My Personal Hell - Mischief Patchwork

by EyesoreForTheBlind

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 4638

I've got voices in my head, and stitches in my body. They keep me sane, they keep me held together. They're my glue that keep me from falling apart. I don't need any other pony.

I guess, in a way, this is my life story. I could tell you about it if you want.

Mischief Patchwork is probably one of the strangest ponies you could ever see. With the body of a pony mixed with a Changeling, she isn't exactly the most normal mare around. What's even stranger is that she used to be a doll for a little filly.

Published 2016-01-27 20:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-27 20:50:01 UTC

My Personal Hell

I've got voices in my head, and stitches in my body. They keep me sane, they keep me held together. They're my glue that keep me from falling apart. I don't need any other pony.

I've got them.

Who are they you ask? They make up who I am - a stitched together doll made to comfort and soothe. Though I wasn't made for a child. Well- I was, but I wasn't... yes and no.

They are memories. They are remnants of deceased souls that reside inside me. I'm their vessel, but they hold no control over me. They're just there. Voices. Spirits. Words. The two that take shelter in my mind and body are ones I care dearly for. I have known one since my creation, and the other I have come to know since she took residence inside my head. Ever since they became known, I have never been the same.

Now, most ponies would think I was crazy. Schizophrenic. But that's only if I actually was able to tell them. Most ponies don't seem to care for my appearance... especially not after the invasion of the Changelings in Canterlot.

Even before the invasion, I was hated, frowned upon by pony society. Still am too. Sure, I'm not the prettiest mare around, but I wouldn't stoop so low as to call myself a monster. I'm not that low on self-esteem.

Words still hurt though.

So, about the whole 'being made for a doll' thing I mentioned. When I was, well, not alive, I was a normal doll - a filly's play toy. You know what I mean. When you're young, you have that one stuffed animal you take everywhere. You drag it around, play with it, talk to it, and give it the utmost love and affection. You cry when your mom or dad has to take it to get the dirty thing washed. That's me.

I was a little mare's stuffed animal. What animal you ask? I think you may have gotten an idea when I mentioned the invasion of the Changelings.

Yeah, I was designed after a Changeling. One of the most hated and feared creatures of Equestria, even more hated and feared after Chrysalis attempted to take over Equestria by tricking Shining Armor into thinking she was Princess Cadence. Though, I wasn't the normal Changeling. I was made for a child, by the imagination of a child.

The filly who made me had a very creative imagination. When I was made, I was given red and green wings instead of the common blue wings of the insect-like being. My horn was longer than the simple curve, and my tail was a sight to behold. Long and alternating colors of green and grey, it ended with some sort of yellow tuft, and had three leaf thin, diamond shapes with colors of grey, red, and green. Another oddity, I didn't have any holes in my legs. She never liked that about Changelings.

She said all the love they had leaked out of those holes. If I were to keep the love she gave me, I wouldn't have any holes....

...

A-And instead of normal grey ears to match my 'coat', they were green. My hooves were a light grey, but the back two were the same green as my ears. Instead of a bright blue hue for my eyes, they were made red, with cat-like irises. And for my Cutie Mark, I was never given one. Just these green diamond patches. I don't mind it. I don't really have a talent or a purpose anyway.

I think the most interesting (and odd) thing about me would be my mouth. As a doll, it was a zipper. A yellow zipper that opened to reveal the purple stuffing within.

Even thought I was designed after a Changeling, she still said I was a normal pony. I still scoff at that. If I was a normal pony, I wouldn't look the way I do now. The only thing normal about me is my mane.

But... its not my mane...

Anyway, a young filly's imagination is strange. I'm sure she had her reasons. Oh well.

Now, her mother was against the idea of me looking the way I do. She wasn't keen on the idea of her daughter having a Changeling doll. But the filly's father was perfectly fine with it, as he had been the one to introduce her to Changelings. Genetic Splice, her father, was a scientist. He studied many things, but his passion was studying the strange creature my creation was inspired by. For some reason he found them fascinating.

Intriguing.

Gorgeous.

