Peeled Away

by Palm Palette

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Horror
Length: 4336

Clementine wants to be happy, but the world is an unforgiving place. No matter how hard she tries, she can't escape the cruel and unjust reality in which she lives. That won't stop her from trying, though. After all, she just wants to be happy.

Every day can be perfect in spite of its flaws. It's just a matter of keeping my chin up and focusing on the good things in life. And it works... sometimes.

The world has no respect for such blinders, though, and there's no escaping when it wants to assert its cruel reality. I should know, after all. My life fell apart ages ago and I've been unable to pick up the pieces and move on.

...but while I'm still here, I'll try my best to stay happy. It's what my husband would have wanted.

Published 2015-12-14 09:20:03 UTC
Last updated 2015-12-14 09:20:03 UTC

Peeled Away

“Daisy, your marigolds are simply divine!” I do declare, with pep in my step.

The pink flower pony nods her head as she waters the plants. She comes by every day to check up on them, and they're always so splendid. If I didn't know better, I'd say that the radiance of her golden blossoms could outshine the sun itself!

“Did you know that I saw Roseluck yesterday? I know you all work together, but I think she's envious of the way you grow such beautiful carnations in the most dazzling of colors. Any other pony would struggle, but you just make the whole thing look easy.”

Plodding along the row, Daisy nods as the pours water from her can.

“Yes. Well, it's nothing that she can't match with her own roses, I guess.” I pause to wait for her to pluck a stray dandelion from her carefully maintained garden. Some of the school kids love to blow on the fuzz balls and the seeds just get everywhere.

Having worked on a farm myself, I know first-hoof just how irritating invasive plants can be. I don't know how she manages to keep calm every day in spite of little transgressions like that. Hmm, though admittedly I grew up used to city life and there was always somepony else around to clean up after us. Maids, street sweepers, custodians, janitors... I rub my chin. Did we ever do any chores ourselves?

Daisy turns around and I have to scramble to get out of her way. She bends down and plucks another weed that I hadn't even noticed. Huh. Say what you want about her flighty demeanor—she has a good eye for plants.

“You know, I've been thinking.” I plod next to her, but keep a healthy distance in case she decides to veer towards me. “This garden would look much better with an orange tree. Perhaps a clementine? I'm particularly fond of those because I'm named after them. So what do you say? Do you want to plant one?”

Daisy hangs her watering can on a hook on the corner post of her garden fence. She grins with that simple delight one gets from taking pleasure in the vibrancy of life. A job well done, she steps onto the path and walks toward town.

“So what about that tree?” I ask. “I'd love to have some shade.”

I follow her her a while, and then, all too soon, I can't. I stand there and her form dwindles in size as she walks away towards Ponyville.

“Well you don't have to decide right away,” I say. “Think about it!”

A furtive glance shows no other ponies nearby, so I lean down and take a big whiff of her marigolds.

Nothing... as usual...

But they do look as though they smell nice anyway. I shan't allow a minor detail to ruin such a beautiful, sunny day. A bit of rebelliousness takes root in my heart, and I feel the urge to just romp in the flowers. I'd ask Daisy if I could, but...

I shrug and flop over like a little filly rolling around in the snow. Heh. To think that a pony like myself, a proper lady, would ever do such a thing—but if everypony's going to ignore me, then I'm not going to bother to act with dignity.

The sky is a blue bowl of wispy wonder. Thin, curly clouds up beyond the reach of pegasai remind me of a happier time. My own mane is a lovely crimson, and it has a tendency to fray around the edges whenever I get stressed. No amount of conditioner can fix it, either. To think that at some point in my life, the only thing I worried about was whether or not that handsome farm boy would notice me...

I guess I can't complain. We got married and had three beautiful kids, well, two now...

A small bird passes over, a robin, I think, and there's a bright green pegasus, probably Mary May, breaking up some of the lower, fluffier clouds. I do remember when she was just a little filly. A filly like—

Sighing, I watch her stumble as a larger cloud trips her up. She's back on it in a flash, swooping down to give it a swift kick. It thunders—

Gasping, my heart races, I freeze and cold sweat drips down my flanks. I... As soon I can, I take deep breaths. Was that another panic attack? How is that even possible? I know I have every right to be traumatized, but this is ridiculous! It wasn't even a big lightning bolt! I frown as the mare flies off to finish her work. Sky gazing is no longer fun. Why can't anything be fun? Can I not even find one moment to be truly happy?

