Scootaloo's Demise

Scootaloo's Demise

By Derpyhooves15

Scootaloo Cocked her ear and shuffled slowly up to the large oak door of the orphanage office. As she moved ever closer, the voices of the 2 Ponies inside became clearer and clearer and she could hear that one Pony was excited and jittery, but the other pony, Mrs Hop Field, her carer to be precise, was nervous. Slyly, Scootaloo Pressed her ear up to the thin, cold, door and Listened to the conversation Within.

"Scootaloo is such a lovely pony Mrs Hop Field, and I'm sure with my skills i can teach her to fly in no time. Bit curious though about her not being airborne by now, most fillies are zipping around by now, like that girl Rainbow Dash. Why i saw her flying at the age of 6."

The pony speaking was another potential Adoptive Parent come to the orphanage, Scootaloo was always a gem in there eyes, but here Scootaloo stood, listening to two ponies deciding her future.

"Well yes, it is quite unusual she can gain enough air to power that scooter of hers, but i just havent seen much development. She's desperate to fly, the poor dear." rang out Mrs Hop Field

"Where did you say she came from again?"

Scootaloo's tensed up.

"No, no, no! Don't tell her Mrs Hop Field. Please!" Murmured Scootaloo in anguish, for this was the point she dreaded. This was always where things went wrong.

There was a Moments silence On the Other side of the door as Mrs Hop Field considered what to say.

"Mrs Hop Field?"

"Coltnobyl" came a quite response

"Excuse me, what did you say?"

Fear bubbled in both Ponies voices at the mention of the name

"Scootaloo came from Coltnobyl, in The Hoofkrain"

"I take it...."

there was a moments Awkward silence and Scootaloo screamed inside

".....from, before the Accident"

"She's a type one victim"

That was it. Scootaloo new that no one wanted her after this was said. She didn't even know what it meant. Whenever she asked about it, ponies wanted nothing to do with it. When they found out she was a "type one victim", they wanted nothing to do with her. A chair shuffled inside the room and hard hooves clattered on the floor. Scootaloo, rushed across the stone floor, wings fluttering as she went in an attempt to gain some lift. As usual, none came. She skidded to a halt and dropped onto her flank. She started drawing in the dust as the door opened. The potential adoptive parent stormed through the office door and made to turn down the corridor when she caught sight of the orange filly. Scootaloo looked up, tears starting to make their way down her face. The Pony recoiled, fear in her eyes.

"Sorry." She said, but there was no effort of comforting tone behind it. With that she turned and hastily made her way out of the door. Scootaloo watched the place where the pony had been until she heard the door slam. She kicked the floor, sending up a small plume of dust. Looking behind her she saw 3 or 4 other Orphaned Fillies staring at her from the shadows.

"Go away!" Screamed Scootaloo, her voice cracking under her tears. With that the Fillies turned and ran, dust being kicked up from their hooves.

"Scootaloo, be calm dear" Came the soothing voice of Mrs Hop Field. But Scootaloo would not be calmed, it was all that old ponies fault in her mind.

"NO!" she shrieked. "Its your Fault! Its always your fault! I'm going to be here forever because of you, why cant you lie for once? Then they might think your normal, they don't need to know that I'm a type one victim. I don't even know what it means, but cant you just not tell them...cant.....cant....ca...." With this Scootaloo started to cry harder. It was always the same, those 3 words. Scootaloo hated them, they had ruined her chances of a normal life so many times, and she was fed up of it.

"Scootaloo dea-"

"STOP CALLING ME DEAR!"

"Scootaloo, i have to tell them about where your from, otherwise it not fair on them. They need to know."

This statement struck her hard, even if it was supposed to make things better. She stopped sobbing.

"What!? Its not fair on them? What about me? You never tell me what it means, or whats so special about Coltnobyl and why I'm a victim. There is nothing wrong with me."

"Your to young to understand darling, its a subject for grownups. Of course there is nothing wrong with you, some ponies are just afraid of what happened"

Scootaloo could just not comprehend how stupid this old pony was being.

"But why are they afraid? What happened?" There were no longer undertones of sadness in her voice, but a seething rage which could not be contained.

"You wont understand dear."

Thats was it, she couldn't take anymore of these stupid excuses.

"JUST TELL ME YOU OLD HAG!"

It took a while for what she had just said to be realized, by Mrs Hop Field, but even Scootaloo

"Room. Now." Mrs Hop Field was calm but commanding. Scootaloo, still writhing in anger, spun round and skulked towards the stairs to the upper floor. She saw movement, blurred by tears as other orphans scattered before her. Her wings fluttered as she began to climb the stairs. Scootaloo crossed the the landing, and entered her room kicking the door closed behind her.

