Wildlifeby thatonestupidponyChaptersA DepartureHarder HarmoniesSt. Paul Missionary Baptist Church BluesEdit Your HometownA LetterThe Most Beautiful Bitter FruitKing ParkSafer in the Forest/Love Song for Poor MichiganA PoemA DepartureSweetie Bell hadn’t been herself lately. Something was wrong, whether it was in the sorry was she walked around the Carousel Boutique or the sheer amount of time she spent in her room there, nose buried in her journal, pencil moving swiftly across the pages illuminated with her magic. Blue and light, and every once and a while crackling. She had been keeping a journal since she finished high school. Since things first started feeling bad. The entries were sporadic at best, sometimes she wrote in the diary multiple times a day, other times it would sit on the desk for months. Every entry started the same way. “Dear Diary” It wasn’t an uncommon start; it was the same one she used when she had her first journal, back when she was a crusader still, before the ragtag group of friends finally found there purposes. That’s when things started to spiral down. Life didn’t seem to have a purpose anymore once the crusading was done. There were days, even back in high school, when she stared off in class thinking about what her cutie mark actually meant. She knew the literal meaning, yeah, she was good at music. Singing was indeed her forte, but why? Who assigned that to her, and Apple Bloom’s artistic and engineering skills? Where did they come from, the question commonly popped up throughout her diary. The small hypothetical questions she asked herself. The older she got, the more hopeless she felt, and that’s what she was doing that evening in her room above the boutique. It was dark out, Luna had risen the moon hours ago, but she was still writing, trying to work out everything. “Dear Diary. June 14th, Things are spiraling out of control.” She stopped writing, she had to organize her thoughts, usually that didn’t happen until later, but sometimes her stream of consciousness twisted itself around, and got lost somewhere. “Things are spiraling out of control. I have lost hope in myself, because I am so confused. My friends are gone, my family is gone, and things are changing fast. Too fast. Lately I feel like everyone is against me, I don’t know why, I know it’s silly, it really is. Maybe even more than silly, I’m sure a lot of ponies would call it stupid. “This entry sounded to whiny though, so she left it, as it was and started again. “Dear Diary, I have lost it. Everyone notices now, but I find myself forgetting things a lot lately. The other day I ran to the store for Rarity, and I forgot what I was doing before I even got to the market. My mind is just too full of everything else to get through it, I’ve been thinking a lot about Feather Weight lately. I know I shouldn’t, that was all too long ago, and too painful for me. Anyways Diary. There are days when I think that I’m going to die, or think about what it would be like if I was dead. Sometimes, I think it might be best. Not that I’d do anything bad diary, but sometimes I just get thinking. It’s getting late and I should get to sleep but lately sleep is so painful, and writing is good, I have to write, it helps me sleep, Rarity used a word called ‘Cathartic’ when I was a filly, when I was a crusader.” She has to stop again, because she makes a guttural sound, a wheezing, exasperated breath that tells her she needs to slow down. Lately she’s the only one telling herself those kinds of things, no one else seemed to care. Or at least Sweetie didn’t notice the caring, instead she blocked it out, she blocked everyone else. It was Just her and her journal, and she finds herself at the bottom of the page, but when she goes to turn the page she realizes she has ran out. She flips the back of the page, smudged and covered in pen and pencil strokes from years of use, she continues, knowing these are her last words. Or at least her last words before she reincarnates her soul into a new entity, with a new journal she has to trust. There is not a Dear Diary now, simply a strew of words, her penmanship loose now, and sloppy as her chest heaves in surprise. “It hurts so bad, I know that it would be okay, if they were here, the girls. Bloom and Scoots would know what to do. They would remind me of how it used to be, before my mind took over, before I got my cutie mark, back when things had meaning. Well diary, I think we both know something important. This is goodbye. You are done-dead. You will get thrown out, just like I will, just like we all will in the end.” Except she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out. Harder HarmoniesSinging was not an easy career to find a job in. Especially when everyone in Ponyville was talking about her. Murmuring and whispering things like, “Do you remember when that Sweetie Bell lost her voice singing at Mayor Mares 14th inauguration into office.” And Sweetie would cringe as she walked by, because of course she knew; how could she not? And while singing had brought some embarrassments, making songs was a harder task. Cute rhymes had gotten her bye just fine as a filly, when she was a crusader. But now people really expected things from her, her Cutie Mark had become its own discussion topic. Everyone asked her to sing for them to do a silly cover of their favorite songs. They never seemed to want to hear what she wrote though, and she didn’t want to live her life like a wedding singer. She desperately wanted to create things and give her life purpose. Plenty of ponies could sing, but how many of them could write songs that would be popular. Her own songs always had things wrong with them. She sang them staccato in places they should have been legato. The genre would twist itself around, and sometimes she would just end up crying into her microphone, and sometimes she had to label the tapes, “Failure Number One” the numbers went up, and sometimes, just when she thought she had something that was good, a note would squeak roughly out of place in her final run. She would have to title the tape a failure, and curl up in her bed. It just wasn’t worth it to her anymore. No, nothing was worth it. She hadn’t tried to make music in so long, she hadn’t tried to do anything, or at least nothing that could end up being overwhelming. Music was overwhelming. Now in her room, in Rarities boutique, she stares at herself in the vanity mirror of her en suite bathroom. She finds her eyes looking too yellow, tinted red under them where the skin was inflamed from crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she brushed her teeth or her curly purple and white hair. She only had one task in that room and that was to take her medicine. The tiny white capsules, that Nurse Redheart had prescribed her when Rarity rushed her to the hospital after her first incident. When she freaked out at the market. When Rarity asked her to get the asparagus but she got green onions. When she raised her voice so every pony could here. “YOU WANTED ME TO DO THIS RARITY.” She screamed, “YOU JUST WANTED ME TO LOOK STUPID INFRONT OF EVERYONE, DIDN’T YOU, WELL THAT WONT WORK!” The screaming went on two for hours, as onlookers share concerned words to each other. Whispering of the sickness they believed the girl had. But none of them left, they all crowded around her like she was a show, a spectacle. And then Rarity had her in the hospital, and she was given pills. She never had faith in them though, she thought she knew a lot about pills. She certainty had taken enough. Feather Weight had started that at a party, Scootaloo edged her on too and It didn’t take long until every party came with a small pill bottle. Thinking about her silly stories made her drop the pills, drop the bottle to the ground, hearing them all clatter to the linoleum brought a chill up her spine. Staccato and fast, like some kind of holy drum. Or the perfect noise your tongue made when you ended a note with diction. She takes the pills off the floor, not caring about the grime that was likely there, not caring about the last time she washed the floor, or the things she knew had been on it. She swallows them, just two at first, but then three or four, or maybe six. And then she is laying on her bed, humming to herself, and thinking about the first time she and Feather Weight surpassed third base. The elegant grinding of flesh and teeth on lips, and the sickly exchange of souls. St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church BluesOn her way to the Ponyville Pharmacy, the white unicorn found herself walking passed the Royal Celestian Church. She passed it every time she had to refill her medicine. But today she stopped, surveying the plot of land in front of the building. Vacant. It called to her though, and she went, sitting in the pew, where she did when she was a little girl, when it was important to go. It was important to learn the prayers of the princesses, and the sins that would send her through perdition. When Magnum and Pearl split up though, so did the church going. Pearl never seemed to have time anymore to go to church, but occasionally, when she spent weekends with her father, they would still go, sitting in the normal pew, soundless and listening to the old pony’s preach. Sweetie would sing the hymns to loud, until eventually she was invited to join the choir. She never understood her parent’s divorce, but Rarity seemed too, and that’s why she started living there. Pearl drank too much sometimes, and yelled at Sweetie in a raging crescendo, before finding a decrescendo back into quiet murmuring. “Sweetie this is all your fault.” Her chest tightened, maybe that’s why she kept going to church, she wanted to be freed of her faults. That’s what the minister preached. So she sang as loud as any of the other ponies, her skill level matched. At first she found joy in it. Especially when she got her Cutie Mark there. Things were looking up for the filly. She thought that her mark would give her