Getting up, I brush myself off. Not that I need to bother, of course. The flowers stand tall in defiance of my presence. Aside from this part of Daisy's garden, my spot of earth holds a piece of road leading to town, a rusty old park bench, twelve thousand six hundred and forty-two blades of grass, and, well, me, I guess.

With not much better to do, I walk out in the road and poke the rocks. I'd count them too, but they move around so much that I keep losing track. Idly, I let my mind wander.

My husband used to call me cow-friend, after the way my hair sprung out when I got stressed. He said it looked like I'd been licked, though I'm not really sure how he knew what that looked like. Betsy and the other cattle are nice people and I can't ever picture them acting like that. Well, perhaps as calves... though we all did stupid stuff when we were young.

Gah!

A horrendous black blob obscures my vision before the backside of a tan stallion appears like a wall. A frigid chill runs down my spine and my fur stands on end. My teeth clatter and it feels as if I've been run over by a glacier.

“Caramel, it's rude to walk through people! Pay attention to where you're going, you big oaf!”

I shake my hoof at him, stomp on the ground, and give him the meanest glare that I can muster. He doesn't so much as slow down, of course. To him, I'm nothing more than the faintest of whispers in the middle of a blaring rock concert.

...I should probably get off the road before this happens again.

Moaning, I slink away and settle down next to the park bench. Sitting on it isn't really an option. I'd ask how my life went so horribly wrong, but that kind of question is pointless. Even if there was something I could have done differently, that wouldn't change what actually happened. All I can do is try to keep my spirits up.

Ponies walk by, and I smile and wave. What fun! I'd sing but—oh, why the hay not?

“Today's the best day of the rest of your life!
Twinkleshine, you crazy girl.
Give that happy grin a whirl!
Cherry Berry have some fun.
Lick that cherrychanga, yum!
Cloud Kicker, go win some more.
You have more of that in store!

“Don't dare to even feel the slightest bit of strife!
Townsponies, you're all the best.
You've all aced life's biggest test!
For the world is happy here,
And to others you endear.
This joy you hold in your hearts—
can't be measured—off the charts!

“Today's the best day of the rest of your lives!
So get out there and, uh... seize the knives?”

Crap. I should have thought that all the way through. Why did I even bother? Honestly, I don't know how other ponies manage. I'm probably the only one who doesn't have that knack for impromptu musical numbers. Great. Now I feel even worse then when I started.

I drag myself back into the flower garden stand amongst the marigolds. Its silly, but I like to pretend that their golden hues camouflage my yellow fur and that's the reason other ponies don't see me.

Sometimes, I feel as if I never grew up. I wonder what I'd have been like if I did? Some wrinkly old maid swinging a rolling pin and screaming at fillies to get off my lawn? Heh. Sometimes I think that old ponies act that way because they never grew up, either.

“C'mon! I'll race ya back to town.”

That voice! Did my ears deceive me!? I twist my head and the happiest yellow filly I've ever seen is racing down the path. It really is Apple Bloom! Oh my gosh, she has a cutie mark now! It's really fancy too: a super-colorful shield containing an apple with a heart. I race up to join her while I can.

“Apple Bloom, wait! You simply must tell me all about your cutie mark! I want to know how you got it, what it means, and what you plan on doing now.”

She doubles down, galloping faster and I wince as she speeds up. This is going to hurt.

“Stop! You have to stop! Please listen; I really want to—ahh!”

Abruptly, my body stops responding. All of my limbs feel like lead, and I'm whipped back towards my spot of earth. Unable to move, I bounce and skid, rolling along like a rag doll. My head pounds with an aching fury and by the time I can pick myself up, she's long gone.