Scootaloo took her head out of the pillow and looked around her room. She had no idea how long it had been since she had yelled at her carer, but it was now dark. She slipped from her bed and crossed the room to switch the light on. With a short buzz and flicker, the room was bathed in a dull light. She threw her self onto the bed, wings swiping frantically in the hope she could gain some air. They failed her once again and she face planted into the mattress. Scootaloo moaned and sat up. She looked at her room. It wasn't particularly impressive and was largely bare due to her lack of any real possessions. There was a Ball and her helmet, sat on the floor next to her blue scooter, and on her shelf were a book on flying and a small collection of her preened feathers. Next she looked at her least favorite thing, which she kept just for its role it played in her life. On the wall, hanging in the shadowy corner was an old blanket and paper tag. This was what she was found in apparently. She was told that during some accident in Coltnobyl she was evacuated. No one really knew how it happened, but she ended up in the back of a mail cart in Ponyville, with only a rough blanket, and a paper tag. The tag read:

SCOOTALOO

TYPE 1 VICTIM

EFFECTS UNKNOWN

The anger welled inside Scootaloo again and she lept of her bed and landed a firm kick on her scooter. She cringed and looked down at her now bleeding hoof. She slipped into bed, and welcomed its embrace.

Scootaloo pawed at her breakfast, turning it around the plate. The events of the night before plagued her mind, not helped by the looks of fear from some of the younger fillies and colts, disgust from the more mature orphans and disappointment from Mrs Hop Field who sat at the end of the table staring at the orange filly. Scootaloo sat alone, the nearest pony being for seats down from her. She could hear them muttering. Some about how horrid she was to the pony which looked after her. Other's showing mild sympathy for her, after all, she had been there longer than them all. But Mostly, she heard the usual snide comments about either her background, or her not being able to fly. One colt bucked up the courage to call out "Standaloo". It was a terrible nickname, even by dumb pony standards, but it still stung. Scootaloo Pushed her plate away and got up from the table. It was always this way for her. Whatever seemed like the most important thing in her mind, others always saw her lack of flight as the weirdest thing. She stormed out of the room.

Once again Scootaloo was sat on her bed, pouting about her life. She looked at her scooter, it made her sad. It was always the same, sure, when she was on the scooter she was damn near the second fastest pony in Ponyville.But when she looked at it, it reminded her that she couldn't fly and this was what brought her into her lowest points. She could easily put up with not having a cutie mark, loads of ponies didn't have them in Ponyville. The "type 1 victim" thing rarely upset her, it was only important when some pony came round and took an interest in her. But the lack of flight, it was a constant evil fact of her life. Everywhere she went, everything she did, her wings would flit about on her back, churning at the air in a hopeless attempt to lift her young body. Most ponies her age were flying easily, some were even making stuff of legends, such as her Idol, Rainbow Dash. She wanted to fly, she wanted to fly now, maybe then she could be normal in some ponies eyes.

She looked over the cliff, then up across the lake below. It was perfect, here she could try to fly. She had read of young foals being able to fly in desperate situations, they just needed the kick off escaping a predator, or falling of a cliff. Scootaloo reckoned that if she failed to fly, she could just lock her wings and glide into the water, there was only a small piece of beach below, she would be easily able to clear it. She was confident, she was strong, but mostly she was fueled with rage and sadness. She knew she could do this. She would show every pony. Scootaloo went some distance back from the edge of the cliff, and cracked her joints and stretched her wings, giving her thats feel of power and strength. She charged forward, hooves churning up the soft ground. She neared the edge, her wings started to churn, she could feel them beating hard, she felt lift. Scootaloo jumped. she lifted from the ground and hung in the air over the edge of the cliff. Looking down, she panicked. Her wings flailed and the air was dumped from under them. She turned onto her back and started to fall. She spread her wings out, but they just buckled under the force of the air. Scootaloo screeched as she plummeted toward the sand below. With a deafening crunch, she hit the ground, and fell silent.

Her eye opened slowly. Everything was blurred, the sand and lake were mixed in one with the, now night, sky. She felt a dull pain in her back, and her body ached. She tried to open her other eye but was met with searing pain and a small trickle of warm liquid rolled onto her cheek. She lifted her foreleg to her cheek and wiped away the liquid. She could smell blood, her blood. she moved her head and studied her body. One wing was tucked under body, where it ached but did not seem damaged. But her other wing was crumpled at a strange angle on her back. She flexed the muscles and found that it didn't hurt. But it it didn't move. Panicked, she tried to roll over only to be met with an agonizing pain in her back and the bloodcurdling sound of bone grinding upon bone. She tried to kick her rear legs but they wouldn't move, nor would her tail. She panicked, tears rolled from her working eye and she began to hyper ventilate. She flailed around, trying to move, but was met only by pain and resistance. She wailed, screaming at the top of her lungs, closing her good eye, trying with all her might to fight the pain and move. The sand underneath her ran wet with blood from her wing and eye. Scootaloo kicked her forelegs, churning up blood red sand.

"Help! HELP! HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!"

She hollered in desperation, her throat gargling and contorting the sounds into a crescendo of agonizing noise. Scootaloo, stopped kicking, she shivered and curled her working legs into her body, securing as much warmth as she could. She felt cold, and the pain was dulling. Her eye flitted about, searching for help, not believing where she was. Her mind screamed at her, telling her she was stupid, rejected and broken. She was a broken pony. Her vision began to blur. The sky spun and the water boiled. Blackness swirled in her mind, her thoughts being swallowed. As her eye closed and darkness enveloped her. She heard the sound of an explosion, a train and the orphanage door in her head. Her eye flitted open one last time, long enough to see the silhouette of Mrs Hop Field up on the cliff, shouting with all her might at the orange filly.