The Walls are Wolves

by Pree Spunky

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Sad, Drama, Original Character, Tragedy
Length: 25731

When a neglected filly is pushed to suicide, she is determined to reveal to the world the very truth of her death by ruining the ponies' lives who caused her descent. Little does she know, they have stories of their own to tell.

A young filly is pushed to taking her life after years of harrassment and neglect, and she has the perfect idea for a postmortem revenge: a leftover note detailing the ponies who should be to blame. Taking place within three perspectives, including the bully she detests and her only friend, her ultimate choice will throw everypony off their balance.

Rated Mature for strong language throughout, violence, and sensitive themes.

The lovely fan art in the cover image was made by the fabulous Silencednight.

Published 2015-04-25 01:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-05-13 19:05:54 UTC

3:00pm, April 16th

~~~~A Living Hell~~~~

3:00pm, April 16.

    It started small.

    For my standards, at least. Bullies aren't new for me. I'm the "grunt" of the litter. Small, weak, and untalented; easy prey for the fuck cunts of Manehatten Elementary, Fillydelphia Middle School, and Baltimare High. Summer Schools between included. You know, the ponies who are so God damned self-conscious they assail the ones who don't have time for their bigoted bullshit just to feel good about their own, sorry selves. They're the ones who grow up sucking some stallion's dick to earn a living, before making up excuses for the promiscuousness.

    Yeah. Those guys. When my mother dragged me to Baltimare, I was naturally the first one to get picked out by the new shit stains of my life. Pugnit, and the other two cunt biscuits I never bothered to learn the names of. It was for the most vapid, pugnacious, steriotypical reason you could think of: I was in his way. In the fucking *hallway!*** The Land of Bumping Into Others. He collided into me, driving my snout in the sharp corner of my open locker. While I was holding my bleeding nostrils, Pugnit actually mistook me for surpressing laughter. What dumb shit stick would ever think that a filly like me-- defenseless, weak, and crying-- would laugh? Oh, yeah, getting shoved into the bottom corner of your locker door is so fucking hilarious!

    ...Anyways, that's how it started. The name calling was next. I spent the first few nights of Fall screaming and crying in my pillow, the whispered quote by Pugnit my source: "Do you actually think you can laugh at me, bitch? You don't even look at me the wrong way. We're gonna have fun this year, Gaper." Gaper. I've been called a lot of indignant things, but Gaper was definitely the most vicious. "Mayonnaise and cream," "Whitey," "anorexic bitch," "Grunt," "Drug Addict," "horrible daughter," and "Stain" (Apparently that's what my name means. Thanks, Mom.) are all under my belt. But Gaper was the first one to actually shed tears.

    No bumping was nessesary for the next stage. You know the quote, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt"? Well, that's one of the most thickheaded pleads for fame I've ever heard. Seriously. Fuck whoever said that. Sturdy branches and hard rocks might make a great improvised defense (if you're willing to put up with being expelled), but they could never make an entire school hate you, force you to move from city to city, make you develope severe depression and addiction problems, or push you over the edge of a building. Pugnit's pretentious attempts at drawing tears were almost always successful, and that's what is truly angering. He threw insult after insult at me, taking quantity over quality for some days, and vise versa for others. I didn't want to indulge him, but his words always found a way under my fur. He basically took everything I had an ounce of respect for in myself, and marred it to filth. Really, the only thing he didn't bother to torment me about was my Manehatten accent. He didn't need to, though. Like I said, bullies aren't new for me.

    When Pugnit brought up the subject of my parents, that's when the third and final stage came in. Physical abuse. I don't even remember what he said exactly, but I do know it involved my dad, me, and fucking like there was no tomorrow. That lit the fuse of adrenaline. I was in the lunch room at that time, surrounded by onlookers and randoms. All of which, obviously, were on the handsome, strong, and "awesome" stallion's side when Principal Cyanside interfered. Pugnit suffered just some cuts and bruises, but he took it like I killed his entire family. After my suspension, I was greeted with turned cheeks, bad grades, and an exceptionally furious Pugnit.

    He's no "pusher," that's for sure. He prefers to get more intimate with his victims. He borderlines illegal. He's a fucking psycho, which was becoming more evident by each second I spent underwater.

    Struggling was the only choice. My magic was hopelessly weak, and Pugnit's hoof clasped around the sensitive apendage only added to the uselessness. I tried pulling him in, kicking off the pool wall, and screaming for help-- all of which were without leverage or results. My lungs burnt from the exhaustion of drowning, and each time I tried to pull myself up for air, my small legs couldn't do me justice.

    Pugnit's want to stay out of jail was the only reason I survived. When I coughed in my first mouthful of chlorinated water, he let go. My hooves reacted instantly, shooting out of the water and gripping the side of the pool before pulling myself up. Sweet, wholesome oxygen rushed into my mouth as I coughed and sputtered. Between my pathetic inhales and exhales, I heard chuckling.

    Ten seconds of spitting out the water, and I opened my eyes. In front of me was the... "pony" who had the pleasure of doing this shit. Pugnit, and his fucking terrifying gold eyes penetrating me. Around us was the dark room of the school's pool, the only light being the radiance of the blue water below. Behind him were his partners, the source of the chuckling. It was tinged with nervousness, though.

    I lurched my head down and slammed my eyes shut. I was not going to give Pugnit this victory. I was not going to cry for that fucker.

    "Do you remember what I said, Gaper?" I heard his deep voice resignate. I just stayed still, my lower hooves and tail weightless in the water. My ears flopped down to my skull. "...Your left ear. Perk it up. Now."

    I bit my lips. Clenched my teeth. Twisted my legs. I did everything to not cry. My eyes were squeezed shut, and my head was shaking from the effort. A shockwave of pain shot down me when Pugnit hit my horn.

    "Extend your fucking ear," he repeated. I didn't shake my head. I didn't do what he said. I was not going to let this become a regular thing. He wasn't getting his tears. Fuck him. "Fair is fair. You heard me say what would happen. You agreed to it.--" I didn't do a fucking thing. "--Thirty seconds underwater, or you get a free earpatch. You heard me right, didn't you, Gaper? Now perk up your EAR."

    I started panting. My ears stayed glued to my skull, yet I heard his knife dragging against the cement edge all too well. He wasn't getting this. It was fucking illegal. He can't be that stupid.

    My head stayed low. I peeked through my blurry vision to see the water underneath rippling from my shaking. This wasn't going to happen. This can't happen. It was illegal.

    Pugnit's teeth grabbed on to my ear, yanking it up. My head lurched upwards, and I screamed when blood was drawn. He was going to do this.

"Please don't," I heard myself whisper. The lump in my throat was building up, and tears were slowly welling. It was getting harder and harder to keep them at bay. "Please stop... Let me go..."

    "Hey, Pug, let's go," a voice suggested from behind him. One of Pugnit's friends had some common sense. "She gets the picture. C'mon, before she explains that to the Principal."

    Pugnit didn't answer immediately. He waited for some time, before I felt his hoof on my horn again, and I was pulled up. Despite my efforts, that final strike of pain destroyed the dams. Tears fell, even if I didn't cry. I had to flex my face to keep my lip from quivering. Pugnit saw this, and a grin slowly formed on his face. His gold eyes bore into mine, unwavering as his grip tightened. I bit my lips hard. I wasn't going to cry.

    "What are you, little colt?" Pugnit snapped. His eyes were a magnet to my gaze. I couldn't look away. I was too scared. "I said what the fuck are you, Gaper?"

    I sniffled, emitting a snicker from Pugnit's friends. It was getting harder and harder to not break down in tears, but I resisted. "...I'm pathetic, unloved, and insufferable. I should just hold my own head underwater until there's no more bubbles.."

    Those words broke my heart just as much as they did the first time, and the twenty six times after that. Pugnit, knowing I was pitifully close to breaking down, leaned in. "Don't you forget it."

    He shoved me underwater again. This time, though, I let myself sink. The sound of the three bullies laughing were caught by my bleeding ear, and that was enough. When my lungs were burning within ten seconds, I paddled up and to one of the lane buoies, threw my arms over it, and sobbed.

    I didn't care if those fuckshits heard me. I just cried as hard as I could, squeezing the floating line with my pathetically weak arms. My ugly, orange and black mane drooped over my even more so face, but I made no sign of moving it aside. They were right. I was hopelessly out of shape, small, and untalented. My magic could only carry light objects, one at a time, and my highest grade was a fucking C+. I was sixteen fucking years old, and not once had I ever gotten a hug from my parents, a coltfriend, or even just a Hearts and Hooves letter. I've only had three friends in my entire life, two of which in Manehatten. I couldn't go away, either. Then the cycle would just start again.

    I wish I could kill Pugnit. I wish I could stab his face again and again until it was nothing but brain matter. I would take the death penalty, too. I wish I could kill everypony at this fucking school... A suicide bombing would be perfect.

    But no. I couldn't. I wasn't smart enough to even find the ponies who sell that sort of weapon, and I would probably be too terrified to stab him once. He'd most likely just turn on me and kill me instead. Tell it off as "self-defense."

    I kept sobbing. My cheeks were numb, my arms were tired, and my eyes were burning. Why was I born like this? Why couldn't I be just a little taller, or a little more pretty, or a little more tolerable? In the movies, the bullied kids always had a certain quality that they had over the bullies. Smarter, kinder, or can shoot a gun better. I was none of those. A fucking wreck of a pony is what I am. I'm not even good at being... good. I'm anti-social, snappy, and... and...

    ...and unable to think up the simplest of things. A fucking waste of life.

    I hope Pugnit, and his two cunts as friends, would burn alive. No, scratch that, I want them to feel my fucking pain. I want society to hate them. I want them to be afraid to show their faces at school. I want their parents to not give a shit about them, and their friends to abandon them, and have horrifying words be thrown at them, and not be able to keep up with the kids at gym, and be badgered over and over because of their grades, and to not have enough money to run away because their mother takes everything they earn, and feel horrible about themselves, *and to go home every day wanting to kill themselves, and to look in the mirror and say the words "You are pathetic," and be forced to say those words to the FUCKING BULLIES AT SCHOOL!***

    I hit the water with a hoof. Obviously, it didn't give a huge impact. I hit it again and again, harder and harder, screaming and sobbing at this shit life...

    ...why don't I just kill myself? Because they would only laugh. Why don't I run away? Because mother takes away everything, and father will hunt me down.

    ...Why don't I get help?

    Because I don't deserve it.

~~~~The Unwilling King~~~~

3:00pm, April 16.

    Names are everything in this life.

    Take the famous Starswirl the Bearded (or however you spell that). Hugely talented unicorn. Wrote a book on spells. You know, the regular stuff that any undera...preciated(?) prodigy could do. But, his name had a ring to it: Starswirl the Bearded~. I mean, Starswirl's a cool name in itself, but add on that extra mmph? Nopony woulda denied it: he was the next big thing. Now, let's take a few more exampls. Princess Celestia. She's the monark here in Equestria: Goddess of the Sun, Protector of Canterlot, Ruler of Equestria. Yet... Princess. No, not queen, princess. Althouh there is some spekulation, I'm pretty sure it's the whole name thing again. Princess just sounds prettier! Was that why Queen Chrysalis was the Asshat Villain of Equestria for some time? Probably, but the fact she was queen of an evil army attacking Canterlot definitly helped.

    Now, take the name Goddian. It's not pretty. Neither is Poten, or Pugnit. Goddian sounds like a stallion who doesn't give a shit about his son. Poten sounds like a mare who abandons her family to join the Royal Guard in secrecy. And Pugnit? That sounds like the motherfucker who everypony hates.

    Yeah, the ponies at Baltimare High might say they adore me, but really, I know they're gonna backstab me one day. Literally. In all honesty, I don't expect to live through high school. Long story short, I had a bad start, and now I have to keep up this "tough guy" personna, and hate myself as much as everypony else does. But, I guess it's about the name again, or at least about my appearence. Yeah, I can bench twice my own weight. Yeah, I can do a few more dozen curls than the last guy. Yeah, I have Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Yeah, my name is fucking Pugnit. That doesn't mean I don't want some actual Celestia damn friends for once. Not two goons who follow me around all the time. I mean, they used to be my friends, but...

