She looked through as her friend...well former friend, and now much more, put her things on the carriage. Which was being pulled by a gray stallion, with a large build. Seeing her as she passed, she couldn’t help but focus all of her anger on that stranger. She knew he was just doing his job, but still. Who is he? Why is he doing this to me? Who does he think he is to take her away from me, especially now that everything was working out so well? Questions pierced her mind as she watched. And yet she didn’t move, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted to, more than everything, if not to convince her to back down and stay in town with her, at least to give her her final goodbyes. Yet she didn’t.
It was something she’d regret, two days later, large, deep, purple and black circles below her eyes, she couldn’t sleep, every time she tried she’d remember all the fun times she’d had. She had even started seeing her, in that state between her sleepless state and the pure, actual act of sleep (which she couldn’t yet achieve), at those times, when she saw her through half groggy eyes, in the shadows that covered the ceiling, as dimmed candlelight flickered, she smiled, and was at least happy with her lie. She knew she wasn’t there, it was a physical impossibility, much less now that she had moved out with her sister, to the big city. But she was content in her dream. “Remember that time we ended up covered in tree sap?” She’d find herself asking the shimmering muzzle of her friend, up there in the shadows.
She remembered that, when leaving, the other filly had banged at her door, trying desperately that they could talk. She hadn’t had the guts to open the door. “I’m a sucky friend”, she said, not too loud, for there wasn’t anyone around to hear her, but more to herself than anyone else.
It didn’t even matter now. She had tried, and failed, what purpose did it all had? The other filly had looked at her window, almost as if guessing that she was looking at her friend, but of course she was. So predictable. Poor little Scootaloo, the flightless Pegasus, always the one being left out of everything. Then she had made friends. But as time slipped by, so did their relationships. She had found herself more and more attracted to her friend, and had been forced to confront her feelings. She bit her lips. That had been quite a day, but not now, all her guts, and courage (that had, after all, helped her in coming out to sweetie, and to everyone else, that she didn’t care much for), didn’t do a darn thing to help cleanse the pain in her heart. That deep feeling as if she was being punctured over and over and over and over. But that wasn’t even the worse part, if that were it...
She looked at her own hooves, hooves that had so many times hugged and taken hold of Sweetie’s mane and body. Not that they had done something intimate. Not before marriage, Sweetie had insisted, and Scootaloo (or Scoots, as she was known by her special filly and rainbow dash too) had accepted it, she didn’t even know what they were talking about, her parents not having much to care in giving her “The talk”, but she knew it was important. She was glad to do whatever Sweetie wanted, however, as long as it made her happy. Couldn’t hurt, right?
Scootaloo never cried, that was one of the things she was most proud of, whenever she stubbed the tip of her hoof, she fell, she fought, or she was hurt in any way, she was as tough as her idol and mentor.
But she had cried pretty hard, she had begged, she had wept, she had even tried to convince her parents to let her go with Rarity and Sweetie, but nothing had worked, it seemed as though the separation was of fate itself, as they had spend their last few days, which seemed to pass by in a much too quick pace, kissing and hugging and snuggling and telling themselves it would be alright.
But it wasn’t alright. She bitterly thought. They had been friends for years, well not that many years, only three, and now she was gone. She had no idea of how to live without her. She still had her farm yard friend but it wasn’t the same thing. Not a chance.
She had regrets, she had never done many of the things she wanted too with her special one, and now she simply couldn’t. Manehattan was a long long way, her scooter couldn’t take her that far. And sure, there had been a pony that had walked there on hoof, and then returned, but now she had no chance to do it, what would her parents say? Well she wasn’t so sure of what they would say about this either.
She grabbed the tip of the thing she held in her hooves, and brought it along her own legs, it slightly poking at the fur and soft skin underneath. Do I really want to do this? She very briefly pondered, before deciding it didn’t matter anyway. Not with her gone.
She felt it, as it made her scream out, it hadn’t pierced the flesh, but it had come very close to it. It had scrapped out and cut a bit of fur. She hadn’t even started the act in of itself, but she was already screaming. This only made her feel worse though, as she couldn’t even hurt herself properly.
Then there was a thought. A single shimmer of clarity in all of it. What would she say? And that made her drop the pointy object, as she was sure that Sweetie wouldn’t want to see her hurt herself because of her.
Another part of her was screaming to do it, that if she didn’t want her to hurt herself, she shouldn’t have left. It was bitterness and anger, and rage at Sweetie? But she had no fault in going, she had literally been dragged out. Was it pointing at Rarity? She had taken Sweetie!
Scootaloo looked at the patch of skin where her orange fur had been cut off. What was I about to do? She had isolated herself on those last few days, and yet, a cry of help was coming from deep herself her. She could choose to ignore it, but she didn’t want to. She had to get better, for it could take years, but just imagining how devastated and hurt Sweetie would get.
I’m a monster. I was about to hurt those who care about me, and they are so many ponies who do!
She’d try to get help, but she couldn’t help it, if it wasn’t sadness that she felt now (though it was present) it was another thing entirely, it was ANGER, at herself.
She was messed up, and it hurt too much to even think. But she’d make it, for Sweetie
At least she hoped so.
Author's Note
I really, really, hope none of the people reading are having this kind of thoughts, depressive and violent thoughts tend to follow a person around and sucker punch them, whenever they least expect it, I'm no better than anyone, but I beg of you, if you think any of the thoughts, of this cute little filly, apply to you, even if you think nobody cares, at least try to reach out to someone.
And yes, I realize how sick of me it is to project those kind of thoughts into a cute little filly, but oh well.
Thank you for reading!
