The Walls are Wolves

~~~~A Rock in the River~~~~

9:00pm, April 16.

    The water around my splayed body was warm and comforting, like the embrace of a loved one (at least, what I think it's like). It was smooth, luxorious, and most importantly, distracting. My cheeks were now clean again, no tear stains this time having formed. Gentle trickling and sloshing was the only sound in the small room, and with the added emphasis of the curtain, steam rose up and clouded my senses with the vivacious conciliation.

    My eyelids slowly opened, revealing the small rubber duck inches from my face, facing away. It waddled and rocked gently on the clear ground, examining its surroundings with minute precision. I envied its uninvolvedness in life. Well, the fact it was an inanimate object probably helped with that.

    The rubber duck kept waddling about, the two black eyes taking in its surroundings. It seemed to be rubbernecking me as it slowly tilted sideways, the blackness of its eyes finding their way to me. I lifted a hoof, pushing it away, to the other end of the bathtub.

    The muffled sound of a door slamming perked my ears. Next, came the wrothful hoofsteps as my mother stomped across the room.

    "...talk to me like that," she finished lividly, the beginning of her sentence blurred with access sound. I knew exactly what she was saying, though. "You do not speak to me like that again. I don't care about your money problems, I've worked nonstop to get this cash. When you get a well paying job, call me for my congratulations." A few seconds of silence. "Well, at least I'm not ripping ponies open for a living." Another pause. "Radiologist or not, you're being psychotic." One more absence of voice. This one was particularly long. I blinked slowly, before sinking my cheeks down into the water. The tear stains dissipated in the clean liquid, adding a little salt to the mix. When the mare in the other room spoke again, her voice was overcome with apoplectic rage. "...What the Hell did I say about you talking to me like that? You can lash out at my house, my job, Fleck, but you do not call me that, you fucking asshole."

    I closed my eyes, trying my best to zone her out. It worked, but the sting was already stung. I felt the plastic bump of the fake duck on my cheek. Gently, I reached up and grabbed it. It let out a hushed squeak, and I felt myself smile a little.

    "I am a professional, you prick," she ranted from the other room. "I don't give a shit about your Celestia damned PhD, I have a job that pays better. One to two thousand bits a day. What do you make, asshole?" I bit my lip as a lump formed in my throat. "I have fun doing what I do. I meet great stallions, and I make them feel great. You, meanwhile, are stuck in a hot room wearing a fucking lab coat, reaching into ponies' bodies and doing Celestia knows what! My profession, as jealous as it makes you, is honest. You fucking remember that next time you talk behind my back."

    The duck went flying out of the water via my magical grip; it backlashed, however, as the small toy's force caught in the plastic curtain, dragging the metal pole suspending it out from its balanced place. It fell and crashed into the tub wall, also giving me a smack across my forehead. I yelped out in pain, quickly covering the fur, and resisted the urge to cry.

    "Fleck, shut up!" came from the other room. "You better not be making a mess, little miss!" I whispered a pathetic apology, but my resistance to cry faltered. The warm water around my mouth tasted of more salt as I closed my eyes painfully. Meanwhile, the mare was ranting on. "It doesn't matter what she did, Rocky! This is between you and me. ...No, you can't talk to her! You're drunk! ...What the fuck do you mean, you're not? ...You little shit, I am *not** drunk!* I just came back from a fucking week long whine tasting extravaganza in Ponyville, I have to be professional. ...The Elements of Harmon-- pft-- That's besides the point, you dickwagon!"

    I couldn't listen to any more. I shakily turned over and pushed myself up, my forehead still stinging. After some brief tripping and stumbling, I was out of the tub. I didn't bother with the fallen curtain-- my forehead was really starting to hurt. It wasn't until I bent down to unplug the drain it really fucked up. It was as if a bee stung me. I gasped before staggering over the edge of the bathtub, my horn scraping on the wall.

"Fuck!" I yelled out.

"FLECK!" I heard from the other room. "You watch your fucking whore mouth! Do you hear me?!"