hope, give her life a purpose, and she promised, at her party to never forget the choir that she stared out in. She never did. Sweeties Faith went on unwavering, but as she aged, turning to a teenager, then to a young adult she realized a troublesome issue, as weeks and months went on, the congregation found itself thinning, until eventually it was just her-a lone soloist, and the Apples, listening to the preacher pony. Shortly after, it was just Apple Bloom and Granny Smith. And then it was just Granny Smith. She hadn’t missed a service since Sweetie Bell had been born. And she never did. The last time sweetie bell went to church, her voice quivered and shook, as they buried the old green pony after the service. Granny Smith's death changed Ponyville. The minister pony retired after Granny Smiths Funeral. The church shut down a few months later. The doors were boarded up for a while, and then the space was rented for destination weddings, but lately she hadn’t seen anyone there. None of it mattered though, she was here now. The air was thick and heavy as she choked out a sob in response to the desolation of that holy place. Her faith was gone now though, and she knew it was bad, she remembered the disappointment in her family when they found out she didn’t praise the sisters, nor the other alicorn royalty. But she didn’t see a reason too. Pearl didn’t go to church, and Rarity hadn’t since she stopped going to school. Rarity told her, going to church was one thing, but not believing was something else. But she didn’t care, and sometimes Sweetie Bell thought about what it would be like if there wasn’t a sun or a moon, and she thought the order of that might be something she could get used to. She sits in the church for a long time, starting at the large wooden sun that hung above the pulpit. Her chest feels tight again, and she can’t contain herself, she opens herself up in the church, and cried until her head pounded against itself, desperately trying to void itself of the situation. Someone else In the form of a large Red Stallion, raking away leaves, and smoothing the gravel with a big plow greeted her when she left. “Big Mac?” She asks, surprised. The Red Pony looks up at Her, he’s almost surprised by her looks, the decay that had befallen her since he had last seen her. “What are you doing her Mac.” The red stallion doesn’t say anything, instead works on pulling weeds for a few moments, hoping she would leave it alone. He tried to change the subject, “Sweetie Bell, ‘ave you been okay lately?” His words are a low and concerned, “I here Miss Rarity frettin’ bout yah to AJ.” Sweetie bell feels her stomach plummet, ”What do you mean fretting, I’m perfectly fine.” She knew she couldn’t lie in front of a church. “I just worry bout yah Sweetie, Yah know E’ryone is talkin’ bout yah.” Her teeth grind roughly against each other, and Big Mac goes back to raking now, making the pile orderly. His eyes look tired. He looks tired, and as he sees Sweetie Bell walking away, he feels the need to answer her question. “Ah just think Granny Smith would like it best this way.” Sweetie turns around puzzled, “Hm?” she inquires. “Well that’s why Ah’m here. I think Granny Smith would want the church lookin’ nice” Sweetie sometimes wondered if anyone wanted to love her the way Big Mac loved his grandmother. If anyone would come and rake her leaves-clearing her head of the muck. If anyone would take the time to pull the weeds from her mind. Big Mac’s words churn in her head. Granny Smith probably would want to church being at its best, she was at near the matriarch of the church, not just the apple family. Sweetie bell had tried in her diary to blame Granny Smith for her lack of faith, she had tried to justify her despair on the death f her best friends grandmother. “Dear Diary September 1rst. Granny Smith’s service was today, and Apple Bloom looked so sad. I don’t think I have ever seen her cry that hard. I don’t really understand, but Diary, I don’t think im going to sing in the choir anymore. I was never doing it for me was I, I was always doing it for Granny Smith and Apple Bloom, because they are my friends, and I cared about them. But not anymore. Bloom told me today she was moving, and I told her how it seemed so damn coincidental, that if the old hag hadn’t bit the dust, Bloom wouldn’t be leaving me. She knows about what happened with Feather Weight, and yet she’s selfish to the point of leaving. This is why the princess’s aren’t special. They can raise the sun and the moon, and maybe they are decedents from our creators. But how are they different then us? I think it’s that they don’t feel like we do. They don’t have to. Maybe if the princesses rose spirits and hope and dropped the sadness would be in a different position.” Sweetie Bell’s recollection of this moment made her think about the church more, and she was surprised when she heard the talk after she picked up her meds. Filthy Rich was talking to some other pony, one with a thick Manehatten accent, and they laughed with each other, drinking outside of Sugarcube corner. “Yes” the wealthy stallion said to the stranger. “I think that would be a beneficial use for that lot” The stranger seems overjoyed, “Perfect, Perfect.” He starts. “That old church has been there too long, Mr. Rich, I’m glad you think the Manehatten Bankers Association could put it to the use it needs to be at.” Sweetie Bell cried when she got home. Edit Your HometownSweetie Bell missed the crusaders desperately. But they had found something; they had done something with their lives, and left Ponyville. They knew how to make their lives worthwhile. When she was younger, she remembered the promise they made, Friends for Ever. And when they wrote to her, they would tell her that she needed to get her spirits up, and that musicians were doing well everywhere. She just had to look. That seemed like a pain though, especially when they left her. It was there job to come back, not hers to chase them down, even when she wished she could. She remembered everyone leaving. Scootaloo had been the first. The Orange Pegasus was conflicted for a long time before she brought it up. “Girls” she started, “Yah know, since we all got our Cutie Marks, we really can’t be called the crusaders anymore. We aren’t crusading. And, I feel like I have spent a lot of time here, because I love you guys, but.” It all seemed too staged to Sweetie Bell, too rehearsed. “I got a really good opportunity with Melon Burst in Las Pegasus” Sweetie Bell’s heart fell so fast into her stomach, her eyes were already watering. “I got a stunt show if I want to go, and I think I do. I don’t even think. I know I want this. I’ll miss you guys, I’ll miss you every day, but I gotta go, I gotta do this for myself. Scootaloo and Melon Burst were a thing now, dating, they had since the first letter the girls got from her. Her show didn’t end up working out. Sweetie Bell felt accomplished by hearing this, but that was once again crushed when she found out that they were going to stay there. They had opened up a diner. The staff rode scooters. “Isn’t it sick!” she wrote in ne of her first letters. But Sweetie Bell thought it would be even better to have Scootaloo back where she belonged. The last exchange they had had been through a letter from October. Scootaloo had responded to a previous letter: “Hey Sweetie, it was good to hear from you. Celestia knows, I miss you and Apple Bloom. I was disappointed that you decided not to come visit me in Las Pegasus. Is It about money, I can get you your ticket. I heard your song today on the radio, you finally did it Sweetie, you hit the top charts, but you probably already know this. Bloom wrote me, she said you and Feather Weight broke up, that’s a shame Sweetie, but don’t let it get you down! Don’t fall back into that place you were before you guys met!” Of course Sweetie knew that she had hit the charts, but that was with one song, and she couldn’t do it again. She desperately wanted to see Feather Weight, just something casual, “Hey Scootaloo heard my song on the radio” but that wasn’t welcome anymore. Bloom left three months later. Her words were less planned out, but she was leaving, “Ah’m goin’ to live with Babs in Manehatten, Ah’m gonna be going to a Tech school there, yah know the MTS” Yes sweetie ball was familiar with the Manehatten Technical School. “Congratulations” she says. She tried not to freak around Bloom as they packed, she was as calm as she could, and even laughed a bit when they reminisced, going through the old picture album. “Sweetie I’m really gonna miss you, take care of yourself?” she asked, but it was more like a plead. When she got home is when the trouble started, and she knew she shouldn’t have thrown the tea-pot at rarity, she knew she shouldn’t have knocked the mannequins over. “RARITY THEY LEFT, THEY ALL LEFT, ARE YOU GONNA LEAVE NOW? I BET YOU ARE, EVERYONE LEAVES, DAD LEFT, SCOOTS, APPLEBLOOM AND GRANNYSMITH!” she has to breath then a big breath, rage forming somewhere deep inside of her, but when she speaks again, things seem calmer, but more broken. This speech comes after the storm of emotions. “They all left Rarity, I’m all alone.” Rarity promised that she would always be there. Sweetie Bell closed her journal, she had to stop thinking about those things, those toxic events, she had to throughout the journal, but she couldn’t do that, especially when she sees the note tacked to the door, “Sweetie, We Must Talk.” Rarity started everyone with a capital when she wrote. Their conversation was simple, Rarity told Sweetie that she would need to find her own home now, that she was grown up, and had to do this. She promised to help, but Sweetie Bell just wants to run away, maybe settle in Appleoosa, or Mustania. She could be alone and miserable there. She didn’t have the heart to do it though, so she just sat at the table silent staring at Rarity before she fastened the words where they belong, she’s not yelling now, it’s a surprise, but