Monday April 18th
Why does anypony want a Cutie Mark?
Just... why? I don't get it.
The only thing it's ever given me is misery – it makes me feel like I'm incapable of doing anything, and that I can't achieve my goals without falling at the last hurdle. I'm always under pressure, just because of a stupid picture plastered to my flank. Is this really the good life for a pony? Because it sure doesn't feel like it to me.
“Black Sail, come down, please!”
“No!”
Flare paused in her movement around the kitchen, ears pricked up in worry. The tone in her son's voice sounded different; almost strangled. And it upset her.
“Are you okay, darling?” she called, trying to hide her anxiety.
No response, though she thought she could hear a sniffling coming from Black Sail's room.
Her mind began to conjure worrying thoughts, and before they became too much to bear, she quickly made her way upstairs. She always had an instinct that something wasn't right, and it seemed to be one of those moments.
When she reached Black's room, the door was closed, and also, she discovered, locked as she tried to turn the handle with her magic. “Black, are you there?”
“Go away!” the teenage foal screamed, sending a dreadful quake of terror across Flare's body. This was worse than she thought: he had never shouted like that before.
“Black, open the door, please,” she demanded firmly, trying to keep calm. When the sound of him crying reached her ears, Flare desperately tried the door again, but to no avail.
For a while, she kept trying to ram her way in, throwing her entire weight at the door again, all while her son's sobbing continued. Soon enough, she felt tears coming out of her own eyes, sliding down her face as her shoulder started to ache from the impact of the door.
Then, after seemingly hours of using herself as a battering ram, Flare finally managed to shove it open.
Then she found herself screaming.
A patch of blood was clearly visible on the duvet of the nearby bed. And the crying foal, Black Sail, lay trembling on his side, a soaked knife by his head, and an unbelievably deep gash decorating the area where his Cutie Mark should have been.
Flare anxiously paced around the waiting room. No fear had ever taken hold of her in this way before; it was like her heart and soul had been ripped out of her body, leaving her with only confused fear and utter devastation.
Her son could have died.
She couldn't push away the image of him in the bedroom, bleeding, almost unconscious, his body partly mutilated. He was now placed in intensive care, and all Flare could do was wait. Thankfully, at least, she wasn't alone in her waiting.
“Try and keep calm, honey,” her husband murmured, from his place on one of the chairs nearby.
“How can I keep calm?!” She whirled around furiously, tears creeping into her eyes instantly. “Your son almost butchered himself to death! And for what? Because of his Cutie Mark? Who feels like that, Soulburn? Nopony feels like that! So why does he?!”
Flare let out her tears in a pained sob, her head in her hooves, while Soulburn immediately came up to comfort her in a tight embrace. As if on cue, a door clicked open, revealing a serious brown stallion with glasses on the tip of his snout. The couple looked up with worried gazes, searching the doctor's face for any sign of news.
“Soulburn and Flare?”
They nodded solemnly. The doctor adjusted his glasses rather anxiously. “If you'd like to come inside, please. I must talk with you urgently.”
“I've never seen anything like this in my career before,” the doctor said gravely, with a hint of disbelief, looking over his notes carefully.
Soulburn and Flare sat in front of his desk, hooves occasionally fidgeting with impatience.
“Your son is in a state of severe emotional trauma,” he began to explain, leaning forward slightly in his chair, “but I've never known it to happen for a reason like this. He appears to have a certain … hatred towards his Cutie Mark.”
“But why?” Flare cried, her voice trembling again. “Cutie Marks are what make ponies who they are! Everypony loves their Cutie Mark! Black Sail has no reason to want to hurt himself for that!”
“I'm afraid I beg to differ,” the doctor admitted. He dragged a crumpled pile of papers across the desk, staring at the large paragraphs of writing scribbled on them. “According to his diary entries, he appears to see his Cutie Mark as a barrier – something that keeps him from doing whatever he wants to do for fear of letting himself down. His talent is something he believes he must live up to, otherwise he is worthless. He hates that expectation – that is why he tried so hard to... to get rid of it.”
Flare stared, her mouth open. Soulburn placed his hoof comfortingly on hers, before addressing the doctor. “But it doesn't make any sense, doctor,” he said curiously. “Black Sail has never been this unhappy before, and he has a wonderful talent. I don't see how a hobby of crafting and artwork can cause him so much pain.”
“I'm sure it's hard for you to understand,” the doctor said with a sigh, casting a sympathetic look at Soulburn's sobbing wife. “But the fact is that Black Sail is incredibly unhappy with having a Cutie Mark. We've treated him and talked to him the best we can, however... I...”