    I muttered a distinct go fuck yourself with a cactus, before staggering out of the tub. After I pulled the plug, I levitated a towel to wrap itself around myself. I groggily trotted to the stool in the corner, dragged it over to the bathroom counter, and hopped on. After clearing the fog from the mirror, I saw myself...

    ...which I quickly averted my eyes from. A tinge of sadness rejoined in my system, but it was only met with countless brothers. I peered up to my forehead, avoiding my face. No blood was drawn from the wound, but even I could already tell it was going to be a nasty contusion. I didn't dare touch it, drawing my hoof away from the previously covered skin. The hoof led me to my left ear.

    The red half moon was already scarring. The flap of skin above the bite mark was limp, bending down like a broken stick. Another lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it perfectly. I got that from my mom.

    Another jolt of pain shot through my system. I heard myself squeak out, and I quickly planted my hooves on the sides of the counter. A toothbrush was sent sailing off, falling to the floor. It was a particularly long fall. If that toothbrush was a pony, it would have been an instant death...

    My horn glowed its offendingly vomitous shade of ugly purple, and the plain blue toothbrush gently levitated back up to the counter. I scooted back a little on my stool, before gently flicking it down again, as if it was dropping willingly. It spent roughly 3/4 of a second in the air, before clattering to a stop on the floor. I did the same procedure again and again, deeply envying that little utinsil: small, weak, meaningless. But, it had a way out.

    I sighed. I wanted this so bad. A pony simply can't live like this. They need happiness, they need a reason to live; I had neither. The only reason why I hadn't ended it yet was because of one pony: Pugnit.

    That little cunt biscuit would probably tell a bullshit story surrounding my death, then spit on my grave. It was useless to even think of it. An ounce of respect for my death was all I wanted.

    ...What the fuck am I thinking? I wasn't getting respect, alive or dead. I was just going to be another "emo face in the crowd." Or, another "tragic loss due to misunderstanding life and its qualities." I couldn't afford the Baltimare Train Station; my mother took everything I earnt. Even if I hitched a ride, my father would hunt me down, being the psycho he is. I couldn't get help because I didn't deserve it. If they found my body splattered over the pavement, or my corpse twitching via a noose around the neck, they'd laugh...

    ...Unless they knew my pain.

    An ugly eye of mine twitched at that idea. I could end this, but first I needed to let them know my pain. Not just Pugnit, but my parents, the school administrators, and every bully out there. Society needed to hate them. They needed to be afraid to show their faces at school. They needed to have suicidal thoughts. Call me selfish, or cruel, but like I said before: I'm a horrible pony.

    I wanted them to be bullied. I wanted them to be neglected. I wanted them to cut their wrist. I wanted them to be for blame. The blinded society would do the rest, acting like they were on my side the whole time.

    ...I could leave a note.

    The realization hit me like a freight train. My ear and a half perked up instantly. For the first time of the evening, I looked at myself in the mirror. I evaluated just how much good that plan would result in.

    Nopony could say no to a dead filly. Society wouldn't let them. I could tell them to put my note in the newspaper, to spread it across Manehatten, Fillydelphia, and Baltimare; to mail it to the fuckers' doors. I could ruin their life beyond the grave.

    I hate every part of myself, but even I know I'm not to blame.

    I focused on the mirror again, and found my mouth curled to be into a smile. Repulsed, I quickly slapped myself across the cheek. The offending smile vanished.

    There was that tiny part of myself that wanted to find a different solution, but everypony who felt the same as me had that. The difference is that while they had one saving quality, friend, or talent, I have absolutely nothing. It would be a mercy killing; the real crime would be letting myself live. The real crime would be letting assholes like Pugnit, Cactus Blossom, Baryn Haze, Yellow Storm, Sunset Remedy, and everypony of all the schools I've been in all live their lives unmolested and unpunished.

    I was finally going to be free. They were finally going to be punished. Everypony was finally going to be a little more happy, minus the ones who don't deserve it.

    ...I was going to die. Finally...

    ...I could only hope Summer Monsoon could forgive me.