Her mother hated them. Why, I'm not sure. Maybe because they were scary to her. I dunno.

Well, from what I was told, he studied them to find out everything he could. He had several of them. A few times, she was taken to his lab, and she took me with her. I got to see them, and I'll admit, if I was able to feel anything at that time, I would be a little startled too. They would bare their fangs at anything that passed their cages, and emit hissing, clicking, and chirping sounds. There was a certain beauty to them though.

One of them certainly caught my eye. The wings and the horn. Where had I seen them before? She paced a bit in her cage, and stopped when she came close. I rode limply on her back as she got closer, and the Changeling locked eyes with the filly. Normally, one would be scared, but still being a young pony, she hadn't been taught fear yet.

No.

Her lips broke into a huge grin and she smiled. The look on the Changeling's face was a mix of shock, confusion, and curiosity. I could see it from my embroidered eyes. This Changeling was bewildered, and just stared. Never hissed. Never clicked. Never chirped. Never bared her fangs. Even I was surprised. She sat with her fore legs tucked under her chest, and watched the filly. She imitated the Changeling, still holding that broad grin.

Now everypony knows that Changelings feed off love. They gain power and are fed with love and affections they feel from ponies around them. That normally makes the pony feel weak, but not this pony. She had love, and loads of it. She had love for her parents, as well as I. And that Changeling fed off her love, but she didn't seem too affected by it. She had so much love to give, the creature seemed to just be feeding off the excess.

And the wings and horn, I remembered where I had seen them. In the mirror, when I was created. She put me in front of the reflective surface, and I could see myself. My body, wings, horn, tail, zipper mouth, everything.

I was modeled after that Changeling. (Well, the wings, eyes, and horn at least.)

I couldn't feel anything then, and I still don't know how to feel about it.

She came to work with Genetic whenever she was allowed. She would trot right on over to that Changeling and sit with her. She would talk, tell her stories, and even bring her favorite coloring books to slip through the bars. With the small amount of magic given to her by the filly's love, she would color with the crayons. It was sweet, and I enjoyed sitting against her side and watching the two have a good time. Even though the Changeling couldn't speak the same language as the filly, she would reply with clicks or chirps.

Though, these visits became more spread out, more distanced, and then they just stopped completely. When Genetic was asked about why she wasn't allowed, a darkness glazed over his eyes and he shook his head.

"Because I said so." he would reply, and go off to his office.

That's when he became a bit distant. He would spend countless hours in his office, working and going over journals and notes. The only reason I know that is because she put me in there, as her little spy. She would hurry in before he went in there for the day and plop me onto a lower shelf, and dash right back out. This stopped when I was spotted one day.

She was scolded that night for going into his workspace and leaving her toys in there.

I remember why he stopped taking her to the lab. I remember why his eyes became so hazy.

The Changeling had become so weak from hunger, she had starved to death. Since her visits had become less frequent and more far apart, she wasn't able to feed off the love she so desperately needed to live.

She had no idea, because she never felt affected from the feeding. She was never told her friend had died. And Genetic never felt the end to his guilt.

It would only get worse.

And worse it became.

The year after the Changeling's death, Genetic Splice finally decided to go back to the labs instead of working from his office at home. His mane had gone grey from the stress and guilt, but he learned to live with it. He felt it was his fault when he learned of how the creature had died. When the body was burned, something had urged him to keep the wings and horn. He made an excuse in his mind that is was to study the effects of decay on the appendages of a Changeling.

I was outside when it happened. I was left out there, forgotten by a sleeping filly as her mother brought her inside for bed. It was a clear night. The stars above were twinkling and the moon was a bright crescent shape as it hung in the sky. I lay on my back, unable to do anything else as I saw the first sign of a problem.

The twinkling pin pricks in the sky became clouded by a mist, and then huge plumes of smoke. I could see flames licking at the bottom of my vision, but I was unable to look down and look at the source.

What had started the fire I still have no knowledge of to this day. Neither did Genetic.

He was in tears when I was picked up. It was sometime near midnight. I could finally see the house.

Or what was left of it.

