What do you make of me?

by Penjacker

Rating: mature
Tags: Sad
Length: 1992

"Know thyself." I do.

"Know thyself."

The meaning of this phrase is obvious yet quite pointless. You can know who you are, but that doesn't change it. It won't make it right or stop others from hating you for it.

I am a pariah, an untouchable. Equus non grata for something I had no choice in.

I never wanted this, not for me or anyone else. But this is just the way things go, so here we are.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-25 22:17:11 UTC

Chapter One

The cell is dank despite the thick, muggy atmosphere outside. It would not surprise me if my confinement was enchanted to be like it is. I think they reserve cells like these for ponies like me, full of rotten air and with a window to an angry sky, red with the setting sun. It's not pretty, it's Celestia's anger. Everyone's angry now. It's not a surprise but I don't like it. A part of me understands it but they have no idea what even happened, they just read in the paper that I'm a despicable monster. They'll be out there, tomorrow, waiting. Leering and booing as I'm taken wherever it is I'll have to go. They always do that, everyone does it. Ponies read about things in the paper or hear about them from whoever and think they know everything about it. It happens every day and I bet you do it. You learn about some terrible crime and think "Oh, those poor ponies! What a terrible, inexcusable, horrifying thing to do! Why, execution would be too good for him, I do hope that he burns in Tartarus for all eternity!" and you never think about what it's like from their position. Considering their point of view has never crossed your mind. If you can honestly say otherwise, well done. Your open-mindedness is a trait not shared by many. We talk about love and tolerating but what we don't do is think, because it's not the social norm. We aren't taught to consider the thoughts of the pony on the receiving end of the public hatred. There is simply general consensus that they deserve it and that is all.

A moment of weakness was all it took, a single mistake. I knew what I was doing and how it would seal my fate but I would have gone insane if I hadn't. It wasn't a want, it was a need. I had to do it. There was no stopping this. That's something no-one considers as well- why you do it. Knowing it's highly illegal and risky ponies think it's something you just do when you feel like it? I didn't want to do it and I would have done anything to stop it but I couldn't.

I didn't want this. I never made myself the way I am and if I could be something else I would be. But I can't. Yet another thing; everyone seems to think that when you are this, you're fine with it and are fine with acting on it, you've accepted it as one does with else about oneself. But when something is so abnormal, so disgraceful in the public eye, you don't just deal with it. You hate it and you hate yourself for it. Knowing it won't change is the worst part. You'll always be like this with these desires and it's awful, knowing that you will always be hated for something that is not your fault.

I am about to die. I am going to be put on trial, found guilty and executed. Archaic, but that's how it was hundreds of years ago and it's so uncommon no-one thought to change the law. Perhaps now they will and some good will come of my death. I can only hope.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me go from the beginning.

Chapter Two

What could be called the first but definitely the most important date on the issue was over ten years ago.

I was twelve. My friends and I were hanging around on the climbing frame, chatting, and the talk, as it occasionally does, turned to fillies. Everyone I noted one of the fillies in the year second below us. I didn't really know her but she always seemed to be smiling and she was pretty. It was about crushes, anyway, nothing deep. The usual.

Stone, a surprisingly stoic grey colt, pulled a face. "You can't have a crush on the lower year fillies! That's weird!"

"Why not?" I asked, in all my oblivious naïvety.

"'Cause- 'cause it's just- weird!" He said with finality. "It's just weird. You can't do that." I hastily decided to pick one of the fillies in our year and say that I liked her more anyway. I'm not sure if he or any of my other friends have been suspecting me for a while now or anything. I don't know how quickly they learned about the concept of what I am but if they did I never knew- maybe they didn't realise it or, most likely, had just forgotten the conversation.

I might have talked to someone about it if it weren't for my friends' reaction; from after that point I knew that it wasn't the done thing to have a crush on anypony much younger than you. That didn't stop it, of course, and I still felt those feelings, still felt uncomfortable just passing by the playground and looking at all the children playing. I tried to go near it as little as possible. I think a rumour went round for a while that I was scared of children. Is paedophobia even a thing?

"Shut up," I said, grinning and genuinely thinking it.

The wet dream was the final nail, really. Confirmation. It was the last step, it was fate punching me in the throat and stamping on my ankles. I don't remember much of the specifics but there were multiple fillies, at least three, and there was no foreplay of any kind. It was immediate, incredible and amazing, a glorious, frenzied orgy.

I felt wonderful when I woke up but ashamed too.

The fever dream was quite something too.

