Privileged

Rough.

The floor felt rough, and cold. Cold Hoof tried to stand up, but a chain collar locked onto his neck kept him in place. He yanked on it experimentally. It seemed to have been fitted into a wall a few feet from where he laid.

What happened?

It was dark in the room. He could hardly make out the walls. There were bars in one end of the cell, presumably to hold him in. Behind the bars he could make out what looked like a corridor filled with other cells, though it was too dark to be certain.

The last thing Cold Hoof could remember was… nothing. He couldn’t remember anything about how he got here!

He scrambled around a little bit, trying to stand up. His legs felt sluggish and numb, but he eventually managed to drag himself to his hooves using one of the walls.

A few limping steps later he discovered that he was unable to reach the cell door. The chain seemed to be made just short enough to keep him from touching the bars. The edge of his hoof hovered just inches from the metal if he lifted it from the floor. For some reason this made Cold Hoof extremely nervous.

A quick search of the dark cell gave no indication of where he was. The walls were smooth, and with the exception of a blood smear near where the shackle connected to the wall, pristine white, washed clean. Cold Hoof turned and walked back into the cell, the chain doubling back and clinking against the whitewashed floor.

He needed to know where he was.Think Cold Hoof, what is the last thing you can remember?

Initially, nothing came to him. He strained to grasp onto something, anything at all really, but the memories in his head were all shards and pieces that made no sense on their own. Cold Hoof felt his breathing quicken and grow shallow as the search failed to give any yield.

Pacing around the cell seemed to help.

Cold Hoof could feel the numbness and pain in his limbs that had accumulated while he slept slowly seep from his form with each step. It felt good to be walking.

After a while of this, finding scarce purchase on his lost memories, Cold Hoof shifted his focus to the chain around his neck, noticing the way it would restrict airflow to his lungs when he got too close to the cell door. He nickered and gave it a tug, feeling a strong, primal desire to break the restrictive bonds.

The chains rattled, and his hooves slipped across the floor, finding no purchase on the white stone. He kept on tugging until small white dots obscured his vision. Only then did he stop to heave for air.

“Nghh… stupid chain.” Cold Hoof coughed a few times, feeling days of old phlegm working their way out of his throat. He felt as if he hadn’t spoken for days.

“Hello, is anybody there? Why am I locked up?” Cold Hoof shouted, painfully aware of how dry his throat was. “I could really use some water and… and I don’t even know why I'm here. Please, someone answer me.”

He sighed and walked to the back of the cell.

GoddessI could use some water.

He felt like he had been sitting there for hours. He had managed to entertain himself for a little while by counting the cracks in the walls, but after he got into a mental argument with himself about whether or not a particularly small fissure was deep enough to be considered a crack, he decided that the game was no good for his sanity and tried to get some sleep instead.

Rough.

The floor was way too rough for sleeping, cold too.

He stared at the wall. I still can’t remember anything from before.

There were small memories floating around in his head, wanting to be explored, screaming at him, and imploring him to view them. Every time he focused on any one in particular they would all fade into the background, leaving only the cell wall in front of him to occupy his thoughts.

Each time he grasped for one he would feel some emotion, or sense the outline of a vision before the memory faded away. The conflicting imagery and feelings made him feel like he was going to throw up at any moment. His vision was spinning and contracting slightly from concentrating too hard. Frustrated, slightly nauseated and disoriented, Cold Hoof tried to quiet his mind.

With the strain of concentration gone, Cold Hoof felt sensations tugging at his awareness, begging him again to explore his own memory. There is no use in trying now; they will just keep slipping from my grasp.

A particular imploring feeling pushed at the edge of his awareness, a feeling of happiness, order and peace. Instead of focusing on it like he had done before, Cold Hoof let the memory invade his awareness. Bits and pieces of sensations collected, giving him a clear impression.

Cold Hoof was working in his shop, before the deportations and restrictions had overtaken the city. Everything had been perfect then, why hadn't it stayed that way?

Another memory surfaced.

It had been afternoon. May Lily was laughing, running around inside the house, trying to get his attention. He was working on a commissioned design, reprimanding her halfheartedly for running in the house. The memory was accompanied by a sense of stress and urgency, mixed with a feeling of contentment. I don’t think I realized it then, but I enjoyed having her around, even when she made trouble.