    You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters is that since I'm ripped, and since I have a fucking tough guy name, and since I have anger issues which I can't get a therapist for, and since I have a fucked up life, I'm the bad guy. Just one angry outburst in the cafateria, and suddenly, oh my Celestia, he's a fucking bully!

    Not the explination you were expecting, huh? You were probably expecting, I'm just doing it so I can be cool! Yeah, all the cool kids are doin' it! I didn't mean it, really! *NO!*** I am fucking horrified at what I've become! I can't make a friend for the life of me, the teachers are too scared to flunk me, and Celestia dammit, I have to bully *Fleck** to keep up with my ego!*

    I mean...

    ...I didn't want her to laugh at me in the hallway. I mean, I knew she was crying, but those two assholes sure didn't think so, and I couldn't lose those guys. They're my pals. Were my pals, at least. They're good ponies, just... blinded, I guess. And I'm talking about Fleck, here. The small mare I always wanted to hang out with. Kinda snappy, but in a cute way. I saw her occasinally down the hall, and she's in a few of my classes, but yeah, I think she's cute. I dunno, maybe I'm messed up. But, she just... There's something about her that's enderring to me.

    ...It doesn't matter. She was small, and I was big. I thought I could pull off the whole 'little bud' thing with her, and somehow make everypony think she was just as vicious as I was (her awesome Manehatten accent could have capitlized on that), but that day in the hallway ruined it. I had to make her target number one. I didn't want to-- I wanted to ask her out, for Celestia's sake! I called her a Gaper. I tried to play it off as a warning, but one of my goons heard, and they just spread the word. Fleck the Gaper. I fucking hate myself when I see her cry behind her locker... I made that my limit. Whenever I saw her cry, I would back off.

    ...I still think it was my name. Why couldn't I be named something like... Cinnamon Swirl? Or, Vivacious Garden? Or, fuck, I dunno, Deadlift, at least. But no, Pugnit it was. So, school bully it was.

    I think I would at least be close to forgiving myself if I hadn't said that comment in the cafateria. I remember it perfectly: "Where're ya goin', Gaper? Home, so you can fuck your dad in the shower?"

    I hate myself just thinking about it. And the look on her face? I've seen that look on my own countless times: she had family problems, times a million aswell. Fleck went buserk. She tackled me and started punching and bucking mercylessly. Then, she took a knife, and started screaming and slicing me.

    I tried to shrug it off afterwards; I didn't want to hold a grudge! Especially against the first mare I actually liked! But the school just made it way too easy, and my Intermittent Explosive Disorder kicked into gear. I even got somepony to bribe the principal so Fleck wouldn't be expelled, and I could have revenge! I'm such a sick fuck, and there's no denying that now. After school today, I dragged her by the mane all the way to the pool, and actually threatened to cut off her ear if she couldn't stay underwater for thirty seconds. She was so out of shape, so fragile, and so Celestia damn terrified, she lasted only ten seconds.

    What the fuck is wrong with me?

    My hoof held firm as she struggled, her orange and black mane splayed out on the water's surface like a fan. I heard her faint yelling, and instantly knew she was screaming for help. But, nopony would help her. A small part of me hoped that somepony would rush in, anypony would stop me, but the majority of my brain was so pumped up with rage, and so satisfied with her suffering, I couldn't tell myself to stop. She bucked the pool wall from underwater, thrashed about her head, tried to cast a spell, but none would work. I felt myself grinning, but saw myself crying.

    "Pugnit," I heard from behind. My head whisped to my side furiously.

"What?" I snapped before I could stop myself. It was Gingerale who had spoken. He visibly stepped down, but verbally pressed forward.

    "She's dying," he said simply.

    I don't know what happened, but my hoof had an instant reaction. It let go immedietly, letting the mare below jerk up and out of the water, gasping and coughing for air. I was frozen in place. I couldn't look anywhere but the filly I had threatened to kill. Her snow white back was bleeding and scraped from earlier, via my dragging across the tile. Her orange and black mane was drenched with water, and her horn slowly flitted in and out of power. I wanted to kill myself at the sight of her.

    Nervous chuckling erupted from the stallion and mare behind me. It was then I realized I was staring at Fleck like an idiot. I quickly reverted to glaring, but when she looked up at me, I just froze again. There they were: her richly violet eyes. They were tear reddened and wide with fear, and for a moment, I felt scared, too. But then, the moment was over, and Fleck lurched her head downward. Her mane fell over her face, blocking it from my view.

    "Please... just cry for me," I heard myself whispering so quiet nopony could hear. "End this... I have to do this if you don't..." Thankfully and unfortunatly, the two ponies behind me drowned out the plead. Fleck did not cry.

    "Do you remember what I said, Gaper?" I warned. If she didn't cry, I had to do this. Her ears flopped down to her skull, breaking my already destroyed heart. It was becoming harder to talk. I had to spit out short sentences. "Your left ear. Perk it up. NOW."

    She didn't cry. She didn't budge. Why wouldn't she cry? Just end this for both of us. I tried slapping her horn, making a pained squeak erupt from her shivering body.

    Please... somepony stop me.

    "Extend your fucking ear," I snapped. I felt myself shaking at her response: absolutely nothing. Why wouldn't she cry? Even more anger was seeping into my brain. Every second she spent immune to my threats was a second in Tarturus for me. I needed to stop myself from doing this. I needed to remind her what was going to happen. "Fair is fair. You heard me say what would happen. You agreed to it.--" She didn't do a fucking thing. "--Thirty seconds underwater, or you get a free earpatch. You heard me right, didn't you, Gaper? Now perk up your EAR."

    Stop me, Fleck. I can't. I lost control a long time ago.

    I heard her panting. It pained me, but I pressed on to get to the end. I bent down and dragged the knife across the cement edge, just to get that reaction I needed. When no reaction was given, my anger issues kicked in. Before I knew it, I lurched forward and bit her ear before dragging her face out of the water. She screamed out of pain, and I lef go instantly. Fleck gave me a tortured stare.

"Please don't," she whispered, her voice only accompanied by the slow sloshing of the pool. "Please stop... Let me go..." Her head slowly sank again.

    "Hey, Pug, let's go," I heard Gingerale say from behind. My eye twitched. He called me Pug. "She gets the picture. C'mon, before she explains that to the Principal."

    I looked down at Fleck. She was curling into a ball unintentionally, her left ear glued to her skull. The trail of blood leaking from the red half moon on her ear was slowly drooling down her face. I reached down and grabbed her horn, before yanking her face up to mine. Tears were gliding down her cheeks, but she wasn't fully crying. She was trying her hardest to keep the eyes from wavering, or her chin from vibrating. She was biting her lips so hard it was a wonder they didn't bleed.

    It didn't count, though.

    "...What are you, little colt?" I snapped. It was just another insult I threw at her every day. "...I said what the fuck are you, Gaper?"

    She sniffled. The two assholes behind me snickered, adding to my rage. "...I'm pathetic, unloved, and insufferable. I should just hold my own head underwater until there's no more bubbles."

    "Don't you forget it," I spat, before shoving her head underwater. I couldn't watch anymore. I was instantly up and walking away, while the two goons laughed from behind, following. I didn't glance back at Fleck, I just trotted straight forward, turned to my right to the exit, and pushed my way out of the double doors. Around me was a small, dark corridor only ten or so feet long, connected to another set of double doors, these ones leading to the lit innards of Baltimare High.

    Just moments before those doors behind me closed, I heard Fleck crying. And, Gingerale and his companion still laughing. That was enough.

    I instantly turned on the stallion, grabbing him by the neck and throwing his side against the wall. Behind me, the remaining mare shut up. I wasn't finished with Gingerale, however, and slammed a forearm on his neck before pressing, hard. He instantly gasped out, but so great was his shock he couldn't retaliyate.

"Don't you fucking laugh," I spat, pressing harder. "If I have to endure two more seconds of your blind chuckling, I will fucking shove a cactus up your asshole. SHUT the FUCK. UP."

    Gingerale didn't respond for some time. He only stared, mortified, at me. But before he could even think of fighting back, he was nodding vigerusly. He mouthed the word: "Sorry."

    A few more seconds of strain, and he was relieved. I released him, letting him drop down to all fours, gasping as he held his neck. His partner hesitantly trotted to his side, before checking his neck. I only turned away, still furious.

    I took some deep breaths, and all was fine. I used this method only for my friends, not for Fleck... She didn't need it from me.

    I turned around. The mare backed off. "I'm sorry, dude," I apologized, draping an arm over Gingerale. He took some time, but eventually returned the hug. I gave him a few hearty pats. "Sorry, man."

    "It's all good," he said simply. We stayed like that, patting each other's backs and apologizing.

    Like it or not, I was the bully of the school. But, I wasn't bias.

~~~~The Walls are Wolves~~~~

3:00pm, April 16.

    Names, and the meanings attached to them, don't mean anything.

    Take myself, for example. "Summer Monsoon." Crazy, energetic, escatic, and constantly on a rollar coaster in his mind. Perhaps he's had a rough life, aswell? Is his favorite season Summer? Well, no, no, and no. I've had a relatively decent life; good grades ranging from B's to A's, never really had a problem with bullies (I know when to avoid somepony), got my cutie mark at a decent age. Sure, I've had some stumps on the way, like divorced parents and a few deaths, but everypony has trials. Different, yes, but is anything truly more traumatizing than something else? I like comparing losing a loved one to losing a childhood pet, and there's not much difference; just the way you take it.

    And Winter is definitely the best season. No question about it. It's just beautiful all around! I sometimes like to take my best friend, Fleck, outside to just lay in the snow and look up in the sky. It's a lot more fun than it sounds; you should try it sometime, if you feel like it.

    Fleck's an... interesting mare, to say the least. She rarely talks, unless she's with me, and when she does she tends to be on the sassy side. It's cute, in a way. She's a bit on the smaller side, but I never bring that up. White coat, orange and black mane and tail (both unkept), and beautiful violet eyes. She doesn't really talk about herself, so I talk about her for her. It sounds weird, but I think it really helps her. I might not know anything about her personal life, but if I know anything, it's that everypony has a story.

    Nopony's a secondary character in this life, or an extra to be put in a crowd. Treat them with respect and kindness; you don't know their battles. That's an important thing to remember, which is exactly what I've done.

    ...I've gone way off track. Point is, names aren't something to lable somepony, they're merely something used to address them as. Even then, we add on the term "Mr." and "Mrs." when we're being respectful. I really think that, if the world knew that, it'd be a better place. Or... The Baltimare Hospital would, at least.

    "So, what's your plan to get me out?"

    That was the question to stir myself from my daze. I shook my head a little, shaking out the dizzying feeling of self regret. When the endeavor was completed, I politely looked my sister in the eye again. "Excuse me?"

    She seemed to be disheartened at my misunderstanding, but pressed on nevertheless. Her blue-green eyes full of commitment, Sunset Auburn repeated her statement. "Your plan, Summer, to get me out. I know you have one-- you can't possibly leave me here with these psychos. I'm better now, but the doctors won't listen! Please, tell me your plan."

    I felt my head shaking calmly and gently. I scooted my chair forward to her hospital bedside, draping my hooves over hers. "The doctors know what they're doing, Auburn. Don't worry. You'll spend a few more days in here, but after that, you're coming home."

    "Why would you come if you didn't have a plan?" Auburn snorted. She moved her hooves from under my own. "You love me, don't you?"

    I stayed silent, knowing she knew the answer. My hooves rested on the cushion, unwanting to retreat back to my sides. However, when my sister eyed them with contempt, they did just that. I knew how the drill went, so I let her talk first.

    "They're giving me drugs, Summer," she tried.

    "It's medication," I corrected. "Not the kind of drugs you're thinking of."

    "They put me to sleep," Auburn continued, nodding slightly. "Medication doesn't do that, Summer. Medication is supposed to help ponies."

    I felt my ears perk unintentionally. "They're helping you in more ways than I think you know. Plus, they're good drugs. You need to let go of the bad ones."

    "They took those away from me," she whined. "How could I not let go of them? They landed me in here, didn't they? Summer, I really hate it here. I can't leave my room, they won't listen when I tell them about the monsters, they gave me a number for a name... I promise I won't do any more bad stuff. Can you at least talk to the nurse? Nurse Vivacious Swan, her name is. She's the only nice one here."

    I zoned out at the middle of her rant. I leaned back in the chair, my eyes never leaving Auburn's. "They gave you a number for a name?"

    She nodded. "374. I don't like that name, Summer. I like Sunset Auburn! I want to be called my name. You're the only one who calls me by name."

    I nodded. "I know. I try to come over as much as I can."

    "Why don't we escape this place? You know I'm sane, Summer. You know I'll never-ever do any of that bad stuff again. If the Guard comes after us, we can just run away!"

    I couldn't help but smile. 12 years old or not, she was imaginative as heck. She'll make a great writer. "But then you won't be able to write any stories for me." An idea came to mind. I said the following to persuade her to leave this subject be: "Do you have any new works? They let you write, don't they?"

    "Oh, yeah! Vivi lets me write all the time. She listens to my poems, and my stories. She says I remind her of somepony." Sunset Auburn scooted to the other side of her bed, before bending out and over to pick up something. She reached to the desk just beside her, pulling off a plain, black notebook with lined paper. Her wings flapped excitedly as she flipped through the lined paper. As the blurred whiteness blended page after page, I caught glimpses of scribbled drawings of monsters. A lump appeared in my throat.

    "Excuse me," a feminine voice sounded from behind. I turned to see one of the nurses of the hospital. She was smiling, although I could tell it was a bit forced. "Sweetie, you know you can't bring out any accessories when there's visitors."

    Sunset Auburn gave the nurse a look as if she had just stabbed a box of kittens. I calmed her with a hoof on her own, squeezing gently. Her blue-green eyes were still wide with betrayal, though, which was the most painful to watch.

    "It's alright, Sunny," I urged comfortingly. "You can read to me all day long. Just wait a few more, kay? You'll be out before you know it."

    The nurse gave me an apologetic look before walking out.

    Meanwhile, I smiled before patting her arm. "It could be worse. Other ponies have it harder, I'm sure. Everypony has a story, remember?"

    "No main characters or extras in life," she sighed.

    I nodded, my smile turning into a toothy grin. "I'll come back to pick you up in a few days, kay? I love you. We all do." With that, I leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead. She hugged me from underneath, her notebook falling to her lap. It was face-up, so I stole a glance at the writing:

The wolves are the walls in this life.

Every day is spent fearing their presence.

They wish to hunt me, to mangle me. To trap me.

They slowly close in, every day, every night.

I can't hide. I can't fight back.

I can only wait and see who will come first: the pack, or the fire.

The fire's eyes is glowing green with rage.

But it is a good rage, because it is for me.

The fire is hotter than most. It gleams purple, and its edges are tinged with brown and black.

It is beautiful, the strong, stubborn force of nature. It is kind.

Summer Monsoon is my fire. He comes to chase away the pack.

He comes to chase away the walls.

He comes to save me.

He comes to protect me.

He comes to keep me.

Nopony else will.

    The writing faded to scribbles and gibberish, taking up the entire sheet of small paper. I kissed Sunset Auburn's head again, and once again, reminded her that I love her.

9:00pm, April 16th