It was simple enough. I was in my bedroom and it was late evening, the setting sun casting thick slabs of light through the window and onto the bed. A strange filly was sitting on the other side of the bed from me, facing away. It wasn't anyone I knew, I didn't think so at least. She was a sandy yellow with a turquoise mane and tail. Her ears twitched as I moved my hooves and she turned around. As she did so, I realised it was Sandy, my Sandy, but as just a filly. No older than twelve.

"Cross?" She strokes my mane. Her voice is high-pitched. I roll my head around and look at her. Her head is small and round and her eyes are large and her face is beautiful, more beautiful than I remember it being normally. There is more youth there than normally, something about it tells me. Yes. It's lovely. I reach for her, I want her. She leans into me and I nuzzle into her muzzle as we come together. She's surprised but that's okay and I bring my lips up to hers, pushing us together and my tongue slides into her mouth. She groans and moans around me, she loves it and obviously she loves it. I love it too, she is playing and pushing and swatting my tongue with hers, thick, quivering mass of flesh against flesh. Her brain mixes up though and her front legs push me away also, and they are stronger than her tongue and they really do it. My tongue, now lonely without her mouth, flicks and swishes in the air. The air doesn't taste nearly as good a her mouth does and it marrs the moment. Marrs? Mars, marrs... I should be thinking about her.

I look at her as she looks at me and I misread her because she looks like she wants to slap me. I know that's not true. "Cross?! What the hay is wrong with you?!" Her voice is still really nice but the words aren't. Why is she doing this? "I should have known this was a bad idea."

"Sandy, Sandy, come, come here," I say to her, motioning with a hoof, she doesn't move so I say it again, "Sandy! Please!" I swallow dryly and pant. "Please, Sandy, please, you're so pretty." She lightens up a little at this. "You're the prettiest little filly in the world, you're so great Sandy."

I marched down the road. I entered the playground, already itching and raring to go, to just rip off my armour and go for it right there in the middle of the whole fucking thing. But I didn't. I couldn't. I was going to be subtle, at least to some extent. I glanced around to see numerous children on the play equipment and their mothers standing around on the other side of the park. Here a dilemma presented itself: the only way to get a child to trust me was to be in uniform but the mares were more likely to notice me.

A hammering came at the door. "Royal guards! Open up!"

Well, I thought, Here it is then. and slowly got to my hooves, my barrel sticky from the various juices that still smothered my coat. I rubbed it, doing nothing but make my hoof sticky as well. Lethargic as I was in making my way to the door, they shouted and banged the door again. "I HEARD!" I shouted, rubbing my temples. Opening the door I was forced to the ground as they just about leapt on me.

"Are you- Cross? What the hay is going on here?"

It was another guard, one I saw around the barracks now and then.

"Cross? You fucking bastard!" and was punched in the face, hard.

"Cross? Shit, what the fuck man!" One of the others

I cradled my smashed muzzle with the hoof that wasn't smothered with fluids before being pulled up and out of the door. A few ponies had stopped to gawk at the commotion. I glared at them, putting on my best 'fuck off' expression as I was forcibly removed from my home.

"Crossed Swords, you stand accused of performing sexual acts upon an under-age filly on the night of the fourteenth of April this year. How do you plead?"

"I did it." As I expected there was a chorus of generic noises of disgust. I looked around at them, seething. "Oh, fuck you!" I cried-

"Mr Swords! Hold your tongue or I will hold you in contempt of court!" the judge shouted, banging her gavel. I glared at the jury but remained silent, not that being held in contempt would have any effect. I knew what the verdict would be by the end of the trial.

"Cross!"

Oh no. Oh, why are you here? Why now?

"Cross. Cross!"

I didn't look around as I heard the sound of her hoofsteps. As she galloped towards me.

"Cross- all these things ponies are saying- are they true?" There was hope in that voice. I didn't want to crush it.

"Yes."

"What about-"

"No. I'm sorry, Sandy, we were fake. I neve-" I stopped as she took a swing at me. The guards surrounding me prevented the strike from hitting its mark but if anything that was worse. She couldn't do a thing, not even slap me. As she was pushed back, I added, "I like you, Sandy, I just don't love you."

At this she tried to force herself back towards me, her hooves flailing, the guards restraining her again. She didn't say anything but her teeth were gritted and tears were streaming down her face.

As was customary when a royal guard disgraces the order in such a fashion, my armour had been taken to pieces and melted down. It now formed the shackles around my hooves.

"I'm sorry," she said as her horn began to glow. There were traces of tears beginning to form in her eyes as she charged up the spell. I could feel the awesome power of the sun that burned within it.

"You don't have to be," I told her, and she released the spell. For a moment there was light and then nothing.