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Silver Spoon was a very lucky filly.
At least, that was what everypony told her. She was blessed with wealth, which was more than most could say. Silver Spoon had a family on a large estate, she had Diamond Tiara as her closest friend, she could have nearly anything she asked for, within reason.
That didn’t mean that she was a very happy filly.
Although for those few moments in waking dream as the morning sun danced across her muzzle, Silver Spoon felt honestly and truly happy – she had been having the most wonderful dream, a dream of flying and freedom unrestrained in which she was high above Equestria and all its problems. A dream where nothing could hold her back, the night wind lapping wildly through her mane as she soared through the sky with a sort of contentment and joy that only made her fly higher. Of course, these precious bare seconds of bliss were snatched cruelly away from her as her consciousness settled in firmly, yanking her back to reality.
Silver let out a quiet little sigh, staring up at the ceiling in mild dismay.
She would have given just about anything to go back to that pleasant dream, that fleeting instance of happiness, instead of the crushing and inescapable stark reality that remained a staunch reminder of just how far away such things were.
There were no glistening stars above her, no shimmering city lights below. There was only the silken sheets loosely thrown over her, and the dull stare of the plaster ceiling that seemed to watch her as hawkishly as her parents did. Not out of concern for her, unfortunately.
Silver Spoon cut the thought off there as one of the housekeepers began rapping noisily on her door before throwing it powerfully open. Were it not for the fact that Silver were already awake, she surely would have been woken by the bluster and commotion of the elderly grey mare, intent on shooing her out and tidying up.
“Go on, Miss Silver,” the aged mare insisted, giving the unenthusiastic filly a little push as she slipped out of bed. “Go on, go on, go on. Breakfast downstairs, chop chop!”
“Thank you, Missus Daisy,” she stifled a yawn and managed to snag her glasses before being hurried out of her room.
Silver smelled the toil of other housekeepers long before she saw it, and silently admitted that maybe she was just a little hungry. Then again, ‘a little hungry’ was a severe understatement; Silver felt that she could have easily eaten portions as large as herself. She wordlessly traversed the stairs and picked up pace toward the dining area, the more brightly lit portions of the spacious manor already feeling more cozy. After all, with school out of the way, maybe this summer would be better.
But then again, that also meant that she would be spending much more time at home.
She couldn’t quite mask the miniscule whimper when she heard them going at it again.
“And maybe we wouldn’t have that problem if somepony weren’t too caught up in herself all the time!”
“Oh, don’t you start that!” Silver heard her mother’s shrill reply, and slowly tried to slip past unseen. Maybe her parents were too distracted with their ‘conversation’ and morning tea. “Of all the hypocritical –”
“It’s too expensive anyway,” Filled Bags retorted angrily, slamming his hooves on the table across from his cobalt colored wife. “There’s no point!”
“It is not too expensive, you’re just being stingy again!” she yelled in his face.
The moment Silver Spoon attempted to sneak by, her father’s voice resounded like a whip crack and caused her blood to freeze in her veins.
“Silver!” he barked, and she glumly dragged herself toward the beckoning grey stallion. “Look, ‘honey’. Silver,” Bags explained as he would to a very small and much younger filly in a condescending tone, but looked back at the agitated mare as if to direct it at her. “Spoony, baby, your mother wants to send you away to a summer camp.”
The way he spat it out with such contempt made it sound as if the very idea were an affront to himself, or a direct insult of some degree. To Silver Spoon, though, it was just something else that she really didn’t want to get dragged into.
“And what is so wrong with that?” her mother threw out her hooves, glaring daggers at the filly. “She needs to get out more, anyway! So what if it’s a little expensive?”
“L-listen,” Silver Spoon mumbled, unable to shy away due to her father’s steely grasp on her. “I don’t really –”
“It’s not about the expense! Think about her friends that she won’t get to see because of you, did you think about that? The mare doesn’t even want to go, do you, Spoony?”
“She is not a mare, she’s a filly!”
“She’s practically old enough to be a mare, quit nagging!”
