Feathers

The Brightest had gone away, but the shame stayed. In our shame, we did away with the feather-dissolving chemical altogether and upgraded the machine. Now it just grinded the feathers away until they were nothing but colorful goop, which it would turn into rainbows. All of the tradition and meaning in rainbows were gone, and they would never be as bright as they once were. The room that once held so much beauty was just a factory now. Dark and lifeless, and there would be no final triumph for the dead pegasi. It would just be more shame.
Only a few workers knew the code to enter this room through it's thick metal door. I was one of them. It was closing time when I entered that room for the last time. Everypony expected me to go home and continue on in my shameful life.
But I wouldn't.
Looking at the grinder, I mentally kicked myself for not just doing it when we still had the chemical. At least then it wouldn't hurt. But I already hurt. Scootaloo didn't deserve to die.
We should have let her keep a feather.
To Tartarus with the rainbows. To Tartarus with the feather shortage. None of this would have happened if Scootaloo had just gotten a feather when she asked.
If Scootaloo could make The Brightest, I could do it too.
So I turned the machine on.
For a moment I regretted it, but as I stepped inside, I realized that my life didn't matter. I didn't have anypony who would miss me. I'd hit a dead end. I'd gotten a job in a place where I never got to use my talents. My life was over, but Scootaloo's wasn't.
All I could see was my own blood and bones being churned around me, and the pain was unbearable, but the shame was finally gone.