her tone is accusing. “I see how it is Rarity” she hisses, “You just want to be rid of me and my problems, just like Scootaloo and Applebloom did. You aren’t any better than Feather Weight.” She never moved from the table though, and she never yells. A Letter“Dear Diary, August 3rd I guess everyone wants to know why I’m so upset, but I don’t even know why, I never have. I think that’s why I get so angry, because I don’t know what the problem is, I never have, I just feel empty. Maybe that’s how I was made; maybe I should ask the princesses about that. But they wouldn’t know would they. No one knows, and no one knows me! Not anymore, not since everyone left at least. Some people want to be my friends though, or they claim to, Ink-Blot did. So did Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara. They claimed they had grown up, there petty flaws were done, and they had time now. But they just were in love with the problems, they just wanted to fix me. It was the same way with Feather Weight now that I think about it. He loved me when the problems were new, when his pills and fingers could take them away, he wanted to be a god in that sense I guess. He wanted to be the absolute fix. I gave up on thinking I was fixable long ago. I don’t try to be anything different anymore I let the yelling happen when I need too, I let myself sit up here and cry. I don’t think I want to be fixed all the time, but I’m not sure. I know I should be looking for things that bring me happiness, new friends really, but when I tried to fix myself it never worked. I think it never worked because I don’t want to forget my past and my friends, and I don’t want to purge the feelings because I feel like I need them, without them I would be an emotionless drone. I don’t know though. I don’t know much anymore. I wish Rarity would leave me alone, and her friends. They keep trying to fix me, and they have to stop. So do Scootaloo and Apple bloom. They came back for a little bit to visit, and they tried to help. “Sweetie” they said and I turned myself off, I made myself the emotionless drone. And when Twilight PRINCESS PRINCESS PRINCESS told me there were ways through this, I just had to find something to keep me busy and active and find a way to move on, I got angry. I told her to stop telling me what was wrong with me. Maybe I wasn't telling her maybe I was yelling, I told her to leave me alone. “Sweetie Bell, you know science is so advanced, you know if you took your medicine you would feel better.” The princess accused me of this, of not taking my medicine, of course i was taking it, and how advanced then was science. Everyone just wanted to fix my problems and I don’t want them to do that. That’s not there job that never was her job, and there is no write for that. “Sweetie Bell, if you took you’re medicine, and maybe went and saw some of those specialists in Canterlot things would get a lot brighter. I know your still upset about what happened with Feather Weight, but I think you outta consider it okay?” These weren’t Twilight's words, not for the most part, most of them seemed borrowed from Rarity, I heard it all before. It told me that the princess was just doing Rarity about it. “Are you embarrassed about what happened with Feather Weight.” I scoffed, “Rarity told you to do this” I said. “Yeah, I’m embarrassed, but not as much as she is.” In a show of sacrilegious emotions the last things I said to the princess was, “go away.” No yelling no nothing. I didn’t need to yell anymore, I just needed to get her away from me. “ The Most Beautiful Bitter FruitFeather Weight had always thrown tremendous parties. They were almost all she remembered from her teenage years. From the Day she got her Cutie Mark till the day everything fell apart. The lights were always dim in his parents’ house. Scootaloo is the reason she ever went to one, she generally avoided them, they general were loud and rowdy, filled with drunks and drugs, and everything her friends were eager to explore. “Yeah, Feather Weights parents work the third shift, there out all night, so sometimes Feather Weight has friends over. They play all your favorite songs, you should come out with me and Bloom tonight to celebrate your Cutie Mark.” Or to get Scootaloos mind off the fact that she was the only one without her Cutie Mark yet. Sweetie Bell reluctantly agreed, after Scootaloo promised her voice would be fine for church the next morning. Feather Weight was surprised to see Sweetie Bell there. “Hey you” he greeted, pressing his nose lightly against her neck. “Thought you were to good for my parties.” They had been dating since Hearts and Hooves day a year back. He was starting to fill out more, still tall, but his teeth were starting to look natural in his older frame. She giggles. “Yeah I know, but I’m celebrating tonight” she tells him, and he grins. “Good, you deserve it.” He was worried about her the day before, since she refused to leave her house. Her offers her a drink, and she takes it reluctantly. “Feather Weight, I don’t know if I should be drinking.” He rolled his eyes, “You’ll be fine, completely fine.” He assures her. What he didn’t know was how scared Sweetie Bell was to be her mother. If she wasn’t so worried about how she perceived his view of her she would have left it alone, but that wasn’t the case. And she drank. She and Scootaloo had drink after drink until things seemed lighter. Things felt right and perfect, and Feather Weight was there with them. He wasn’t always right near them as he mingled with the crowd and scrolled through his music to find songs he liked best, but they never worried about each other. All the parties were that way. They were a lovely constant for Sweetie Bell, a time she and Scootaloo could spend some time without Apple Bloom, (Who always said she would go but never got the chance too) Feather Weight wasn’t just content with drinking though, he never had been, but he wasn’t insistent on their involvement until Sweetie Bell had already felt the sickness take her mind. It was easy for her to accept the pills he offered. “These are Uppers” he would tell her, or “These will make you feel real mellow.” Eventually the drinking, the drugs weren’t just something that stuck with the parties, they were things they were doing alone, and together. But parties were the best place Feather Weight doting on her and kissing her, her face her neck her back, anywhere he could get his mouth too. “You’re so sad lately Sweetie” he would whisper in his ear, “I’ll save you” he whispered. Always between the touching and separation of their saliva came the loving words. She left the parties feeling worse than she did before she got there, and it turned into a vicious cycle where she thought the parties were the only joy of her life. She thinks about the parties a lot, especially after her run in with Feather Weight. She remembers them dancing slowly to fast music. She remembers them drinking too much and her throwing up on his bed and whispering “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.” And he promised not to. There were days when the party raged around them and she sat in his room sobbing, him always beside her. Until it became to much or him. “Sweetie Please, Sweetie your fine, you just had too much to drink.” He would say, and she would respond with rough words, “No, you just want me to feel like this, your just like everyone else, you don’t really care about me. “Sweetie you aren’t ever happy anymore can’t I please get a smile.” “Sweetie this is getting ridiculous.” “Sweetie, Sweet Celestia, get your shit together.” Nothing was different other than the words now, they still merged bodies and drank and kissed. And then he had to make a selfish decision, or maybe not a selfish one, but one for himself. It was an early Sunday morning. December. “Sweetie, I need to talk to you.” He whispers, “I, I just can’t do this anymore, you have pushed and pulled at this thing we made.” She wasn’t really thinking about his words, just at how handsome he is, and when he concludes her jaw drops. “Sweetie, take care of yourself.” “What do you mean?” She asks, her lips quivering, “Are you leaving?” and Feather Weight Exhales, running one of his wings through his mane. “Weren’t you listening to me Sweetie, this isn’t something we can do anymore, I’m sorry.” Her hooves work faster than her mind and she is hitting him, toppling his surprised figure under him. He won’t fight back, even when she rams her hoof against his eye threatening to give him a concussion. He wouldn’t hurt her, that wasn’t his goal. His lip split and dribbled blood on his hand, and he coughed and sputtered as her body pressed the air from his lungs. They are both crying now, emotion pooling between them faster than the blood. Rarity has to pull Sweetie Bell off of him. All of Ponyville stared at her, or at least it felt like it. King ParkThe stories gripped the unicorn more than anything else. Cantlerlot looked shining and good, but there were problems. The violence she found there was terrible, shaking and crumbling communities, and cul-de-sac’s. Every time she picked up a paper she could see it, headlines; “Murder” She saw it when she walked through the streets, even to the store, picketers, “We don’t want griffins and their friends in Canterlot. Sweetie never really understood why people would think that way, not even after she saw it. It was one of those silly events the Wonderbolts did. Standing outside one of the bookstores Sweetie had been frequenting. Fillies and Colts were standing in line, standing about mulling, and waiting for their chance to talk to the stars. The hero’s that were so frequently mentioned in the papers, over the radio. This was not a good town though. Canterlot’s slums were home to the organized crime party that called themselves the Winged Falcons. Not all of them were griffins, no, but majority of them were, the Griffins who thought they were cool, who would jokingly call everyone a dork, a dweeb. But