Cold Hoof smiled a little to himself, cherishing the memory. He felt the pieces of his identity and mind return to their rightful places within his head.

The images and sensations continued to flow. Most of them passed through his awareness in almost no time at all, but a few would invade his senses. These felt almost as vivid as the floor beneath his hooves, and there seemed to be no way of interrupting the stream of emotion.

It was a dark winter’s day, almost immediately after the deportations started. Cold Hoof was walking down the street. The snow had recently fallen, and had yet to be cleared. It was soft, and It made crunching sounds every time he took a step.

He remembered being drunk. He had been frustrated with the way the earth pony rebellions were being handled. All of his friends were either being deported or had stopped seeing him, based on which race they belonged to.  It didn't pay to be seen with an earth pony if you were a unicorn or pegasus. It wasn't long beforeeverypony left me. Everypony but olive, she had too many kids, so the Peacekeepers made an exception.Bless Hackett’s soul.

He heard screams from an alley; Screams from a little filly.

Cold Hoof squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hooves against his temples, hard enough to make small spots spring forth beneath his closed eyelids. Still the images kept flowing.

He stumbled while he walked past the alley.Itsjust another rape victim, another victim of civil unrest. It it’s not my problem.

He dug his hooves harder into the side of his head. A warm liquid started trickling down from the base beneath his left ear.

Something compelled him to investigate. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe he was tired of not being able to do anything. He wanted to make an impact, Even if that impact happened to be his hoof against someone’s flesh… someone’s skull.

Cold Hoof knew what came next, but he didn’t want to see it. He screamed as loud as he could, but the images kept flashing, unbidden, before his eyes.

“Worthless, good-for-nothing, shitheads.” Trashcans toppled over. “I’m being deported, and you get to stay here? For what? So you can continue your stupid violin lessons? So you can be with your other privileged friends? You couldn’t play an instrument if you were knocked in the head with it!”

May Lily sobbed, cowering up against a brick wall. Garbage piled on both sides. Her uncle towered over her, drunk. There was no way out. She didn’t understand, of course. She was only six, how could she? They were all gone, and the only one that was still here was her uncle, Blue Moon. It wasn’t fair at all. All he wanted was to hurt her, to feel better than someone.

As if the best way to feel better than your niece was to make her feel worse.

She was done, it wouldn’t matter if she died here, cowering against this wall. It wouldn’t matter if she sunk through the ground and was never seen again.

“Just, l-leave already! Leave me alone!”

A sharp kick connected with her side. She gasped, her sides rising and falling, heaving for air.

There was nothing more to say, they both knew that no one would benefit from their conversation. They both knew what the other wanted, and were equally reluctant to give it.

Blue Moon sat down, patiently watching her. He was wobbling slightly from intoxication. They sat like this for another couple of minutes, the only sound being May Lily’s shallow breaths, barely enough air passed by her lips to disturb the particles of dust floating there.

“I hope you die.”

Thwack! Another blow connected, this time from a forehoof. “Manners, young lady.” He said, leaning over her. “You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask nicely.”

Despite her now-swelling eye, she managed a look of heavy defiance. “I won’t beg,” she said, as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I won’t beg for you,” she repeated, this time with more volume.

Blue Moon smiled, standing up again.

“It’s a pity you won’t give me what I want, filly. It’s okay, though. You have other things that I want, things that I can take from you.” He smirked. “You know, you’re not entirely unattrac--”

He didn’t get any farther. A surprised gargling sound made its way out of his throat as a hoof grabbed a hold of his tail from behind and tugged him away from the frightened filly. As it happened, Blue Moon was no stranger to ‘disputes,’ but taken by surprise he was quickly brought to the ground and held down by the newcomer.

May Lily stared, frightened. His hooves were a grey blur as they fell upon her uncle; his breathing filled the cold night air between them with puffs of white steam. His watch cutie mark got quickly spattered with small droplets of crimson.

At first, her uncle fought back, bringing hooves to protect his face, but Cold Hoof had brought his onslaught to the unprotected belly-flesh instead, winding him, and driving all energy from his system.

There was a frightening sneer upon his face as he pounded away at Blue Moon, as if he was enjoying it.