~~~~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.

6:30am, April 17th

~~~~One Last Dance with the Devil~~~~

6:30am, April 17.

    "Fleck, get up. Time for school. Hurry up, I have a male talent coming over at seven. You'll have to walk today, miss."

    That simple statement stirred myself from the outré dream which inflected itself on me, prying my eyes open from the sleep I needed. When the blurred colors faded to images quickly, I caught a glimpse of the green and red tail of my mom exiting the room. The moment the bushy thing was unseen, I stretched the tiny excuse of a body which was my own. My hooves shook with flexion for a few seconds before they reunited with that bed's padding.

    It would be the last time they ever touched those sheets again.

    My ears perked up at the realization. All of this was going to end, today. My regrets, my issues, my insecurities-- all gone, on this very day. It was what I was dreaming of every night I spent wetting the pillow with tears. I know I was too stupid to ever think of this inadvertently simple timeline of events before, but now I was ready.

    I was going to slump my way through school until lunch (that's when the wank stains head out to do weed), find my way to the top of Baltimare High (I'll fucking levitate myself if I have to), and make sure those assholes can see me clearly. I'll try to splatter myself on them if I can. I wasn't going to wait. I wasn't going to hesitate; that happened way too many times before, and most ponies who hesitated pussed out all too early. I was only going to be doing myself more damage if I didn't just take a breath, run, and jump. I don't have a shoulder to cry on after I'm convinced. I don't have a loving family to come home to when it's all over. I don't have any excuses to wait. I only had months of therapy, a furious mother, and a school full of fuckwads calling me an attention whore to look forward to if I didn't get it over with.

    So, that was it. I was done thinking for the day-- for my life. I was going to run forward and jump. Or, should I just walk? I'm already hopelessly out of shape, why push myself any more? One more show of who I was, to disgust the world one more time, before I became the hero.

    Society is so fucking gullible. A filly dies. We cry. A filly commits suicide. We find somepony to blame. I fucking hate this society. Everything about it-- I fucking HATE IT. I'm on the roof in my head, I get called an attention whore; I'm on the roof literally, and I get cajoled down; I'm splattered on the pavement, and I get praised like a fucking God. I'm another face in the crowd of "We miss you!" victims. We don't care about the story of how it came to suicide, and if we do, we only mention groups of ponies who should get a slap on their hooves, not the individuals who deserve to be arrested. I'm small and insignificant, and will barely make a difference if any.

    But... I can leave a note that will opens eyes. I can tell them just why I've done this. I'll be putting myself out of misery, while also shedding light on the fuck-ups of this world.

    I let out a yawn, before slowly rolling myself to my flank, then two hooves on the ground, to be joined with its two others. The four groggy hooves carried me to my backpack, which was in the corner of my plain blue room. With a glow of my horn, the small black pack was unzipped, and after some more searching, a pen and pencil came floating out in that repulsing violet haze.

    My eyes were wide awake now. Perhaps it was the sight of that paper and pen, the tools of my happy departure, that snapped the tiredness right out of me. With the writing utinsils in my grip, I slowly walked to my door, and pushed out of the room. I didn't glance at my mother's door, which was new, and instead headed straight for the restroom. When I was in the small, orangely-lit room, I locked the door from behind.

    I sat on the closed toilet seat, before levitating the two objects in front of my face. Without so much of a twitch of the eye, I began to write.

By the request of a dead filly, please put this in the news.

By the time anypony is reading this, I will be dead. But, I think it's better this way to tell you the following: this Society has blinded us from our virtue, if we've ever had one. I don't know if the magic of friendship stopped at Ponyville, or if pride has gotten in the way, or if we've simply been hiding the monster, deep inside. But the way we have been behaving based on common biases and traits is inexcusable. My name is Fleck, and you don't know me (and frankly I'd like it better that way), but I can testify that Equestria has gone mad.

We don't care about depression, we care about suicide. We don't care about peace, we care about war. And we certainly don't give a fuck about ourselves. A pony could beg for help. He could tell us why he's hurting, how he's hurting, and show the proof. Yet, we shut him out, calling him names, accusing him of pretentiousness. It's not until he's hurt so much, cried so hard, and begged so deliberately, he's willing to take his own life that we care. That's happened to so many ponies, including myself. The ones who hit the floor know what I'm saying more than anything, and the ones who get hit afterwards keep their knowledge to the grave.

The only reason why you know this now is because I've taken the liberty of telling you. Unless if you've stepped on that ledge, loaded that gun, or tightened that noose, you have no idea how ponies everywhere are feeling. It's like a net is around our hearts all the time, catching all those little, happy moments and squandering them. That's the only way I can explain it with words.

...We're everywhere, you know. You might be thinking we only exist in the newspapers, on the internet, or even in the ghettos of Equestria, like Dodge Junction or Horseshoe Bay. But, depression is found even in yourselves.

Normally, this is where I'd finish this note. I've stated the obvious lack of friendship in this society, and am putting my hope in you ponies to prove me wrong. But, there are also ponies out there who deserve to feel like us. Most ponies who commit suicide don't leave notes. The ones who do say their farewell's or even list their reasons (even less so) rarely mention the ponies who did this, leaving society to do the guessing of who deserves a slap on the wrist. But society does not deserve the right to manipulate a dead pony's wish.

Cactus Blossom was a filly in Manehatten Elementary, and by now she's just being released into the adult world. Most ponies knew her as kind and shy, even. I'm not a smart filly, but in my personal opinion, cornering a smaller filly at recess, calling her horrible names like (in her exact words) "prissy little bitch," "Fleck the Stain," and "fatherless cunt;" and threatening her life when she calls for help do not fall within the words "shy and kind." She gave me clinical depression, which my mother did absolutely nothing to help with. Her partners, Baryn Haze and Sugar Rush, only aided in the physical abuse. They tied me to a pole one day, and I was left over night, left to cry and scream for help. The next day, when they found me and took me home, my mother greeted me drunk and with a stern, "Not today, Fleck. Go outside for a while, I can't deal with you today."

There are two ponies I encountered in Fillydelphia Middle School: Yellow Storm and Sunset Remedy. Sisters. They weren't popular either among the multitudes of fillies and colts, but then again, who really is in middle school? The only problem they had was that they hated everypony, and they weren't afraid to show it. On me, especially. It's likely they're in jail, or sucking dicks to earn a living, but either way they're too simple to not commit crimes in middle school. They smoked in the little filly's room, and threatened anypony who tried to tattle. I was one such pony, but had especially bad luck; they were always there when I had to go, and they always had a knife. They also had need of an ash tray, which I made a great substitute for.

Lastly, there is one pony so cruel, so insane, and so universally fucked up, he threatened to cut my ear off just yesterday. The entire school of Baltimare High, save for a certain few, are shit-headed assholes who can't choose sides for themselves, so they let others choose for them. His name, as ugly as it is, is Pugnit. And he is the one who killed me.

And there you go. Not so fucking shrouded in darkness, now? You can only imagine the pain so many of us are going through. We spend days crying and nights cutting, and you spend days calling us attention whores and nights wondering how we could take our own lives. If this doesn't shed light on what you've been causing your entire life, then you should try stapling your crotch tits to a fucking ceiling fan.

And, as for the ponies I've mentioned? I hope you know that you caused a sixteen year old filly to kill herself. Perhaps along with others who were too polite, sympathetic, or smart to mention you before they killed themselves. I hope you fucking

    ...

    It was getting too blurry to see. My lap was damp with tears, causing a light stain on the fur. When I realized this, I stubbornly wiped the bastard streaks from my cheeks and eyes. But, my mouth refused to stop producing sobs. I tried to close it, but I couldn't, so I morphed it into pathetic moaning.

    "Fleck, sweetie," came from the other side of the bathroom door. I glanced up. "My partner is here. Can you hurry up?"

    Heavier hoofsteps joined in from behind my mother. "Hey, can we start soon?" a deep voice resignated.

    My mother responded, but I wasn't listening. I was shaking and slamming my teeth against each other, moaning and rocking back and forth a little. My magic shook the pencil as I pressed the sharp lead to my forehead, twisting it with contemptious schadenfreude. It drew no blood, but it felt good to feel bad.

    I had to focus harder to keep writing, but I couldn't finish it. I was running out of paper anyway, so I erased the unfinished sentence, replacing it with a meager:

-Fleck

~~~~One Pound of Flesh~~~~

6:30am, April 17.

    "School, Pugnit. Get your ass up."

    I felt something hard hit my head, and it stung as I yelled out, sitting up to hold the offending spot. It wasn't sharp, but it felt like a sharp rock's smooth end. My eyes narrowed at the location where my dad calmly walked out of the pitch black room, entering the lit, orange interior of the basement. Soon, my anger subsided, replaced by my tiredness when I looked down and saw one of his medicine bottles. It was a beer bottle, emptied and filled with white pills. He liked to take them that way, and he didn't throw any punches when I made him, so it was fine by me.

    I slowly rotated my lower hooves over my bedside, letting my cheeks rest on my upturned upper hooves for a while. I envied the darkness in the room, which stayed simply, and brusquly, uninvolved. Outside, the sky followed suit with a dark shade of cyan filling up the space between the clouds, and once again, I fantasized about growing wings. Yet, reality got in the way yet again, and my head once again joined my hooves.

    I spent some more time like that, until my father's familiar yelling perked my ears. Just like every tardy morning for me, he resegnated from upstairs, shouting for me to hurry the fuck up. I pushed off my hooves to land them on the plain carpet, and a cool breeze passed through and around my entire body. I didn't shiver, and my head stayed limp. My hooves found their way to the bathroom just outside my room, and I felt myself close and lock the door.