this wasn’t a griffins stereotype, this was something else. The scream was loud, making Sweetie flinch and bend her head. It was all claws them, and it was quick, one swoop down, one scream, and then it was over. A colt was laying on the ground, gasping and sputtering for breath. Gasps were heard, “Someone call Canterlot Hospital!” a woman, presumably the Colts mother screeched. Sweetie Bell did not once stop to help, instead her mouth hung open, a small ‘o’ She peers over the ragtag group of ponies that had taken up the jobs of stopping the bleeding. The former star, the former singer, she just watched. The Wonderbolts Medic was there too, pressing a towel against the cut, but it was no use. The colt heaved, bubbling lines of blood pulled from his mouth, from his nose. Sweetie Bell couldn’t understand why this would happen. She knew death was a thing, but it seemed so pointless. So much like something that should have never happened. Canterlot was supposed to be a safe place, even in the slums. Where are your princess’s now? Sweetie Bell thinks, and it almost makes her laugh, but something inside her hurts to much, something is so incredibly off here. She feels broken, as if this child could have suddenly become everything she was not. And his flank had the smallest treble cleft on it, with a star next to it. She pictured him at home, working hard to impress his teaches. Telling his parents to look at him sing, and she could even picture the boys teasing him for it. Sweetie Bell finds her face wet with tears, she turns from the scene, she has to go home. Back to her hotel, where she can be safe in her room, and where she can right these feelings in her diary. But when she gets there something is going on. Three police ponies are screaming for someone to open up. There is no answer. The scene is frantic though, everyone wants something to happen. “Break Down the Door” some scruffy officer says, but the Sargent shakes his head, “No, Too Dangerous.” The whole front of the building is blocked. All Sweetie bell can watch. “Gilda Griffen, we know you are in there, we have received telegrams telling us you are in there. If you open the door it will be easier. Easier for you, and for us.” The moment feels silent for too long before she hears a voice, “No.” There is an almost choking sob, “That wasn’t supposed to happen. That kid should be, he should be home!” Griffins were so capable of screeching that the words fall heavily on her ears. There is a pony outside now, they let her passed. A blue mare, with a rainbow mane. Friends with Rarity, Sweetie Bell knew this pony, and heard her as she lied, “No one blames you Gilda” Sweetie Bell scoffs as she watches, an entire city, an entire nation blames the griffin. But, what else could Sweetie think. Sweetie didn’t know that the Gilda was the oldest in her group. The Winged Falcons, teased the griffin about it, but they were friends. What Gilda couldn’t find in Ponyville she had found in the gang. They could ruffle their feathers together and make jokes. “Rainbow?” The griffin asks. The moment is silent, things start to slow down. Sweetie can picture it behind the door, the griffins claws rubbing against the doorframe as she pressed her forehead against the door. Her voice is so broken. Gilda has nothing left. “Rainbow, think Celestia can forgive me?” “Yeah, of course she can” Rainbow says, trying to sound chipper, but the moment is too tense, Sweetie feels nervous, she wants to go inside. “Rainbow?” Another desperate squawk “Yeah Gilda” you can hear talons from behind the door, and Sweetie Bell takes a step back, and then another, finding herself turning from the scene. “Am I going to Tatarus? Rainbow, it was an accident, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that, no one was supposed to die, especially not that kid” There are no words for too long, “Can the princess’s forgive me, what if I just” Talons are lifted from the door, “What if I make it even.” “No! Gilda everyone will forgive you, just cut your losses” Gilda screeches in exasperation, shouldn’t Rainbow Dash, if anyone know what loyalty meant, she oculdn’t just cut her losses it wasn’t that simple. Then everything is quiet and Gilda finally says, “Rainbow I think I’m gonna say goodbye now” But Sweetie doesn’t hear anymore, she is too far away. Safer in the Forest/Love Song for Poor MichiganSweetie Bell couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t handle the leering eyes and the muttering voices and the extreme pity that had befallen her. She took twenty bits from rarity and bought a train ticket, one way. It took her a while to decide where to go, but she knew she needed help, there was Manehatten, but she knew Rarity had friends there, and she did too, same with Las Pegasus. The bustling cities were out of her reach, they didn’t offer her the escape she needed. She decided on Canterlot, the bustling regal city. It tried too hard to look ancient, medieval. The train station bright, but the rest of the city, the zones that fell aside from what the princess’s overlooked, were slums. Clubs and Bars and seedy motels. That was her plan to take the seediest motel as her home. Maybe staying in a place as beautiful as her insides would bring her out of her delusion. Maybe she could find a job there. That was all she needed. She tried everywhere too. Waking up early in the morning and showering, finding herself leaving clean but still looking disheveled, she ate at the bar across the street from where she stayed, desperately asking the young barmaids to put it on her tab. She didn’t have any money. That was the problem, while her successful one-hit-wonder had brought in a healthy pay, any money earned by that would he sent to the carousel boutique. She tried the churches first, she had experience there.But when she walked inside them, and looked at the metal or wooden hanging sun’s and moons, she felt her chest get heavy and her voice would squeak out pathetically, and no one would want that at there weddings and funerals. When she decided, halfheartedly to cut out the churches she felt herself feel better. The pills seemed to be working, and even though she lived, poor, she was no longer in Ponyville and it was feeling good. She hadn’t written in her new diary since she got it, it had yet to be anointed with words. She had felt good, even writing Rarity to ask her for some money. “I think I’m turning things around sis.” She had written, and a few days later a man had arrived with a few hundred bits for her. She felt relieved, and worked quickly on paying off her debts. The money felt like a small fortune, she felt rich. Her eyes were starting to clear up ,and her mane never looked quite as mussed as it had before. She smiled more, and her voice was starting to come back. Her words were starting to flow and drop from her mouth as fast as the wind and snow that were coming. The first snowfall, cold and bitter brought her looking for a job, she knew she had to audition and decided that maybe an advertisement job for now would work. Advert-Equine was hiring, she saw it in the newspapers, and that seemed like a good place to start. They offered agents for everything in the field of work. She got there early for her audition, sitting eagerly in the waiting room, a nervous smile on her mouth, thinking to herself, I can do this Sweetie Bell. The voice that called her felt familiar, but she pushed it off as her fretting. Pushed it off as her mind playing a terrible trick on her. “Audition for a Miss Bell” The voice calls, and she stands up, “Sorry for the small wait, I just got thinking” she sing-song apologizes, until she looks up and sees the face. He’s trying to be professional even through his worry and shock. Her mind does not respond the same way. She feels her stomach freeze up and her mind. “Feather Weight?” Her teeth grind together, her lips feel dry she backs up a few feet. “I-I hadn’t realized you worked here.” Her heart was pounding roughly in her chest cavity. Her eyes are watering. The wires of her mind are pulling into rough knots as she surveys the situation. “You did this to me” she whispers. “Feather Weight. Why did you do this to me. Why didn’t you help me.” His words are candor. “Sweetie Bell, I’m on the clock, if you would like to talk about this private matter, we can do so after work.” Her voice cracks towards the end. “Now then, let me show you do your audition room” For such a lithe pony, the noise that comes out of Sweeties mouth is tremendous. “No. No. No.” She isn’t even yelling, her voice is strange, it’s like a strange cry, and she pushes herself against the wall. “You left me.” Her horn lights up to push the door open, and she is running fater than she ever can remember herself running. Her hooves kneading against the ground, and when she gets to the station, she buys a one-way ticket to Ponyville.She dosen’t even get her things, just the money she had on her, nothing else was important. Her journal was in her saddlebag, her money was in her saddlebag, and that was her life. Things felt mundane when she got back to Ponyville. The church had been mostly destroyed, and Sweet Apple Acers had a sign that read. “Closed Till Summer” pushed into the ground. She had been gone for three months, and it felt so different. When Rarity gets home from work, all she hears is Sweetie Bells vast voice screeching “FEATHER WEIGHT, FEATHER WEIGHT FEATHER WEIGHT.” A Poem“Dear Diary. I think I’m going to try something Different. Maybe poetry can bring me joy Maybe it will make something different Maybe I can be like all of the sad artists, I see them, In Canterlot, They sit at the café’s And they drink there coffee, and they are sad. It what this kind has come too, Ponies are terrible Maybe I should learn more, I guess this really isn’t a poem Just spacing differently On a page, Like the sad ponies, Maybe no one knows what to do. Maybe we should point our hooves at ourselves for once. Maybe I should go and get a walk, Or air, Or something .