“I am not nagging! Silver, tell your ‘father’ he can shove-”
“Spoony can answer for herself!” he shouted angrily, his clutch on the back of Silver’s neck tightening. “Isn’t that right, Silver?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer before she was cut off by her mother’s infuriated shriek.
“Fine!” her mother bellowed, hurtling the glass teacup hard to her side, where it shattered loudly against the wall. Hot tea poured like murky teardrops down the wallpaper, splattering against the floor in a miniature wave. “Don’t come crying to me when YOUR daughter eventually turns into a damned hermit!”
She stormed past them with a violent fury, nearly boiling the air around her with her sheer rage.
“Stupid bitch,” the stallion breathed so that only Silver could hear after she had passed, and he squeezed the filly with a painfully tight hug.
“Does this have to happen every morning?” Silver breathed miserably, only for her father to pull her closer to himself until her nose was pressed into his breast.
“Don’t worry, Spoony, baby,” he crooned in a simpering manner, petting the top of her head with one hoof. “You just don’t worry about what me and your mother chit chat about. Hmm?”
Silver Spoon hated how Filled Bags spoke to her. It was always in the condescending, coddling tone, like she were too simpleminded to understand what was happening. But Silver wasn’t stupid, and she understood a great deal more than she was given credit for. It was one of the reasons for her current disposition, after all.
However, all she could bring herself to say was the same thing that she always said, anything to avoid confrontation, anything to get it all over with.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Her courage took flight for an instant, and she spoke up.
“Um… l-listen, Daddy-”
“Hungry, Spoony?” her father asked cheerfully as one of the housekeepers busied herself in silently cleaning up the shattered glass, almost as if nothing had occurred. She hated it when he spoke like that, too. Right after something dreadful, it was always that false, grimacing half sneer that she guessed was supposed to be a friendly smile. It seemed like that one look alone was enough to make the words fail and die in her throat.
“… No thank you, Daddy. I’m not hungry.”
0-0-0-0-0
What made a filly a filly?
Silver Spoon didn’t quite know the answer to that question, and it plagued her all morning. It consumed her mind the entire way to the park, throwing off her pacing and leaving her in a muddle. She supposed that she was a big filly now; on the way to marehood, if not practically already there. But there felt as if there were a larger difference, a fundamental variance in fillies and mares.
Of course, Silver felt like a mare. Sometimes, she felt like a very, very old one. Or perhaps, just a tired one. But everypony she knew continuously treated her like a filly, and expected her to be a mare. If that wasn’t one of the most confusing things Silver Spoon had ever suffered an inner conflict over. She seemed to be having those more frequently as the days dragged on, conflict over conflict.
It was always conflict, always a skirmish of some sort; never peace and quiet, never a simple understanding anymore. And even when she did manage to start to understand something, it felt as if she were only scratching the tip of the iceberg in a futile attempt to reach the bottom without getting cold.
Was that the real difference between fillies and mares?
Age?
Her father seemed to think that she was old enough. He told her that a lot, although half the time it seemed to be more of a form of consolation to himself rather than her.
Blood?
If that were the case, Silver was most definitely a mare, although her mind told her differently.
And if that were true, maybe it was only mindset that made a filly a mare.
But where in the world was she expected to develop a mare’s mindset? And more importantly, if just thinking that one were more grown up were enough, why wasn’t the opposite true?
Poor Silver’s mind was so abuzz with the queries and baffling, crushing weight of the unanswerable that by the time she finally reached the park where Diamond Tiara would be waiting for her, Silver’s mood had drastically worsened. She consciously took a few seconds to take several deep breaths, forcing the dark thoughts out of her head and sifting through Ponyville Park for her friend.
Silver Spoon must have walked around that park for hours on end.
Silver marched around the whole park time and again, crisp green grass crunching underhoof and making an almost rhythmic music for the oblivious filly. Every time that she circled around, she felt a little bit more as if she weren’t looking hard enough, that Diamond would be there the next time around. Any moment now her friend would pop out and the joke would be over, and Silver could finally, finally have somepony to talk to. Diamond Tiara had promised, after all; she even demanded that Silver meet her there, and she was only too happy to oblige.