    Next, my hooves guided me to the shower before turning the lever. A few seconds of bumping and hissing passed before I heard chunks of gunk and dirt spurt out into the tub. I growled, turned the lever back, and almost barged out the door.

"The fucking shower's broken again!" I yelled out. There was a flurry of noise from upstairs, most likely my dad jumping from his chair.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he cried out almost to himself. "That shit-head Pipe Syringe! What the fuck do I pay that bastard for?!"

    I shook my head lividly, the sleep now escaping from my eyes. I skipped the shower, trotting heavily forward to the door to the creeking stairs. I opened it, and made my way up the elevation before opening the door to our actual house. I was given the familiar sight of the kitchen, the window revealing the sky outside, still a hard shade of livid. The meager ceiling lights were turned on, though, lighting the house just fine.

    My heart skipped a beat when I saw my father, leaning on the side of the wall on all fours. Although his purtruing gut implied his drinking problem, his bulging shoulders, chest, and arms implied he was Pugnit's father. An arch of a scar ran up his left bicep, across his chest, and ran half way down his right forearm. He wore his usual dark green, sleeveless jacket, with brown and white stains covering his right shoulder and left pocket. His dark eyes, red-gold in color, seemed to be stabbing me-- not because he was angry, but because he was happy. A smug curve of his mouth was evident, but the sting of his amity was even more so.

    I held my ground, keeping my face stoic, but my eyes narrowed. My hackles slowly rose, and I prayed to Celestia the dumbass got the message. "What do you want?"

    He chuckled a little, before pushing off the wall. It was as if he suspected I already knew. "I think we have the same taste in mares," he said simply.

    And, that was all he said.

    My father, his fucking creepy grin staying on his face, turned away and walked out of the room. A few seconds passed before I heard the door opening. "I borrowed some money from you, by the way," he sang out, before closing the door.

    I waited for his hoofsteps to fade. They continued for a while, before they stopped, and I heard a faint, "What're you looking at, colt?" Then, they continued out of hearing, and I exploded.

"FUCKING OLD PRICK!" My rage flared out of control, and I bucked the wall behind out of anger, the powerful hooves cutting through the wall like a cracker. I stubbornly pulled the hooves out, before stomping over to the table, and flipping it. The crash echoed throughout the house, accompanied with my voice, "I was going to buy a fucking...-- YOU FUCKING CUNT!" I stomped on the table, cracking it, before stomping again and breaking it. My eyes were blurred with tears, but I stubbornly wiped them away before slamming my forehead on the wall. It stung again, and I think I cut skin, but I didn't care. I leaned on the wall and sunk to the floor, breathing hard not from exhaustion.

    I knew how he "borrowed" money: he raids my wallet with a vengeance, no plans of returning anything ever showing themselves. I've been saving up particularly long this time-- seven months of working and stealing to buy the one physical thing I wanted since I was twelve. You don't need to fucking know what that is.

    My hooves glided down my face, landing on my lap. When my eyes threatened to leak yet again, I banged the back of my head against the wall until the tears cowered back into their cells.

    "You fucking prick," I mumbled, pushing myself back up. There was a dog barking in the distance, and I briefly recognized how lucky the owner was.

    I glared at the fridge, and decided to skip breakfast. If that fucker really thought he was going to get away with this, he was dead wrong. I stomped through the opening to my left, twisting the same direction to enter a narrow coridor leading to two rooms on each side of the walls: the left being the upstairs restroom (reaking of beer, cigarettes, and shit) and the right being my father's room (reaking of beer and cigarettes). I made my way to his room, pushing open the door.

    I had to hold my breath momentarily to get used to the stench. The invisible green mist infected my senses and made my eyes water, but I pressed on. It was dark, as usual, but there was enough light outside to illoominate the plain, cum-stained bed; dresser containing cigarettes, his wallet, and a phone book; and his closet. I never went in there, and for good reason.

    "You fucking bitch," I heard myself mumble yet again as I paraded through the dark room, simmering with rage. I neared the dresser and threw open the top shelf, and the smell of fresh faggots engulfed my nose. I still pushed back, though, and moved the nicotine-filled sticks to the side and grabbed his wallet. "I'll just borrow some of your fucking money, too, old man."

    I expected a few hundred bits, or maybe a "Go fuck yourself, Pugnit" note, but when I emptied the small, magically enhanced flap of leather, my jaw almost dropped.

    Bits. Thousands of bits. There were only 100's falling out of the wallet, one by one, cluttering on the bed like I was emptying a fucking treasure chest. When the first few came out I was surprised, thinking my dad had been saving up for something like I was, but when dozens upon dozens upon dozens piled onto the bed, forming a little mountain, my eyes were as wide as saucers. One of those saucers twitched as the waterfall of money finally met its end, but when I shook it a little more, nine more came out, and another led to three more.

    I couldn't believe my eyes. I've never seen this much money before. I inspected it, touched it, and even picked one of the many pieces of currency up. The gold coin glimmered back, its number 100 in brusque visibility. Before I knew it, it was flying across the room before breaking the window behind me.

    I started panting heavily, before the breaths transformed into grunting, then moaning. I was too full of livid rage to do anything, and I heard myself muttering.

"I'll fucking kill you, dad," I was grunting. "You've had this stash of thousands of bits... and you've never even thought of helping us. You selfish prick... we could buy our way to a fucking normal life..."

    I stood there, vibrating with rage, and if anypony was to walk in on me then, I would have murdered them. The mound of gold shined true, adding fuel to the pit of contained chaos. It built and built, filling my insides with smoke, blurring my vision with heat, and flexing the powerful muscles stacked all over my broad body. It built and built and built, my face vibrating, my eyes closed, my ears attached to my skull, and kept building and building and building until...

    ...nothing.

    I simply wasn't angry anymore. I wasn't even aggravated, or annoyed. The world went silent around me, the only sound being the thumping of my calming heart. I staggered a little, before falling on my flank. I sat, still staring at the mountain of cash my father never spent, and blinked. It was almost peaceful.

    He stole my money. And he had this.

    I wasn't angry, sad, or annoyed; I was certain. My hooves slowly made their way back up, before I calmly trotted out of the room. I got my wallet in a haze, and when I was shoveling the cash into my own account, I let out a small chuckle.

    When I got home, I was going to kill Goddian.

~~~~It's not Unusual~~~~

6:30am, April 17.

    "Hey, Summer... School's in a bit. Up 'n' at'em."

"MMMHPHH..."

    I extended a hoof, waving it in the air a little in a civilized manner. Mom didn't budge, though, and switched on the light. The offending blindness penetrated my eyelids (what are those good for, then?!), and I gave out a squeak of dissaproval. A few seconds of stinging irises passed, and my ears picked up my mother leaving the room with a tinge of satisfaction.

    "Eighteen years old," she scoffed ludicly.

    Even if it stung, I didn't open my eyes until I got a good five minutes of stubborn sleep. Then, the light soon escalated from annoying to unbearable, and I opened my eyes. They soon adjusted, and I led my body with my head, swinging it to the side before sitting up and leaning over the bed. I moaned out my discomfort, before rolling off the bed, landing on the floor.

    It was then I remembered what today would bring. And, the fact it was a Friday.

    A smile implanted on my face just before I pushed myself up, doing my daily routine in a haze.

    The feeling was like coming to school on your birthday, or with a drastically different hairdo. The fact that today was the day I would finally see Étoile Mending smiling back at me affected my attitude like nothing had, ever before. There was spring to my step, a smile on my face, and a perk to my ears. The morning went by like an excited ride, the shower, breakfast, and saying goodbye to my mother barely registering in my brain. It was just as the countless books, movies, and shows explained it: a mixture of freight and excitement, perfectly balanced so it was enjoyably terrifying.

    It wasn't until I pushed my way out of the door my brain finally caught up with my body, although a little too late. I stood outside my house for a while, a breeze gliding through my fur reminding me of where I was. It was dark, and the sky was a shade of livid sleepiness.

    I only lived two or three miles from Baltimare High, and the twenty five minute walk was quite calm, in a quaint sort of way. It reminded me of Horseshoe Bay, via the distant sound of the ocean and running of the river, which eventually led to my birth city. I briefly acknowledged how, after it passed the little city of the island, the river would be bombarded with trash and waste.

    A small smile came to my face as I started the walk. I liked dirty cities. Well, not the fact of how dirty it was, but the qualities some extra trash brought to ponies. They seem more humble, as if the garbage around them kept their pride at bay-- they didn't have much to be proud of, besides the things which were special of them, not the city. They focused more on their talents and passions than the other things. But, it did have its downsides.

    I kept walking. I was on a sidewalk beside a downward, cobblestone road, houses on either side of the long strip of ponymade transportation. Luna's moon was just barely setting ahead, and if I turned I could see the new sun rising above the distant mountains. I took some time to admire the setting above, and I made out some tired pegasi moving the clouds into place.

    I reached back into my backpack, and came out with my music player. After plugging the left earbud in and touching the screen a few times over, I was given the start of one of my favorite dubstep songs.

    It started off with a rhythmic and calm synthesizer, playing an equally so tune. It was almost feminine, the way its high-pitched and calm muse slowly calmed my head, and it definitely made my walk a whole lot more fun.

    I was plugging in my right earbud when I heard a door to my front left open. It was noticeably close, but when I risked a peek, I payed instantly. A big stallion was clopping down the stairs, a look of discontented smugness plastered on his face. He wore a green, sleeveless jacket, which honestly gave away one of the buffest upper bodies I've ever seen. I went to the gym occasionally, to maintain my good shape, but this guy obviously went there as a job, hobby, and pass-time. His shoulders looked like somepony replaced the muscles with bowling balls under his fur, and just underneath those lay his biceps (a bulging half moon from his arm) and triceps (which looked like freaking wishing bones from a turkey on Thanksgiving), and finally forearms (or, logs just above his hooves). He stopped on his porch to take out a cigarette and lighter, and lit the faggot before plopping the end between his lips. He had the eyes of a bull, a chipped left ear, and... a gut?

    I peered down at his stomach. Sure enough, he had a drinker's gut, as it hung low like a hammock from his body. It looked weirdly out of place when compared to his intimidatingly large muscle mass.

    He must have saw me staring, as his sharp attention shifted to me. I realized I was slowing down, and quickly picked up the pace.

    "What're you looking at, colt?" he rumbled like a motor. I bent my head low, speeding up my pace as blood rushed to my face.

    Behind me, I heard hoofsteps trotting the other way. "F***ing pretty boys," he mumbled, before I plugged the right earbud in and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in. For the second time of my lifetime, I feared for my life.

12:15pm, April 17th

~~~~Where the Angels Fall~~~~

12:15pm, April 17th.

    "Gaper..."

    I only narrowed my eyes at the muttered statement as the two mares passed me cheekily in the hallway, their rotund manes flapping side to side on their neck like a balloon as they walked. The same movement translated to their hips as they passed the other students in the school. That attracted the attention of the stallions in the long hallway, and I frowned at their obviously attracted reaction. There was a group of stallions at the end of the locker-lined wall, and when the pair walked past them, they whistled and laughed.

    "You colts are disgusting," the mares accused before rounding the corner.

    I wrinkled my snout, muttering, "Bitches." Not being beautiful had its perks, it seemed.

    When my unmolestedly hateful thoughts infected my mind, I turned to the locker I was standing at, and it lessened the blow. 374 was the number imprinted on that strip of metal on the top, and I soon found myself focusing intently on it. I tried to tune out the constant jabbering and talking from the students around me, and my ears soon found themselves on the sides of my head, and my eyes were narrowed. It was a look I was recognized for in this school, henceforth the nickname, "Insufferable Bitch."

    I was in Senior Hall, and surrounded by taller and stronger looking mares and stallions. It was a safe zone of sorts, considering Pugnit was a Junior, and hated Seniors with a passion. Still, it was infected by the many other bullies and average students, all of which were of legal age for fucking. And, they made that prodigiously clear.

    Except, of course, the one pony in the school who didn't hate me.

