How could this have happened?
Scootaloo sat mostly alone in the cold, sterile hallway of the Royal Guard station. Time didn't seem to be relevant to her anymore. Since the incident every second just seemed to become elongated and nonsensical. She could faintly hear the ticking of a nearby clock but that didn't mean much when you could still hear the screams ringing in your ear.
This bench is so uncomfortable.
She jolted slightly at her bizarre thought. Here she was, at the end of the world as she knew it and all she could think about was the quality of the piece of metal and fabric she was mediating her existence on. Her ears drooped as reality seemed to slowly creep it's way into the back of her mind, ripping away at her being like a hungry leopard. She closed her eyes and ducked her head low.
And she just cried. She cried so much. She wailed and flailed and it seemed like five minutes before an overweight, smelly mare ran over and attempted to soothe her by pulling her close into her folds.
You're not my mother.
Scootaloo gave up the fight.
How could this have happened?
It seemed utterly surreal. This kind of thing didn't actually happen to young colts and fillies. This kind of thing only in books and movies about totally awesome superheroes, like Daring Do. Scootaloo cried some more.
But she wasn't a superhero. She wasn't anything. Not anymore.
How could this have happened?
She felt shell-smashed. Like a petty insect under the wheel of a cart. Wings and legs broken, her juices flowing out from her frail torso and she desperately clung to life. And when she did pass? No-one would care. This filthy mare that clutched her as Scootaloo attempted to bite chunks out of her own foreleg didn't care. If Scootaloo got hurt on her watch, she'd be in the shit. That's the only reason.
My father would do it because he loved me. No other reason.
How could this have happened?
The next thing Scootaloo recalled was being thrown into an ambulance and rushed to the hospital which confused her. She wasn't hurt. Not yet anyway.
She was marched into a room and what Scootaloo saw defied her beliefs.
"M-m-mom?" She whimpered utterly pathetically like a mongrel begging for food. If she was a dog, she would be put down. Fresh tears began surfacing. What these tears represented, Scootaloo wasn't sure. The happiness a child should feel when they realise that their Mother is, against all the odds, still alive? Or the fear when she walked in that she saw her laying in that hospital bed, tubes in her arms and the faint and pathetic beeping of the heart monitor.
"She's a hurricane-thunderclap, Scootaloo." The doctor said weakly and sympathetically.
I don't know what that means. Regardless, Scootaloo trudged slowly over to her black and bruised mother. She wasn't clothed like she was when the incident happened, and Scootaloo had a clear view of the wound that her Mother took to her chest. She gently rested her hoof on her mothers chest and recoiled as her other flinched violently. In agony. Scootaloo had just hurt her mother. Like that Stallion did.
She was no better than him. Tears. Always tears. Hit your head against a wall. Try to bleed. Feel what your mother feels, feel anything. Get dragged away by the hospital staff. More comforting. More anger. More apathy.
The morphine alarms sang out of tune. They had her sleeping and eating like a child. Tubes everywhere. For days.
What would Scootaloo tell her. About Dad? She couldn't.
More tears. More hurting. More biting. But no-one came this time.
Finally.
When someone finally did come, Scootaloo lay half unconscious next her her mother, deep bite marks in her arms creating a river of blood and sweat which dripped off the tip of her hoof and onto the floor.
Suicide watch. That was what they called it. Scootloo didn't know what suicide was. All she knew is that she wanted to die.
The curtains were in. Scootaloo cries fresh tears again. Why were the doctors angry at her? Why was she in suicide watch? Why couldn't she see her mother?
Instead of dwelling on it much longer, Scootaloo went back to screaming and cursing. A nurse ran in and struck her across the face, reducing her to a soft whimper. She threatened Scootaloo. Stay quiet or she would be back and she'd bring the whole ward Scootaloo woke up along with her.
No. Not again. Not me too.
So she reduced herself to soft whimpers once more, and huddled under her scratchy blanket in the suicide watch room. Scootaloo didn't like this room.
Morning. A nurse took Scootaloo temperature and deemed her fit to walk around so long as she followed close.
Scootaloo managed a small smile when it became apparent they were going to her mothers room.
But upon entering. The bed. Yes.
She wasn't. Scootaloo jumped into the air and squealed with joy. She turned to the doctor and ran up to him and jumped into his chest, hugging tightly.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you Mister! Mommies okay! She's never in bed in the morning! It means she's making breakfast for me! Would you like some?" She let go, dropped to the floor and grabbed his hoof, attempting to drag him away. "Come on, it's Saturday! Pancake day!"
She paused when she heard the sniffle from the doctor. She looked back. He wasn't happy. Not mad or angry. But sad. Crying sad. This wasn't a good kind of sad.
"Scootaloo. Your... mommy."
Scootaloo didn't speak. She just wanted pancakes.
The doctor knelt down and hugged Scootaloo tightly.
"You hug like Dad."
Another whimper from the doctor before he finally spoke.
"Scootaloo, I'm so sorry. But your mother is... Scootaloo. She's gone. We couldn't help her."
Scootaloo tried to move her jaw. She tried to move her legs... Her neck. Nothing. It was all frozen. A deep stabbing sensation-
Hmm? Sorry, can I help you?
I beg your pardon? Sex?
The Mane Sex? What in the blue hell is that? Get the hell out of here, I'm telling a harrowing story about how Scootaloo became an orphan.
What? The story title? Why of course, I called it 'How Could This Have Happened?" Ominous, no?
Huh?
W-wait what?
Oh! Oh for Celestia's sake! I'm in the wrong fucking story!
So you're telling me that readers that want to experience the horror of Scootaloo's childhood are going to submitted to some filthy porn about about a hairless monkey banging a bunch of ponies?
Oh my... how embarrassing.
You know what, I quit. Bugger this.