It was nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes by dawn. The fire had burned itself out as Genetic sat and watched, his breathing hitching and shaky. Tears dripped from his eyes, down his grey-blue coat, and onto the fabric of my body. They eventually stopped, but only because he had run out of tears to cry. His sobs never stopped.

His wife and daughter were gone, stolen away by such a powerful force. Sometimes I wish I was in there, my fabrics catching fire and burning to ashes just as the house did. Then I wouldn't have to feel, I wouldn't have to experience.

I never asked to feel the same way he did that day.

My place of residence for the next few months was his office at the labs, where Genetic spent his days. Bags formed under his eyes, he became thinner, and his beard was almost never tamed. There was the occasional time where he made it look how it used to. Many ponies from the labs had come to attempt to comfort the grieving unicorn, but to no avail. He shut them out and kept working.

What he was working on had everything to do with me. When I was set down on the desk, he took a long, hard look into my eyes. He stared at me, and then shoved everything off his desk. For months he worked, filling numerous new notebooks to the brim with ink and working on countless experiments that involved the wings and horn of the Changeling that had died so long ago. I would have felt worried at the time, but I was still emotionless. Just a child's toy. When I was finally moved off my position on the shelf, I was set down. That's when everything went dark.

I couldn't see. I felt funny. I hurt.

Wait- hurt?

A soft, hoarse whine came from my throat and something told me I needed to open my eyes. I never needed to close them, so why where they now? I never had fabric for eyelids. It took a moment, but I did manage to raise my eyelids.

I was on the floor. I knew that much. My cheek was flat against the chilling tile floor of Genetic's room, and so was the rest of the left side of my body. I shivered a bit. Cold was definitely something I didn't like. I looked up to meet green eyes and a slightly agape mouth. Genetic Splice was staring at me like some sort of new creature had been shipped into his lab.

"What?" I thought, but to my surprise, I actually vocalized the word. I actually spoke. "What the..." I started to speak more but my throat felt scratchy and dry, so I coughed at the last word.

"Take it easy, Mischief." Genetic's voice was soft and gentle, just as if he was speaking to his beloved daughter. Mischief? Wait, was that me? Why was he actually talking to a doll?

Then it hit me. After the daze and fogginess of my mind faded, I realized.

I was alive.

A hoof helped me into a sitting position, and I started to panic. My eyes darted all around me, until they located a mirror. I locked eyes with myself, looking at my new body. I was the size of an average mare as far as I could tell. Same body as the doll. Same green ears, same red eyes, same grey coat, same tail, same wings, same horn, same... mane? I never had a mane as a doll...so why did I have one now? And it looked so familiar too...A hoof came up to feel it and my gaze travelled to the scientist quizzically.

"I thought it would be a nice touch." he said softly. He sounded almost... sheepish? There was pride in his eyes that I could see. But it was still there - that darkness that never left. The darkness that settled into his eyes when his wife and daughter died. It seemed more prominent now for some reason.

I then remembered where I had seen this mane style before. It was her mane style. The one that loved me. His daughter's mane style. Why her?

The answers I sought would show themselves with his spiraling downfall.

With his words, I gave a slight nod. I could feel myself calm as I slowly got used to this new feeling of life and my new form. My hoof moved up, and I could feel the hard, smooth surface of a horn. This is why he kept it. Her horn was mine now. A sickening feeling traveled up my spine and made me want to rip it off my head. He had taken a dead Changeling's horn and stuck it on me! I knew I was modeled after her, but this was just gross. Though, I meant no disrespect to the stallion who gave me this precious gift of life, so I left it be. I could already guess the wings were there as well, and a soft buzzing confirmed my suspicions.

I could feel Genetic's gaze on me as I tested out my body. He watched as I moved my limbs and made sure everything worked as it should have, which they did. After a moment, I stood on all fours, to which he smiled faintly at that. It took me some time to find my voice.

"Why?" that was my first word spoken in this body. My first few minutes alive and I was already questioning my existence. Why had I been brought to life?

He gave a look of thought before answering carefully.

