Coming Home

Days, weeks, even months went by, and still no progress was made in potty training Violet Skye. Her parents tried everything to understand why she couldn’t go potty. They took her to the doctor, somepony who specialized in this sort of matter.

The doctor did his usual routine inspection and checkup, gave her a physical, and ran a few tests. on the lilac colored filly, with her deep blue, black and green mane lightly draped over her soft blue eyes. After a while, the doctor came back. “Well, I have the results of the test,” he said. “From what I can gather, medically speaking, there is nothing causing your daughter’s inability to potty train. From what I see, she just is a really late bloomer when it comes to this, and you’ll just have to be extremely patient with her. In the meantime, it’s best you keep her in diapers and try once every week or so, until her body is ready.” With that, Violet Skye and her family departed, and headed home.

As time grew on, her parents did as the doctor recommended, and periodically tried to get her to use the potty, each time to no avail. They began growing impatient with their daughter, as she was breaking their mold of perfection. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Eventually, months turned into years, and Violet Skye’s parents’ patience wore out. They gave up on their daughter and getting her to use the potty. But this trend also gave way to another horrifying trend.

Her mother got tired of changing her dirty diapers time after time, even when Violet Skye showed small signs of improvement. At first, it was a small amount of frustration. It soon morphed into a modest amount of anger, and from there, large rages. Physical torment also became an increasing threat to Violet Skye’s safety every time she went and had to get changed. It started with simple taps, pokes, and little things, but eventually grew more painful, with smacks, slaps, and punches. Her parents even used a paddle occasionally to “discipline” their daughter for not being able to control herself. The worst part being she was too young to defend herself, or to even speak out about it. For a long time she just sat there, and took her punishment for something that was entirely out of her control. She often lied awake at night, sobbing from the suffering she faced. “No more,” she’d often cry out. “I can’t take this anymore.”

That night, on the eve of her 12th birthday, she found a small suitcase, and began packing her things. She packed the essentials first, like a scarf, a blanket, some food, and of course her diapers and changing supplies. She took her favorite pacifier, from when she was just a foal. It still comforted her, especially the long nights she would spend crying at night. Violet Skye also took an old onesie she held onto that she still fit in. She kept it as a momento from the good times when she was younger, and would wear it from time to time to try and regain the memories from days and years passed. Her favorite stuffed cat came with her. Fluffy, as it was named, felt like her best friend at times. She thought as if it was the only thing that could truly understand her.

After she decided she had everything she needed, Violet Skye quietly crept downstairs, opened the front door, closed it quietly behind her, and departed into the dark night, searching for refuge from all the pain and suffering her abusive family had bestowed upon her.