    And, speak of the fucking devil. Within moments of my thoughts surrounding the repugnant ponies of the school, my third friend of my life rounded the corner in the trickling river of ponies in the hall. Summer Monsoon's blackish-brown, unkept mane flew modestly above the crowd, and his dark purple ears accompanied them. He was slightly below average in height (God damn if that isn't cute, though), handsome, and had a defined, lean-muscle build. All of which diverted my attention when we first met. Honestly, I'm more than just fucking surprised that he's single.

    Summer reached a clearing in the river of bodies, and he caught sight of me standing beside his locker. He slowed his trot and peered at me for a while, before he smiled and continued his trot. Penitent, I looked down at my hooves and found them to be acutely compulsive. Through the flurry of hoofsteps and trotting on the tile floor, I singled out his own.

    Each step he took, my dolor grew. I found myself closing my eyes shamefully and breathing heavily. He was a warmhearted stallion, which was rare to me. He didn't deserve to have something like this happen to him, and it only helped me feel like shit to know he was going to hurt soon, and I was the sole reason why.

    I looked up to see that he was near, his forest green eyes holding that friendly aura I've come to know him by. I bit my lip, looking away. What was I going to say? Or, should I even say anything? Should I just act like it was any other day, or tell him what I felt? I was being so fucking selfish. I shouldn't have even came here. I didn't want to hurt him, but then why come at all?

    And, there I am again. Being stupid and belligerent, as always. Why did he have to choose me as a friend? I'm no fucking good to anypony; I'd only drag him down with me if ponies saw us together. He doesn't deserve that. He's kind, cute, and lean-- that type of pony doesn't deserve to be with an idiotic, selfish, and ugly filly as myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I actually think I deserve Summer as a friend? I should just tell him to fuck off and save him. But that'll just encourage him...

    My thoughts dissipated quicker than they formed. I had been turned away and my eyes lowered; I hadn't noticed that Summer Monsoon was standing beside me for some time, and I would have never expected the following: he hugged me.

    The embrace was alien to me. I don't even think I've been hugged in my entire life. What the fuck is happening...?

    Summer was quick and efficient. He wrapped one hoof around my neck and pulled me close to his chest. We stayed like that for only a second, but it was enough to frazzle my mane and leave a shocked expression on my face. Fuck, that felt good.

    "Hey, Fleck," Summer almost cooed. Did he actually coo? Fuck, I don't know anything right now. Is this what everypony feels when their hugged? Why the Hell am I suddenly feeling tingly and warm?! God dammit, Summer, I'm a fucking wreck!

    I pushed away a little too suddenly, and my rear bumped into the locker. A metal clang was heard, but it wasn't enough to flatten my ears, which were erect as a boner. My eyes must have been wider than saucers, because I was getting a fucking good look at Summer. God dammit, his winsome green eyes seemed to attach themselves to my most unwinsome purple ones. His head was slightly tilted, before an apologetic smile appeared on his face, and holy shit how the fuck is he single?!

    I suddenly felt the tissue around my horn hardening.

    "Sorry," he chuckled. A scratch of his head from him. A peer at his bicep from me. God dammit, can a simple hug really do this to a pony? Why doesn't everypony do it, if it's that pleasurable? "Forgot you aren't a hugger. I dunno. I thought you needed it today."

    Today...

    Realization overcame arousal, beating it to the darkest corners of my brain. Still, the positive feelings fought back, gaining ground and attention. I didn't know what to do.

    So, I gave him a hug.

    It happened before I could stop myself. But, each second I spent embracing my only friend, a thought accompanied it.

    It took effort for me to gradually succumb. My emotions, as negative as they were, soon poured into my grip. I didn't realize how hard I hugged back, but small arms such as mine couldn't possibly cause damage to Summer Monsoon.

    I was never going to see him again.

    That thought bounced in my head like a tennis ball. Each hit against the wall sent a wave of sadness to my heart, and it never let up. I didn't cry, and my face was contorted into one of stubborn disgust. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to keep hurting. But, the two were a paradox, and one could not be achieved without the expense of the other.

    "I guess you are, after all," Summer susurrated. He wrapped his arms around me, and for a while, I felt protected from my life. I soon realized my vision was blurred, and all I could see was the KSU shade of purple of Summer's coat. I gently pushed away.

    My eyes were narrowed and rimmed with tears, and I looked away disdainfully. He was taller than I by a foot, and having him this close to me felt like a tower was blocking me from the countless individuals. Speaking of individuals, I heard impudent giggling from behind Summer, and gave a death glare to the group of mares who passed us. One of the mares responded with a whack of the bend of the arm: the universal sign for "go fuck yourself."

    It hurt, but I was already in excruciating pain. I had just embarrassed Summer Monsoon in front of those mares. He was seen hugging Fleck the Gaper.

    "I'm sorry," I apologized with contemptible effort.

    To my shock, Summer once again reached an arm around me. My fur bristled, but not from threatening. "For what?" he chuckled.

    I peered up at him, my eyes narrowed. "For making you the second least popular pony in school."

    He didn't respond for a while, his eyes shifting from confusion to realization, and from realization to insouciance, and then to concern. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked suddenly.

    I looked away. I need to tell him. But what should I tell him? It was as if I was on a road, an exact, paved road with no obstacles; but it split up into thousands of different roads. Half led straight off a cliff. The other half led straight off a building.

    God dammit, I like him, okay?! Fuck, say I love him, even. I don't give a shit! I don't want him to suffer! I don't want him to come out of the school, to see my body, and to...

This is so fucking unfair! Why is this my fucking shit life?! Why does Summer have to persist in this friendship? Why the fuck does Pugnit exist? My parents?! ME?! WHO THE FUCK CAN PUSH A PONY TO THIS?!

My depression. My bad grades. My hatefulness. It's not my fucking fault. It's this fucking place. It's these cunts, who think they are the main characters in their own fucking movie, who don't realize that others have lived every second of life, others have trials, and others need friendship to live. I need to run away from this world...

    ...And I was about to. But I thought it was a good idea to tell my only friend goodbye. I thought I would be able to take it, but how fucking wrong was I, and how fucking stupid was I. I could've been happy...

    ...I could've been born in a place where friendship was magic. I could've been born in that little town in the center of the map, where the Elements of Harmony are, and where the real friends live. But, I wasn't. I was just another resident of just another town, suffering from just another trial.

    I hate Baltimare.

    Something grazed my cheek. I opened my eyes to find that the world around was blurry. Summer's arm was extended, his hoof touching my wet cheek. The look on his face was the warmest thing I've ever felt. He was still smiling, still entirely focused on me, and still concerned. He was wiping the tears from my cheek.

    For the first time in my life, I had a shoulder to cry on, eyes to peer into, and a stallion to...

    ...to say goodbye to.

    I wanted to lurch forward and tell him everything, no words included. I wanted to run away with him, not moving an inch. I wanted to teleport away, my pathetic horn not having to push itself beyond its limits. I wanted to fucking kiss him, but that would only make it more painful.

    I felt myself smiling-- no, not smiling-- grinning. Ear to ear, unwanting to let this moment pass. My hoof quickly found its way up to his own, and I grabbed it, pushing it to my cheek. I wanted to squeeze this moment and get all the positive emotions to come out, making up for the years of screaming and crying. I wanted to freeze Equus forever, and stay here. I wanted to stop this, right now, and never continue.

    But, that could never happen.

    I used the hoof which was originally supposed to hold him tight, to steadily push him away.

    "I'm going away, Summer Monsoon," I tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. I looked away, unable to speak any more. He stayed still out of the corner of my eye, and that planted anger in the rock-hard organ which was my heart.

    I had no reason to. The sight of him, standing there and willing to help, just angered me.

    I shouldn't have come here. This time, that thought came like a tidal wave, sweeping away all other thoughts, and pushing me forward to nudge him aside. He didn't say anything from behind, but I knew him better than that; calm on the outside, but a raging summer monsoon in the inside. I pushed through the oncoming current of ponies, making my way down Senior Hall to the Little Filly's Room. I tried to spit at the mocking sign, but the liquid hate got stuck in my throat, and I swallowed it just before entering.

    I checked each of the stalls, coming to the conclusion that I was alone. When certainty washed over me, I turned and locked the door. I had to be quick in this last minute of my life. My arms went around and under my backpack, and I pulled it off and set it on the floor before unzipping it, taking out my suicide note. It was the only paper in perfect shape, put among the many other creased and ripped assignments. It was a symbol of my life, plain and simple, and of my death.

    I reached in and took out the roll of tape. With the help of the mirror, I spent the next fifteen minutes taping the note to my chest. Bloodied or not, this was the only place ponies would see it immediately.

    It was an alien feeling, seeing myself in the mirror, an instrument of my own death taped to my chest so much it looked laminated. It was the truth behind my suicide, and the truth behind so many others. If I didn't do this, I was not just being selfish, I was ignorant. Still, I stayed, peering at the sheet of paper on my chest.

    Was I ever meant to live? Or, was my entire purpose in life to not live until the bitter end?

    I slowly backed away from the mirror, my eyes steering clear of my face. I quickly turned to return the supplies back to my backpack, zipped it shut, shrugged it on, and exited the restroom.

    The walk to the roof maitenance door was silent and tactless. I was unthinking, and the only thing I felt was the numb connections with the floor my hooves made. I brushed past and bumped through the countless other ponies, all stronger, or taller, or better looking.

    Just walk forward and jump. No hesitation. You've been begging for this moment your entire life.

    The door wasn't even locked. Anesthetic met grit as my hoof reached forward and turned the knob, before entering the dark, dusty staircase to the roof of the building. Nopony stopped me.

    Just walk forward and jump. No hesitation. It would be doing everypony a favor.

    The walk up the stairs stabbed me with the inevitable, instinctual regret. I felt my hooves twitch with each clop, and my eyes watered with my body's desperate resistance. But, my mind and heart were both in charge. When I was finally at the door leading to the roof, I opened it. A cool breeze greeted me, and my body shivered, but my mind was still numb. The edge was just ahead, ten or so yards, and under it, I heard voices. It was Pugnit.

    My hooves started to walk. My head started to shake, and my eyed started to blur with tears.

    Just walk forward... jump... no hesitation... They deserve it. I deserve it.

    The wind escalated from a breeze to a tornado in my mind. My hooves stopped working, refusing to end their pathetic works, but my legs pushed forward. I felt numb and shaking; hated and suffering, but I kept trotting forward, unwilling to let this stop, so close to the end. Nothing fucking mattered now. It was just the ground, me, and the note taped my chest. I heard it creasing and bending with each step I took, so I puffed my chest out so it would appear clear to whoever saw it.

    The ledge was nearing, and just a few more steps, and I would be gone. No hesitation. No waiting. No hope. I'm fucking doing this.

    Another hoofstep, another half-foot closer the ledge came. Another hoofstep, another half-foot closer was the evolutionary change of this fucked up society, for the better. It was near, now. My hooves grew heavy, and they dragged acrosd the pavement. I'm doing this. I'm doing this.

    I was at the end. The voices at the bottom were now audible, but I payed no attention to them. One more step up this two inch tall ledge. My hooves were growing in density; they felt like a thousand pounds. But I finally fought back, planting one hoof on the ledge. I lifted my right hoof, and it hovered above the five story drop.

    No hesitating.

    Another hoof. I risked a glance down and saw the hard pavement beckoning me. It was clean. It was waiting. And, it was supporting Pugnit, his two friends, and--...

    ...no.

    ...Oh, God, please no.**

Please... keep him out of this... Why the fuck is *he** down there...?!*

    I was frozen. I couldn't move an inch, and my eyes followed suit. I was hesitating. I didn't try to push myself forward, I only stared down at the stallion facing Pugnit, backed into the wall by the three other ponies.

    Pugnit noticed me first. I didn't know how much time passed. It could have been a second or a minute with me up there, my hoof over the edge, my brain frozen in raw terror. But, he noticed me nonetheless. I was too far up to see his face, but he froze too, and the effect was infectious. First, his friend. Then, his friend's friend.

    Then, Summer Monsoon.

