want to believe what I'd have to do. It was too horrible to imagine, let alone physically carry out.

"I bought a puppy already," Bradley continued, pointing to a second pillow case by his feet. A little movement inside proved the innocent creature was inside. Poor thing was probably scared out of its mind.

"But we can save that for later. I want to see you to use the grill and burn this little cartoon...thing...to death. Understood?"

Marty slowly nodded at Bradley, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop shaking my head, both in shock and disapproval. Bradley saw this and his smug smile immediately vanished.

"Are you shaking your head at me, boy?"

I stopped and stared. What was I supposed to do? Talk back to him? Defend my morality?

The only good thing morality would do me now is put a bullet in my head before they killed the sweet little filly that was currently shivering in Bradley's arms.

"Boy!" Bradley shouted, snapping me out of my daze as I looked at him. "Answer my fucking question. Were you shaking your head at me?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but couldn't. A peculiar dryness prevented me from uttering a syllable. Bradley kept staring at me expectantly for about ten seconds before he realized it was going nowhere. His devil's smile returned and he nodded.

"Okay...all right. You know what, I want you to be the one to put her on the grill, and your friend can cook the dog later." Bradley said, pointing at Marty.

He then walked over to me with Rainbow Dash in his hands. Before I could object, he put the little filly in my arms. I looked down at her; her big eyes looked up at me. Her eyes, those rose-colored eyes that were ripping my soul to shreds.

I looked up at Bradley, who tossed me a pack of matches. I caught them with one hand, careful not to drop Rainbow Dash in the process by holding her tight in my other arm.

"You have ten seconds to put that thing on the grill and set it on fire."

I slowly looked back down at Rainbow Dash, and our eyes met again.

Marty spoke up, "Hey, Bradely! What about me...what...what should I do?"

"We'll tell you after your friend here cooks this thing."

I swallowed, unable to take my eyes away from the helpless little pony in my arms, her eyes still full of fear, but there was something else.

The look she had when Bradley was holding her was terror. But with me, her expression wasn't like that. It was more of a plea for help. It was like she knew I didn't want to do this, and was silently begging for me to rescue her.

"God, why did you bring her here?" I thought to myself, only then noticing Bradley's countdown.

"Ten...nine...eight..."

I shook myself from my thoughts and instinctively pushed my morality to a far corner of my brain. I didn't have a choice, I had to put my "childlike" morality aside, I had to adapt. I had to survive. I had to burn the little filly alive.

"...seven...six...five..."

I took two cautious steps towards the grill. I could hear some chuckles behind me, most likely Bradley's minions getting a sick kick out of watching this. Bradley stood in front of me, still near the grill, his eyes so wide and white I swear a specter was behind them rather than a eighteen-year old sicko. I could see his cocky smile return as I inched my way closer. He knew I was going to do this, he knew I didn't have a choice.

It hadto be done.

"...four...three..."

But Rainbow Dash, how could I do this to you? You're so innocent, so carefree and pure. To follow through with something so reprehensible, so immoral, so cruel and so despicable, would make me beyond redemption or forgiveness.

Especially for me. If I went through with this, I could never forgive myself, nor would I want anyone else to forgive me.

"...two..."

I reached the grill, the cold appearance a stark contrast to what it was to become. A blazing inferno of fire, a hell.

Suddenly, I realized the truth. I was right in front of Bradley, my eyes glued to the little cyan pegasus filly in my hands. She had the saddest look on her face that I'd ever seen.

"...one..."

I'd rather die protecting her than live from harming her.

"...zero..."

As soon as I heard the countdown end, I snapped, doing something I really never expected to do.

I elbowed Bradley in the gut, causing him to fall to the ground. I pressed Rainbow Dash against my chest like a toddler and sprinted away. I could hear them cursing, shouting my name. I could hear Bradley give them the order to fire, to kill me, to kill us.

The gunshots rang out like rhythmic drum-beats, tiny craters being blown in the ground around my feet. But I kept going, pressing Rainbow Dash close to my chest, shielding her from harm. Her body still quaking, her breathing rapid and panicked.

