Carnificina

The clock ticked two-thirty. The void of silence that crept around the room was a palpable one, and the young orange filly that sat in the center of the room found it pleasing. It was wonderful to be left in the quiet of one’s own thoughts.

There was something to be admired in a Pony who could spend hours in the depths of their own mind. When some would be at a loss without the ponies around them, Scootaloo often enjoyed these times the most. They were times to think, to consider the events of days past and just who it was that she was. Most of her friends and the other Ponies around town would never have guessed that of her, however. ‘They don’t know who I really am’, she thought glumly. ’Maybe it’s better that way. They would probably hate me.’

The pit in her stomach began to twist, causing her to visibly shudder. The melancholy in her heart growing, she put her head down on her desk to hide her face. She didn’t want to show what she was feeling just now.

Several moments passed before she became aware of a presence in front of her desk. Cautiously looking up, she made eye contact with her teacher, who was staring at her impatiently.

“Scootaloo, I told you twice now. Turn to page eight in your textbook!”

Heat spread across Scootaloo’s cheeks as she felt the stares from the other students in the room. Fumbling, she reached beside her desk for her textbook and opened it just as Cherilee continued the lesson on geography.

Sighing deeply, she put her head back down on her desk. There was no denying it; this was going to be a hard day to get through. No amount of time spent with her friends could change what she was feeling, either. Avoiding them and going straight home would be best, and once there, she knew her parents wouldn’t be home until late at night so she could be by herself for a while. The thought relieved her, but not enough to pull her out of whatever rut she was in, unable to help but feel scared for herself. It was these times of seclusion that put her in her greatest moments of gloom.

Forty-Five minutes passed, and finally Cherilee let the class go. The orange filly rose so she could quickly leave before anypony else, but she was stopped by her teacher’s firm hoof.

“Scootaloo, I’d like to see you after class”

Fearing the worst, she sat down again. Thoughts of failure and degradation ran through her mind. What was it that she would inevitably get lectured for? What would her parents say? Would Cherilee tell them? Finally, after the last student had left the class, Cherilee turned to face the frightened filly. Instead of having an expression of anger or disappointment written across her face, her expression was that of genuine concern.

“What’s wrong, Scootaloo?”

Scootaloo blinked, unprepared for the sudden interrogation.

“Um, nothing…Miss Cherilee.” she fumbled.

But the kind teacher only shook her head.

“Now, I know my students. You’re not yourself today…”

‘She obviously doesn’t know me,’ Scootaloo thought.

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

The mare only looked at the filly inquisitively. Visibly unsatisfied, she shook her head.

“If you say you’re fine, I guess that’s all I can do for now. But if this goes on I’m going to have to call a meeting with your parents.”

The filly only nodded, wincing at the thought of such a meeting.

Again, Cherilee shook her head, but allowed her student to leave anyway. Scootaloo wasted no time in rushing out the door, slowing her pace the moment she was out in the numbing stare of the sun. Looking around, she saw that her friends had wasted no time in waiting for her. This left her both upset that they hadn’t cared enough to stay, and dismally happy that she wouldn’t have to face them.

Steadily, she began the walk home. She was in no rush, and it showed through her slow, deliberate steps and dreary expression. That familiar tugging at her heart was back again today, and the filly knew it would make the walk home that much harder. It always had. Thoughts circled her mind in a flurry of despair and confusion.

She stopped dead in her tracks, panting heavily. She slammed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the world around her, but it only made her succumb to the thoughts even more. Worries and fears turned into voices, all yelling and screaming at the same time. The voices she had been suppressing all day had begun to surface and would no longer die down.

‘You’re worthless.’

‘No one could ever love you. They all hate your guts.’

‘Look at yourself. You’re pathetic. You can’t even fly! You should just crawl in a hole and die. That way everypony would be happy.’

At that, she thumped her hoof against her head, trying to silence the terrifying thoughts. It didn’t work and she found herself with a splitting headache instead.

‘Good,’ she thought to herself ‘I deserve it.’

She bit down on her lip as she continued to trudge forward, wanting to close the distance between her and her house before the whole town saw her have a break down. She was supposed to be confident. She was supposed to be happy. That’s what every other pony saw. Why wasn’t she, then? When everypony else seemed to be so happy, she was always miserable. When other ponies went out to play, she stayed in her room and moped. Why did she have to be this way? She didn’t want to, but she simply couldn’t get out of it. There was too much sadness, too much aching pain.

Finally, she made it to the doorstep of her house, fumbled with the handle, and flung herself inside. ‘Now,’ she thought ‘I can be miserable in peace’.