He bit down his lip, struggling to get the next sentence out. “I can't promise this kind of thing won't happen again.”
At those words, Flare began to wail even more loudly, burying her face in Soulburn's shoulder. The doctor stared at the couple in silence; he found it almost unbearable to see how awful this news was for such innocent parents, but he simply had to tell them.
If only he could think of something to make it all better, to make the young foal happy. But after everything that had happened, somehow he just knew, in this case, that he couldn't.
Thursday, April 21st
I almost did it. I can't believe I almost did it. I could have actually killed myself if I'd tried, but I don't think I had it in me to go that far.
But now, instead of my stupid Cutie Mark, a bruise is on my flank, standing out clearly against the black fur. I can still see remnants of my mark emerging from underneath the injury, but for the most part, it's completely covered up by my wounds. The wounds I've inflicted.
They still sting occasionally from where the knife was, reminding me of how absolutely crazy I'd been. I thought I was going to get happiness out of it, but it feels like the opposite has happened. I feel empty, hollow, like all my anger and misery has exploded out of my body, leaving me as an emotionless shell with nothing to show for it. My Cutie Mark's hardly visible, which makes me feel a sense of accomplishment at least – but something's still missing. I'm not sure what, but it is.
Mum's still upset with me, though she's calmed down slightly after my visit to the hospital. I don't know if she or Dad will ever look at me in the same way again.
Something else has happened though; something odd. My parents have been talking to each other a lot more lately, but in whispers, like they don't want me to hear it. I think they're planning something for me, and I'm sure I'll hate it. I'm just anxiously waiting to find out is.
Flare had been living in Ponyville with Black Sail for almost three years now. The move, she thought, had done her son some good, and certainly done her good. After such traumatic events in their home-town, a change of scenery was thought to be the way to bring them back from the depths of sadness. It was needed for Black Sail in particular, even though he had not warmed to the idea of moving in the first place.
It was a quiet day at home; Flare was reading the paper, musing over the interesting stories that went around in this pleasant town. A sound of hooves coming down the stairs caught her attention, and she looked round to see Black Sail emerging into the kitchen. He was a much bigger pony than he used to be – almost a fully-grown stallion – but his face still bore the qualities of an extremely young pony who didn't understand the world yet.
It was good, however, to see life in him again, even if he wasn't the same as he used to be.
“How are you this morning?” she asked with a smile. She hoped he would smile back, but as ever, he only briefly acknowledged her presence with a glance before heading straight to the front door. “Not bad, I guess,” he replied plainly.
He reached for his saddlebag, grabbing it between his teeth from the wall pegs. Flare watched his every move, hoping that he would at least turn around and look at her properly. But he didn't.
“Off to school. See you later, Mum.”
“Bye, sweet,” Flare murmured sadly, watching him go out and close the door quietly behind him. She sighed, letting go of the paper she had been engrossed in minutes ago. Life in Ponyville was definitely an improvement for the family, but she wondered how long it was going to last. And whether her son would ever truly return to her again.
Ponyville's recently built high school was an average sort of place, according to Black Sail. As he walked through the plainly coloured corridors, occasionally glancing at fellow students passing by, he felt content, but at the same time, not entirely happy.
Obviously he didn't get the greatest joy in the world from being in school, just like any pony his age, but it seemed that nothing in the town of Ponyville could bring him joy. He wanted to feel joy, but simply wasn't able to. It was like the ability had been ripped away from him.
A normal old school didn't make it any easier for him. It was true that relocating to Ponyville had been a smart move on his parents' part, giving him a fresh start and new things to focus on. But the faint scars on his flank that rested beside his paintbrush Cutie Mark reminded him of something that had always existed: a deep hatred; a deep misery; a deep emptiness.
The young ponies smiled at him as he walked along the corridor, but he rarely gave them any notice. Socializing was not an aspect of his life he wished to undertake. The enthusiasm for it had gone, along with the enthusiasm for his own self. Regardless, it didn't stop the students of Ponyville High from trying.
Soon enough, Black Sail saw a familiar face approaching. He wouldn't call anypony he knew a friend, nor even an acquaintance, but there were one or two faces he would always recognize. A yellow mare, with the distinctive bright red of her mane and tail, smiled her warm smile, noticing his gaze. Black Sail knew her vaguely; she went by the name of Apple Bloom, he'd heard that much, but he wasn't aware of anything else about her, aside from her efforts to be friendly towards him.