    And his face, I could see perfectly. I had just stabbed him in the back.

~~~~I Bridle When Life Stares~~~~

12:15pm, April 17th.

    The smoke traveled up in the air, tiny black dots and molecules sprinkling the gray mist. It circled and doubled over, the sky clearly seen through the transparent soot. I saw the clouds and sky above in a new perspective, shrouded in darkness, but still the sky nontheless.

    "You're looking pretty shaky," Gingerale acknowledged, sitting by my side. I gave him a glance, my ears perked and ready for it. "...I don't blame you, man. That must be rough... You shouldn't let your old man do that."

    My eye twitched as Gingerale replanted the cigarette in his mouth. He stayed like that for a while, his hoof balancing the faggot as he sucked in the numbing sensation. The end of the stick glowed orange in response. Beside him was his friend, who followed his lead fluently. A few seconds later, Gingerale put his arm on his hoof and breathed out what he had to say: "We're here for you, bud." He lifted a hoof up, facing it towards me. I grabbed it and shook it side to side, the same hoofshake we made up a decade ago. "If you need a place to crash, I'm open. I'll kick my aunt out for the night. Not that she'll mind. Drunk bitch." He smiled sadly, taking another puff.

    I nodded solemnly. "Thanks, but I'll pass." I thought of my father again, and my rage built, but for the first time in my life, I kept it at bay. I kept it buried in a new ditch of my heart, ready to be brought out later.

    "'S all good," Gingerale reassured. "But I am open."

    I nodded miniscully, looking at the cement pavement intently. I was abnormally silent, and they knew it, and I knew it. When the scenario eventually turned awkward, I had to break the ice. My hoof traveled into my backpack, and moments later, I came back out with my wallet.

    "If you guys want some bits," I hinted, bringing the wallet into view. I didn't know what was going to happen after I got home. "I don't need them, anyways."

    Gingerale glanced at his friend. She shook her head, looking forward as her cigarette was used once again. My friend turned back to me. "You keep it, dude."

    On the second thought, I put my wallet back in the backpack. If they didn't want it, I had it-- anypony but Goddian.

    "You wanna..." Gingerale paused, shrugging a little. "...Unwind a little?"

    I looked his way, and saw that he had his hoof outstretched, a cigarette balancing on, facing me. The orange light was still purtruing from the smoking end, having been freshly lit. Or, smoked. I don't fucking know.

    A glare was his response. "You want to offer me that?" I almost snapped. "After all the fucking around they caused you? Dammit, man, have you learned anything in the past few years?" I slapped the faggot out of his hoof.

    Gingerale growled, taking another from his box. He lit that one and plopped it in his mouth, glaring ahead. "I'm fucked up. What can I say?" I saw a hint of surpressed regret in his narrowed irises, but I said nothing. After a few seconds passed, he turned to his friend and spoke in her native tongue: Fancy.

    I frowned, facing ahead. I didn't understand any of the monkey language, and some of it sounded like: "Juneh pohns pah eeleh prreh." That's the only gibberish I caught until he went off quickly and fluently. His friend nodded, responded, and glanced at me. I glared back.

    The two talked for some time. I soon lost track of their conversation (not saying I had any leeway to begin with), and I decided to take out the wallet, and count the money I stole. Fifteen minutes was spent counting, losing track, growling and starting over, and recounting as Gingerale and Étoile Care rattled off in that annoying, Fancy tongue. It seemed as if they were in full conversation, talking about really anything. It wasn't until I thought they were talking about me I interveened.

    "What're you two dumbasses talking about?" I snarled finally as my hooves lost track of yet another 100-B coin. I bent down to grab the bit, and Gingerale didn't answer for that time. I recomposed myself before giving him an expecting glare.

    "...Which cigarettes have the best flavor," Gingerale answered. I knew it was a lie, but I didn't need to know what it was about-- I needed to know what it wasn't about.

    "Don't fucking talk about me in Fancy," I threatened, glaring ahead. "If you want to talk about me, see that I understand crystal clear."

    The door opened behind us. My ear twitched at that, and when Gingerale and his friend turned back I followed suit. Behind us stood a dark purple earth pony stallion, and without much inspection needed, I saw that he worked out. His mane was unkept and a dark shade of brown, almost like a snaky bush falling over his forehead while standing on its own in the back and middle. Forest green eyes peered at us, and they had a tinge of accusation. I gave him a glare right back, but it didn't faze him a bit. He was looking at Gingerale's friend.

    For a while, we stood in silence, and I couldn't tell if he was thinking or trying to intimidate. I took that time to steal a few glances at his impressive tri's and chest.

    "...How old are you ponies?" he finally asked. My ears perked, along with Gingerale's, but his friend's slammed to her skull. I was wondering why he'd say that when I looked to my right, and saw my two friends with cigarettes in their mouths.

    Gingerale answered before I could. "None of your business, creep."

    The stallion's eyes fixated on each of us confidently and pugnashusly. Yet, he stayed back and studied the scenario. He spotted me, then, who had no cigarette in my hoof. I recognized his face. Besides seeing him a few times at the gym, I also caught sight of him in the hallways occasionally. He was almost always with Fleck.

    I never knew that vengeful jealousy and biting admiration could mix, until today.

    "What's your name?" I asked in an attempt of friendship, eying him.

    The pony's eyes shifted to mine. I saw a single ember of sustained rage. "None of your business, creep."

    I could feel my Intermittent Explosive Disorder eating me from the inside out. I was instantly up and in the stallion's face. I was a good six inches taller than him (two, counting his mane), but he stood his ground.

    Don't make me do this.

    We stayed like that for some time, unmoving, and unfaltering. I kept trying to send him messages to back off, but if he got them, he ignored them. His eyes were calm and wild, the fact they were narrowed being the only one showing his anger. I could literaly feel the tension in the air.

    ...Don't do this. You can't be that stupid.

    Then, the stallion did something I never expected: he spat.

    The saliva landed on my cheek with a faint smacking sound, yet it was enough to freeze everything. Gingerale and his friend were both dead silent, and the first inch of movement was me lifting up a vibrating hoof to my cheek. I felt it, as if unbelieving it actually existed. But, it did. It was warm and sticky, and was slowly dripping down to my jawline.

    "I'm going to fucking murder you," I said calmly.

    He only glared.

    I'm not sure what I would have done to him, if one simple statement hadn't saved his life: "Pugnit, look up." It was said by Gingerale from behind. I gave the stallion one last glare before glancing upwards, but after I caught sight of what was above, I turned to stone.

~~~~Turmoil isn't Private~~~~

12:15pm, April 17th.

    I wanted to talk with Fleck.

    There was no direct reason for my choice, only lots of little ones piling up to the submission of mind. Étoile Mending had made it clear Fleck was going through trials, but my personal admiration and natural desire both aided my eventual longing to talk with her. It really made sense, now that I thought about it.

    I was in the Senior Hall of Baltimare High. It was first lunch time, and now the many near-graduates of Baltimare were getting together and socialising all in this hall. It was nearing the end of the school year, although Summer stayed in that tantalizing range which was too far for plans, but too close for not looking forward. The hallway was bustling with ponies, although it wasn't as dense as some would think; years of practice helped me cut through the crowd like a knife through butter, as I was always staying in different areas of openness.

    It wasn't until an opening in the crowd I realized who was standing beside my locker. There was Fleck, with a reluctant look on her face, looking right back at me. Although most wouldn't agree in the slightest, I liked that look of hers. Not friendly in the least, but it was intriguing. To me, at least. I gave her a smile just before the crowd of ponies around blocked her out again. I wasn't to be shaken, however, and I continued on.

    I pushed and squeezed past a few more ponies before I came to Fleck. I made a move to greet her, but...

    She was looking away. Her ears were plastered to her head, and her eyes were downcast angrily. Well, that's just Fleck, but then there was the look in her eyes. She was in her own little world of sadness. I could only look down at her sorrowfully for some time before I mustered up the courage to give her a little hug.

    I didn't really think it would affect her much-- it was just a hug, after all. I wrapped my left arm around her and pulled her close until her head touched my chest. I didn't mean any harm, so I gave her a meak, "Hey, Fleck."

    And then, she pushed away. And that hurt more than I expected. I suddenly felt guilty, and apologized. "Sorry." I scratched the back of my head shamefully, looking away. "Forgot you aren't a hugger. I dunno. I thought you needed it today."

    Fleck's eyes were a flurry of surprise and betrayal. She glanced left and right, but her eyes never left mine for long. I felt the familiar feeling of guilt wash over my body, and I was about to apologize before she lurched forward and hugged me.

    I glanced back and forth from her orange and black mane to the lockers for a while, stunned. But then, her unintentional charm finally caught up with me, and I smiled. "I guess you are, after all." I felt myself blush, and a rush of warmth engulfed my chest. I hugged back softly, and enjoyed the feeling we shared. I think this was our first time actually hugging, and I was more than glad to see she wasn't afraid to cross that line, either. I took a moment to relish in the feeling, smiling.

    She was so cute. I didn't know how long it took for me to realize it, but she was one of the most charming fillies I've met. Sassy and aggressive, but determined and adorable.

    ...Except, I have a marefriend now.

    I bit my lip, sighing. I've liked Étoile Mending since she had moved in, but now I was obligated to her. At least, that's what I think it's like. Do we have to go on a date first to be considered a couple? Or, do we really just have to both like each other?

    Fleck pulled away. Thoughts of Étoile dissipated instantly when I saw her face, and I took a moment to mentally beat my head with a sledgehammer.

    "I'm sorry," she almost whispered. That took me off guard, and made me a little worried, so I reached around her again.

    "For what?" I asked honestly. I'm glad she answered, otherwise I would have said some cliché romantic line. Wait, no, I'm in a relationship. Or, am I? Yes, I am. God dammit.

    Sorry for the language.

    "For making you the second least popular pony in school," Fleck answered. I peered at her, confused, until I heard the giggling from behind. But...

    ...I knew Fleck wasn't exactly the most popular, but why would she talk about herself like that?

    "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked, taking a step closer. We were now inches apart, and... I don't know if it was me, but I just got a feeling I should...

    ...No. I am obligated to Étoile Mending. Fleck is beautiful and alluring, she's sure to find a coltfriend some time in the near future. And when she does, I'll be happy for her; Étoile and I both.

    "...I'm going away, Summer Monsoon," she whispered.

    I tilted my head, but not before she pushed past me meekly. Fleck was cryptic, for a sophomore in high school. What did she mean? I looked after her as she parted through the crowd, eventually being engulfed by it. I felt bittersweet, yet I didn't know why. She wasn't going to do anything too extreme, right?

    ...Right. Fleck wouldn't do something like that. She's smarter than that, even if she fails to admit it. I gave her direction a smile before turning back to my locker, entering the code, and opening it. I retrieved my bag lunch before trotting through the crowd yet again.

    I spent the next twenty or so minutes eating. I usually ate by myself in the lunch room, and while most ponies would mistake it as loneliness, it was really just calm to me. I'm not gonna go in to too much detail of my personal likings.

    I was walking past the cafeteria doors when I heard talking from outside. I turned, and when I saw what was happening, I was attacked with disgust and nostalgia at the same time. Behind the double doors leading to the entrance staircase were three students, looking no older than eighteen, smoking cigarettes. The one on the left was a rough-looking filly facing the other way and sitting on the top of the staircase, and the two beside her were both colts, following suit with their positions. Normally, I would have turned away and let them sort out their own problems, but the mare on the left was speaking Fancy, and speaking about Étoile Mending.

"...Á present, elle a un copain, s'appele 'Summer Monsoon,'" [Right now, she has a coltfriend named 'Summer Monsoon'] she was finishing. My ears instantly perked at that, and I stepped closer to the double doors. "Beau, ouais, je sais ça. Je peux voir pourquoi Étoile l'aime. Mais... chais pas. Il n'a past des bonnes amies pour nous." [Handsome, yeah, I know that. I can see why Étoile likes him. But... I dunno. He doesn't have good friends for us.] My head tilted. The echoing of the talking of the countless fillies and colts behind me drowned out the Fancy, so I had to angle my ears forward.

    The colt to her right looked at her with confusion. "Quoi?" [What?]

    The mare glanced at the colt to her far right. He was currently sulking. "Il est amis avec Fleck," [He is friends with Fleck] she explained, before taking another puff of her cigarette. "Ça putain." [That bitch.]

    My eyes widened. What did they mean by that?

"Je crois elle va le dit quelle a commencé hier," [I think she's gonna tell him what happened yesterday] she complained. I felt my eyes narrowing. "Avec Pugnit, là-bas. Peut-être on va être arrêté parce qu'il...? Je ne suis pas un bonne chevale, mais je connaît cruauté quand je le vois." [With Pugnit, over there. Maybe we're gonna get arrested because of him...? I'm not a good pony, but I know cruelty when I see it.] She took another puff. "...Et merde, il était cruel." [...And shit, he was cruel.]

