Recreational

Trixie slumped on the dirty and half-sunken couch in her apartment, too tired and low to even peel off the tight and uncomfortable skirt and ripped stockings, the leather jacket hanging around her shoulders limply. She levitated over the small savings bag and poured all the golden glittering bits inside, her heart heavy as tears came streaking down her face, disgusted at herself. Rain pattered incessantly at the window, a heavy downpour that splashed and leaked, water seeping through the badly fitted window frames and running down the already mouldy walls, a steady dripping noise ringing through the silent home. Trixie stared at the droplets running down the peeling beige wall, flinching every time a droplet hit the floor with a tiny noise. Her withdrawal caused her to be irritated by the trifle of a sound, and she stamped and shouted until she was in tears again, tired and lonely, dishevelled and dirty despite her shower. Her conscience was in shreds, and she knew wherever she went that her memories and addiction would come with her, never leaving, always present. She shuddered and finally ripped off the disgusting outfit, cantering into her shower and pouring the cold water on herself, trying to sober up the depression that lay in the bottom of her stomach like cold, heavy gruel, but to no avail. She sobbed openly, screaming and shivering in a passionate whirlwind of emotion, her conscience being cruelly shredded to pieces as she re-lived the last few months – her first prostitution experience, her first withdrawal, the abuse, the laughing, jeering faces of citizens, the heated whispering, the dark and cold loneliness, each and every dosage of heroin that had entered her body – it all flooded into her mind as she stood in the shower, the cold water drenching her silver mane and leaving it lying limp in straggly ringlets. Her hooves were stained with black eyeshadow and mascara, all mingled with salty tears and the regrets of her life. She curled in a foetal position under the constant stream of water, whimpering with her raw throat as one childhood memory played on repeat, the cold water numbing her body until she felt as though she was a tiny husk, a small light glowing inside, fading as the memory continued to present itself to her.

A young Trixie stood proud and tall, the soft material of her hat hanging a little over eye level and her cape brushing along the floor. She couldn’t care less, however, for her immense pride of the objects over empowered everything.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look what I got today!” she said, bouncing up and down in front of her father. Her father sat down tiredly, bags under his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“What now?” he groaned, reaching over for a cold glass bottle of hard cider.

“Look Daddy! I’m going to be a very special unicorn! I’m going to know all the magic there is!” the filly chorused, smiling widely at her father.

He simply laughed at her, shaking his head.

“Listen Trixie,” he said, beckoning her to come closer. “You’ll never learn anything. You are a stupid little runt – I’ll be surprised if you’ll even learn how to levitate this bottle.” He waved the bottle in front of her face mockingly, before taking a long swig from it. “I don’t even know why we had you. You are a waste of space, girl, and you’ll never be worthwhile. Ever.” He savagely pushed her away, moving in to the next room to watch the television.

Tears started to form in the corner of Trixie’s eyes as she looked at the door frame her father had passed through.

“I’ll show you Daddy. I’ll be the Great and Powerful Trixie… one day… I’ll show you…” she whispered, backing away slowly, tears falling over her tiny blue cheeks.

Trixie bawled at the memory of her alcoholic father, a memory that she had packed away for years in a neat little box in her mind, stored away to never have the lid prised off. But her crashing low had ripped the lids off, letting images of her being molested and beaten roam wild through her mind’s eye, bitter sobs ringing through the apartment as she rocked back and forth, her head pounding and throat aching. She finally calmed down enough to stand up without shivering, and wiped her tears away, intent on getting a higher fix to take her mind away from it all. She sniffed bravely and set out in the pouring rain without so much as an umbrella, treading through the streets of Ponyville, set on automatic pilot to the shady network of alleys, all connecting and intertwining, nearly impossible to navigate to somepony who had never been there before. But Trixie knew her way, simply through habit.

