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This short story is about Scootaloo The Sadist.
A large hill on the horizon. The thick smell of blood and death fills her nose as she slowly approaches the large protrusion of filthy soil. She notices the sky is littered with dark clouds, Seeming to twist and turn in an unsettling manner. There is a tree of death stood at the top of the hill, Twisting and leaning to the far right hanging branches over the side of the large hill. The tree is without leaves, And without color. Nothing remains of this once beautiful specimen of life but a hallow husk of dead bark and twigs.
To the left of the tree lies a crumbling old tombstone. She can see several cracks and missing chunks of the stone slab scattered about the hill, As if something had reached straigh from the heavens above to try to strike down the stone. The tombstone's faded carvings read poorly;
"Here lies the hopeless remains of a lost soul,
Sc- t- loo- he- S- ist."
The name of the victim was deeply eroded and hardly salvageable. The girl kneeled. As if to surrender herself to the stone that lies in front of her now trembling bones. Without any expression, Without any visible sign of emotion, A single tear glides down her cheek and plummets to the ground, Making the only sound she'd heard since she'd started climbing the infected hillside. As soon as the crash of the single drop of sorrow had echoed within her ears, Others followed. Slowly, One by one, Tears came flowing down her cheeks and crashing into the ground beneath her. As these streams of hurt came down upon the dead grass and tainted soil, Her eyebrows began to crunch inward together, Her nose wrinkled, And her teeth clinched tightly together as her lips fled to far corners of her crying face.
She was alone.
As the streams of anguish turned into rivers of agony pouring down her cheeks and neck, More tears were heard, But from a distance. First a single drop. Then several. Soon, As if it had heard her sorrowful cries of the poor girl, The sky began to let down it's own arrangement of dreadful memories and hurtful thoughts, Through the dark clouds that filled the vast nothingness above her. As the rain grew into a storm, The girl remained. She remained crying.
She was hurt, And there was nothing she could do other than let it out. And so she did. For hours she sat there. Screaming at the decaying tree, And crumbling tombstone. She screamed at the two as if they were the source of all her misfortunes. She began hitting the stone, Then ripped a large limb from the tree, Taking it and thrusting it onto the stone as hard as she could. Shattering it, In as many pieces as her heart had been broken into.
She stood over the shards of bark and dead wood panting heavily. She took one deep breath, And with the exhaled air went all her pains. Her expression returned to the lifeless blank slate it was before the hill. She placed her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, Ignoring the now violently pouring rain drenching her to the soul. She turns away from the stone and tree, And begins walking down the hill.
As the girl's figure disappeared into the darkness surrounding this dark and lonely stretch of land, The rain slowly began to ease, And then stop.
All was quiet.
But nothing was the way it should be.
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