    I didn't need to listen anymore. I was shaking with anger, and couldn't stop myself before I trotted forward and pushed out the doors. The Fancy filly and understanding colt turned around first, before the colt to the right followed suit. The filly had a look of shocked and guilty realization on her face.

    I glared at their cigarettes. "How old are you?" I asked, my hackles rising.

    "None of your business, creep," the Fancy speaking colt defended himself with. I shifted my glare to him, and was going to snap back at him before "Pugnit" intervened.

    "What's your name?" he asked. I didn't answer. This was the asshole who was cruel to Fleck. I felt my fur crawl-- it all made sense, now that I thought of it. Fleck's demeanor came from him.

    "None of your business, creep," I repeated the other colt's words. Pugnit took it just as I intended, and stood up before walking to my face. He was considerably taller than me, but I glared back wholeheartedly, nonetheless. This was the pony who had bullied Fleck. She never told me about bully problems, but I knew despite her silence; I saw it in her demeanor, hatred, and eyes. She had the eyes of a bullied filly, just wanting a friend out of me. Why hadn't I seen this before?

    Probably because now, it was standing right in front of me; six inches taller, in fact.

    I felt anger well up in my chest, and got rid of it the quick and humane way: I spat on him.

    It landed on his right cheek. The two goons behind him, as if it was possible, turned dead silent. He reached up and wiped it off, before giving me a glare that could chew through metal.

    "I'm going to f*cking murder you," he said stoically.

    I glared. I was ready for him. Beat me up and I'll call the Guard. Kill me, and everypony else will. If you lay a God damn hoof on me, I take no responsibility to what happens next.

    It was then I saw his two goons looking up, a look of harrowing on their faces. I was wondering if the idiots had never seen the sun before when they murmured, "Pugnit, look up."

    He did, but after that, he did absolutely nothing. He was like a statue, carved from the most solid of rocks. The anger dissipated from his eyes, and the rage relaxed in his muscles.

    Whether it was stubbornness or confusion, I would never know, but I looked up, too. It was as if my blood froze entirely from the inside.

    Fleck was on the roof of Baltimare High, about to jump.

12:35pm, April 17th

~~~~Stampeded to Death~~~~

12:35pm, April 17th.

    I couldn't move an inch.

    I tried, again and again to take that last step. I tried pushing myself, I tried begging myself, and I tried going limp. I needed to do this, but, I couldn't bring myself to it. Summer's gaze paralyzed me. He was betrayed and in pain, and that only made me hate myself more.

    There he was. The sole reason I never did this earlier, witnessing my final moments. I tried to yell down to him, to tell him to leave, but the venomous words caught in my throat. He was so scared and so confused. And, it was all my fault.

    ...It was all my fucking fault.

    I felt the rage build up. Not just from the situation, but from the many years of torment and sadness-- of my entire life. I didn't have control over it. It was as if the cap had been flipped suddenly, and all the trauma and anger filled into my asophagus, all the nights of crying, and all the cuts inflicted built up into one statement. My ears, eyes, and tail twitched uncontrollably. My mind became numbly clear and my body shook with the livid nature of my life, and I shouted at the top of my pathetic lungs: "GO THE FUCK AWAY!!"

    It echoed across the school grounds, and my chest vibrated with the effort. I hurt even my own ears, yet made no effort to flatten them. I started to pant, and tears made their presence known. They were still standing down there... Summer was still looking up at me.

    This is a disaster.

    Why didn't I just jump?! Could his look really do that to me? Was I really that weak of will? Life had nothing more for me than sadness.

    Finally, the two storyless ponies behind Pugnit snapped out of their stupified state. They tried nudging Pugnit awake, but he stayed rigid and brittle. Summer, meanwhile, recovered from his horrified trance. He started whispering something. From my height of roughly fifty feet, I could still see his eyes.

    I tried to lift a hoof, but it weighed too much. I tried to lean forward, yet there was a magnet behind. I tried to imagine the pony underneath to dissipate, yet he stayed imprinted in my mind.

    "Go away..." I whispered pathetically. It felt like the whole world was watching me, judging me and begging for either my downfall or redemption. I was tiny and insignificant compared to everypony else.

    "Fleck," I heard from below. It was Summer's voice. I couldn't listen, and I flapped my ears down to my skull. My most hellacious screaming was absolutely nothing compared to Summer's simple plea. "Fleck...!" He couldn't finish his statement.

    Go away, Summer... Don't watch me like this. There are plenty of things I'd let you see, but this is the only one that is significant. Please, just go away.

    He was still there, standing silent.

    "Summer, fuck off," I tried to whisper, but it caught in my throat. I started to tear up, the thing which so many others had made me do. The ball in my throat formed, and I cried before I could stop myself. Nopony besides me said anything, besides Summer Monsoon's simple "Fleck."

    "Fleck, do not... jump!" I heard. When I saw just who said that, my eyes narrowed. Pugnit was peering up at me, now standing at Summer Monsoon's side.

    I started shaking with rage. Tears kept falling, and I slapped myself for the weakness. I was supposed to be dead by now. Pugnit was supposed to suffer. Summer was supposed to be gone. And, those things made me fucking livid. "You fucking ASSHOLE!" I screamed at Pugnit. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU..." The words caught in my throat. I slapped myself again, and pain shot through my face. "I will fucking kill you," I whispered, vibrating with rage. "Beyond the grave..."

    "...Fleck, I know what you're thinking--," Pugnit started, but I interrupted him.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING COWARD!" I screamed; was he afraid of this happening?! Did he want me to live, so I could be his fucking punching bag for the next years of my life?! Or, was he simply too much of a pussy to see what life is like when he's not the king of somepony?! Too see himself as he is, without the external pleasure?

    Pugnit was silent. His fuckwads for friends were silent. Summer Monsoon was silent...

    "Fleck," he mouthed, almost unbelievingly. My rage spiraled out of control.

    "Yes! Fleck! That's my name, bitch!" I screamed before I could stop myself. "Fleck the Gaper, the Stain, the insufferable bitch, Mayonnaise and Cream, Druct Addict, Grunt, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU CALL ME!"

    Summer physically flinched, his eyes traumatized at my outburst. "Fleck...!" he said louder and persistently. "Please don't."

    I was shaking. I was sobbing. I was furious. Pugnit spoke up.

    "Listen to me, Fleck," the stallion yelled. "I know that you've gone through some shit--"

    "Because of YOU," I screamed, almost at the top of my lungs.

    He was so pathetic... He's too scared to see this happen. I saw Pugnit continue to stare up at me.

    "Fleck," Summer Monsoon yelled up. "Don't move, okay? I'm coming up!"

    He made a move, but I stopped him with my words, "If you come up here, I'll jump!"

    That shut him up. He blatantly staggered back, that paralyzing look of his still intact. I tried, once again, to end this torment, but my legs were superglued to the ledge. My death was just milimeters away, yet the cement roof stretched out for miles on end.

    "Fleck, what do you want?" Pugnit shouted up. I peered down at him angrily. What kind of a fucking question was that?

    "What the fuck do you mean?" I asked. The light breeze felt numb on my fur.

    "You've got our attention," he explained. "We're here for you. What do you want?"

    I was shaking with rage. That... FUCK! He was pretending to care! He still had the audacity to mock a dead filly? He'll fucking PAY. They'll all know it was his fucking fault.

    "I don't want your attention!" I yelled. "I want your fucking PAIN!"

    Pugnit was paralyzed. He got exactly what I had to say. A miracle, considering how much of a dumb prick he is.

"Go away, Summer!" I screamed at them again, all the way down there. I needed to end this embarrassment. Tears kept streaming down the pathetic things I dare to call cheekbones, yet the one pony I dared to call a friend stayed put. I could barely whisper, "I don't want you to see this..."

    Pugnit started to talk with his two assholes for friends. They huddled together in a tight circle, leaving Summer outside. Those betrayed eyes, that sorrowful gaze, paralyzed me. My blood ran cold at his stare, and my legs went rigid.

    They made me want to feel regret, but everything else begged me to get it over with.

    I shook my head stubbornly. What the fuck am I thinking? Get it over with? This isn't a bad thing, for God's sake! This is my only purpose. If I don't do this, I'm just inflicting more pain on myself. My life has led up to its end, and I'm not going to back down from this...

    ...But why must Summer have to be here? To witness this? To be traumatized for the rest of his days? That punishment is for the bullies of my life, and the bullies of my life alone. Society will hate them. Then they will know my pain.

    Feeling started to come into my hooves. They shook with effort from the exhaustion of doing nothing. My mind gradually came back to reality, and I looked steadily forward. I lifted a hoof.

    "What brought you to this?"

    My hoof retreated to the ledge. That simple question, asked from a simple stallion, froze me. It took time, but I finally looked down at Summer Monsoon. It was only me and him, seperated by my own sadness. He looked tiny from five stories below, yet his eyes were as close as they could be. I couldn't say no to those eyes. I couldn't look away from those eyes, reflections of his betrayal.

    What brought me to this.

    Summer Monsoon wanted to know. He was concerned. About me.

    If things were different, I would have backed down from that edge that very moment. I would have run to him and hugged him, and poured out my heart to him, and got things right in my life, and I would have been with him. I wouldn't have cared I was hated, ridiculed, and bullied by everypony in this school.

    If things were different.

    I have no family that loves me. I have no money to get help. I have nowhere to run. My mother would probably disown me if she heard about this stunt. Or, do nothing. I didn't know which one was more terrifying. He was too little, too late.

    He wanted to know what brought me to this...

    "Everything," I tried to tell him, but it came out as a whisper.

    I lifted my hoof, letting it hang off the edge. Yet, the sound of the door opening from behind pulled it back. "I SAID I'D JUMP--!" I started, but Pugnit interrupted me.

    "I know what you fucking said!"

~~~~Stained Pain~~~~

12:42pm, April 17th.

    "I know what you fucking said!"

    My eyes were blurred with tears, from the wind and from the scenario. I stood absolutely still, staring at the mare which I hated myself for, which I tormented and bullied, and which I killed. My entire life I felt strong. My bench press record, shrug record, mile time... everything was strong. But now I felt weak.

    I was at her complete mercy. She had me by every sensitive organ on the equine body. Just one step, and I was following her off.

    I couldn't give less of a shit about my social status, I only cared that I did this to somepony. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before I pushed somepony over the edge. Was I never meant to live a happy life? Or, am I simply just some pugnacious muscle to throw in a world of persistent kindness?

    "...I know what you said," I repeated slowly and quietly. The mare just twenty feet from me was giving me a glare that could cut through rock. Just the right intensity to split my heart in two, three, and every number after words. This was the mare I did this to. "I know what you said."

    Fleck's glare was full of sensitive irascibility. She was shaking, and turned, as if to jump. I made a move, starting to dash to her, but she stopped. The mare was staring down at the bottom, and as I've already known, Summer Monsoon kept her from jumping.

    "...You don't," I started, but the words caught in my throat. With some effort, though, they came through. "...deserve this. Listen to me, Fleck."

    "I've listened to you for the past year, you fucker," she sputtered, turning back to me. I didn't feel even a hint of anger, only acceptance. "Do you want to know what you've told me?"

    I didn't answer. I only stared guiltily-- no. Guilt doesn't even do the feeling justice. It was malfeasance, mixed with blasphemy, and penitence, and...

    ...No. No words can describe the feeling.

    "You told me that I am useless," Fleck said. "You told me that I am hideous. You told me that I am worthless. You have no fucking idea what that can do to a pony, Pugnit." She paused, and her eyes widened slightly. I gave her a bewildered peer, before I realized I was crying. I stubbornly wiped the tears away.

    "...I know exactly what it does to a pony," I said. I narrowed my eyes, thinking about my father.

    But this wasn't about me.

    I focused on her; the way she moved and looked at me. She was just fifteen feet away. I took a step forward--.

    "This isn't a fucking movie," Fleck warned. She leaned away from me. "You aren't going to come up to me, give me a sad fucking excuse to come down, and then hug it out in the end. I have spent nights cutting myself because of you, Pugnit."