There was nothing else in the world for Cold Hoof at this moment. He had needed to hit something, hard. Now that he had started, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop. Something compelled him — when he had landed a blow — to immediately follow it up with the next.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to yell about everything that wasn’t fair. He wanted to tell the world exactly what he thought about it. Each word forced past his lips with rage was punctuated by the fall of a hoof.

“You. Deshpicable. Bashtard. Why. Would. You. shcare. A. Litt-” Cold Hoof’s rant was cut abruptly short as a tooth lodged itself in his fetlock, at the point where hoof and flesh connect. The pain was sudden enough that he fell from his perch upon the stallion as he gripped the injured hoof. He landed head first.

“Aaugh, buck"

Now he really felt the alcohol in his system. The universe spun a few times before his eyes, ringing angry bells inside his head, before his vision cleared up.

With the ringing of the bells gone Cold Hoof became quickly concerned with how quiet it was. He picked a few times at the tooth lodged in his fetlock, before deciding that it was lodged deep enough that it would be easier to leave it there for now.

Everything was quiet in the alley except for a small creature sobbing somewhere off to his right, on the other side of the body.

Body is the right term in this situation, right? Was he even still alive? Cold Hoof stood up and brought his ear close to the stallion’s mouth. He was breathing, faintly.

May Lily, who had been sitting relatively quietly in the corner ‘till now, whimpered. It was loud enough to make Cold Hoof look, surprised, up at her. A rush of paternal hormones filled his system as he noticed the state she was in.

Cold Hoof stood up and stepped over the body towards her. He managed to force a fairly coherent sentence past the haze of adrenaline and alcohol: “Whoa, kiddo, it’sh alright. He’s unconscious now.”

“Stay away from me!” she screeched, standing up. Her hooves planted in a defensive stance, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was hurt already. Small bruises and scrapes littered her skin, like the map of some strange new world, drawn in hurt and abuse. Her tears rolled from her face, indicating wounds that would never go away. This filly needs me.

The thought had entered his mind unbidden, and if he hadn’t been so drunk he would have probably wondered if the pony that just beat her uncle half to death was really worthy of raising her, but he was, so he didn’t.

“Really. I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you!” she sobbed, her eyes displaying the wild fear of an animal, forced up against a wall.

“You should. I can help you.”

“I don’t believe you!” This time she bolted, aiming to circumvent Cold Hoof and get out of the alley.

He grabbed a hold of her with his hoof. “Whoa, it’s ok. Really. Just let me explain.”

May Lily thrashed wildly in his grip, screaming and fighting to be released. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

Seeing the young creature upset was too much for Cold Hoof. Her screams hurt his ears, and any second a guard could have come by and had him arrested for beating her uncle. There would be nothing he could say in his defense. So he removed his hooves.

He watched her race for her freedom.  She looked back once before she darted to the left, her hooves leaving small tracks in the snow. Cold Hoof waited for a few seconds after she was gone before he let go of the breath he had been holding, and looked up at the stars.

He felt good. She might not have appreciated it, but he had saved a possible rape victim this day. He was a hero, really. Really a hero….

He reminded himself that there was still a blue stallion lying next to him. Looking over, he noticed that he was conscious. His eyes wide open in fear. Cold Hoof walked over to him, situating himself over Blue Moon. He lifted a hoof, his muscles tensing up as he sized up the stallion below him. Then he brought it down, softly meeting Blue Moon’s shoulder, his mind felt strangely clear.

“I know what you were doing to that girl,” he said. “At least I know enough about what you did to say one thing for certain. You are going to be deported soon. The guards will find your house. An anonymous pegasus will leave a note at the guard station explaining how you assaulted your unicorn niece. Her bruises will be proof enough.”

Cold Hoof gave him another knock in the abdomen before he walked away from the wheezing stallion, not bothering to look how his words had affected him.

As he stood outside of the alley way he was faced with a crossroad. To the right was his home, and clear, unspoiled snow and safety. To the left he could see where small hoof prints had marred the newly settled snow, leading a ways down before they turned away from sight. Uncertainty.

He trotted to the left. The hoof-prints were easy enough to distinguish from the occasional deviant, easy enough to follow.

In the cell, Cold Hoof’s entire mind was now in place. He was curled up in the corner. The tiny blood smear on his left hoof, from when he pushed his hoof against his temple, might as well have been an ocean of blood. He would have felt equally bad about himself.