~~~~Having the Bull by the Horns~~~~

9:00pm, April 16.

    The bucking bag endured my blows smoothly, yet each punch, buck, and headbutt left distinct dents. There were a lot of dents.

    It took consintrashun(?) for somepony to stand on their hind legs; even more so to actively and conchiously attack with their upper hooves. But, like every personal trainer of mine said, building strength takes more consintrashun than most math tests. Equines have proven those guys right over and over with the raw brain power mixed in with muscle magic.

    Tri's and delt's burnt with every punch, quads already maintaining a fair workout from the front legged onslaught. I let my anger pour out with each strike of flame, and when a fire started going, my rage aided it in its domination. I didn't give a fuck if my parent heard. The bag endured my wrath, taking blow after blow, until I finally barreled around to all fours, stretched the hind legs back, and bucked that thing with all my might. It crashed into the ceiling, but was instantly back for more. I indulged it.

"PUGNIT!" came an angry voice from upstairs. "Quit hitting that fucking bag and use your hooves to do something quieter! Like masturbating to Fleck, or something!"

    With a few more hard punches, the bucking bag was sent swinging backwards. It sailed back to me, a mere sidestep saving me a new bloody nose. I was panting hard, sweat dribbling down my face, but it did nothing to quench the fire. "Say that to my face, bitch!" I shot right back, growling to myself.

"You shut your Celestia damn mouth, you fucking cocksucker!" my father yelled back. "You're lucky your mother ain't come back yet, or she woulda fucked your ass with a cactus!"

    "Mom isn't coming back," I started to yell, but my voice faltered. He didn't hear my sting. He only heard the buzzing of a dying wasp, his stinger cut out long ago. A sense of sadness enveloped my heart, but I instantly replaced it with anger. The wasp had a few friends. "You Celestia damn prick! She left because of your fuck-ups, dipshit! If she ever came back, you would be the first on her list!"

"You little shit!" he spat. Meanwhile, I stepped sternly to the white towel on the floor, snatching it up before using it to wipe my face and mane clean. My ears picked up his bickering perfectly, though. "Royal Guard or not, Lily knows when to give up on somepony! She left the moment she left the hospital, you in a fucking stroller! It's your fault, and you know it, little filly! Now *FUCK OFF!*"

    I flipped him off with a whack of the front part of my upturned elbow. I really wish I could get away from that fucker. Honestly, nopony should have to deal with this shit stain of a father. Can't even have one Celestia damn serious talk with him without him fucking it over with his masturbation jokes. What a fucking asshole.

    I would have run away long ago if it wasn't for the simple fact: he's all I got.

    I threw one more punch at the bucking bag, just for good measure. It swung back and forth from the force, before steadily relaxing. I watched it all the way threw its cycle.

    I dropped to my hooves yet again and planted the towel on my face, before taking a few steps back and collapsing on my bed. Three bounces followed my weight, and when the jumps settled themselves, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was keeping in. The hot air only added to the stuffy atmosphere, and the sweat amplify'd the level of uncomforbleness. In fact, laying here was just a bad idea all around.

    I crunched up, laying the towel on my traps before letting my hooves dangle to the floor as my chest rested on my knees. The maroon-colored apendages blended in with the dark room; no lights accompany'd the small abode, instead coming from the outdoors: a single, flickering orange street light was all I had. It illuminated the plain brown wall, dusty corners, pile of 45, 35, 25, and 10 pound weights; broken barbell and bench, some heavy dumbells, a plain and stained carpet, and that fucking abandoned spider web I keep forgetting about. I eyed the bastard with contempt, but my energy was already spent.

    With some effort, the towel found its way to my face. I rubbed it in hard, before shifting it to my damp mane then chest. I sat there for some time, letting myself recover, and letting my delt's, chest, tri's, bi's, and lat's all burn like Tarturus. It was a calming feeling, but it soon needed to end.

    I needed some fucking protein.

    A few more minutes was spent resting, panting, and admiring the way the lighting mixed with the stacked bumps all over my body. When my handicappness was but a burning of muscles and flexing of joints, I hopped off the bed. No focus was given to the burn it gave me. I exited my room to the other parts of the basement, before trotting up those fucking creepy wooden stairs.

    After shoving my already burning shoulder into the broken door which led to the main level, I was given the predicted scene of the kitchen in front of me, while a large opening a few feet in front of me and to the right led to the living room; the frizzled, black mane of my father purtrued from in front of a turned away couch, facing the window. Three bottles of Applejack Daniels were gathered at the bottom of the couch like a school of pigeons begging for bread. The only sound was the quiet, repetitive ticking of the fan overhead. I scowled at my dad before trotting heavily to the fridge.

    "Get me another beer when you're over there, would ya?" I heard my father suggest gingerly. I snorted as a response.

    When I opened the old fridge, the smell hit me first. I recoiled, but only a little. "What the fuck crawled in here and died?"

    "Just get me a fucking beer," was my father's response. "I've had a long day."

    Every day was at least 25 hours for him. I reached inside and grabbed a Macintosh Protein box, before also coming out with a spare brown bottle. Placing the protein shake on the counter top, I held the bottle in my mouth and trotted to the stallion's side, before dropping it in his lap.

    "Thank you," he grunted.

    I scoffed before trotting back to the kitchen, grabbing the protein shake, and trotting away. "Night," I mumbled simply.

    Down to my room I went, a scowl planted on my features. When I revealed myself to the dark room, I spat out the protein shake on my bed, before trotting to the lone window. Once again, there was that lamp post, glowing in the darkness. It was a beacon of light in this dark shit hole, as small as it was. I wanted to fly away from this place. But then, who would take me in? I was the school bully, Pugnit, who had no real friends, no true family, and no reason to live besides the only untrue family he had. My dad couldn't survive a week without me. Sometimes, I think I couldn't survive a day without him.