Her smile was so sincere that it was hard for Black Sail to ignore her. But he did it regardless, turning his head away and hiding his face by absent-mindedly fiddling with his locker on the side of the corridor. As he rummaged awkwardly through his belongings, he sensed someone standing near him, hoofsteps coming to a halt right beside his shoulder.
“How are ya today, Black Sail?” Apple Bloom asked merrily.
Her loud, infectious tone caught Black Sail off-guard. He bit down on his lip, closing his eyes as if he was trying to block out the world. Didn't she ever understand that he didn't want to talk?
“I'm all right,” he said through gritted teeth, deliberately sounding offhand. It didn't seem to deter the cheery earth pony.
“Ah was thinkin', since ya never seem to be doin' that much around the school, maybe you'd like to join me and my friends at our Cutie Mark club later today? We just thought it would be nice to get you involved in something fun like that, instead of leaving ya out all the time.”
Black Sail expelled a breath, feeling an irritation build. Cutie Mark Club? Why would anypony think he'd be interested in something like that? To him, nothing sounded more pointless, or more patronizing. Despite his thoughts, he couldn't bring himself to be rude to the polite young mare, who had never done any wrong by him in the past.
He turned slightly, barely meeting her gaze. “I think I'll pass for the time being. Doesn't sound like my thing.”
“How do ya know it's not your thing if you've never tried it?” Apple Bloom asked.
“I just know it isn't, okay?” he answered sharply, soon realising it was a harsher tone than he had intended.
Apple Bloom visibly flinched, causing a pang of guilt to lurch in Black Sail's stomach. “Sorry,” he said more calmly. “I'm just not in the mood for it, if that's okay. Maybe another time?”
The young mare regained her smile almost instantly. “Sure!” she said cheerily, unexpectedly patting the dark colt on his shoulder. He tensed up from her touch, not being used to physical contact with ponies his age, but feeling oddly grateful for it at the same time.
Books now under his hoof, he felt the urge to get to his first lesson of the day. “I'll see you around, Apple Bloom,” he murmured quickly, still avoiding her eyes.
“Yeah! See ya!”
Black Sail spared no hesitation as he turned and trotted swiftly down the corridor, desperate to avoid any more company. What he wasn't aware of was the curious and concerned gaze Apple Bloom had on her face as she stared at the unusual scars that decorated his flank. A hoof went to her chin as she watched him disappear. She was going to get to the bottom of his behaviour, if it was the last thing she did.
“Darling, you're back!” Flare cried, reaching through the door to pull a dark red stallion into a passionate embrace.
“It's so good to see you, Flare,” Soulburn said softly, cradling his wife to his chest and kissing her on the cheek.
His gaze went to Black Sail, who, unlike his mother, kept well away from the intimacy.
Soulburn took the opportunity to study his son carefully, something he hadn't had the chance to do for a long time. He certainly had life in him again; his eyes alert and intelligent, his stance strong and mature. But Soulburn knew the colt extremely well, and he couldn't help feeling that something was still amiss. Black Sail lacked enthusiasm. After all, here he was – his father – eager to take his family into his arms again... and the black pony was simply uninterested. Worry tugged at him desperately, but the elated expression on Flare's face forced him to keep it in. For now, he would try and make contact with Black Sail, in the way that he used to.
“How are you, my boy?” he asked, gently releasing Flare to take a step towards him. “School all right?”
Black Sail nodded, his head low. “Yes.”
His voice was barely above a mumble. And there was something else too; something in the tone of his voice. Was it... anger?
A moment of awkward silence followed, leaving Soulburn uncertain of what to say. It seemed difficult to approach his son, more than ever before. And as the evening went on, it only became more difficult.
Even in the lovely atmosphere of the warm house, with everything familiar surrounding him, Soulburn felt incredibly tense during the time he was there. Flare showered him with attention, not stopping for a moment as she talked about the beauty of Ponyville, and the excitement of her new copy-writing job. It was lovely for Soulburn to see her happy, at least, considering how distraught past events had made her. Her eyes sparkled again, in the beautiful way that he remembered from when they were teenagers.
Black Sail didn't share her happiness, it seemed. Soulburn tried to encourage him to talk at the dinner table, asking him about school, whether he had made friends, and if he had made any new crafts recently. The black colt replied with small answers, none of them enthusiastic. He appeared neutral about school, neither liking or hating it, but didn't seem to mention specific names of his friends. And as for his crafts... well, as usual, he hadn't made anything resembling a craft for months.
His Cutie Mark was clearly visible on his flank again, despite the small scars outlining the rim of the image, but it didn't seem to play a part in him anymore. If he wasn't living up to his talent, then what was the role of his mark?