I felt sudden pain as a bullet tore through my right shoulder. But I didn't stop. My adrenaline was too high, my determination to get away pushing me to my limit as the bastards' shouts became increasingly distant.

I reached the pavement and kept going. After running for about a minute, my adrenaline rush waned. The pain that had been obscured by my need to get away now hit me like a ton of bricks. I let out a groan, it was by far the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I clasped one of my hands over the wound, which wasn't bleeding too badly; thankfully it appeared to be just a flesh wound.

I looked at the filly in my arms, holding her up to my chest, staring into her gem-like eyes. It broke my heart to see her so scared.

"You're gonna be okay, Dashie. Do you understand?" I said through gritted teeth, trying to fight the pain. I was fairly certain she couldn't understand me, but I felt like talking to her in a soothing tone was better than nothing.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you."

To show my desire to keep her safe, I kissed the top of her head, like a father would to his daughter. In return, she nuzzled her furry little head against my neck. This little gesture by the filly was like meditation for me, calming my nerves to a reasonable level for the first time all day.

I wanted to stay with her, but I needed to get home. Marty was with them. He knew where I lived and, therefore, so did Bradley and the others. They knew where find me. They knew how to find my Dad.

My actions had now put my Dad in danger, now I had to get to him before they did.

But I couldn't bring Dashie back with me, not after working so hard to save her. I had to find a way to protect her while I went to rescue my Dad. This mess was my fault, and I would be damned if I cause any of us to die. Not me, not Dad, and especiallynot Rainbow Dash.

I began to visually scan the area, trying to find someplace to hide her. Hardly a car passed by. Figures as this area of the city is especially abandoned.

Run-down homes, rusted-out vehicles, trash littering the sidewalk. But even with all this, the neighborhoods here were much less dangerous than the ones around where I lived.

Sure, every part of this city was a potential danger zone, but this section was so abandoned that gangs hardly came around here. I liked to jokingly think of it as the "pristine place to raise a family" in this city. Saying this would get me laughed at. Big words like 'pristine' were rarely by students at our school.

I hopped onto the sidewalk and kept searching. It didn't take long for me to find something valuable. Just up ahead, on the sidewalk I was walking down, lay an overturned cardboard box. It was perfectly preserved and large enough to hide Rainbow Dash. I walked over and got down onto one knee, propping Rainbow Dash up in my arm. Using my free hand, I overturned the box so the open top was an upright, pointed at the sky above. It wasn't much, but it would do.

I gently lowered Rainbow Dash into the box, careful not to hurt her. Once her four, little hooves made contact with the bottom of the cardboard, I let go of her. She made a few attempts to reach out towards me, but I stopped her, gently pushing her little hooves away. I put my hand onto her back and gave her a reassuring look.

"Okay Rainbow Dash, listen to me." I swallowed, "I don't want to leave you here in the middle of the sidewalk, and I want to stay with you. But right now I have to see if my Dad is okay. I would take you back with me, but chances are those ass-holes are already waiting for us."

I cupped my hand under her chin and lifted her head up so she looked me in the eyes.

"So I can't take you with me, because I refuse to let them harm you."

I started to question whether she didn't understand me, as she seemed to become sadder as I spoke these words. I let out a sigh and continued.

"If everything works out, I promise to come back for you. But if not..." I fought back the tears, "...if not you have to stay in this box no matter what. Okay?"

She didn't respond. She just continued to cry silently. I reached out and wiped her tears away from her face, trying my best to comfort her. I should have been home now, seeing if my Dad was okay but I felt so terrible to leave her here.

I had to leave someone a message in case they found her.

I looked around and found a sharpie pen. I grabbed it, quickly popping off the top. I pressed the tip of the marker to the box and scribbled down the briefest and straightforward message I could come up with.

"Give to Good Home"

Capping the marker and tossing it back into the brush, I looked back down at Rainbow Dash, who looked up at me, her sorrow had lessened considerably. She seemed to have calmed down and that made me feel better. But I couldn't help but want to further comfort her. I got back down to her level, put my hands onto the side of her tear-streaked face, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Dashie, in case I don't see you again, just know that I care about you. You're the only thing that gets me through the hell of a life I have." I stroked her back, causing her muscles to relax. It was by far the cutest thing I've ever seen, I couldn't help but smile.