    Like it or not, this is who I am: fucked up. I need his constant torment. It's the only way I can convert sadness to anger. I didn't want to kill myself, I just want to...

    I snarled before stepping back to my protein shake. After ripping the shake box open, I drank it greedily. It tasted of dull chocolate, and dried my tongue completely, but I knew that without this, there was no benefit. My pump was sure to be rewarded.

~~~~The Many Shades of Brown~~~~

9:00pm, April 16.

    How was there any way I could've known I was dancing?

    Well, not dancing, but moving my hooves, shoulders, and hips to the rhythmic wubs conquering every sense of my brain. I wasn't doing it too profusely, either; my flank was firmly planted in the bus seat, the metal arm rests at my sides restricting any movements too profuse. Whelp, turns out thinking of a dancing pony in my head, adjacent  (that's probably not the right word) with the profuse tunes is not a way to make new friends.

    "Sorry," I chuckled meekly, looking away from the mare who addressed the issue. My cheeks burnt with hot embarrassment. I could sense her either rolling her eyes or giving a small smile before turning back.

    The bus gave a rough rattle, cajoling me and the rest of the occupants (being the mare and the driver) from our comfort. The suitcase on her lap toppled to the ground, and I heard distinct shuffling from inside. She cursed (causing my ears to perk) before bending down and pulling it back up. I acknowledged this, and looked forward. After taking out one of my ear buds (the dubstep's volume lowering significantly), I glanced her way, aiming to start small talk with her, when I noticed just who she was.

    My body was making a habit of doing things I didn't realize I was doing. The mare glanced my way before doing a double take. It was the fact I saw her do just that which made me realize. She was (thankfully) unmolested by my antics.

    "Summer Monsoon?" she asked suddenly. I shook myself out of it to see that she was smiling. "You were in last year's Into the Everfree, yes?"

    There's that Fancy accent again. And, there's that hot embarrassment again. Her light brown irises were friendly, and the smile on her face amplified that effect. I briefly took some time to study the differences she had from last year: besides looking noticeably more mature and beautiful, she had her mane done in a bun, and I spent a second or two admiring the way her white strip traveled through her chocolate mane like a consistent ray through the hills. She also had her hooves darkened, and contrary from her peach coat, they were brown in color. A silver earring that resembled a lone circle was clipped on her right ear, the one which was facing me the most. Even if I didn't agree with her choice of accessories, I respected her. And yet, despite the changes I saw, I was still reliving my 10th grade year when I saw her.

    "...Uhh, yep," I finally answered. I gave a toothy grin.

    "Well, I wanted to tell you that I think you have a great voice," she said.

    Oh, hello, Blush. I see you haven't gone away yet.

    "Thanks," was the single word I said, earning myself a mental badgering.

    "I take Theater, too," she hinted. "Seventh period. Ms. Face Flush. Do you have her?"

    "Yeah, we're in the same class," I answered with a soft giggle.

    "Really?" the mare seemed to remember who I was. "I'm sorry! I didn't know."

    I smiled, leaning back in my seat. It was a little rewarding to have her say that. "C'est rien, je sais."

    When she was calmed from her unintentional rudeness, she continued the conversation. "Now that I think about it, I might've seen you a few times." She tapped her chin. "Oh, and, my name is Étoile Mending."

    'Yeah, I know your name,' I wanted to say, but resisted. This new friendship was so new and fragile, I didn't want to drop it carelessly. "That's a cool name."

    She bowed her head and giggled. I inadvertently admired how she lifted a hoof and used it to drape back a strand of her mane which had found its way over her face. I might be a complete idiot with mares, but even I know that's a positive sign.

    "So, Summer Monsoon," Étoile confided quietly, lowering her voice. "You want to get together sometime? Sorry, I had to ask. I'm basically a fan of yours. Are those the right words?"

    It's a positive sign, all right.

    I don't know why, but I started to groan incoherantly, a blush (once a-freakin'-gain) planting itself on my face. It was as if a furnace turned on, in another dimension, or just under my fur. I had to cover my mouth to hide the joyous grin which had traveled the galaxy to slap its stupid self on my stupid face. A few seconds of silence passed (minus my quiet "Oooohoh"ing).

    I'm a complete moron with romance. I've never really developed a liking for any mare before; besides Fleck, but that's a different story. For a while, I was pretty sure I was gay. But, alas, here was Étoile Mending: the second mare I truly had feelings for. And, she was asking me out. And, she complimented my voice. And, she didn't think I was a loser. Am I in Heaven?