After a long time concealing his worry, Soulburn finally gave in. He waited until Flare was out of the room, leaving only him and his son sitting in the living room together. And then he spoke, softly but firmly.
“Black Sail?”
“What?” the dark colt immediately spat, his eyes keenly avoiding his father's.
Soulburn was quite taken aback by the venom in his son's voice, but pressed on. “Something's not right about you. I know it isn't.”
Black Sail bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes intently focused on the carpet below his feet.
“Now you listen to me,” Soulburn continued, shuffling forward in his chair, “you're my son, and I love you. Whatever's wrong, I want to help you out. Talk to me. Please.”
A scornful noise escaped Black Sail's nostrils as he shook his head in disbelief. He finally stared into his father's eyes, a flame alight in his pupils. “Oh, so now you want to talk to me? After all the time you've been away from me and Mum – after all the times you could have come home to make sure we were all right, you think now is the right moment to have a catch-up? Why should I talk to you now, if I could never rely on you to be around before?”
Soulburn was left speechless as he rendered the meaning of his son's words. Clearly the colt had wanted to let out that withheld rage for a long time. It clawed at something deep inside him, making him feel a significant sense of guilt. Had he been away for so long that Black Sail had truly felt abandoned?
Trying to keep his manner cool, Soulburn sighed heavily. “I know I've been away a lot – more than I ever planned to. I'm sorry for that. But that's the nature of my job, Black Sail. Being a journalist is heavy work, and you know I have to travel a lot. You also know that I'd do anything to get back to you if I could, but it's often not possible in the circumstances I get caught in.”
He hung his head shamefully. He didn't think his words were helping to repair any damage he had already made. “But, Black, I'm here now. I know it seems like a hundred years too late to you, but it's the best I can do. And it hurts me to know that all the time I've been away, my son's been unhappy, for whatever reason.”
“Don't act like you don't know what the reason is, Dad,” Black Sail retorted, his voice retaining its poisonous tone.
Soulburn sighed. “If this is still about your Cutie Mark–”
“When has it not been about my Cutie Mark?” Black Sail suddenly roared. “You don't get it, Dad! Ever since what happened all that time ago, I've been trying to convince myself that I'm happy; that everything's okay and just like it used to be. It's mostly for Mum that I act that way. I hate seeing her worry about me. But I've not had the support to get past what's happened to me! All you two have done is shove me into some new place and hope that I'll recover on my own!”
Soulburn bit his lip, shooting a glance to the kitchen where Flare was currently tidying up. Somehow he sensed she was listening to their conversation.
Lowering his voice, he said, “Black, we assumed everything was all right with you now. You've improved so much over the last few years, and never did anything to suggest otherwise. But if you've been keeping emotions bottled up all this time, then that's ridiculous. You should have talked about it.”
“You don't listen, do you?” Black Sail snapped, the volume of his voice causing Soulburn to wince. Flare could surely hear this. “You weren't there for me to talk about it with! And there was no way I could bring it up with Mum; she's been so stressed worrying about me and I didn't want to bring all that back again!”
Soulburn took a deep breath to calm himself, speaking as quietly as possible. “I understand where you're coming from. I'm really sorry I haven't been here for you. I'm sorry I haven't been the dad you wanted me to be. You feel like I abandoned the family, and I get that. But like I said: I'm here now, and I want you to tell me everything.”
Black Sail stared at the floor, his mouth drawn out in a firm line. Soulburn waited patiently as a silence fell over the two of them, only the ticking sound of the clock piercing the air. Then Soulburn's heartbeat significantly rose as he detected movement in his peripheral vision. He turned to see Flare standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at the scene uncertainly. Her stature reminded him of an innocent filly walking in on an argument between parents. Though his heart ached for her, he couldn't say explain anything. Not now. All attention was on his son.
The silence stretched painfully between them, and after a while it seemed as though Black Sail wasn't going to say another word. Then, with movement so abrupt it startled his father, the colt got up from the couch and marched to the stairs. “There's nothing to talk about,” he said with a cold, dismissive tone, and with that, headed up to his bedroom, leaving his parents alone. The air seemed to grow cold in the seconds following his departure.
“What's he been saying to you?” Flare suddenly asked.
Soulburn's heart sank as he stared up at his wife. She was on the verge of tears.
Unable to form words, he shook his head helplessly. What was he to tell her? Just when she'd finally gotten back on her feet? His throat constricted as he felt his own eyes grow moist. If he'd planned how he'd wanted his return to go, he certainly wouldn't have wanted any of this.