A DepartureSweetie Bell hadn’t been herself lately. Something was wrong, whether it was in the sorry was she walked around the Carousel Boutique or the sheer amount of time she spent in her room there, nose buried in her journal, pencil moving swiftly across the pages illuminated with her magic. Blue and light, and every once and a while crackling. She had been keeping a journal since she finished high school. Since things first started feeling bad. The entries were sporadic at best, sometimes she wrote in the diary multiple times a day, other times it would sit on the desk for months. Every entry started the same way. “Dear Diary” It wasn’t an uncommon start; it was the same one she used when she had her first journal, back when she was a crusader still, before the ragtag group of friends finally found there purposes. That’s when things started to spiral down. Life didn’t seem to have a purpose anymore once the crusading was done. There were days, even back in high school, when she stared off in class thinking about what her cutie mark actually meant. She knew the literal meaning, yeah, she was good at music. Singing was indeed her forte, but why? Who assigned that to her, and Apple Bloom’s artistic and engineering skills? Where did they come from, the question commonly popped up throughout her diary. The small hypothetical questions she asked herself. The older she got, the more hopeless she felt, and that’s what she was doing that evening in her room above the boutique. It was dark out, Luna had risen the moon hours ago, but she was still writing, trying to work out everything. “Dear Diary. June 14th, Things are spiraling out of control.” She stopped writing, she had to organize her thoughts, usually that didn’t happen until later, but sometimes her stream of consciousness twisted itself around, and got lost somewhere. “Things are spiraling out of control. I have lost hope in myself, because I am so confused. My friends are gone, my family is gone, and things are changing fast. Too fast. Lately I feel like everyone is against me, I don’t know why, I know it’s silly, it really is. Maybe even more than silly, I’m sure a lot of ponies would call it stupid. “This entry sounded to whiny though, so she left it, as it was and started again. “Dear Diary, I have lost it. Everyone notices now, but I find myself forgetting things a lot lately. The other day I ran to the store for Rarity, and I forgot what I was doing before I even got to the market. My mind is just too full of everything else to get through it, I’ve been thinking a lot about Feather Weight lately. I know I shouldn’t, that was all too long ago, and too painful for me. Anyways Diary. There are days when I think that I’m going to die, or think about what it would be like if I was dead. Sometimes, I think it might be best. Not that I’d do anything bad diary, but sometimes I just get thinking. It’s getting late and I should get to sleep but lately sleep is so painful, and writing is good, I have to write, it helps me sleep, Rarity used a word called ‘Cathartic’ when I was a filly, when I was a crusader.” She has to stop again, because she makes a guttural sound, a wheezing, exasperated breath that tells her she needs to slow down. Lately she’s the only one telling herself those kinds of things, no one else seemed to care. Or at least Sweetie didn’t notice the caring, instead she blocked it out, she blocked everyone else. It was Just her and her journal, and she finds herself at the bottom of the page, but when she goes to turn the page she realizes she has ran out. She flips the back of the page, smudged and covered in pen and pencil strokes from years of use, she continues, knowing these are her last words. Or at least her last words before she reincarnates her soul into a new entity, with a new journal she has to trust. There is not a Dear Diary now, simply a strew of words, her penmanship loose now, and sloppy as her chest heaves in surprise. “It hurts so bad, I know that it would be okay, if they were here, the girls. Bloom and Scoots would know what to do. They would remind me of how it used to be, before my mind took over, before I got my cutie mark, back when things had meaning. Well diary, I think we both know something important. This is goodbye. You are done-dead. You will get thrown out, just like I will, just like we all will in the end.” Except she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out.
Harder HarmoniesSinging was not an easy career to find a job in. Especially when everyone in Ponyville was talking about her. Murmuring and whispering things like, “Do you remember when that Sweetie Bell lost her voice singing at Mayor Mares 14th inauguration into office.” And Sweetie would cringe as she walked by, because of course she knew; how could she not? And while singing had brought some embarrassments, making songs was a harder task. Cute rhymes had gotten her bye just fine as a filly, when she was a crusader. But now people really expected things from her, her Cutie Mark had become its own discussion topic. Everyone asked her to sing for them to do a silly cover of their favorite songs. They never seemed to want to hear what she wrote though, and she didn’t want to live her life like a wedding singer. She desperately wanted to create things and give her life purpose. Plenty of ponies could sing, but how many of them could write songs that would be popular. Her own songs always had things wrong with them. She sang them staccato in places they should have been legato. The genre would twist itself around, and sometimes she would just end up crying into her microphone, and sometimes she had to label the tapes, “Failure Number One” the numbers went up, and sometimes, just when she thought she had something that was good, a note would squeak roughly out of place in her final run. She would have to title the tape a failure, and curl up in her bed. It just wasn’t worth it to her anymore. No, nothing was worth it. She hadn’t tried to make music in so long, she hadn’t tried to do anything, or at least nothing that could end up being overwhelming. Music was overwhelming. Now in her room, in Rarities boutique, she stares at herself in the vanity mirror of her en suite bathroom. She finds her eyes looking too yellow, tinted red under them where the skin was inflamed from crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she brushed her teeth or her curly purple and white hair. She only had one task in that room and that was to take her medicine. The tiny white capsules, that Nurse Redheart had prescribed her when Rarity rushed her to the hospital after her first incident. When she freaked out at the market. When Rarity asked her to get the asparagus but she got green onions. When she raised her voice so every pony could here. “YOU WANTED ME TO DO THIS RARITY.” She screamed, “YOU JUST WANTED ME TO LOOK STUPID INFRONT OF EVERYONE, DIDN’T YOU, WELL THAT WONT WORK!” The screaming went on two for hours, as onlookers share concerned words to each other. Whispering of the sickness they believed the girl had. But none of them left, they all crowded around her like she was a show, a spectacle. And then Rarity had her in the hospital, and she was given pills. She never had faith in them though, she thought she knew a lot about pills. She certainty had taken enough. Feather Weight had started that at a party, Scootaloo edged her on too and It didn’t take long until every party came with a small pill bottle. Thinking about her silly stories made her drop the pills, drop the bottle to the ground, hearing them all clatter to the linoleum brought a chill up her spine. Staccato and fast, like some kind of holy drum. Or the perfect noise your tongue made when you ended a note with diction. She takes the pills off the floor, not caring about the grime that was likely there, not caring about the last time she washed the floor, or the things she knew had been on it. She swallows them, just two at first, but then three or four, or maybe six. And then she is laying on her bed, humming to herself, and thinking about the first time she and Feather Weight surpassed third base. The elegant grinding of flesh and teeth on lips, and the sickly exchange of souls.