Still, I stand and wave. “Apple Bloom, I want you to know just how deeply disappointed I am. I wanted at least one of kids to get an orange mark.” Chuckling, I lower my hoof. “Oh who am I kidding? I'd be proud of you no matter what, even if you wound up with broccoli on your flanks. I just wish you'd come visit more often. I hardly ever see you.”

I'm—

She's—

Choking up, I bite my lip and try to fight back the tears. Is it too much to ask to be able to hold my baby daughter? I just want to pat her on the back! One touch—that's all I ask, just one touch!

Sniffling, I close my eyes and take beep breaths. I know I should count my blessings, but it's just so hard. She was right there, and I couldn't do anything! And then she was gone. I-I—

“Hey, have y'all seen Apple Bloom? She ran off not to long ago and—thanks.”

No! Not her! Anyone but her!

Raising my head, I shake with pure fury. That vile, loathsome thing nods its head when Lemon Hearts points a hoof towards town. Well, it's made a mistake by stepping on my territory. Snorting, I jump forward, pivot around and buck that stupid orange face right in the teeth!

“Die, you filthy changeling!”

The kick goes right through her, but I'm not done yet, not by a long shot. Following through, I swing my hooves, punching her in the hide as hard as I can. My hooves sink deep into her flesh. “Your kind killed my husband! You murdered my baby! And you did this to me—this!”

Each punch feels like I'm striking into a vast ocean full of ice, and my limbs ache from the chill, but I don't stop. I won't ever stop. I send blows to her face, her chest, that stupid fake cutie mark, and I even punch her right in the gut. When my forelegs grow too numb, I swing around and start bucking again.

“I want nothing more than to see you all dead! You hear me? Dead! If it's at all within my power, I'll laugh as your broken and battered husks march to the moon! I'll kill you first, Apple-ling. Your kind have no right to exist!”

I know it's not doing any good, and I pause to catch my breath. My flanks ache and I pant from exhaustion. But I don't care. I summon my inner strength and beat her some more.

“Do you think I care if you don't know you're a changeling? Do you think that I care if the hive needs a new queen? Your entire existence is a lie! Die! Die! DIE!”

My punches and kicks don't even faze the loathsome creature. Falling to the ground, I'm so numb that I can't even feel my legs anymore. Adding insult to injury, Lemon Hearts steps on me. The chill hoof plunges straight through my beating heart and I whimper and cry at the pain.

Apple-ling's eyes widen. The foul green tint of her irises is the only hint of her true nature and vile self. “Do y'all feel a chill?”

Lemon Hearts raises her hoof to shrug and I use this respite to spit at Apple-ling's face. “Even your country-isms suck! You can't use 'y'all' to address a single pony!”

Of course, it makes no difference. I feel so empty and useless inside as she marches on, wheeling that empty cart of pies behind her. Why can't I ever enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like the joy of strangling the life out those who've wronged you?

My heart starts to warm and instantly, my teeth chatter. My legs are all lumps and I can't feel what I'm doing, but I struggle and manage to get off the road. I must look like a newborn foal, unable to properly control my limbs.

As I lay there, huddled in a ball, teeth chattering and shivering while I try to shrug off the chill of the living, I let myself remember.

She was such a sweet little girl. She had the cutest little freckles and the clearest evergreen eyes—not at all like sickly lime her pretender sports. When she was three, she got her little hooves into the chicken feed. Most foals would probably suck on it, but not my little girl. Oh no, she was a Big Girl and dragged that sack of corn back and forth through the living room, spreading all the seeds into neat little rows. It was an awful mess to clean up, but she was so proud of herself. After all, she'd 'planted' them just she'd seen her father do in the fields.

Heh. It's a shame she died, but the warmth of her memory helps carry me on. If I have anything to be truly thankful for, it's that I know she's gone and not left to suffer like myself. Both she and Jonagold are truly dead, and they're the lucky ones.

Jonagold...

I sigh and sit back up to watch the sunset. What I wouldn't give to have his warm body to lean on. It's times like this that I miss him the most. While I try to pretend that I have a normal life, I won't even think about trying to forget him. I owe him that much, at least.