"I didn't want to be alone any longer." came his response, and for the first time, I felt a pang of guilt. It was a strong surge of emotion that hit me like the train I had ridden in Ponyville with her. I remember she sat me on the windowsill to watch the passing trees and buildings. This stallion was kind enough and lonely enough to give me life, and the first thing that came out of my mouth was a question of why I was alive, almost as if I didn't want it.

For a while, life seemed nice.

He took care of me, and I learned many things. He taught me anything I needed and wanted to know, and I learned. I learned that I had no need to eat or sleep, because I was just stuffing inside. I was lucky enough to have the basic function of movement and speech thanks to his magic. That's why I'm alive. That's why I feel. Magic is truly an incredible thing. Though, another thing I learned is that I have no magic of my own, even with 'my' horn.

Since the Changeling died, her magic went with it. As much as I learned spells and attempted to use them, not even a spark came out. Genetic was always reassuring and said that not everypony was destined for such a gift. A tinge of jealousy could be felt whenever I looked at his horn, but I chose to head his words and ignore it.

Sure, I can sleep if I so desire. Though since I can't get exhausted I don't need to sleep. It's mostly a time passer now a days. These days, I prefer to sleep, but it chooses to elude me at the times I beg for it most.

The time spent with Genetic went smoothly for a few months. He cared for me, taught me, and made sure I had everything I wanted. Well, almost everything. Despite the company he gave, something inside cried that it wasn't enough. Something was missing.

Her.

I craved her affection, her touch, her sweet words. She was a mother figure in a way, even if she was too young to be one. She had so much fun with me even if I had nothing to give back. The little filly would go for hours on end in her little games and play lands of imagination. Nothing could seem to get her down, even if it tried. I still remember the night she was snatched away.

Sleeping on the lush grass of the front lawn, she held me loosely in her hooves. I lay beside her as a shadow was cast in front of us, and she was picked up to be taken to bed. Her mother forgot about me as her daughter was brought inside. The girl's curly, amber hair obscured some of her face as she rested on her mother's back. Her mouth slightly open, I could see where there was a gap in the top row of her teeth. She had lost it just a few weeks before, and I could remember how excited she was. I remember how eager she was to try and stay up for the Tooth Breezie, but she had fallen asleep before her mother came in to slip a bit under her pillow in replacement of the lost tooth. Faintly, I could hear her whisper how much she loved her daughter.

Her Blissful Memory.

I blinked as a tissue was dabbed at my eyes. Had I been crying? How could I do that? Magic never ceased to amaze me.

Coming back to reality I realized the floating napkin was being directed by a familiar green aura of magic, and I looked to Genetic to see his eyes full of concern and grief. He could tell who I was thinking about, and he gave a weak smile.

My chest felt tight, and I gave a nod before retreating to the couch. Every part of me wanted to sob until I fell asleep. Another wanted to stop thinking about Blissful all together, but it was so hard to. She was the one who saw me as a unique individual and cared for me with every fiber of her being. Eventually I settled with sleep.

The next few months just seemed to get worse for Genetic. With the loss of his daughter and the one thing that kept his studies alive, he had started to go out for long nights at the local bar in Canterlot. This left me alone and with my own thoughts. On one hoof, I was grateful for this. Genetic had been getting more and more out of it. He was loosing sleep, and dare I say it, loosing his sanity as well.

After some time, we left the laboratory. Genetic had given up on his work, and quit all together. He had nothing to work for there. His subject had died long ago, and he never held up any interest on working on anything else. So, he packed out things and we moved out and into some cheap hotel room. It wasn't the nicest of places, but I was enough that he could ride out a few months on his remaining bits without having to work. I say him because I never needed food or water, just some place to sleep if I ever wanted to. I was easy to maintain. But over those months, my worry grew.

The light in his eyes had been diminishing even further than I thought possible. Many nights he had come home reeking of the alcoholic beverages and giving me an odd look. Afterword, he would just go off to his room to sulk and cry. A few nights I had dared to comfort him, and those nights I promptly retreated when he drunkenly called me by her name. Was is possible for him to get so wasted he managed to see me as his daughter?