It was one of the rare times in my life that I smiled at something real; ironically the real thing being Rainbow Dash, the "imaginary, cartoon pony" that was such a source of joy for me before. Not that it mattered, I felt more accomplished than I had in a long time.

I gave her a small, appreciative scratch behind the ear, "So thank you...for everything."

She quickly gave my hand a gently lick before pulling away, a weak smile on her face and a serenity I hadn't seen since she was brought here by some whatever unknown force sent her.

I gave her a small nod and sprinted back home, going as fast as my tired legs could go. My sneakers were so worn out that I could feel the tiniest pebbles when I stepped on them. Once I reached the end of the street, I turned to look at the box one more time, sitting stationary in the middle of the sidewalk, the only thing intact and upright. Chances are it would get a thinking person's attention, and fortunately for both Dashie and I, most gang members are complete morons.

I continued home, running as fast as I could. The sun still high in the sky, though much lower than it had been. The streets were barren, the homes dark and empty. I was in a modern ghost-town. I kept going, passing neighborhood after neighborhood until I re-entered the horrible part of the city, the part where I lived.

After five more minutes, my nose running and my breathing growing more difficult due to exhaustion, I finally reached my house. Without hesitation I made my way to the front door and burst through. I slammed it shut behind me and ran into the living room. The light and television were both still on so he was in there, I made it, everything would be fine.

"Dad! Listen we..."

I stopped. My eyes went wide and my body froze in pure terror.

There my father sat in his armchair, just as he always did. His hand held a bottle of whiskey, as he always did. But then there was his head, the hole in his forehead, the blood splattered on the wall behind him, the lifeless appearance of his body as his still-open eyes gazing at me.

Before I could say anything, Bradley walked into view, along with his thugs. His face was cold, but surprisingly not angry.

But that wasn't a good thing, because the smile he gave me made me wish for an angry Bradley.

"Good to see your priorities are with a cartoon character over you and your own father." he sneered.

I didn't respond, I just stared at him, standing my ground to the best of my ability, but I knew it was pointless, I was as good as dead.

Bradley looked behind me and nodded, "You're up, finish this and you're in."

Slowly, I turned around to see who Bradley was speaking to. Once I did, I could feel my heart break.

"No...It can't be."

There, standing behind me, holding a gun aimed right at my head, was a disheveled looking Marty. His face wasn't serious and cold like the other members of the gang. His face showed the signs of heartbreak and guilt, a preemptive guilt for what he was about to do.

What he had to do.

"M-Marty." I whispered, pleading.

He shook his head, tears running down his pale-white cheeks.

"I'm sorry Josh." he whimpered.

It was inevitable. It was done, my life was about to end.

I expected to feel more remorse, more anger at this moment but, in reality, I felt calm and...relaxed?

I couldn't understand it, I had a gun pointed at my head and I felt relaxed. I failed my father, I failed myself.

But I saved Rainbow Dash. I brought her to safety, or as close to safety as realistically possible. She was real, her big eyes gazing into my soul, her cute little face as she looked up at me, begging me to stay with her.

Then there was my father. His face wasn't distressed. He might have had a bullet wound in his head, but for some reason he didn't look at all angry or upset. If anything he looked more at peace than he did at any point in his life since mom died.

Then there was me, my serenity. Why did I feel this?

Did I want to escape this reality so badly I'd chose death for the possibility of a paradise in the afterlife?

An afterlife in a world unlike this one, a world like the one Twilight and her friends beckoned for me to enter in my dreams. Their kind faces, their sweet eyes. Rainbow Dash was real, and therefore they were real. If there was truly a world as peaceful as Equestria out there, maybe I could still find it.

The click of the gun brought me back. Marty was ready to fire, I had time to think of one last thing, so I focused on the source of my joy. I focused on Rainbow Dash, I imagined her being found by a nice guy in need of comfort as much as I. I imagined her growing up happily, and getting back to her friends.

Marty pulled the trigger. For a brief moment I felt pain before everything went black.