St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church BluesOn her way to the Ponyville Pharmacy, the white unicorn found herself walking passed the Royal Celestian Church. She passed it every time she had to refill her medicine. But today she stopped, surveying the plot of land in front of the building. Vacant. It called to her though, and she went, sitting in the pew, where she did when she was a little girl, when it was important to go. It was important to learn the prayers of the princesses, and the sins that would send her through perdition. When Magnum and Pearl split up though, so did the church going. Pearl never seemed to have time anymore to go to church, but occasionally, when she spent weekends with her father, they would still go, sitting in the normal pew, soundless and listening to the old pony’s preach. Sweetie would sing the hymns to loud, until eventually she was invited to join the choir. She never understood her parent’s divorce, but Rarity seemed too, and that’s why she started living there. Pearl drank too much sometimes, and yelled at Sweetie in a raging crescendo, before finding a decrescendo back into quiet murmuring. “Sweetie this is all your fault.” Her chest tightened, maybe that’s why she kept going to church, she wanted to be freed of her faults. That’s what the minister preached. So she sang as loud as any of the other ponies, her skill level matched. At first she found joy in it. Especially when she got her Cutie Mark there. Things were looking up for the filly. She thought that her mark would give her hope, give her life a purpose, and she promised, at her party to never forget the choir that she stared out in. She never did. Sweeties Faith went on unwavering, but as she aged, turning to a teenager, then to a young adult she realized a troublesome issue, as weeks and months went on, the congregation found itself thinning, until eventually it was just her-a lone soloist, and the Apples, listening to the preacher pony. Shortly after, it was just Apple Bloom and Granny Smith. And then it was just Granny Smith. She hadn’t missed a service since Sweetie Bell had been born. And she never did. The last time sweetie bell went to church, her voice quivered and shook, as they buried the old green pony after the service. Granny Smith's death changed Ponyville. The minister pony retired after Granny Smiths Funeral. The church shut down a few months later. The doors were boarded up for a while, and then the space was rented for destination weddings, but lately she hadn’t seen anyone there. None of it mattered though, she was here now. The air was thick and heavy as she choked out a sob in response to the desolation of that holy place. Her faith was gone now though, and she knew it was bad, she remembered the disappointment in her family when they found out she didn’t praise the sisters, nor the other alicorn royalty. But she didn’t see a reason too. Pearl didn’t go to church, and Rarity hadn’t since she stopped going to school. Rarity told her, going to church was one thing, but not believing was something else. But she didn’t care, and sometimes Sweetie Bell thought about what it would be like if there wasn’t a sun or a moon, and she thought the order of that might be something she could get used to. She sits in the church for a long time, starting at the large wooden sun that hung above the pulpit. Her chest feels tight again, and she can’t contain herself, she opens herself up in the church, and cried until her head pounded against itself, desperately trying to void itself of the situation. Someone else In the form of a large Red Stallion, raking away leaves, and smoothing the gravel with a big plow greeted her when she left. “Big Mac?” She asks, surprised. The Red Pony looks up at Her, he’s almost surprised by her looks, the decay that had befallen her since he had last seen her. “What are you doing her Mac.” The red stallion doesn’t say anything, instead works on pulling weeds for a few moments, hoping she would leave it alone. He tried to change the subject, “Sweetie Bell, ‘ave you been okay lately?” His words are a low and concerned, “I here Miss Rarity frettin’ bout yah to AJ.” Sweetie bell feels her stomach plummet, ”What do you mean fretting, I’m perfectly fine.” She knew she couldn’t lie in front of a church. “I just worry bout yah Sweetie, Yah know E’ryone is talkin’ bout yah.” Her teeth grind roughly against each other, and Big Mac goes back to raking now, making the pile orderly. His eyes look tired. He looks tired, and as he sees Sweetie Bell walking away, he feels the need to answer her question. “Ah just think Granny Smith would like it best this way.” Sweetie turns around puzzled, “Hm?” she inquires. “Well that’s why Ah’m here. I think Granny Smith would want the church lookin’ nice” Sweetie sometimes wondered if anyone wanted to love her the way Big Mac loved his grandmother. If anyone would come and rake her leaves-clearing her head of the muck. If anyone would take the time to pull the weeds from her mind. Big Mac’s words churn in her head. Granny Smith probably would want to church being at its best, she was at near the matriarch of the church, not just the apple family. Sweetie bell had tried in her diary to blame Granny Smith for her lack of faith, she had tried to justify her despair on the death f her best friends grandmother. “Dear Diary September 1rst. Granny Smith’s service was today, and Apple Bloom looked so sad. I don’t think I have ever seen her cry that hard. I don’t really understand, but Diary, I don’t think im going to sing in the choir anymore. I was never doing it for me was I, I was always doing it for Granny Smith and Apple Bloom, because they are my friends, and I cared about them. But not anymore. Bloom told me today she was moving, and I told her how it seemed so damn coincidental, that if the old hag hadn’t bit the dust, Bloom wouldn’t be leaving me. She knows about what happened with Feather Weight, and yet she’s selfish to the point of leaving. This is why the princess’s aren’t special. They can raise the sun and the moon, and maybe they are decedents from our creators. But how are they different then us? I think it’s that they don’t feel like we do. They don’t have to. Maybe if the princesses rose spirits and hope and dropped the sadness would be in a different position.” Sweetie Bell’s recollection of this moment made her think about the church more, and she was surprised when she heard the talk after she picked up her meds. Filthy Rich was talking to some other pony, one with a thick Manehatten accent, and they laughed with each other, drinking outside of Sugarcube corner. “Yes” the wealthy stallion said to the stranger. “I think that would be a beneficial use for that lot” The stranger seems overjoyed, “Perfect, Perfect.” He starts. “That old church has been there too long, Mr. Rich, I’m glad you think the Manehatten Bankers Association could put it to the use it needs to be at.” Sweetie Bell cried when she got home.
Edit Your HometownSweetie Bell missed the crusaders desperately. But they had found something; they had done something with their lives, and left Ponyville. They knew how to make their lives worthwhile. When she was younger, she remembered the promise they made, Friends for Ever. And when they wrote to her, they would tell her that she needed to get her spirits up, and that musicians were doing well everywhere. She just had to look. That seemed like a pain though, especially when they left her. It was there job to come back, not hers to chase them down, even when she wished she could. She remembered everyone leaving. Scootaloo had been the first. The Orange Pegasus was conflicted for a long time before she brought it up. “Girls” she started, “Yah know, since we all got our Cutie Marks, we really can’t be called the crusaders anymore. We aren’t crusading. And, I feel like I have spent a lot of time here, because I love you guys, but.” It all seemed too staged to Sweetie Bell, too rehearsed. “I got a really good opportunity with Melon Burst in Las Pegasus” Sweetie Bell’s heart fell so fast into her stomach, her eyes were already watering. “I got a stunt show if I want to go, and I think I do. I don’t even think. I know I want this. I’ll miss you guys, I’ll miss you every day, but I gotta go, I gotta do this for myself. Scootaloo and Melon Burst were a thing now, dating, they had since the first letter the girls got from her. Her show didn’t end up working out. Sweetie Bell felt accomplished by hearing this, but that was once again crushed when she found out that they were going to stay there. They had opened up a diner. The staff rode scooters. “Isn’t it sick!” she wrote in ne of her first letters. But Sweetie Bell thought it would be even better to have Scootaloo back where she belonged. The last exchange they had had been through a letter from October. Scootaloo had responded to a previous letter: “Hey Sweetie, it was good to hear from you. Celestia knows, I miss you and Apple Bloom. I was disappointed that you decided not to come visit me in Las Pegasus. Is It about money, I can get you your ticket. I heard your song today on the radio, you finally did it Sweetie, you hit the top charts, but you probably already know this. Bloom wrote me, she said you and Feather Weight broke up, that’s a shame Sweetie, but don’t let it get you down! Don’t fall back into that place you were before you guys met!” Of course Sweetie knew that she had hit the charts, but that was with one song, and she couldn’t do it again. She desperately wanted to see Feather Weight, just something casual, “Hey Scootaloo heard my song on the radio” but that wasn’t welcome anymore. Bloom left three months later. Her words were less planned out, but she was leaving, “Ah’m goin’ to live with Babs in Manehatten, Ah’m gonna be going to a Tech school there, yah know the MTS” Yes sweetie ball was familiar with the Manehatten Technical School. “Congratulations” she says. She tried not to freak around Bloom as they packed, she was as calm as she could, and even laughed a bit when they reminisced, going through the old picture album. “Sweetie I’m really gonna miss you, take care of yourself?” she asked, but it was more like a plead. When she got home is when the trouble started, and she knew she shouldn’t have thrown the tea-pot at rarity, she knew she shouldn’t have knocked the mannequins over. “RARITY THEY LEFT, THEY ALL LEFT, ARE YOU GONNA LEAVE NOW? I BET YOU ARE, EVERYONE LEAVES, DAD LEFT, SCOOTS, APPLEBLOOM AND GRANNYSMITH!” she has to breath then a big breath, rage forming somewhere deep inside of her, but when she speaks again, things seem calmer, but more broken. This speech comes after the storm of emotions. “They all left Rarity, I’m all alone.” Rarity promised that she would always be there. Sweetie Bell closed her journal, she had to stop thinking about those things, those toxic events, she had to throughout the journal, but she couldn’t do that, especially when she sees the note tacked to the door, “Sweetie, We Must Talk.” Rarity started everyone with a capital when she wrote. Their conversation was simple, Rarity told Sweetie that she would need to find her own home now, that she was grown up, and had to do this. She promised to help, but Sweetie Bell just wants to run away, maybe settle in Appleoosa, or Mustania. She could be alone and miserable there. She didn’t have the heart to do it though, so she just sat at the table silent staring at Rarity before she fastened the words where they belong, she’s not yelling now, it’s a surprise, but her tone is accusing. “I see how it is Rarity” she hisses, “You just want to be rid of me and my problems, just like Scootaloo and Applebloom did. You aren’t any better than Feather Weight.” She never moved from the table though, and she never yells.
