For Want of a Filly

by Cogitationis

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other
Length: 1115

Davenport, the owner of Quills and Sofas, has a secret.

Davenport, the shopkeeper of Quills and Sofas, has a secret.

Authors Note: This story might get a lot of down votes because of the topics in the story. But I would rather write a well written story than a popular one.

Published 2014-03-06 19:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-06 19:00:01 UTC

For want of a filly

“Where are we going, Fluttershy?”

She didn’t reply. Whatever Fluttershy had seen this morning, it must have broken her. Her pace was slow and shaky. Her expression was empty. She had never been like this before. The closest I remember ever seeing her like this was when she was scared. But she wasn’t scared. She just seemed so… sad.

I didn’t try to ask her anything anymore. She had been like this since she came into the library this morning. The only thing she had managed to say was that she had to show me something. I wanted to get one of our friends, but she just walked away. I told Spike to stay in the library.

We walked into Everfree Forest, and I was starting to get nervous. Fluttershy stopped.

“Fluttershy?”

I looked around, but I didn’t see anything of interest. She took a deep breath and continued walking. We walked past some bushes at the side of the path and into a small clearing.

“W-W-Why would anypony …?”

My mouth moved, but the words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t understand what I saw.

Fluttershy laid herself on the ground and sobbed into her hooves. I looked at the stallion in the clearing. I looked into his lifeless light green eyes under his well dressed dark brown mane. His beige legs dangled slightly in the breeze.

Only a few days ago I had talked to him. He had always been such a friendly pony. He had been my friend.

Davenport, the owner of Quills and Sofas, had hung himself on a tree.

The doorbell rang as somepony entered the store. I walked forwards out of the back of the shop.

“Hello?” My voice inquired the seemingly empty room.

“Hello Mister!” replies a fillies voice. After leaning over the counter I saw a filly standing on the other side. I remember this one; alabaster coat, green eyes, and a curled pink-purple mane. Her name was Sweetie Belle if I recall correctly. She smiled. Sweat started to form on my forehead.

“Which sofa will it be?” I gestured towards the furniture.

Despite the name of my store, my merchandise had much more variety. Ponyville was only a small town, when I came here as a colt. I would have never been able to endure with the small income of a furniture store. They say necessity is the mother of invention. Ponyville had neither a stationary store, nor a furniture store. Hence, Quills and Sofas was born. The same symbol that hangs outside of my store now adorns my flank. The odd combination quickly spread word, much to my advantage. Today I am the proud, and relatively wealthy, owner of one of Ponyville’s most successful tourist attractions.

Sweetie Belle giggled. “I just need some quills and paper.”

I directed her to a lower part of the counter which I had reserved for the most requested goods. She quickly picked up what she needed and awkwardly clutched the articles to her chest. After some quick Ponyville-typical negotiations we agreed on four bits. It hadn’t been a very good trade, but it was standard procedure for me to take it easy on the younger customers. She quickly handed over the bits, and stored her goods into her saddlebag.

The doorbell rang again, and I was once again alone. A sigh of relief escaped my lips.

I am no evil pony, but sometimes I have these urges. I wish I didn’t, but what can I do?

No pony can control his or her desires. Can you force a stallion to love a mare if he only yearns to love other stallions? If a mare can only feel lust if she is laid in chains, who can claim she is being unethical by giving in to her inclination? When I say that I like the taste of strawberries, I am unable to explain why I like them. Just as little as I can change my preference for them.

But all that doesn't seem to matter. I am just a freak either way.

A few weeks ago my neighbor asked me if I could take care of her children. I couldn’t find an excuse not to. Or to be more precise, I couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t ruin my life and my business. She didn’t talk to me for weeks after I told her I simply couldn’t. Why is it that one can refuse a glass of wine, by openly stating: “I can’t, I’m an alcoholic,” but if I were to honestly state my situation, I would instantly lose my place in society? Love and tolerance seems to be reserved only for those with the less grotesque afflictions.

Cheerilee asked my why I have no special somepony a few days ago. I told her the same story that I told all the other residents. “I just haven’t found the right one yet.” They all insisted such a good looking and wealthy stallion such as myself would need to fend of the waves of mares with a stick. The real reason was because I was scared. Scared that they might find out the truth. Scared that I might not be able to give them what they need. Scared that it might make my desires more intense.

How many nights have I spent hating myself. Alone in my dark bedroom, after clopping to these phantasies. When these young fillies come into my store, when they smile at me like they always do, I sometimes think they are attracted to me. There is no way to describe how much I hate myself when I have those thoughts. Pure hatred eventually leads to a feeling of helplessness and self pity. Why do I have to carry this burden with me?

Despite the never-ending craving, I have been able to hold strong. I can claim to have never harmed a filly. Even though I sometimes think I might not be able to control my lust. I must always remain cautious.

I have decided to end my life. I am not depressive. Not even sad. I am simply a misfit of Harmony. Society has failed me, despite my best wishes. A life like the likes of mine is no life worth living. No other solution to my dilemma presents itself.

I leave my store early because I need to buy something. The lock on the door remains open. Do I have everything? I check my saddlebag. A few bits will be enough for a rope. A rope should get the job done.

Author's Note

Please feel free to comment the story, constructive criticism will be appreciated greatly.