A sigh left my muzzle one of those nights he had decided to leave to drink, and I rolled over to go to sleep.

That night, sleep held me in its sweet embrace like a significant other. My dreams were that of a vast whiteness, a blank space to where I was free to roam and create as I wished. In the real world, my ears never registered the click of the door closing and the soft clop of hooves against the wooden floor of the hotel room we took residence in.

I never heard the thud of a body hitting the floor either.

It was very early when I awoke, and I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. A yawn left and I looked around the grubby living space. Glass bottles littered the floor, as usual. I never bothered to clean them up, and he sure as hell never bothered either.

Genetic was drinking his money away. Sometimes I questioned why I was still staying there. I didn't need him. I doubt, in his drunk induced stupor, that he needed me. I certainly wasn't using any of his bits, but it was nice to have some place to stay that was warm and dry.

Through the thin blinds sunlight peeked into our shabby living room. In all my time living in Canterlot, I had never once seen this Celestia pony that everyone seemed to worship. I had heard of her from the static clouded audio of the T.V. , but never actually seen her. I knew she raised the sun and moon, and that's what she must be doing now. I felt bad for her, having to get up so early to do such an important task.

After another yawn, I decided to check on Genetic. He was either still dead asleep, or laying awake with a bad hangover. I wonder what he would have thought if I mentioned the idea of me leaving.

I never did find out.

When I made it close to his room, the bottles just became more troublesome to move with out making too much noise. They were everywhere. I sure was glad the land lord never came around. But when I made it to the door way, something was horribly wrong.

There lay the unicorn in question, half of his body in his room and the other half in the living room. I first guessed he had passed out on his way to the bedroom. But a closer inspection revealed my worst fears.

Genetic wasn't breathing.

If I had a heart beat, it would have been racing. How long had he been laying there? Tears welled in my eyes as panic set it.

"Genetic?" I choked out, gently nudging his lifeless form. "Genetic, please..." a meaningless beg came out and that was all that I spoke for a very long time. Realizing there was nothing I could do, my hind quarters fell to the floor. It felt like someone had a hold on my neck as it felt tight and threatened to choke me.

Genetic had drank himself to death.

Everything after that was a blurry haze. I vaguely remember rushing out of the room in a blind panic. I had taken the hooded cloak he bought for me when we had to go out, and in the pockets rested the rest of the bits he hadn't spent on alcohol. It wasn't like he had needed them anyway.

Under the rays of Celestia's morning light I ran. I ran and ran until I was out of Canterlot. My hooves ached when I finally came to rest at a small town known as Ponyville. It was almost noon by the time I arrived. Hooves were a lot slower than trains.

I knew I had to get out of there. Who knew how long it would be before somepony found the body?

My memories after that seem so routine I'm never able to remember them distinctly. I kept moving on after Ponyville. Through the Everfree Forest, Phillydelphia, Hoofington, St. Petershoof. All the way down to Stableside, the southern most part of Equestria. It's where I stay now.

And what about those voices you ask? Well, not long after managing to settle down in Stableside, I heard it. The first voice.

It was so clear I swear she was standing right there next to me. I looked around the room of the cheap hotel franticly, and felt a wave of sadness come over me when I realized she wasn't there.

"But I am here, little Mischief." the voice made tears spring up again. No one ever called me that but her.

"Bliss?" I called into the darkness, only to have a soft chuckle answer me.

"I'm here. We're here. Don't worry, we'll both be with you." when I realized what she meant by we, a great shuddering sob tore from my throat and I fell to the floor. Life was too much for a doll to handle. I cried heavily for what seemed like hours. Salty drops of water came from my eyes and made dark spots on the floor below me.

She's with me. Just like she promised. Just like the Changeling that saw the love between us. My little filly is alive and well.

Just like a blissful memory.

Author's Note

A back story of my character, Mischief Patchwork (as you just read). Reviews, critiques, and constructive criticism are welcome with open hooves, as it helps me develop as a writer. I'd love to know what you think of it!

Also posted on-
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FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11756248/1/My-Personal-Hell-Mischeif-Patchwork

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