A Letter“Dear Diary, August 3rd I guess everyone wants to know why I’m so upset, but I don’t even know why, I never have. I think that’s why I get so angry, because I don’t know what the problem is, I never have, I just feel empty. Maybe that’s how I was made; maybe I should ask the princesses about that. But they wouldn’t know would they. No one knows, and no one knows me! Not anymore, not since everyone left at least. Some people want to be my friends though, or they claim to, Ink-Blot did. So did Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara. They claimed they had grown up, there petty flaws were done, and they had time now. But they just were in love with the problems, they just wanted to fix me. It was the same way with Feather Weight now that I think about it. He loved me when the problems were new, when his pills and fingers could take them away, he wanted to be a god in that sense I guess. He wanted to be the absolute fix. I gave up on thinking I was fixable long ago. I don’t try to be anything different anymore I let the yelling happen when I need too, I let myself sit up here and cry. I don’t think I want to be fixed all the time, but I’m not sure. I know I should be looking for things that bring me happiness, new friends really, but when I tried to fix myself it never worked. I think it never worked because I don’t want to forget my past and my friends, and I don’t want to purge the feelings because I feel like I need them, without them I would be an emotionless drone. I don’t know though. I don’t know much anymore. I wish Rarity would leave me alone, and her friends. They keep trying to fix me, and they have to stop. So do Scootaloo and Apple bloom. They came back for a little bit to visit, and they tried to help. “Sweetie” they said and I turned myself off, I made myself the emotionless drone. And when Twilight PRINCESS PRINCESS PRINCESS told me there were ways through this, I just had to find something to keep me busy and active and find a way to move on, I got angry. I told her to stop telling me what was wrong with me. Maybe I wasn't telling her maybe I was yelling, I told her to leave me alone. “Sweetie Bell, you know science is so advanced, you know if you took your medicine you would feel better.” The princess accused me of this, of not taking my medicine, of course i was taking it, and how advanced then was science. Everyone just wanted to fix my problems and I don’t want them to do that. That’s not there job that never was her job, and there is no write for that. “Sweetie Bell, if you took you’re medicine, and maybe went and saw some of those specialists in Canterlot things would get a lot brighter. I know your still upset about what happened with Feather Weight, but I think you outta consider it okay?” These weren’t Twilight's words, not for the most part, most of them seemed borrowed from Rarity, I heard it all before. It told me that the princess was just doing Rarity about it. “Are you embarrassed about what happened with Feather Weight.” I scoffed, “Rarity told you to do this” I said. “Yeah, I’m embarrassed, but not as much as she is.” In a show of sacrilegious emotions the last things I said to the princess was, “go away.” No yelling no nothing. I didn’t need to yell anymore, I just needed to get her away from me. “
The Most Beautiful Bitter FruitFeather Weight had always thrown tremendous parties. They were almost all she remembered from her teenage years. From the Day she got her Cutie Mark till the day everything fell apart. The lights were always dim in his parents’ house. Scootaloo is the reason she ever went to one, she generally avoided them, they general were loud and rowdy, filled with drunks and drugs, and everything her friends were eager to explore. “Yeah, Feather Weights parents work the third shift, there out all night, so sometimes Feather Weight has friends over. They play all your favorite songs, you should come out with me and Bloom tonight to celebrate your Cutie Mark.” Or to get Scootaloos mind off the fact that she was the only one without her Cutie Mark yet. Sweetie Bell reluctantly agreed, after Scootaloo promised her voice would be fine for church the next morning. Feather Weight was surprised to see Sweetie Bell there. “Hey you” he greeted, pressing his nose lightly against her neck. “Thought you were to good for my parties.” They had been dating since Hearts and Hooves day a year back. He was starting to fill out more, still tall, but his teeth were starting to look natural in his older frame. She giggles. “Yeah I know, but I’m celebrating tonight” she tells him, and he grins. “Good, you deserve it.” He was worried about her the day before, since she refused to leave her house. Her offers her a drink, and she takes it reluctantly. “Feather Weight, I don’t know if I should be drinking.” He rolled his eyes, “You’ll be fine, completely fine.” He assures her. What he didn’t know was how scared Sweetie Bell was to be her mother. If she wasn’t so worried about how she perceived his view of her she would have left it alone, but that wasn’t the case. And she drank. She and Scootaloo had drink after drink until things seemed lighter. Things felt right and perfect, and Feather Weight was there with them. He wasn’t always right near them as he mingled with the crowd and scrolled through his music to find songs he liked best, but they never worried about each other. All the parties were that way. They were a lovely constant for Sweetie Bell, a time she and Scootaloo could spend some time without Apple Bloom, (Who always said she would go but never got the chance too) Feather Weight wasn’t just content with drinking though, he never had been, but he wasn’t insistent on their involvement until Sweetie Bell had already felt the sickness take her mind. It was easy for her to accept the pills he offered. “These are Uppers” he would tell her, or “These will make you feel real mellow.” Eventually the drinking, the drugs weren’t just something that stuck with the parties, they were things they were doing alone, and together. But parties were the best place Feather Weight doting on her and kissing her, her face her neck her back, anywhere he could get his mouth too. “You’re so sad lately Sweetie” he would whisper in his ear, “I’ll save you” he whispered. Always between the touching and separation of their saliva came the loving words. She left the parties feeling worse than she did before she got there, and it turned into a vicious cycle where she thought the parties were the only joy of her life. She thinks about the parties a lot, especially after her run in with Feather Weight. She remembers them dancing slowly to fast music. She remembers them drinking too much and her throwing up on his bed and whispering “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.” And he promised not to. There were days when the party raged around them and she sat in his room sobbing, him always beside her. Until it became to much or him. “Sweetie Please, Sweetie your fine, you just had too much to drink.” He would say, and she would respond with rough words, “No, you just want me to feel like this, your just like everyone else, you don’t really care about me. “Sweetie you aren’t ever happy anymore can’t I please get a smile.” “Sweetie this is getting ridiculous.” “Sweetie, Sweet Celestia, get your shit together.” Nothing was different other than the words now, they still merged bodies and drank and kissed. And then he had to make a selfish decision, or maybe not a selfish one, but one for himself. It was an early Sunday morning. December. “Sweetie, I need to talk to you.” He whispers, “I, I just can’t do this anymore, you have pushed and pulled at this thing we made.” She wasn’t really thinking about his words, just at how handsome he is, and when he concludes her jaw drops. “Sweetie, take care of yourself.” “What do you mean?” She asks, her lips quivering, “Are you leaving?” and Feather Weight Exhales, running one of his wings through his mane. “Weren’t you listening to me Sweetie, this isn’t something we can do anymore, I’m sorry.” Her hooves work faster than her mind and she is hitting him, toppling his surprised figure under him. He won’t fight back, even when she rams her hoof against his eye threatening to give him a concussion. He wouldn’t hurt her, that wasn’t his goal. His lip split and dribbled blood on his hand, and he coughed and sputtered as her body pressed the air from his lungs. They are both crying now, emotion pooling between them faster than the blood. Rarity has to pull Sweetie Bell off of him. All of Ponyville stared at her, or at least it felt like it.
