Smiling on the Doorstep
 
It is true that I have sent six magic missles through the head of my best friend, and yet I hope to shew by this statement that I am not her murderer.  
At first I shall be called a madponymadder than the mare I shot in her cell at the Canterlot Sanatorium. Later some of my readers will weigh each statement, correlate it with the known facts, and ask themselves how I could have believed otherwise than as I did after facing the evidence of that horror that thing…smiling, smiling and smiling, on the doorstep.