Awoken

by Flufflefic

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Dark, Sad
Length: 1179

Derpy finds the true meaning of sanity, and wished that she had her autism back. But its too late for that.

When Derpy is offered an addictive cure to her autism, she slowly becomes more sane, but she realizes that she was seeing it all wrong! She was becoming more perceptive.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-21 03:35:15 UTC

Violet

“The sun never shined on a cause of greater worth.” - Thomas Paine, describing freedom.

One could think that having autism makes you less smart by default. Others may argue that it makes you more perspective. Nevertheless, it does not hinder your spacial reasoning, nor harm common sense, up to a certain degree. At one level, autism can render social skills a useless mechanic, same going for motor skills and your ability to communicate in general. This story, despite the level of disgust that one may take away from reading this story, this targets not an immediate response, but a gradual descent into insanity, experiencing the opposite of the main character displayed.

                                                                   (-/--)

         The doctor entered the room wielding a clipboard and pen, prepared to wield life-changing information.

         “We can cure it,” He said, getting right to the point. “but it won't be without its own hardships.”

         “You can?” The periwinkle pony said, ignoring the colts second statement. The idea of having her mild autism cured would be great, perhaps even get her a promotion. Oh the thought of it! Having spending money was not a luxury which she had the ability to participate in, to her own embarrassment. Many ponies took pity on her, in addition to her disability. The autism was not immediately noticeable, but the perceptive handicap was visible, in the form of “derped” eyes, as the others teased her for having. This was not only cosmetic, though. Many childhood accidents have been the effect of this, rendering depth perception an experience which she has never had.

         “You will require, in your case, a primary injection and a supplement of pills, which can prove highly addictive further on in life, which may ruin your life. This is nothing to take lightly, and it's effects of improving cognitive function have defined it as a hardcore drug across Equestria, which means that only me and a few other psychologists have the ability to write prescriptions for it. If I abuse it, Celestia forbid, I will be forced to resign my status as a medical practitioner.” The doctor explained.

        “Well, no time like the present to get that injection you talked about, doc!” She said with a carefree tone in her voice. The doctor put up with ponies like this all day, so his refuge was Derpy. She was self aware, and smart, but still a child inside. Like a 12 year old prodigy, of which he has diagnosed no shortage of.

         “Well,” He chuckled, while extracting a menacing red liquid from a vial using his magic. “I suppose you're right.”

         Derpy thrust out her fore-hoof, exposing her front left leg. As the doctor went to sterilize the injection site, he immediately noticed something wrong. The entire length of the skin was pock-marked with little scars.

          The doctor said nothing, but Derpy noticed that he saw this, and explained what it was.

          “As a filly,” She explained in a happy tone, autism masking her emotions. “my parents purchased a series of injections from a traveling salespony. As it turned out, this was not actually a cure, but just a bunch of sugar water. It really hurt.” She said, with her emotions breaking through at the end.

          The doctor nodded, but was still amazed by how many scars she had. Her leg looked worse than that of a heroin addict! He struggled a ‘Oh’ and went back to dressing her injection site.

         “Now this will only hurt a second,” The colt said, a sadistic attempt at calming the mare-child. She looked away and closed her eyes, acting exactly as a filly would, hiding her fear. For a few seconds, he was almost tempted to not inject her, but sense got the best of him, and he proceeded. As he quickly pricked the vein of the pony she yelped, and retracted her arm to inspect the damage, but with a fairly poor reaction time. He topped it off with a band aid, and exited the room, only to return with a bottle of the drug in question; Polymethaline, a plastic methamphetamine that drastically increases cognitive function, and in autistic occasions, helps the brain expand, and increase the amount of useful information received, not just useless vague details.

          He handed it to her and warned her: “Now remember, one pill a day; abuse this, and the consequences will be severe. Am I understood?" He said forcefully.

          “You can count on me, Doc!” She called, walked out of the door, but instead crashing into the doorframe, than carrying out her goal.

          The doctor, who as soon as she crashed into the doorframe, began to have second thoughts. Was it really right to give an autistic pony a dangerous drug? He quickly dismissed the idea, for it was too crazy to actually happen.

                                                  (-/--)

          As soon as she got home, like a present or a toy for a filly, Derpy swallowed one of the pills generously, and flipped onto the ground. He crossed eyes wandered over to the clock, and immediately was set aback by the time; 1:30! She had to do her afternoon rounds at 2:00! She dashed out if the house, stashing her pills in her saddlebags, for lack of any place to put them. As she quickly trotted down to the post office, and when she darted in, only to her surprise, her name was not on her office door. Instead, at her desk, sat postmaster Silverquill, brandishing a pen in his earth pony mouth.

          “What is it, boss?” Derpy enquired. Silverquill began to speak, but was interrupted when some moving ponies began to lift the desk that he sat by, and moved it out the door.

          “We have been quite impressed with your work as of late, and personally, I think you deserve a promotion. I'm moving you to customs, where you will get paid more, and conditions will be better, and your office will be no more, not to imply that you have used it in all of your days here.” The postmaster elaborated. “Customs is held in house, it's in the basement. If you have any questions, direct them to Flashblade, the manager down there. Have fun.” He said, turning the confused pony around, ushering her out, and slamming the door.