King ParkThe stories gripped the unicorn more than anything else. Cantlerlot looked shining and good, but there were problems. The violence she found there was terrible, shaking and crumbling communities, and cul-de-sac’s. Every time she picked up a paper she could see it, headlines; “Murder” She saw it when she walked through the streets, even to the store, picketers, “We don’t want griffins and their friends in Canterlot. Sweetie never really understood why people would think that way, not even after she saw it. It was one of those silly events the Wonderbolts did. Standing outside one of the bookstores Sweetie had been frequenting. Fillies and Colts were standing in line, standing about mulling, and waiting for their chance to talk to the stars. The hero’s that were so frequently mentioned in the papers, over the radio. This was not a good town though. Canterlot’s slums were home to the organized crime party that called themselves the Winged Falcons. Not all of them were griffins, no, but majority of them were, the Griffins who thought they were cool, who would jokingly call everyone a dork, a dweeb. But this wasn’t a griffins stereotype, this was something else. The scream was loud, making Sweetie flinch and bend her head. It was all claws them, and it was quick, one swoop down, one scream, and then it was over. A colt was laying on the ground, gasping and sputtering for breath. Gasps were heard, “Someone call Canterlot Hospital!” a woman, presumably the Colts mother screeched. Sweetie Bell did not once stop to help, instead her mouth hung open, a small ‘o’ She peers over the ragtag group of ponies that had taken up the jobs of stopping the bleeding. The former star, the former singer, she just watched. The Wonderbolts Medic was there too, pressing a towel against the cut, but it was no use. The colt heaved, bubbling lines of blood pulled from his mouth, from his nose. Sweetie Bell couldn’t understand why this would happen. She knew death was a thing, but it seemed so pointless. So much like something that should have never happened. Canterlot was supposed to be a safe place, even in the slums. Where are your princess’s now? Sweetie Bell thinks, and it almost makes her laugh, but something inside her hurts to much, something is so incredibly off here. She feels broken, as if this child could have suddenly become everything she was not. And his flank had the smallest treble cleft on it, with a star next to it. She pictured him at home, working hard to impress his teaches. Telling his parents to look at him sing, and she could even picture the boys teasing him for it. Sweetie Bell finds her face wet with tears, she turns from the scene, she has to go home. Back to her hotel, where she can be safe in her room, and where she can right these feelings in her diary. But when she gets there something is going on. Three police ponies are screaming for someone to open up. There is no answer. The scene is frantic though, everyone wants something to happen. “Break Down the Door” some scruffy officer says, but the Sargent shakes his head, “No, Too Dangerous.” The whole front of the building is blocked. All Sweetie bell can watch. “Gilda Griffen, we know you are in there, we have received telegrams telling us you are in there. If you open the door it will be easier. Easier for you, and for us.” The moment feels silent for too long before she hears a voice, “No.” There is an almost choking sob, “That wasn’t supposed to happen. That kid should be, he should be home!” Griffins were so capable of screeching that the words fall heavily on her ears. There is a pony outside now, they let her passed. A blue mare, with a rainbow mane. Friends with Rarity, Sweetie Bell knew this pony, and heard her as she lied, “No one blames you Gilda” Sweetie Bell scoffs as she watches, an entire city, an entire nation blames the griffin. But, what else could Sweetie think. Sweetie didn’t know that the Gilda was the oldest in her group. The Winged Falcons, teased the griffin about it, but they were friends. What Gilda couldn’t find in Ponyville she had found in the gang. They could ruffle their feathers together and make jokes. “Rainbow?” The griffin asks. The moment is silent, things start to slow down. Sweetie can picture it behind the door, the griffins claws rubbing against the doorframe as she pressed her forehead against the door. Her voice is so broken. Gilda has nothing left. “Rainbow, think Celestia can forgive me?” “Yeah, of course she can” Rainbow says, trying to sound chipper, but the moment is too tense, Sweetie feels nervous, she wants to go inside. “Rainbow?” Another desperate squawk “Yeah Gilda” you can hear talons from behind the door, and Sweetie Bell takes a step back, and then another, finding herself turning from the scene. “Am I going to Tatarus? Rainbow, it was an accident, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that, no one was supposed to die, especially not that kid” There are no words for too long, “Can the princess’s forgive me, what if I just” Talons are lifted from the door, “What if I make it even.” “No! Gilda everyone will forgive you, just cut your losses” Gilda screeches in exasperation, shouldn’t Rainbow Dash, if anyone know what loyalty meant, she oculdn’t just cut her losses it wasn’t that simple. Then everything is quiet and Gilda finally says, “Rainbow I think I’m gonna say goodbye now” But Sweetie doesn’t hear anymore, she is too far away.
Safer in the Forest/Love Song for Poor MichiganSweetie Bell couldn’t take it anymore, she couldn’t handle the leering eyes and the muttering voices and the extreme pity that had befallen her. She took twenty bits from rarity and bought a train ticket, one way. It took her a while to decide where to go, but she knew she needed help, there was Manehatten, but she knew Rarity had friends there, and she did too, same with Las Pegasus. The bustling cities were out of her reach, they didn’t offer her the escape she needed. She decided on Canterlot, the bustling regal city. It tried too hard to look ancient, medieval. The train station bright, but the rest of the city, the zones that fell aside from what the princess’s overlooked, were slums. Clubs and Bars and seedy motels. That was her plan to take the seediest motel as her home. Maybe staying in a place as beautiful as her insides would bring her out of her delusion. Maybe she could find a job there. That was all she needed. She tried everywhere too. Waking up early in the morning and showering, finding herself leaving clean but still looking disheveled, she ate at the bar across the street from where she stayed, desperately asking the young barmaids to put it on her tab. She didn’t have any money. That was the problem, while her successful one-hit-wonder had brought in a healthy pay, any money earned by that would he sent to the carousel boutique. She tried the churches first, she had experience there.But when she walked inside them, and looked at the metal or wooden hanging sun’s and moons, she felt her chest get heavy and her voice would squeak out pathetically, and no one would want that at there weddings and funerals. When she decided, halfheartedly to cut out the churches she felt herself feel better. The pills seemed to be working, and even though she lived, poor, she was no longer in Ponyville and it was feeling good. She hadn’t written in her new diary since she got it, it had yet to be anointed with words. She had felt good, even writing Rarity to ask her for some money. “I think I’m turning things around sis.” She had written, and a few days later a man had arrived with a few hundred bits for her. She felt relieved, and worked quickly on paying off her debts. The money felt like a small fortune, she felt rich. Her eyes were starting to clear up ,and her mane never looked quite as mussed as it had before. She smiled more, and her voice was starting to come back. Her words were starting to flow and drop from her mouth as fast as the wind and snow that were coming. The first snowfall, cold and bitter brought her looking for a job, she knew she had to audition and decided that maybe an advertisement job for now would work. Advert-Equine was hiring, she saw it in the newspapers, and that seemed like a good place to start. They offered agents for everything in the field of work. She got there early for her audition, sitting eagerly in the waiting room, a nervous smile on her mouth, thinking to herself, I can do this Sweetie Bell. The voice that called her felt familiar, but she pushed it off as her fretting. Pushed it off as her mind playing a terrible trick on her. “Audition for a Miss Bell” The voice calls, and she stands up, “Sorry for the small wait, I just got thinking” she sing-song apologizes, until she looks up and sees the face. He’s trying to be professional even through his worry and shock. Her mind does not respond the same way. She feels her stomach freeze up and her mind. “Feather Weight?” Her teeth grind together, her lips feel dry she backs up a few feet. “I-I hadn’t realized you worked here.” Her heart was pounding roughly in her chest cavity. Her eyes are watering. The wires of her mind are pulling into rough knots as she surveys the situation. “You did this to me” she whispers. “Feather Weight. Why did you do this to me. Why didn’t you help me.” His words are candor. “Sweetie Bell, I’m on the clock, if you would like to talk about this private matter, we can do so after work.” Her voice cracks towards the end. “Now then, let me show you do your audition room” For such a lithe pony, the noise that comes out of Sweeties mouth is tremendous. “No. No. No.” She isn’t even yelling, her voice is strange, it’s like a strange cry, and she pushes herself against the wall. “You left me.” Her horn lights up to push the door open, and she is running fater than she ever can remember herself running. Her hooves kneading against the ground, and when she gets to the station, she buys a one-way ticket to Ponyville.She dosen’t even get her things, just the money she had on her, nothing else was important. Her journal was in her saddlebag, her money was in her saddlebag, and that was her life. Things felt mundane when she got back to Ponyville. The church had been mostly destroyed, and Sweet Apple Acers had a sign that read. “Closed Till Summer” pushed into the ground. She had been gone for three months, and it felt so different. When Rarity gets home from work, all she hears is Sweetie Bells vast voice screeching “FEATHER WEIGHT, FEATHER WEIGHT FEATHER WEIGHT.”
A Poem“Dear Diary. I think I’m going to try something Different. Maybe poetry can bring me joy Maybe it will make something different Maybe I can be like all of the sad artists, I see them, In Canterlot, They sit at the café’s And they drink there coffee, and they are sad. It what this kind has come too, Ponies are terrible Maybe I should learn more, I guess this really isn’t a poem Just spacing differently On a page, Like the sad ponies, Maybe no one knows what to do. Maybe we should point our hooves at ourselves for once. Maybe I should go and get a walk, Or air, Or something .