    I surpressed a squee, but I think a little squeak got out anyway. I glanced her way to find her still peering at me expectantly. A hint of surpressed pleading was in those desert sand-colored irises. With an abrupt realization of how much of an idiot I looked like, I brusquely gave her my answer: "Yes."

    The word came out before I could stop myself, and the bus jostled a little, as if even it was cringing inside. Étoile was biting her lip to surpress a huge grin, her cheeks slowly turning pink. And I thought my pet chinchilla was freakin' adorable.

    ...That sounded a lot better in my head. Which it is in. You know what, it's just a bad line all together, I apologize.

    "I mean, Yeah," I saved myself. "Yeah, sure."

    Étoile turned away for a second, hiding her face. I merely burnt from the inside out. She turned back, an almost apologetic smile plastered on her face. "I'm sorry if I annoyed you-- I just had to ask. I've, uh...--" An adorable scratch of her head. "--...Never mind. I just needed to try at least once since that play. You're really talented. Well, for me.--" She badgered herself in her head. "--I'm just really happy we could arrange this... When are you free?"

    I couldn't believe this was happening. I felt my entire face burning from the everything of this moment. Étoile Mending, asking me out, saying I'm talented, and thinking I'm worthwhile. Another squee started to form in my diaphragm, but it was surpressed, along with its companion.

    "Whenever, I guess," I said with ludic, pulling my hoof down from going through my mane nervously. "I mean, I have practice tomorrow for Trotting in the Rain, but that could wait, I guess."

    She was nodding. "Saturday?"

    My insides were a furnace. I couldn't speak correctly, in fear of my Horseshoe Bayhn accent coming out. I squeaked out a meak, "Please?"

    Étoile smiled yet again, turning away. We talked some more for the duration of the ride. Turns out, over the Summer she had traveled the globe; Étoile spent half of June in The Great Caddlemara, all the way over in Manestralia, before taking a carriage to Mos-cow, Plussia. Then, she went back to Fance before traveling to Saddle Arabia, and finally Vanhoover. The many countries almost made me dizzy thinking about those flight times. After school started, she was enrolled in Advanced Equestrian, Fancy IV, and Advanced World Civ. for "exploring the many themes of Equestria." It was cute, seeing her go on about how much she misses Fance, and how cool it'd be to take me ("Probably. Maybe. In the future. If you wanted to."). Then, the conversation shifted to how much courage it took her to ask me, then it shifted to our favorite video game (I had a long talk about the many reasons why Pony Fortress 2 was single-hoofedly the best FPS out there, while she defended the upcoming "Call of Cutie: Black Clops 3."), then to the subject of why we were actually on this bus. ("It's so late, and tomorrow's a school day, after all. I'm just curious.")

    Neither of us talked about our reasons.

    The ride lasted for a half hour more, before it was my stop.

    I felt the bus slow to a stop from underneath, via the gentle shift of gravity to the front. After a brief glance out the window, I saw the dark exterior of a lone bus stop bench, and a street lamp just above. The door to the bus slid open with a hiss, and a rush of cool air greeted us occupants. I glanced Étoile's way, before smiling to myself. I was underacting tremendously; this was her for Celestia's sake! Pardon my Fancy.

    "Well, it seems our journey is over," I concluded, smiling when the reference wasn't lost on her.

    "Saturday, 8pm?" she asked innocently. I nodded, before standing up. The metal underneath swayed my step, but I held firm. "And, Summer? I just wanted to thank you for what you've done for Fleck."

    I stopped walking, peering back at my new kinda-future-maybe-hopefully marefriend. Étoile seemed to realize what she said, as she leaned back in her chair. "I mean, I see her in the hall sometimes, but I know the look on her face. You're really helping her through stuff." I smiled halfheartedly. I didn't understand much of mare talk, but at least I knew what she was implying. Étoile slapped her knees, pulling a 'Yeah, well, that's that' face. "Just thought I'd tell you that."

    I nodded, although I felt my mouth shrink into a thin line. After a few seconds, though, I caught myself in the act and smiled wholeheartedly. "Thanks. I'll talk to her tomorrow. Saturday, 8pm?"

    "Is that fine with you?"

    "Rule of Thirds," I grinned smugly, before stepping to the front of the bus.

    In this situation, that means yes, for you non-thespians.

    As I was clopping down the metal steps, the bus driver exclaimed a simple, "Smooth." I felt my cheeks redden at the fact that there was somepony listening that entire time.