And yet, it seemed that her only shoulder to cry on had shrugged her off.
Silver Spoon only felt more lost every single time that she circled around.
That same empty, hollowing and crushing feeling seemed to billow up in her chest no matter how hard she fought it, and Silver found herself sitting quietly on the park bench before long.
“Oh, there you are,” Diamond Tiara muttered, causing Silver to nearly fall off the bench.
“Diamond Tiara!” the filly shrieked in joy, flinging her hooves around her pink neck gleefully as her sorrows were instantly forgotten.
“Get off,” Diamond pushed her back humorlessly, but hopped onto the bench beside the ecstatically grinning grey filly nonetheless. She scanned the park in a nearly robotic fashion, back and forth as if she were looking for a needle in a haystack. “Have you just been sitting out here, Silver? That’s lazy.”
“Diamond, listen,” Silver shuffled eagerly back and forth. “I-I’ve been meaning to ask you-”
“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now.” Diamond Tiara shifted awkwardly, continuing her gaze over the park.
“Listen, Diamond,” she struggled, desperate to glean anything she could from her supposedly wiser friend. “I – um, well, something’s really been-been on my mind, and, um…”
“I’m kind of already waiting for somepony,” Diamond half frowned, looking back around the grassy park. “You don’t mind, do you?”
And once more, the words failed within Silver before they ever managed to manifest themselves as anything more than a pitiful, unheard whimper.
“Thanks Silvy you’re the best,” Diamond Tiara huffed all in one breath, slipping down from the bench and carrying on her search. For somepony else.
That wasn’t Silver Spoon.
If that wasn’t enough to crush her, she didn’t know what was.
Silver Spoon almost felt like crying right then, as she watched her best and only friend walk away from her. She half wanted to shout after her, to make her understand what was wrong, that she needed her friend; but doubtlessly Diamond would only mock her, like the last time she tried to talk about something serious.
She shook her head hard, refusing to give in.
Diamond wouldn’t do that, of course not. She was her friend, after all, wasn’t she?
One that had just left her all on her own when she was practically begging her not to…
Silver Spoon wiped her eyes and pried herself from the bench in one swift motion, the hollow feeling clawing its way painfully back into her chest as she did so. Tiara was obviously just too busy. She probably didn’t understand what Silver was going through, anyway. So that made Silver Spoon the more mature one, right? That made her mare enough, didn’t it? Of course her friend wouldn’t just ignore her on purpose.
But then again, sometimes ponies did not so nice things with only themselves in mind, so maybe it wasn’t so farfetched after all.
Silver Spoon almost contemplated going home, but the thought made her feel sick to her stomach. The thought of dragging herself back into that deceptively bright and cheery manor, of crawling back into bed as the darkness settled over her only for events to play out just as they always seemed to, repetitively spiraling down the drain only made her feel even worse.
It was more akin to pointlessly spinning the hands of a clock around, and then living the same day over and over again.
Unsurprisingly, the debilitating hopelessness crashing in on her did absolutely nothing to help Silver’s mood at all.
She found herself traipsing aimlessly once again, down dirt paths in the park or in between trees like a wordless grey ghost. Silver kicked mindlessly at a twig across her path, and watched in tumble fruitlessly a mere yard away, utterly incapable of carrying with it a single ounce of her turmoil. She sighed heavily, her mind wandering miserably whether she wanted it to or not. As such, she almost didn’t recognize the interspersed pink mane of the violet mare approaching down the same dirt path that she endlessly traveled.
Silver nearly bumped into none other than her schoolteacher, Cheerilee before actually recognizing her.
“Sorry!” Silver sputtered, regaining ground quickly.
“Oh, no harm done, dearie!” the earth pony beamed down at her cheerfully. “Looks like I’m not the only one enjoying the after-rain weather, hmm?”
“What?” the filly blinked. “Oh, uh… yeah,” she stuttered pointlessly, furious at herself for mentally coming up short at what could have been a pivotal moment. Curious, she asked “How come you’re out here in the park?”