    I shook my head slowly. "I know damn well this isn't a movie. I know there's no main characters in life, and I know that you are going to impact dozens of ponies if you jump. For the worse."

    "Only the ones who deserve it," she whispered. Her eyes were pits of rage as they stabbed through me. I staggered back a few paces, my eyes never leaving hers.

    "No," I shook my head. "You'll impact the ones who don't aswell. You'll impact Summer Monsoon. You're friends, right?"

    Fleck didn't answer my question. She only glared back, shaking with emotion, raising her hackles. I felt the bizarre feeling of a lump in my throat. This is all my fucking fault. I deserve every ounce of her punishment, and more. I should just jump with her. But, no, I had unfinished business at home.

    "Where are your friends?" Fleck asked solemnly. She was lowered into a defensive state, as if I was going to charge her at any moment.

    "...Getting help," I answered slowly.

    Fleck answered quickly. "Fuck you. Fuck you, Pugnit, FUCK YOU!" Her voice reached a searing volume, and I flattened my ears out of all the negative emotions. "You're too fucking scared to see yourself, alone, aren't you? You're too God damn self conscious to see yourself without your little punching bag. Is that it?"

    "I'm too scared to see myself trying to be a better pony," my voice cracked. I was shaking with emotion, and I stepped forward. "I'm a fucking coward, Fleck. I'm too scared to see a pony like you kill herself because of me. I'm too scared to walk home today, watching the authorities gather around your body to judge your fate on their own, without any context or proof. I want to suffer, Fleck. I deserve to suffer. Everypony who has done what I've done to you deserves to have their dicks shoved into an anthill-- I fucking deserve EVERYTHING you say I do!" I couldn't see. The world became too blurry. I wiped the tears away, stepping forward. "You know, you're the first pony that's made me realize any of this."

    "Because I'm on the edge of this building..."

    "I knew it the moment I saw your crying face that day." Ponies were starting to gather outside. I heard them clopping over the cement pavement, whispering about what was happening. "Fleck, I deserve it. But you don't."

    "It's not about who deserves it," she snapped viciously. I flinched. "It's about ending this shithole of a life, and taking down those who caused it. I have nothing to live for, Pugnit. FUCKING NOTHING, except Summer. But he's too little, too late." She glared daggers as she steadily stepped off the edge, advancing towards me. I heard the crowd below go dead silent. No move was made to intercept the mare. I only narrowed my eyes even more, hating myself ten times more with each word coming from her mouth. "...You're not going to stop this. You've stopped me from doing so many other things, but this is my fucking day. You're going to watch me splatter on that ground, and you're going to go home and hang yourself, because you're too much of a God damn coward to see the final product of your project. You will not act like the good guy here, Pugnit. You disgust me."

    I let those words sink in. I let her face sink in. Every instinct was begging me to rush forward, and to grab her, and to take her away, but I...

    ...I just let it sink in.

    She was so much smaller than I, yet she towered over my every instinct.

    "I disgust myself," I admitted weakly. She scoffed, turning away, but I saw a glimpse of something in her eyes. My voice ranged with truth, no matter how much she hated to admit it. "I disgust myself so much I can't look in a mirror anymore." I took one step forward. She staggered back to her ledge, erupting a gasp from the audience underneath. She turned and discovered their presence, and shook with rage. "Fleck, I hate myself more than you ever could."

    That caused a flick of her ear. She steadily turned back to me, a suspicious and untrusting glare accompanying her features. Now, I didn't feel the wind. The only sign of it was the gentle flow of Fleck's mane and tail. They were both orange and modest, yet had just enough roughness to peak my interest, and they both had a black stripe down the middle. Her eyes were a comely violet, and I found myself willing to do anything to be looked at a positive light in those eyes. I saw the gray streaks of dried tears on her snow white fur, unkept, but alluring. I wanted to start all over again.

    I want to be free of my life. I want to have a real father, and a real mother. I want ponies to like me for who I really am, not for who I pretend to be, or for how toned my physique is. I want a fucking life.

    Not life in Baltimare. A life somewhere else. In Ponyville, maybe. Or Canterlot, or Appleloosa. Fuck, I'll even try Manestralia. Anywhere but here.

    I wish I could turn back time, and start over. I could've saved my father from the slob he is now. I could've let my ego go, and defend the little ones instead of bully them. I could have loved Fleck.

    That thought hit me like a speeding locomotive. I physically staggered back, reaching a hoof up to my head. Fleck was staring at me unbelievingly. As if I said something I shouldn't have.

    Did I just say that?

    I stared back. My throat was recovering from a statement. I had said that...

    ...Well, fuck it. I don't care. No more hiding behind this mask.

    "I wanted to ask you out," I said bluntly and unruefully. She kept staring. "Yeah. I said it. I said the fact that has been eating me from the inside out, since I met you. I wanted to ask you out." I shook my head, and my vision blurred with tears. I started shaking, and my voice was cracking. "I wanted you as a marefriend, Fleck. Or, at least a friend. But now, after all that's gone to shit? I know you don't deserve a fuck-up like me." I stepped forward. She made absolutely no movement. "But it doesn't change the fact that I would do anything to make this all go away. Fleck, I would start from birth and go through my entire life, just to change that one moment. That moment when I called you that name, and when you became the least liked pony in school. I would even kill myself and stay out of your life entirely if..." My head kept shaking. The tears kept coming. "...Fleck, I am not just sorry. I am everything that word stands for, and more. Every synonym in the fucking dictionary." I took another step forward. She still didn't move, her face a barrier for emotion. "I am horrified at what I've been doing."

    Then, nothing more could come out. I was crying too much. I flexed my arms, I staggered, I bent my knees-- anything to not fall down into sobs. I couldn't look Fleck in the eye. I couldn't look at anything. Everything was alive, staring me down, wishing my own demise. I should be me on that ledge. Not her.

    A megaphone's brief siren pierced the silence. I flattened my ears, and Fleck followed suit. Cyanside spoke from below:

"Do not jump, little filly. Do you hear me? Do not jump!"

    I saw a rage in Fleck's eyes that could not be quenched.

"What's your name, again... Fleck! Fleck, I know you've been having some bad grade issues, and maybe some harassment problems. But think about this."

    Her eyes were wide. Her face was one of shock. Her horn was glowing.

"We care for you, Fleck. We're all here for you, the staff and every one of your classmates. Come on down. We'll get you the help you need."

    Fleck's face was indescribable. This was a rage which consumed all senses of thinking, and stopped all rational thoughts and desisions. I knew exactly what the feeling is like. She started muttering something, and more tears fell from her cheeks, before she stepped down from the ledge. Without looking at me or anything around her, she started walking. Not to me, not to the door, but to her left. She was just out of view from the school (who was now cheering, thinking they had won).

    "...Well, then I guess it's not about you, Pugnit," Fleck murmured simply as she neared the other edge. I didn't try to stop her. "...It's about ponies like you."

    Fleck didn't hesitate. She didn't stop.

    She simply, utterly, bluntly, started falling.

~~~~I Hate You All~~~~

12:47pm, April 17th.

    Fleck fell.

    I couldn't do anything. The crowd beside the corner behind me blurred out of hearing focus, along with every other unholy thing around; the breeze, my panting, my heartbeat. I wanted it to be like the stories, where it all went in slow motion so it would lessen the blow, but the world had other plans. It refused to slow, and Fleck fell as fast as anypony would, until she hit the floor. She did not move.

    Her eyes looked relaxed as she gazed up at the sky, her mouth half open, and her eyes still wet with tears. It wasn't until I was inches away from her body I realized I had made my way to her. Now, the crowd was dead silent. They heard the bump of her body, the crack of her skull. Everything went quiet along with the audience.

    This isn't real.

    I shook my head slowly, my eyes never Fleck's eyes.

    No. She isn't... You're not...

    Get up.

    ...Get up, Fleck.

    I was kneeling by her now. I put a hoof over forehead, and rested it on there for some time. My hoof slowly moved to the beginning of her mane, pushing the orange hair hanging over my hoof aside.

You're not...

    "Fleck?" I asked simply, earnestly waiting for her response. I couldn't look away from her eyes, staring, gazing. "Fleck, get up..." Her face was relaxed. Gone was the pugnacious glare of her life. I like that glare. Where is it? "Fleck, come on, you're not..."

    I couldn't say the word. If I said it, that would mean I thought it was true. It's not true. She can't be... No, she's not. Is she asleep? Is she in a coma? This can't be happening. She's the main character of my life. She can't be... The main character doesn't die.

    My vision slowly blurred with numb tears. "Fleck, get up," I almost begged, and I heard my voice crack. I reached my hoof to the back of her head, and tried to ignore the noticeable dent in her skull. She can't be d... no, she's not d... This is our story...

    "Come on, Fleck, let's go." I lifted her head to my own. She made no acknowledgment. "Let's get out of here. Let's run away. We can start again, somewhere else. We can... We can buy a house in Canterlot, Fleck. I can become an actor, and I can earn us a living, and we can each go and visit my sister, Sunset Auburn. Do you know that I call her Goldbuck? It's a nickname. You can call her that, too." I started shaking her head. My breaths came in short bursts. Tears slowly settled in to my cheek fur. "She calls me Bucky. Isn't that cute, Fleck? She's beautiful and kind and bold, just like you. I promise she'll love you. Fleck, get up."

    Her violet irises kept gazing solemnly at the skies above. I moved into her sight in a panic, just before I witnessed a small trail of dark red liquid leak from her nose. "Fleck, you're not fucking dead, do you hear me? You're not fucking dead. You can't be dead, Fleck." I slowly brought her head into a hug. I buried her face in my chest, and it soaked up her tears. "Get the fuck up."

    I held her there, and wished that the universe would stand still, and give us this moment. She's not dead. She can't be dead. She wouldn't do this. She's smarter than this.

    I wrapped both arms around her small body, and held back the oncoming livid sobs. I held back the rage, the want to kill the ponies behind me, the want to kill Pugnit. I held back my disbelief, my desperate illusions that somehow she was alive. Enough of those have been had today.

    I looked down at her. She seemed to enjoy our embrace. Her mouth was still half open, and I saw her smiling. Why would she be dead? Life is good to us all, isn't it? Happy endings exist...?

    I peered at her chest, and saw something. It was a lined paper taped to her abdomen, writing and tears drenching the note. She had written it.

    "Hey! You!" came from behind. I didn't budge. "Get away from that filly, Summer Monsoon! The Guard is here."

    A part of me, stupid as it was, thought that they could somehow help Fleck. I slowly pushed that thought aside, before reaching out with a hoof and ripping the note from her chest. It didn't hurt her. No fur was pulled off.

    I kissed her forehead hard and angrily.

    There was nothing else to do.

    The next few days went by in a blur.

    I think Étoile Mending came over once, but I can't be sure. I didn't want to see her, and if she did come over, I didn't talk to her. She might have cried for me, or she might have mourned for Fleck. I don't know, and I don't care.

    I picked up my sister one day. I didn't talk to her, or anypony else in my family. I know that we fought, though. We fought about sensitive things, like my parents' divorce, my sister's drug problems, and Fleck. We kept fighting, day after day. I don't love my mother anymore, and I never think about my sister. They only tell me I did my best, and occasionally give me a hug.

    My mother soon got me a therapist. It helped pass the time, considering I never go to school anymore. Glassheart is a good mare. She doesn't fight with me. She nods and agrees with everything I say, even when I have nothing to say. Sometimes, I just have to look at her, and she knows what I'm feeling.

    I read the note.

    If I knew that she was going through this, I would've done more. I would've hugged her every time I saw her, and complimented her every time we met, and defended her every time the school attacked her. I would have let her move in with me to protect her from her family. I would have traded places with her to protect her from every bully out there. I would have killed Pugnit.

    ...But, I don't have to. Pugnit disappeared after Fleck's...

    ...suicide.

    The Guard says he had problems with his father, and finally snapped and killed him. He ran away afterwards. The last time he was seen was on a train, headed to Ponyville.

    I want him to keep running. I'm going to find him, that little fuck. I'm going to find him and make him pay. That's the reason I'm on a train, leaving everything behind but some money and a gun.

    Society is storyless. But, we are not so worthless. Every choice we make has a consequence, and that consequence impacts others in a way we cannot begin to understand.

    There are no main characters in life. Only us as ponies.

    As people.