He never was all that eloquent and struggled to express himself at times, but his body language was perfectly clear. After dark, when the lights were out and the kids were tucked into bed, we played a little game. I'd dress up in flimsy outfits, flirt with him, tease, and let him chase me a little. Then I'd strike a new pose, each and every time. But no—he had this one specific position that he preferred almost exclusively.

I guess I can't complain given such good results. Whenever her grabbed me and rolled me over, I always knew what was coming. Heh—coming. Sometimes I swear that boy spent more time plowing me then he did his own fields.

I sigh as the horizon's light fades away and the fog rolls in. It's going to be a full moon, and I tingle with dreadful anticipation. It's not as bad as it once was. Without the mare in the moon, the pull seems to lack purpose and urgency. I can resist it longer, but not forever. I wonder whatever happened to her?

A soft, silver glow penetrates the fog, and the spookatrice crows, heralding the dawn of the dead. I don't think that's its real name, but that's the one I've given it. I've never actually seen it as it only comes out before the fog lifts, but I have seen its shadow and it's as large as a dragon. Its cry is one that chills the heart and makes my fur stand on edge. It sounds something like a hoof scraping along a chalkboard deep inside an old well amplified a thousand times by a megaphone.

...I'll be glad when the fog lifts.

And it does. It dissipates like a stray cloud at the hooves of a skilled pegasus, breaking up suddenly, all at once.

The moon rests perched on the horizon like a glowing white marble. There are trees, but they don't matter. The light shines through them to reach my eyes. Every fiber in my being, every hair on my body, every breath I breathe I can feel with the utmost clarity. There's an electricity in the air—no, magnetism—and it's pulling me. The moon is my home. It's the end of my journey. I want nothing more than to walk into its light and let its soothing glow embrace me.

I grit my teeth and turn away. The allure is very real, but I also know in the bottom of my gut that it's wrong. Behind me, stars walk along the earth. These are the souls of the departed, and they're marching along to join the moon in the sky. I know not who they are, but these are my people. I feel kinship towards them and my heart wishes for nothing more than to join in their pilgrimage.

My heart beats faster and I inch towards the edge of my spot of earth to be as close to the moon as possible. It'll be less painful that way when I finally lose control.

One such star walks the path out of town. My gut wrenches, as I know he'll cross my territory and the touch of the dead is even more painful than that of the living. There's naught I can do about it, though, so I try to guess who he is. Unlike myself, he does look the part of a ghost, being mostly clear and shimmering like a bubble of water under a bright light. His form reminds me of Pipe Down, an old stallion with an unhealthy habit for that pipe of his. Well, he's kicked it now.

I—

What am I doing? I can't stay here. I have to leave!

Rushing towards the moon, I come to an abrupt halt. “No!”

My limbs weigh me down, and I collapse as my body becomes too heavy to lift. No no no!

The moon is all that matters. I can't let myself give up. Every inch that I gain is an inch towards freedom—towards leaving this awful existence behind and finally moving on. With extreme effort, I barely lift my mountainous hooves and drag myself forward. Yes! It's a tiny victory, but it fills me with euphoria.

...then I slip back.

It hurts. It hurts so much. All that I truly want and desire is slipping away.

A light crunching noise draws my attention as the ghost walks down the path. I burn with envy as his unhindered freedom allows him to tread where I cannot. I try again, but fail, and slide back, and again, and get the same result, and again, and he's upon me.

...

I-I—

He walks the path next to me. He looks as thin and fragile as a soap bubble, but there's a power to him, one that can light up the sky. Me? I'm just a pony. I shouldn't interfere. I should let him go. I've suffered enough already.

As he walks past and reaches the edge of my territory, something snaps within me. He can go where I cannot. Perhaps—

“Wait! Stop! Take me with you!”

Rushing toward him, I dive and grab at his ankles. My hoof sinks into his, and I screech with blinding agony. It feels as if I thrust my hoof into a furnace. Pulling back, I suck on it, but the damage has been done. It throbs with terrible agony.

Pipe Down's eyes widen, and he shivers. He looks around, even at me, but his eyes don't linger and they move on. For whatever reason, neither the living nor the dead can see me. “What was that? Is somepony there?”

