Here within the Dark

Standing Alone

Every pony always looks at me strange. I don’t know why and I’m tired of it. I’m no different than any of them. But they ignore me, they leave me alone. I used to not mind or really care but lately I have grown tired of the loneliness. It’s always so dark and cold and I can’t stand it anymore. Even when I am around so many, I am still alone. I hate it and I hate every pony else. Why should they have their friends while I get nothing? I’m sick and tired of all the love that they share with each other only to leave me out. I’ve tried to make friends, but I’m always shunned by them. I’m not going to fake being happy anymore. I’ll show them how I really feel. I’ll make every pony know what it’s like to be alone.

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The solitary pony wanders through the streets of Ponyville, acutely aware of the numerous stares from the other ponies. Even now he hates those stares. The looks of disapproval, even fear. He never really understood why. This town was supposed to be the one with the most love and friendship in all of Equestria, but even here he still gets the same looks that he got everywhere else. Just because he is a little different from every pony else.

His name is Blackwing, but no pony would know that. No pony cares to know. Many likely do not know he even exists. As for those who see him, he is an outsider. Always has been, always will be. But why should he be singled out like a leper or ignored like some pony who does not exist? Why should he suffer loneliness and solitude every day?

As the son of a pegasus and a thestral he does have some features of each, though with some slight differences. Instead of having either feathered wings or leathery wings he has both. His left wing is a turquoise pegasus wing while his right wing is a pitch black bat wing, hence his name. Everything else about him is normal. He has a turquoise colored body, a greyish-blue mane and tail, each cut short, and emerald green eyes. While he has the tufts of hair on his ears like other thestrals he does not have fangs and still he is looked at like some kind of bizarre creature.

Beyond the looks of distrust and fear, the other ponies simply ignore the pegasus, bat-pony hybrid, not out of the same feelings as the others but simply because they are busy with their own lives. Blackwing has always envied the ponies with even one friend, more so those with many. But for him, he is ignored and he hates it. The loneliness hangs over him, crushing him. He is not as outgoing as other ponies and therefore cries out for help in his own subtle way. But every time, the cries are ignored or go unseen by those that never look.

Over the years, sadness and despair are replaced and overpowered with anger and hatred. Yet deep in his heart, the sadness still remains. An aching black hole yearning to be filled, sucking in any and all attention in order to fill the desire for companionship. Outwardly, he hides his anger, putting on a disguise of false happiness and a veil of being contempt. Inwardly, he is hurting, even bleeding.

Blackwing makes his way to his home on the outskirts of town. The loneliness of the trek takes a higher toll on him than the distance. Every step is labored, every breath harsh. As he draws closer to his home, he falls farther into the blackness that is solitude. He wants to be away from the looks of despise but not at the cost of being alone. And such a cost it is.

As he enters the home, his first desire is to scream out in sadness. To release the floodgates of tears that have built up over time. But the tears do not come. His sadness is put down by the hatred and rage that fumes from those emerald eyes. He can only vent his anger whereas the sorrow can only be healed, and the healing never comes. The futility of ridding himself of this suffering only brings more pain. There was a time when he could cry, but now he has long forgotten how.

“I HATE THEM ALL!!!”

Wrath burn in his eyes as he screams. He looks about the house and the multiple trinkets it holds. Each item acquired to give him some semblance of comfort. But the attempt to fight the eternal solitude is in vain. He slams his hoof against the floor as he screams again. He fights himself to avoid tearing the home to shreds. Everything here is meaningless, worthless. What good is it if he remains alone? He drops to the ground screaming until his voice wears thin and his throat hurts.

“I HATE THEM!!! I HATE THEM!!!”

He pounds the ground as he screams. Every day he repeats the violent ritual in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the anger inside. But each day he sees those scornful eyes and feels their judging stares. For each pony that ignores him, he feels a violent shove as he is rejected by them.

“I hate them!”

Blackwing drags himself to his bed and curls into a ball, his voice growing softer out of exhaustion.

“I hate them. I hate…”

His voice trails off as he finally achieves sleep, the exhaustion taking its toll. His final thought as the mist of sleep overwhelm him is that no pony should suffer as he does. This thought is not out of care for the others, but envy of them. If he should suffer, then so should they. He will show them the results of being ignored and despised. Even as he dreams, he is alone. Though he occasionally sees the fair princess of the night she always keeps her distance, watching from afar.

Even here where the watcher of dreams wanders, I am alone.