ECHIDNA

Contamination

Fluttershy woke up panting, and with her hoof she searched frantically for the lamp; her hoof hit the  hard wood of the bedside table, once, twice, before touching the cold iron of the lamp.

Between whimpers of pain, Fluttershy tried to turn it on, but her frantic movements only managed to make it sway, roll, and crash on the floor.

A gurgle of disappointment and fear escaped from her mouth, and she just stood there, limbs wide, wings sprained open, eyes wide in the darkness. Her right hoof was pressed on her chest, and thin tears were streaming across her cheeks.

It was back, and it was back with vengeance; thin razors of pain scratched her chest, contracting and expanding, contracting and expanding, like a spring made of thorns.

Her low voice panted shards of words in the night.

“Plea-”, she whimpered.

“Plea... pleas-” she coughed again.

Please stop, she tried to say, but words failed her.

Too soon. It was too soon, but definitely there. It was happening again, and the fear of realization washed over her, a black tide that left Fluttershy trembling on the bed until the pain eased, and her shivers passed.

She exhaled slowly, again and again, until the pain was gone; she briefly looked down at the lamp, broken on the floor, and at the blot of oil that bickered in the silvery hue of what dim moonlight passed through the windows' covers.

She had rarely felt so bad, and never so soon; it looked like this time was going to be... harsh. Harsher that she thought, or hoped, anyway.

Fluttershy prayed that her little friends were happy and safe at home, in the cottage; prayed to come back soon and enjoy a little peace.

She had learned how useless was praying for all this to end very, very long ago. Nor Celestia, nor Luna could her with this. Not even her friends.

At last, after she had wiped away her tears and carefully flapping her wings to take her on the other part of the room without stepping on the glass splinters, she entered the small bathroom, and turned on the lamp.

In the quivering light, she looked at herself in the mirror, eyes wide, pupils like pinprick, streaks of tears on her coat, and, down to her muzzle, and neck, to her yellow chest; she passed her hoof there.

There was nothing; her coat and skin looked as good as ever.

Fluttershy gulped in the night, and another current of fear passed through her.