Chapters Dear Dad,
You got what you wanted. I'm gone. Your home is now souly yours. I hope you're happy with your choices. I honestly do. Have fun drinking your life away, getting angry at nothing. You are a disgrace. Understand? A disgrace. You're horrible. I can't believe anypony would have a foal with you. The thought of somepony loving you makes me sick.
Only two things come out of this for you that are good. You get more money, and you get more room. I, on the other hoof, get more. I get to go to a personal Shangri La. An Eden. Nirvana. Paradise . I get to be somewhere where nopony yells, or hits, or ignores. Where foals are treated as they should be. Best of all, I get to be away from you, you dangerous psychopath. Don't blame me for running away, blame yourself for driving me away.
Think about everything you've done in your life. I hope that your life is filled with misery. Because that's a peek at how I feel. I hope you feel empty. Helpless. Sorrowful. Just plain horrible. And when you do, I hope that those feelings carve a hole in your heart. Because I won't feel bad for you. I never will.
Why do you think that yelling and hitting solve problems? Do you think that by injuring somepony, they have the drive to do better? Because, guess what. All it does is make them grow to despise you. There's a reason you're hated by the town. Now, you know why. Now you know why I left. You are a plethora of disgust and hatred. A failure.
Remember this, and this alone: there is a special place in Tartarus for those just like you. I hope that you rot there. I hope that you suffer the worst pains there. Because, you know what? You won the battle. I'm gone, and you won. I hope you understand what you did.
Loathe,
Phoenix Fire
Dear Dad,
I swiped your watch. And appliances. I started my own little life with a runaway colt. We're even making our own bits. As in we have a job of sorts. We're doing suprisingly well, considering the fact that we're school-aged. Better than you, I bet. How have you been doing, anyways? Kidding. I don't care.
This colt I'm living with is named Sprint Jumps, by the way. I think you know his mom. He thinks she's as horrible as you. Which made us perfect. We built a home and got everything furbished. So yeah. You're gonna need some new things in the house.
I don't wanna take up your "precious" time, so I'll make this quick. I will be leaving little letters like this all the time. Hoping you feel bad.
Until then,
Dear Mom,
I'm sick of it. Of the yelling, the hitting. You need to learn. You're always telling me to learn everything I can, but you don't follow your own advice. You have to think about what you're doing during your little "lessons" before you do them . It isn't hard to do. It just takes thought.
Think of the yelling. I can't stand yelling at anypony. Do you want to know why? It's because I don't want to make anypony feel the way you make me feel when you're yelling. I feel horrible. I don't want ponies to cry. I want you to realize this. Think back.
And, do you want to know why I can never seem to hear what you say to me? It's because I'm half-deaf from you yelling into my ear all the time. I can barely hear myself think in an empty room because of you. Do you want that? Do you want me deaf?
Now, let's get to the hitting. Because of you, I hate fighting, hitting, or anything of the sort. I can't throw a punch, I can't stand being hit without wincing, et cetera. Is this why you hit me? I don't like hitting, so you hit me? Seems like wonderful parenting. I know what I'll do when I have kids of my own.
But, and I quote, "If you don't stop being such a little foal, you'll never have a special somepony. You'll spend the rest of your life alone." And with the constant bruises and injuries you give, it might be that way. So please, keep what you're doing. Make the dream come true.
I hope that when you read this, you die a little on the inside. I hope you break from the thought of your "stupid little foal" being all alone in the streets. So you can begin to know my pain.
Forevermore nevermore,
Sprint Jumps
Dear Mom,
I broke in. You aren't getting me back. I needed some food. Fridge is empty, by the way. Despite the hunger, I have it good. Living it up wherever I am. Loving who I'm with. I just hope that you feel the opposite.
Have you learned anything yet? I bet you haven't. I bet you've just been angrier than ever. Losing your little colt, losing your food, losing money. Do you want to know why you keep losing? The answer is simple. You're a loser. A pathetic, whiny, drunken, violent, loud, obnoxious loser.
Would you like to know who I'm living with? Another runaway. Spark Ember. She looks kind of like that one filly from school, Phoenix Fire. But I digress. We built a small shack, I stole the right furnature, she hooked up the appliances and electricity, and we have it good. We sing to everypony, and they give us bits in return. 500 bits in a week since we started. I'm too young to have a job, but I'm doing better than you. I wonder why.
I might make this a regular thing. Letters every few days. Reminding you of your mistakes. It makes me happy. For once. And I hope it makes you miserable. I truly do. I hope you reevaluate your life, your choices.
And here's a hint for you: want to start to get me back? First step is easy. It's a liquid. It's used as a depressant. It's abused. It's addicting. And it's something you should stop using. Can you guess what it is? No? Does your unfinished education prevent you from understanding this? It's this: stop drinking.
Bye for now,
Sprint Jumps
Dear Mom,
I kept my promise. Unlike you ever could. I did as I said I would do. None of the hypocrisy. "I won't hit you again, I promise. Yeah, and I'll stop writing these letters and come home. Do you get the point I'm trying to make? I'm betting you don't. I'm putting my bits on you being drunk. Like you always are.
Spark has been really, really nice to me and everypony she talks to. You would like her, too. But we won't give each other a chance to meet our parents. We do have to thank the two of you, though. You made us mature fast. Made us fit for the real world. You made us know what to do. So, thanks for that.
Have you been going to any AA meetings? Or been buying less beers or anything? I'm betting that the answer is "no. " It's all you need to do to make me start to visit a bit. The less alcohol you have, the more I'll see you. Fair deal. You know it is.
I don't have a lot of time to write this. Me and Spark are going to the park. So, yeah. I'll send more later.
Sprint
Author's Note
I love italics. I really do. Don't you love italics?