“I believe I just told you,” Cheerilee snickered good naturedly, and patted the now thoroughly embarrassed filly on the head. “Don’t worry, your mean ol’ teacher isn’t sticking around out in the daylight for long. Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot of papers to grade.”
Silver Spoon nodded slowly a couple of times, and was caught up in thought before she realized that the happily whistling schoolteacher was already walking away from her.
“Um, Miss Cheerilee?” she started after her, but the seed of doubt that had taken root in her remained firmly planted.
“Something the matter?” her teacher hummed interestedly, marching swiftly back to the rather surprised filly.
Thrown off by the sudden attention, Silver found herself much more uneasy and rubbed one foreleg as she stared hard at the spot on the ground before her.
“Well-well, actually,” she mumbled, only to be cut off.
“Speak up, dearie?” Cheerilee asked kindly, kneeling a little in front of her.
“It’s really nothing…” Silver started uncomfortably, feeling as if the schoolteacher’s eyes could somehow see right through her.
Cheerilee tsked a few times, a little smile already on her lips.
“Now, I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve heard that one,” she chortled. “Believe you me, I know that look. It’s the look of a filly with something on her mind, I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“Listen, Miss Cheerilee-” Silver Spoon struggled, her breath catching in her chest.
“Oh, I am listening, dearie!” Cheerilee smiled at her, ears perking up as she stood up straight. “You just go right ahead, Silver; I’m all ears.”
Silver Spoon hated herself.
She hated herself, she hated her life, and in that moment, she even hated kind Miss Cheerilee.
Miss Cheerilee, somepony that really seemed like she wanted to help, somepony that might actually understand. And for the strangest reason, Silver felt as if the mere act of trying to help her were an insult of some kind, like she weren’t mare enough to handle it on her own.
But good fillies didn’t hate anypony else, of course not. Silver couldn’t really bring herself to take hold of that frustration; not against herself, not against her father, most definitely not against poor Miss Cheerilee, standing expectantly before her like a patient parent.
Perhaps that comparison is what caused Silver to collapse internally.
“I just wanted to say I hope you have a great summer!” Silver Spoon lied with a revoltingly toothy smile, forcing as much false cheer into her voice as possible.
“Oh! Well, you have yourself a fine summer too, Silver!” she patted her optimistically on the head again, continuing on her merry way and leisurely enjoying the small cool breeze wafting through the air.
Silver wanted to cry when she watched her walk away.
She just couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, though.
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Silver Spoon was a very lucky filly.
At least, that was what everypony told her. She didn’t think that she was very lucky. Silver didn’t feel like a very lucky filly most of the time. She felt like an old mare that had been walking for too long, a tiredness that had settled into her bones and made the whole world seem heavier. If anything, Silver Spoon couldn’t even call herself ‘sad’. After all, that would imply that she shed tears, didn’t it?
But Silver was a big mare now, and big mares didn’t have problems like that.
No, Silver Spoon didn’t think that she even had any tears left to shed in her body. That didn’t mean that she didn’t try, of course. For the life of her, she couldn’t seem to muster a single one, no matter how much she wanted to. Or maybe her bedroom was just too dark, and she just couldn’t see them even if they were there. Perhaps tears would only come if she felt truly sad, and as Silver silently chewed the tip of her pillow, she didn’t feel particularly sad.
No, Silver felt more as if she were emptied out. Like her heart had given up, but her body and mind refused to stop going no matter how badly she wanted them to just quit so that she could sleep again. But rest was denied her, and Silver knew it. She did manage to let out a single cry, muffled by the creak and moan of the old manor’s wood, the wind outside and the squeaky springs of her own expensive bed. It was no cry of a filly, though. It wasn’t even a cry of a mare.
Silver released an unheard, pitiful, broken little cry, resounding with a pain and sorrow that only those of battered hope and shattered soul could ever truly comprehend.
“Shh,” her father whispered lovingly in her ear to sooth her hollow, miniscule moan. “Now, we’re not going to cry this time, are we, Spoony?”
“… No, Daddy.”
“There’s a good girl.”
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