MOTHER, MY BODY DISGUSTS ME

I am foul. My body is rotting flesh. A walking abortion that slowly putrefies under the sun. My sickening odor oozes out of every inch of my skin. The filth has built up in several layers now. A crust of dirt, blood, and offal grows over my hide. It is this shell that separates me from the rest of the world. It protects me from outside influence while it slowly consumes me. A long, unkempt mane forms a veil of dirt over my face, hiding it from the light. My stomach occasionally erupts, sending a wave of my inner decay out through my mouth and nostrils. I tense up for a moment, then let my intestines exhale through my rear end. My insides are evaporating, rushing out of every orifice as they try to escape me.

I drag my corpse down the street. Everypony stares at me. They give me looks of disgust. Most of them try to avert their eyes and pretend that I'm not there. They hold their noses. Some of them even gag. Others just point and laugh, or start whispering among themselves. I walk past them as they all give me a wide berth.

The mare gives me an awkward smile as she hands me the bag. Her face had gone pale the moment I walked in. It has stayed that way ever since. She is holding her breath. I turn around and head for the door, hearing her cough before I even get outside. It makes me smile. Another victim, another victory.

I don't mind their disgust at all. I share it. My sight is revolting. I despise my smell just as much as they do. Perhaps even more. But their disgust also makes it enjoyable. It is the only way I have power over them. I can control what they feel. My greatest strength is this manipulation through my obscene form. Even those who could easily destroy me are overpowered by it. The mark on my flank confirms this. Even the symbol of my destiny is a container for the filth this species produces. It burns as if it were branded onto me. I only keep it because it is honest. It does not lie about me. The inequine filth all over my body is the only thing that preserves my identity.

I slowly trot back toward the outskirts of town. Mother awaits my return. In my mind I can already hear her voice grating on my ears. I grind my teeth together. The rotting fragments wiggle in my soft gums. My tongue squirms around in the dry hole, restless from the constant, foul taste.

The door creaks open. The hinges are barely holding on to the frame. A wave of hot air tainted by dust and decay pours out. There is no sound; she is still asleep. I step inside and place the bag on the floor. I find her lying in the corner where I left her, moaning from the light hitting her face. Her hooves shift around under the torn rags covering her body.

I crawl over to her slowly and nudge her awake with my forehoof. Her snout twitches as she discovers my scent. She opens her eyes, unveiling a pair of blue gems under the thick crust of filth. They widen when she notices what I am holding. She does not say anything as she pushes herself off the floor, grunting from the effort. Her mouth opens. The gaping, black maw is devoid of teeth, screaming her hunger without making a sound. She is like a slowly dying plant, still begging for water to sustain itself even though nothing grows on it anymore. I feed her like she used to feed me. Stuff her while she begs to be stuffed. I turn my gaze away from her while she feeds. Her scent repels me. It takes most of my strength to keep my proximity to her, and I don't have a lot of it.

I don't blame her for conceiving me. She did not agree to it, and she was too weak to do anything against it. I don't blame her for not destroying me while I was inside her. It was not likely that she would have survived it if she had tried to remove me. I don't blame her womb for sustaining me and for letting me survive my birth. She had no control over her body then.

My face scrunches up when my odor hits me again. No, that is not her sin. I blame her for letting me live. For keeping me alive, even after I was no longer a growth inside her. For letting her fluids sustain my existence. For not choking me the very moment she was able to hold me. She allowed me to mature into the pile of refuse that I am now. For all I know, she enjoyed it. She wanted to own something that she could control. Nurture and shape it into something more miserable than she is. The mark on my rear is the greatest testament to her success.

However, she had made a slight miscalculation. Time is not on her side, and she spent too much energy into shaping me. I may be obscene, but I am not the lifeless husk that is lying before me now. I no longer rely on her, but she needs me to survive. And despite my contempt for her, I did not abandon her. I work hard every day just to sustain this life we call our own. She holds on just barely, anchored to her survival by the scraps that I feed her.

The food is gone. Lying back down, she keeps rolling the last of it around in her mouth. I cringe at the sickening noise this makes. She rubs her forehoof against my own and smiles. I smile as well, then wrap my hooves around her, and rest my head against her chest. It gives me pleasure to feel it rising and falling. I breathe in her putrid scent.

This is what I have been working for. She whispers her gratitude for the effort I make to sustain her. I smile. There is some truth to it. What I give her is only a fraction of what I earn, only enough to keep her breathing. I want her to be this way. My greatest pleasure is the absolute control I now have over her existence.

Author's Note

"Too short
Too tall
Too clean
Too..."