The inside of the young filly’s house was not atypical of the rest of Ponyville; the walls were lined with the usual floral wallpaper, the windows were framed with blue homemade curtains, her mother’s own handiwork, and the furniture was a sort of ancient oak, something Scootaloo suspected had been passed down a few generations. Like much of the town, they were not a rich family by any means, but they got by with her parents earnings and meager savings. There had always been food on the table, things got fixed when they were broken, and there had always been room for the occasional small expenditure. An antique lamp here, a new T.V set there. Simple things.

But there was always something she felt was missing. Sure, her parents provided her with toys and things to do, but as Scootaloo sat on the old lounging chair facing the emptiness of their living room, she began to recall all the times her parents had not been around.  For as long as she could remember they had not been at home to see her off to school or return again at the end of the day. They hadn’t been there to support her for her latest flying attempt, hadn’t held her through tears of embarrassment at her first big fall, and most of all, and were not there to cry on when she felt the pain of depression each day. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t share those kinds of feelings with them anyway; they were too indifferent to it, too cold to understand.

Without realizing, Scootaloo had become slumped in her chair, and was now lying with nothing but her head against the back; her hooves slumped over the edge. As the anxiety from her thoughts had built up, so too did the adrenaline in her system, and she threw herself to the floor with little thought as to her well-being. For a brief moment the world spun around her, and she landed on the hard floor with a crash. Uncaring of the jolts of pain now shooting up her legs, she laid in the middle of the floor for a moment before curling herself up into a tight ball, shivering from the cold of her empty house. Little mattered to her anymore, save for the misery she was in. The fires of her saddened emotions were inconsolable, as was her state of mind.

The young pony opened her eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. Looking around, she realized it had become dark.

‘Great,’ She silently rebuked, ‘Now I have to go to bed before they get home. Way to waste another day doing nothing, idiot’

Words of hatred began crawling back as she rose. Hopelessness dragged down her hooves at every step and weighed down her body when she began her descent up the stairs to her bedroom. Once arriving past its entrance, she instinctively hurled the door shut behind her and tossed herself on the bed just as tears started to flow, soaking her cheeks. She cursed herself loudly as she cried into a pillow, unable to hold back the emotions any longer. She slammed her hooves against the wall, and thrust her head against the bed and into the pillow.

Look at you, you’re a train wreck. No wonder no pony loves you.

'You’re a pathetic, worthless pile of trash. Going away forever would do everypony a favour.'

The hurtful insults that were now surging through her mind became too much, too powerful for a filly so small and insignificant.

Casting up her head, Scootaloo screamed. The stinging pain in her heart was overwhelming, and her downtrodden body let lose all of the anguish. Her hoof reached to her bedside table, and grabbing the first thing it could, cast it across the room, shattering it everywhere. Tears of frustration continued to flow as she rolled off her bed to inspect. What she found made the tears so much worse.

Broken glass was everywhere. Her favorite picture, her only picture of her one and only idol, Rainbow Dash, lay torn and shattered on the floor. Scootaloo fell to her rump, leaning against the bed, and let her head fall, shutting her eyes to holding back more tears, and just sat there. Just thinking. Or trying to, as it was more like floating in a sea of distress.

“Why. Can’t. I d-do. Anything. Right?” she blubbered

She slammed her head on the ground, feeling her head throb, but didn’t care. It felt good, to not hear those thoughts. The pain was a release.

‘Release’ she repeated, and slammed her head against the floor even harder.

The world around her buzzed and swirled for an instant, then it was gone. More tears seeped out in irritation.

‘No! It’s not enough. I don’t want to feel this pain. I don’t want to have to do this anymore’

Then a thought came to her mind. A thought that scared her. A thought that was not hers.

With wide eyes she shook her head in fear, unable to bear what had just gone through her head.

‘No. No. No, not that. I couldn’t do that. No. Never. I-‘

‘But don’t I want to feel better? Don’t I want to get away from all this aching pain? I don’t want to be depressed. I just want to be happy like everypony else in town. Like they think I am.’

She bit her lip. There was no backing away now. Slowly and silently, her crying subdued to a tear falling slowly down her face, she reached for a particularly big piece of glass. With a shaky hoof, she brought it to her arm and pressed down firmly on her wrist. Taking in a breath, the orange filly brought the shard of broken glass that was clutched in her hoof against her skin and, quickly and sharply, carried it back, cutting into the flesh.

Her parents didn’t come home that night. No one was there to see her bleed. No one was there to feel her pain. She was alone. As alone as she would ever be. And nothing could take away that pain.