“Fluttershy’s Nightmares”
By Breeziebee
Fluttershy sighed pleasantly as the couch sagged under her weight. She enjoyed today, very much. Pinkie Pie had thrown a party in the name of friendship—though really, Fluttershy suspected, she’d only run out of birthdays to celebrate—and the night was filled with music, games, treats, and Pinkie Pie’s incessant inquiries of whether everypony was enjoying themselves. She’d seemed particularly concerned with Fluttershy’s contentment though, as she spent most of the party with one hoof over her shoulder, exhausting every topic imaginable, while Flutter only offered smiles, and an occasional ‘Yes,’ or a polite laugh when Pinkie told a silly pun.
It was a relief to be at home, where it was quiet, and she didn’t have to worry about carrying a conversation. If she wanted to talk, she had Angel who, though a little ornery, was good company—and even on his bad days, he was someone to talk to. But the little bunny was curled up in his bed, snoring lightly, and she thought he had the right idea. She was pleasantly sleepy, and content to retire the night. Why, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to douse the lantern across the room. Let alone go upstairs, and move to her bed. She was so very sleepy…
She gave in to the drowsy buzz at the back of her head, and her living room faded under the darkness of heavy eyelids. Her head gently slid til she lay level on the couch, and the timid pony fell into dreams.
“I had good dreams last night,” the girl said quietly over her breakfast, still blinking away sleep from her eyes. Her mother spared half a glance over her shoulder as she dunked a glass in a sink of suds, then turned back to the dishes. “I said, I had good dreams last night.”
“I heard you.”
As she swirled her orange juice in the glass, the sink splashed loudly, and ceramic clanked against glass. The girl was timorous of her mother’s temper, but pride gave her bravery. “Did I cry out any, though?”
There was SQUEEEAK as the tap was turned off. Her mother edgily flicked her hands, shaking off the water, and dried them on her apron. Her high heels squealed on the waxed floor, with little more grace than the rusty tap. The girl flinched, her head shrinking into her shoulders, bracing for whatever was to come. But her mother merely said,
“I didn’t get off work until five.” Five in the morning, that was. The girl looked at her mother in concern, but it was, shamefully, for herself. She watched as the aging woman crossed the room and reached for a lighter. The cigarette was already in hand. The girl’s nose wrinkled in revulsion--she was used to the smell, but that didn’t make it any better. To her horror, the grimace had not gone unnoticed by her mother, whose mouth twitched sourly into a smirk that resembled their dog Spike’s snarl. She bent until her waist was level with the table, and blew a puff of smoke into her daughter’s face, who did not bat away the cloud, but couldn’t fight the violent tickle surging down her throat. She coughed, and her stomach twisted under the awareness of her mother’s displeasure.
Her mother pushed a glass of orange juice towards her before the cough had subsided, and left the room. The radio was turned on, and the hiss of static as the battle for a proper signal ensued. The girl was just finishing her breakfast when a hoarse voice hollered impatiently, “The bus is here!”
She tipped her orange juice up, scrambled to force the last bit of ham into her mouth, and swallowed, just as she heard high heels storming towards the kitchen.
“I’m coming!” She cried desperately, starting on the last piece of toast. Her mother’s hand hit the back of her neck, and she choked out the half chewed toast onto her plate.
“I’ve taught you better manners than that. What’s the matter with you?” She didn’t answer. “I’ve seen better manners from the dog. Are you a pig?”
“No!” She said, tears brimming as her throat swelled.
“Are you a baby?”
“No!” She sniffled.
“Stop crying.” She looked down at the plate, with the half chewed lump of toast. “Finish.”
She hesitated.
“I said finish!”
She forced the soggy lump back into her mouth, and swallowed. “Now get out there, or you’ll miss the—“ She was interrupted by the squeak of tires and the grumble of a reluctant engine as the school bus rolled away. The woman turned to her daughter with wild fury. Her nostrils puffed, and her eyes widened, and then like the fading echoes of thunder, her rage subsided into a sober, flat response. “I’m not driving you.”
She knew this meant she was walking—which meant she would get another ‘tardy’ on her student chart at school. She’d only had one tardy left to go before Mrs. Roberts had a conference with her mother. Maybe, if she hurried, she could make it just at the bell…
She coughed again, as a plume of smoke intercepted her move to leave the kitchen. She waved at the cloud, eyes shut tight, but her hand was snatched midair. Pain seared through her arm as the red hot butt of a cigarette ate at her skin.
“You don’t like it? There,” she dropped her hand, and tossed the cigarette to the floor. “I put it out.”
She arrived at school out of breath, but her efforts were for naught. She walked home that day carrying a letter from her teacher, to her mother.
But when she fell asleep that night, again, the nightmares didn’t come.
Her dreams were sweet, kind and generous. They were fun, they made her happy, they filled her with joy, they sent her heart aflutter. She never did remember what they were about. Only that, there, she had friends.
“Good morning, Fluttershy!”
“Good morning.” She made her way through the market, shopping for food for the animals. Familiar faces passed her by, and she met them with bashful smiles.
“Well hey there, Fluttershy!”
“Good morning, Applejack.” The morning was sunny and cool, the air crisp, and fresh. Somehow, today, everyone seemed just a little nicer. A little happier. That’s the beauty of Ponyville. Every day has just a little more to admire than the day before.
“Good morning, dear!”
“Good morning, Rarity.” Fluttershy smiled beneath her veil of hair. “You look very pretty today. Oh!—I mean, you looked pretty yesterday, too, and you also look pretty today.” She hung her head. “I just forgot to tell you yesterday.”
“Oh, Flutter, really!” Rarity waved a hoof. “You’re such a darling. I think I rather do look especially well today. I got the most wonderful sleep after that party!”
“Oh.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes I slept very well, thank you.” Though, as Rarity chatted on about the wonders of beauty sleep, Fluttershy faintly recalled a bad dream. She never did remember what it was about. But she was glad. Good dreams are the only ones that matter.