He jumps and looks at himself. Yeah, I'd be startled too if my voice started sounding like the edge of oblivion. He stops, staring at himself with very wide eyes. Though the pain in my hoof is fierce, I can't help but feel sorry for the guy. This is probably the first time he's seen himself since he died. The moon is just that strong.

Speaking of which, while I still feel its pull, the pain must have been enough to snap me out of my trance. My poor hoof throbs, and while I recover quickly from contact with the living...

Yeah, not worth it.

Pipe Down's staring up at the sky, where the moon is now. He gets up, and moves on, though not as purposeful as before. His march is wilted, and he still glances around. I'd apologize, but he wouldn't hear me. Quite frankly, the searing pain in my hoof is punishment enough. It's going to be a long night.

Looking up at the stars, I wonder if Applejack and Jonagold are there, watching over me. What would they think of me now? I don't know.

There are many things I don't know.

Sucking on my poor, aching hoof, there's much to think about. Why are the living cold? Why do the dead burn? Neither can see nor hear me, but they do seem to notice a chill when I touch them, but not until the pain becomes unbearable. I don't really know what that means. Why am I so different? Why can't I move on? The best I can figure is that means I'm not technically dead, but the implications of that are not things I wish to dwell on.

Why can't I sleep? Why don't I need to eat? Why this spot of earth, specifically? It's part of a garden, part of a road, and a useless park bench that nopony uses because they don't want to get rust on their fur. It's all so random! Is this where the changelings stashed my body?

I'd gnash my teeth right now if I didn't have my hoof in my mouth. If I could, I'd will every single last bit of pain I'd ever felt upon those vile creatures. But I can't. I can't bring myself to wish suffering such as my own upon another. I'd just be merciful and flat-out kill them. Hmm, that does sound brutal, but it doesn't matter. All I'd be doing is freeing them. Why can't I be free?

The moon's beautiful when it glimmers in the sky.

Why did they do this to me? Am I part of their plan? Will they return for me eventually? I'm not sure how I should feel. It seems like my only hope for escaping this torment lies in the chitinous hooves of the very creatures who did this to me in the first place.

...I'd rather not think about that.

Sitting there, I suck on my hoof as the moon marches across the sky. The dead follow, like moths to a flame. By the time morning comes, my aching hoof has started to blister—actual blisters! That hardly ever happens. Why did Pipe Down have to be such a bright soul?

When the moon sets, the dead who have not yet completed their journey sink into the earth. I do not. The horizon glows, and a rooster crows, heralding the dawn of the living.

Getting up, I stare at the corner post in Daisy's garden. Dew covers everything, and the flowers sparkle like stars of their own. Heh.

So much depends upon
a blue watering can
on a post by the marigolds
in the dawn's early light.

Hmm, I'm probably not remembering it correctly, but it's a lovely poem regardless. That's the best way I can think of to start a new day—with a beautiful poem.

Like clockwork, Daisy comes walking down the road. I can't help but grin as the joy in her emerald eyes is infectious. The curls of her lime-colored mane bounce with each step. I hobble over and stand next to her as she sighs and leans against her fence. Before she does her chores, she always stops to admire her garden.

“Daisy, I—ouch!” I wince as I accidentally put weight on my injured hoof and it throbs with renewed passion. I bite my lip and stare at the flower pony. Her pink flank is right there. It rises and falls with each breath that she takes, and she has the purest, most innocent grin on her face.

“I'm so so sorry about this.” Averting my eyes, I reach my injured hoof and stick it in her. It's like plunging my hoof into liquid ice, and I sigh in relief as the burning pain is quenched away. Pulling my hoof out, it's gone numb, but that's better than the agony I was enduring before.

Daisy sighs, and walks away to bite her watering can. I follow as best I can, hobbling on three hooves.

“So have you thought about that orange tree? I think the best place for it would be at the edge of the fence where the marigolds meet the carnations.”

She walks away, swishing her tail as she goes to fill up her watering can at the well.

Today's the day. I can feel it in my heart. She's going to plant that orange tree, and everything's going to get better.