Five years can do something to a doe. What else was there to say. Dark room. Sometimes let out to mingle with other convicted. Some were nice. Pleasant, even. But most were rotten. Dirty scum. Sometimes literally. Did not get gender-specific prisons, nor did I get any special treatment. I was kept captive all day, fed spoiled food through a door slot in a doggy bowl and entitled to a shot glass of water. Never allowed to stay beside one cellmate for too long. But made connections

Ponies were more forgiving toward my age than other inmates. Found other deer, but didn't speak english. Also tried to assault me in showers. Bashed skull into tiled wall corner. Guards sentenced me to nightly beatings. Became a place I found solace in, realizing the pain of losing everyone I loved could never be replicated. Did not gain love in prison. Gained determination.

Determination became pushups, situps, daily yard gallops and various other exercises. Didn't bother with benchpressing. Instead, learned how to use legs for striking. One of the gym trainers set me up for training when I killed a few feral ghouls in cafeteria basement. Apparently, tunnel complex ran through seedy ingredients storage. Warden gave me dirty look, but also took interest in abilities.

Spent all my nights remembering how Uncle Tesla let me go. All my memories, tainted by that silent hate. Didn't feel like yelling, no. Hate didn't make me loud. It made me quiet. Understood there were no words for such a primal emotion stewing in my gut. Trained on punching bags, kicking bags and other inmates when they tried to ambush me in the showers.

One day, I was moved to the windowed cells. Had bars, sunlight pouring in and even a cellmate. Met a nice young colt incarcerated for serial murder. Saw him smile at the guards as they passed by and felt connection right away. Smile was so insincere. Did not know how to feel, unlike me, who could, but usually didn't. In ways, we were best friends. In ways, he was just a child stuck in purgatory, surrounded by the murderous, yet separated by his frozen cage.

His name was Sunflower Seed.

His mane was gilded and his eyes were milky blue. Seemed more cyan in his left eye, due to what, though, would never know. He didn't have a scar overlaying the bad eye. He wore a striped, black and white outfit like the rest of us. But he had a special trinket with him. Called it a talisman, saying it was his prized possession.

We were in the yard one, misty morning and we stuck to our corner. He sat along the wall as usual, mixing gradients and pastel hues on his canvas. The other prisoners might've laughed at him. Might've called him Flowerboy. But I knew his genius. I peaked over as I curled twenty pounds, training my left foreleg.

"Hey, Sunflower. What's that."

His eyes were heavy as he rasped the answer out.

"This... well, this is art. This is my take on Starry, Starry Night. Notice the berry reds looming over the happy, glowing city. This is what we call tension. The shapes above the tiny city are large and jagged to cause alarm. I'm not sure why a bloody sky would want to eat a city, but... this is just my mood."

Put left cloven forehooves over lips... smiling.

"Can you do the same with blood?"

His head jolted upright and lightning struck his eyes.

"My word... you're right. We could do that. We could use blood and mix it with paint to keep it from browning. Oh, you're a genius, Hope. An absolute genius."

"If I'm a genius, can you teach me how to paint?"

Loose, relaxed smile splayed over his lips. Sunflower gazed upwards and took in the clouds. Painted canvas of splotchy oranges, honey and splotches of berry juice. The breeze kicked our manes up as we met eyes. I just... stared into him, patient for an answer. But a soft light shone in his. When he answered, he turned his head and tried to hide the warmth in his cheeks.

Cool violet pigments over his muzzle bridge.

Hot.

"Well... I... I suppose it wouldn't be too much, Hope. Just promise me you'll do me a favor once we're done. It won't be much."

I agreed. I was clueless to the favor, but I figured if it was sex, I wouldn't mind. Body was going haywire at the time. Hormonally mostly. Sunflower Seed taught me the basics of painting, while I exchanged my knowledge of drawing. Struck him dead with awe when he learned shading and bolding determined organic visuals. I was dumbstruck when I discovered vivid painting. Ninety nine percent smudging colors. Ten percent vision and witty corrections. Could not fathom how he learned all his technique at such a young age.

We spent the rest of our night discussing manga, comic books and radioplays. He criticized anime for not being realistic.

"I mean, what is this... power fantasy? Who wants to be a superhero at the age of sixteen. Wouldn't you be more interested in mares and fitting into society? What about those terrible middleschoolers-controlling-robots cliché. That doesn't make any sense."

I gave my rebuttal clicking away on an old typewriter the warden gave us. Something about creating distractions in lieu of Hearth's Warming. We were forced to write a script for an overly sappy holiday special. I was no playwright. But that's probably why he chose me in the first place.

"You criticize anime but you really don't see flaws in classical literature. The obscure terminology is nothing to brag about when the slang they use has more than one meaning and can make or break your experience. Not to mention, though manga has power fantasies littered all over the place, victorian and early 1900's literature focuses on boring high class daydreams. Authors of the past used to write rape in a novel to appeal to the chaste noblewomen. And don't get me started on all that ludicrous stockholm syndrome..."

We dispensed criticism the entire night. But, it was pleasant conversation. No one else in our lives had the mental capacity. And some days, neither did we. That night in particular, we slept soundly, ruffling our coats together. I flicked my tongue against his chin, just to tease him.

Sunflower loved it. But he shifted his muzzle away so I could spoon him from the rear. As I lay behind him, my only friend in the winter raging on, I felt serenity again. Maybe he wasn't innocent. Wasn't cute like First Rain. But he understood me. Feeling in chest coursed through my veins. Felt disconnected from the hate of the prison, becoming deaf to howls of violence outside our cell. I closed my eyes and pictured myself painting... making daddy's voice proud.

He told me he had a plan to break free one day. But it'd take the knife at somepoint. Daddy told me he loved me and called me his princess.

Bright smile.

Author's Note

Level Up!

New Perk Gained!

Dreemur

Your desire to paint increases your bleed damage by 5%, while decreasing your ballistic damage by 5%, too. You can now extract blood to produce blood packs, provided an empty I.V bag is available.