Conflicting Emotions

by Ponyswamp

Rating: teen
Tags: Sweetie Belle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Apple Bloom, Rarity, Scootaloo
Length: 1476

Sweetie Belle has a problem. A big one. Slight blood, lots of sad.

Sweetie Belle has a problem. A rather big one, in fact.

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Written far too late into the night for my tastes.
Speaking of my tastes, another fic based (loosely) on my own experiences.
Man, my life is full of inspiration.

Published 2015-04-27 16:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-04-27 16:00:02 UTC

Between Myself and Others

I rocked back and forth on my bed, murmuring to myself, futilely telling myself to calm down. A smashed picture of myself standing next to my big sister Rarity lay before me on the floor, and the very thought of it brought another bout of tears to my eyes and quickened my breath.

Blood dripped from my hoof from where it smashed the glass, and the red liquid now cascaded down my leg to my elbow, where it dripped down onto the bed sheets. Not a single care went to the state of my sheets, however. The growing pool of blood meant nothing to the thoughts. The thoughts.

The thoughts ran through my head, filling my ears with a painful ringing and my mind's eye with an even more painful picture. She won't accept me. Nopony will. I'm giving it a day, but I know that nopony will accept me if they knew. Nopony.

Nopony...

Rarity levitated the newspaper up to her face, which helpfully obscured mine. She was observant, and the pain would be apparent to her. Then we would have to talk.

And I know what that'll do.

After a moment, she chuckled. “Oh, Sweetie Belle, have you heard this drivel?” My bagel obscured my mouth, and I only mumbled in reply. She took that as acknowledgment and encouragement to go on.

She began to read directly from the page. “Princess Blueblood: the shocking tale of how one of Canterlot's most famous bachelors became a bachelorette.” She laughed. “My word, to think what I ever saw in him. Now he's gone and done this to himself. Probably a bid for attention.”

I swallowed my bagel and shuddered. “M-maybe Blueblood's not doing it for the attention.”

She laughed for far too long. “Oh, Sweetie Belle, of course it's for attention! Why else would a stallion change themselves into a mare?”

Another bite of my bagel gave me enough time to think. “Because they truly feel like they're not a stallion?”

Rarity sighed. “Somepony's been telling you useless lies, then. Once you're born, you're born, and that's the way you are. Just because we can chop you up or stick something on doesn't mean we should! It's wrong, Sweetie Belle, and you know it as much as I.”

Nopony spoke after that. There was an extended silence, which did not break, even after I got up and packed my lunch. There was a hasty goodbye, then nothing more.

The school day passed like a blur, and in no time I was eating the lunch I had prepared. Scootaloo and Applebloom walked over, and I put on my bravest face. The last chance.

Applebloom smiled. “Alright girls, whatcha wanna talk about?”

I hesitantly raised a hoof, and the two girls smiled at me. “I-I was wondering about what you thought about the thing with Blueblood.”

Applebloom scratched her head. “About him going into surgery ta become a mare?” I nodded, and she shrugged. “Ah think it's wrong, ya know? There's just some things in life that ain't meant ta be changed. Yer gender's one of 'em.”

Scootaloo nodded. “I guess it's just weird, him becoming a her.”

We looked to Applebloom, who snorted to get our attention and deride Scootaloo's points. “Now hold up a second! He's still a he, ya know! Just 'cause he done messed up his parts and got some fancy doctor to doll up his face doesn't make him a mare!”

My heart sank lower and lower as more words left her mouth. After her tirade, my friend turned to me. “Y'all agree with me, right?”

I nodded without hesitation, but with a lot of regret and sorrow. “Yeah, totally.”

We continued eating, though my mind wandered far. It had to be done. “Hey, Applebloom?”

She looked at me. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you could lend me some rope for a home project.”

Applebloom nodded, and she smiled despite her previous outburst. “'Course! How much ya need?”

A fake smile coated my muzzle. “Not too much, maybe about as long as I am.” She nodded, and a genuine smile came over hers. How I wish mine was true, too.

The rest of the day was a blur. I remember falling once, barely able to keep my composure. Nonetheless, I made it through the day, and afterwards Applebloom dropped by with the rope I asked for. I thanked her, and she said it wasn't a problem. It is, though.

Rarity called out to me, and said that she'd be heading out to her spa day with Fluttershy. I knew this already, though. It was planned around that. This whole thing was.

The quill raised in the air, lifted by basic levitation into position above the parchment on my bed. After a moment's hesitation, the two gently collided, and one began to move.

Dear world,

It has become apparent to me that those closest to me are incapable of accepting something that, to me, has quickly become the single most important part of my private life.

Rarity, if you check in my closet, hidden far in the back is a box. It has no markings, save for the lid. Inside, you will find pictures of what appears to be a white unicorn colt, visiting the playground by Town Hall. He's playing with some other colts, and generally having a good time.

Those were taken three months ago, when “Gentle Spice” visited from Manehattan. Snails took the pictures, and gave copies to Gentle as souvenirs.

The reason I have those pictures is because I was Gentle Spice. You will also find the same vest and sunglasses Gentle wore in the pictures in the box. Those three months ago, I dressed up as a colt and spent the day as one.

Was this for a prank? No, not in the slightest.

As impossible as it will be for you to understand or accept, I do not identify as a filly. In the deepest, most personal part of my soul, I feel like I can't call myself a mare, nor can I ever.

Rarity, Scootaloo, Applebloom, this is because both my best friends and my only sister have chosen a path that doesn't allow for me to be me. I fear what will happen if I come clean, just as much as I fear keeping this part of me hidden.

And so, I have fought myself, and I fought back. Eventually, I came to the only decision I felt I could choose: taking my own life.

In most suicide notes that I have heard of, either in papers or in movies, the victim assures their family and friends that it isn't their fault, rather the victim's. Not unlike a famous breakup line. However, as much as I'd like to leave you with as much peace as I can, I cannot.

The truth is, it isn't me; it's you. You are bigoted, insensitive, and you won't change. And if you won't do something, then I will.

It ends tonight. I love you all, even if now you cannot love me.

-Sweetie Belle, brother of Rarity

The magic left the quill, and it clattered to the floor. In it's stead, Applebloom's rope was levitated up to the rafters and tied there. After a quick knot, a chair was placed beneath it.

Next came a special measure. A knife was also engulfed in the aura of my horn, and it rested on my hoof. I winced as it dragged along, and felt the hot blood seep from the wound and work it's way into my coat, making it sticky and wet. A similar cut went into the other hoof, and the blood repeated it's process.

Wincing with each step, I walked slowly to the noose. My blood leaves marks on the floor with each step, though it bothers me none. I step up onto the chair, and place my neck in the hole. A tear runs down my cheek, then falls and mixes with the red liquid cascading onto the floor.

My legs quiver, then give out, kicking the chair from it's home. I fall for a split second, then the noose holds me in place. A strained gasp escapes my lips, and no more sound is heard. My mind empties, and for the first time in months, there is peace.

As my vision begins to blacken, hoofsteps could be heard in the distance. They grew louder. Louder. They hit a crescendo of cacophony as Rarity burst into the room. A mixture of shock, horror, and disgust crossed her face in the span of a moment.

And then it was quiet.

Author's Note

I wrote a sadfic before. This is something different.
But man, it's been a while since I wrote a suicide note. Kinda refreshing that it's not my own this time.