Trixie shuffled into one of the many alleys, nodding at the familiar faces with their wares laying on the grimy floor, eyeing the cardboard with the prices scribbled on. Starting at around 200 bits were the fake heroin pouches – the real heroin lost in flour that made it look like a full pouch for an amazing deal.  Trixie knew of their cunning tricks and had never vended from them, knowing by word of mouth that it wasn’t a good deal – it was a scam. As she continued down the alley, prices climbed higher and higher, surpassing where she usually stopped and moving into the 1000 bit section. She knew she would regret it but at that point she needed something to wake her up and take her to a happier place, not just a state of depression from her tolerance level. She dropped the sack of bits in front of a lavender mare who looked up and launched her advertising spiel.

“100% magically cultivated pure – TRIXIE?!” she barked, her amethyst eyes staring at her own violet ones, incredulous. She clamped her hoof over her mouth and looked up and down the alley, hoping she hadn’t attracted anypony’s attention. Convinced, she turned back to Trixie, who had backed away in shock. What was Twilight Sparkle doing, selling drugs? As if she had read her mind, Twilight sighed and explained.

“Um… Well… It started at a friend of mines party. Things got out of hand and I tried some… some heroin. Don’t tell the Princess!” she said, wincing. “So I make my own now, and sell the leftovers.”

Trixie nodded, still staring at the unicorn that had been her downfall suspiciously. She picked up her bag of bits and carried on walking, not forgiving her enough to part with her well-earned bits.

“Trixie! Wait! I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Twilight yelped, standing up as Trixie continued down the alley silently, not even turning back. “I… I didn’t mean for it to all go wrong!”

Trixie shook her head and chuckled bitterly. Of course she didn’t, but what would apologies do for her now? It was too late for that. It was too late for anything. Trixie eyed several bags on the floor, each filled up to half way with the ivory powder that her body coveted and craved so much.

“1200 bits, lady. This is some good shit right here.” He said, his foreleg sweeping over the bags dramatically. Trixie shrunk back, considering her options. 1200 bits… That was everything she had earned. The whole painful night, the disgusting experience, all in one little plastic pouch of powder. The humiliation distress, memories… But if the vendor was right, it would be worth it. It would be worth it to escape reality, to live in a fantasy world of happiness and productivity, an elaborate figment of imagination, bright colours, shapes. Trixie nodded and dropped the heavy bag of bits on the sticky terrain with a loud thud, moving it towards the stallion. He sifted through it and counted each round coin, muttering numbers to himself. He finally passed Trixie one small sachet and they said their goodbyes silently.

Back in her apartment of squalor, Trixie pulled open a drawer desperately, fumbling around for a spoon as her withdrawal swept over her, worse than earlier, worse than ever before. She cursed and sobbed as she carefully scooped a small pile of the powder in it, using her magic to produce a flame under it, heating the powder into a bubbling liquid. She poured it into an empty syringe from her last dose and tapped it, trying to shake out the bubbles. When she was finally happy with it, she scrubbed at her forearm and let the sharp needle pierce through her skin, sighing with relief and closing her eyes. She walked over to the kitchen sink and poured a glass of ice cold water, finishing the whole glass in one go. No matter how many times she had taken it, Trixie had always suffered from the drug in terms of stomach pain, and she had found that cold water helped ease it. She draped herself over the couch and let herself float into a peaceful world, devoid of all her pains and memories, just full of love, brightness and happiness, the perfect life. She stood next to a lavender mare; smiling happily and pulling in to a kiss, watching their little filly play in the park. Trixie didn’t fully realise the identity of the mare until later on – Twilight Sparkle. Trixie frowned at herself through the hazy dreams, confused as to why she envisioned herself with the very mare who had caused all her unhappiness, who had stolen away the perfect life she led, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to depress herself with more thoughts of that variety, for she had to be happy, while she still could. Even if life cheated her with misery and depression, the one outlet Trixie could rely on to escape reality was drugs, and she smiled happily on the outside, but inside all she could do was curl up and cry.