Recreational

Long streaks of black ran down her pale blue face, sweat and tears sending the carefully applied make-up south as the mare wiped her hoof across her eyes, trying to calm her shaky sobs as she wriggled the key in its lock, whining in frustration as the sticky device refused to open, not even budging. She gave a half-hearted buck at the door, which surprisingly gave way, creaking into a dingy and dirty flat.

Her violet eyes widened slightly, biting back another sob at the disgusting scene of sin before her, wishing for nothing more than to be free of the impurities that lay around – dirtied corsets, discarded stockings, even a whip thrown haphazardly over a cracked mirror. Bitterly, the mare chuckled at the shards of glass, remarking that this was her 7 years bad luck. Her head hanging in shame, she tried to block out the leathery black items on the floor and draped over furniture, shuffling straps and bonds away to reach her thin mattress, devoid of even a simple wooden frame to support it, not even adorned with a pillow or blanket. The threatened tears finally spilled over her cheeks as her eyes traced over a framed newspaper clipping, the bold letters spelling out ‘The Great and Powerful Trixie Wows All in Fillydelphia’.

Trixie looked away in defeat, her matted silvery mane falling over her glassy, tear-filled eyes, obscuring her vision. Sniffling and looking at the table nearby, she pushed at the dreaded envelopes that lay unopened, bright red stamps taunting her, hurrying her to part with her bits. But Trixie knew she couldn’t, because everything she earned had to go towards one thing, and one thing only.

Drugs.

The mare had first been drawn to the numerous substances, aware of the risks and addiction but so wrapped up in the grim humiliation she’d been subjected to that she needed anything to numb the pain, and the ache in her heart when everyone turned away from her, and the black market had been more than welcoming to the depressed pony trudging through the shady streets. Trixie remembered her first drug experience bitterly, tears streaming down her face as she rubbed at her forearm with a rag soaked in antiseptic, preparing her injection site.

Trixie stared at the syringe filled with milky fluid, biting her lip. She questioned her morals, knowing full well that this would be her demise at some point or another, but she put that thought to one side. She had bits, didn’t she? Was she not allowed any fun? Of course she was. Trixie nodded resolutely, persuading herself that she was only trying it out and had plenty of bits to spend. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, she willed herself to remember how to prepare the syringe and her forearm. A vision of the roughened face that had sold her the syringe appeared, bright and vivid in her mind’s eye. He whispered in her ear, reminding her each step.

“First, you disinfect the injection site. Your arm, newbie.”

Trixie obeyed diligently, scrubbing at her forearm with vigour. She looked up toward the apparition again.

“Now clean the needle. Be careful here, hon, this is where it gets nasty if you don’t do it right.”

Trixie nodded slightly, making sure nopony could see her with a quick turn of her head as she drew out the needle, already uncomfortable in her squatting position in the dank, foul smelling alley. She scrubbed at the needle, carefully avoiding its sharp prick as she wiped away.

“Final step. In, push, out. Simple as that. Now clear off!” the shaky figure chided, his hooves brushing her away as the image faded.

Trixie pushed in the needle, gasping at the sharp point breaking through her tough skin. She pushed down the plunger with her hoof, the milky fluid flowing into her, coursing through her veins and pumping around her body.

She felt no different. At first.

As she stood up, Trixie began to feel more productive. She felt her horn shimmering, only slightly at first, but she couldn’t feel any of the scary symptoms her teacher had described when she was younger. Shrugging and continuing back to her flat, Trixie sighed and wondered if it had been a waste of bits after all.

Trixie shook out of her daze, looking straight at the sterile syringe in its sealed packet. She ripped it from the packet numbly, taking no joy in the act anymore, she very rarely felt the buzz – it was just a dependency, a chore. She plunged the needle in, not even flinching at the sharp point. The routine had become so mundane that it was like eating to her. Her stomach grumbled at this point, reminding her that she had only consumed grimy tap water and whatever her more generous clients had scrounged her as of recently. She couldn’t afford to eat, she couldn’t afford to keep a roof over head. Trixie had nothing. Not even love. She found tears pouring from her eyes again, dripping onto the ripped stockings pulled over her legs, smearing her make-up even further. She looked in the reflection of her mirror and saw a dirty, sinful mare, a needle in her arm and tears over her face. She couldn’t bring herself to think of why she kept doing this to herself, but her mind wandered to the happier place she had been in, regardless of her feelings.

Magic slowly seeped into the unicorn, lifting her sullen features up until her face was dazzlingly bright, her horn pulsing with potential magic. She took a dusty tome from her bookshelf and read from it, energy coursing through her as she sat on the floor, jiggling her leg in excitement. She shut the dusty tome and bounded to all fours, muttering an incantation and watching with dilated pupils as the room filled with a shining light, fading to a plush and beautiful apartment, fitted with luxuries aplenty. Trixie smiled proudly – she knew it was only a glamour, a trick of the eye, and would last for an hour at the most, but the spell was difficult and surpassed most unicorns abilities. She sunk into the plush sofa, but found it to smell foul and be lumpy and uncomfortable, just like her real one. She frowned and stamped a little, annoyed that the glamour wasn’t real. But soon she felt as if she were floating, a Pegasus with a horn, just like the princesses. Everywhere she looked was bright, and the world felt like a blast of sunshine to the influenced mare, lifting her out of her gloom and desperation. Trixie practiced more spells, delighted and feeling free, out of her dingy past-life and into a world where she could be the Great and Powerful Trixie again, adored by crowds and spectators.

Trixie shook her head, still sobbing. She got up and shed the revolting attire she had donned – a tightly laced corset stained with bodily fluids and cigarette ash, and fishnet tights ripped to shreds. She threw the garments on the floor and curled up on the thin mattress, tears soaking the material as she sobbed herself into a feverish sleep, dreading the days that stretched before her.