A Bright, Red Scream

Young Rarity sat alone in her room. She was on her floor, staring blankly at the pages of unfinished, past-due homework. The young fashion designer didn't know what to do. She wasn't very good at any of the subjects in school that didn't involve some sort of culture or creativity. Math, she was decent, but not good at. Science was a very difficult subject for her, there wasn't any part of it she really truly grasped. Many of her classmates were whizzes with calculations and the sciences. Rarity just wasn't one of those ponies. She leaned back on her bed, a slight depression creeping into her mind. What if she failed? What if she didn't graduate? Everypony would hate her. She would be letting her family down. She would be letting herself down.

The depression began to consume her. Tears began to fall down her face as she tucked her knees up to her. Normally she would be dramatic about it, bawling loud enough for her parents to hear. Tonight, there was too much pushing down on her and too much she couldn't handle. Slowly she curled into a small, sad, tear-streaked ball on her floor. Every thought that came to her was muddied and unclear. She could only feel the deep sadness of failure welling up inside of her. Oh how she wished for a release. Something to make this slip away. Something to make her mind clear again. Rarity thought back to that one time she had read about cutters and why they cut. She thought about maybe trying it for herself. It calmed her a bit just to think about doing it. Slowly she got up, heart racing. The young white pony walked to her bathroom, where sometimes her father shaved. She picked out a sharp, unused one. As she held it to her wrist regret started to seep into her stream of conscious. Quickly she cut herself once, dropping the blade almost immediately after. Celestia, it hurt. Then, as she stared at the small amount of blood that trickled out of her extremely shallow wound, a calming, numbing sensation flowed over her. Thoughts of failure were gone. As were any other clear thought. Rarity sat back against the bathroom wall. Very few thoughts other than of how calm she was came to her. It had worked. She felt okay. Not good. Not bad. Alive.