Carnificina

On the outskirts of town there was a lake that bordered the Everfree. At any given time, a pony could hike its trails which outline the glistening waters and whistling trees, And, if one was adventurous, a long journey would be rewarded with a spectacular view set atop a solemn hill.

Such was the place Scootaloo set out for today, rather than spend time in school with her unmotivated classmates. At this very moment anything was better than that place; however today she favored some moments of contemplation.

The trail was far from her home, hidden away from the sea of materialistic ponies. To the extent of the young filly’s knowledge, nopony else really knew about it, and from the moment Scootaloo stepped onto the forest floor, she lavished the thought of spending that time alone with nothing but the silent chatter of the canopy around her to distract.

These trails held memories for her; memories both angelic and bittersweet. Following that memory, she took the different twists and turns until she came to what should have been the divide between the two trails, splitting into either sides of the lake.

Instead, all she found was water.

Frustration began to flow through her as she began to realize what had happened. Gone. All of her memories, gone.

She stood there for a moment, unable to think of what to do. To her right was an unfamiliar trail that led off alongside an old one, just before the water’s edge. Not wanting to give up on her aspiration, she reluctantly took it.

The greens of the leaves around her and the browns of the trail underhoof were all that she could recognize. The pungent smell of the water became like sulfur, overpowering the beautiful smells of the forest.

Still the filly trotted on, despite the change and contrary to her feelings. She knew her favorite spot was here, at the end.

Before long, rain poured like the sorrows of the sky down to the ground, drenching Scootaloo and her spirits. Quickly, she found cover beneath an old Oak Tree, shivering in the cold and desperate for warmth.

Time passed under that tree. What was left of the small pony’s hope seemed washed away. The dismal lake became speckled with the droplets of falling sky. The earthen trail became like mud.

Huddled against the trunk, the orange filly shut her eyes wearily, the sleeplessness of the previous night catching up to her.

Reopening her tired eyes, the filly saw sunlight creeping through the canopy ceiling. Hope spread at the very sight, and she got to her feet to begin her venture. She was not finished. Not when she hadn’t done what she had set out to do.

Ducks quacked and squirrels chattered. The smells of green and the crispness of the air, followed by the renewed softness in the ground now filled Scootaloo’s senses, and for the first time in weeks, she felt…pleasant. Not happy, as she was still coping with the weight of confusing emotions, but there was a sense of relief.

The sights and smells of the new trail were strange for her, but she enjoyed them nonetheless, taking in what sensations she could.

And under the cover of trees, Scootaloo sighed deeply.

A thought came to her as she neared a bend which approached closely to the water’s edge. She didn’t give it much thought, but rather on impulse, jumped in. The water’s surface was unwelcoming and cold, the pungent smell filled her nose, but she rapidly felt relief wash through her, worries escaping like the mud from her coat, and she smiled. Taking the time to splash around in the water, and tease a rather obnoxious duck, she found simple pleasure and enjoyment.

Alas, it was short lived. Understanding of her current goal, she climbed out, shook herself dry, and continued down the beaten path.

Familiar trails crossed and opened into small clearings. Ground Scootaloo recognized.

‘I’m almost there!’ she rejoiced.

Momentarily, she found herself at the hills base, gazing up to the peak, pleased, but wary of its ascent. It was no mountain, but she did not revel in the thought of climbing it. It would be difficult for a filly her size.

‘Still, I can do this.’

Sunlight began to surround her. The green changed from trees to meadow flowers.

And then she was there.

Scootaloo sat down with a plop. Bee’s buzzed between vibrant flowers. A monarch butterfly sailed past her nose. Pollen floated through the air. Birds chirped.

She gazed around the view before her; a field of pine and birch which bordered the glistening blue waters.

Her soaked mane had become matted against her wet fur. She casually lifted a hoof so as to brush it away, but found herself frozen when her eyes fell on to the underside of her foreleg.

The dozens of scars from the night before that ran up the length of her artery stood out against her still blood stained fur.

The breath escaped her lungs as the memory of what happened began to flood back. . Memories she wanted so desperately to forget. Of the pain which caused her to cut. The self-inflicted wounds were noticeable. Suddenly it felt like the sun itself was burning into her with its unblinking gaze.

And in that instant, every pang of guilt, every ounce of weight on her heart; everything fell down on top of her. In despair she buried her face in her front hooves.

One minute she was close to happy, and with a glimpse of her past she was suddenly back to her old, depressed self. In her mind, she reflected back to the changing of the trails. She could never expect it to remain the same, but somehow she had wanted it to be exactly as she remembered it. Like a constant. Something to cling to.

But now it was gone, transformed. It had changed face little thought as to the feelings of others, and it had left the poor young filly dazed and confused, feeling little in the way of compassion.

‘Everypony is like that sometimes. Maybe I should be, too. Except…I don’t have the heart to. I’m not like all the other ponies.’

Arriving late in the evening, Scootaloo found herself creeping in to an empty house. Confused, she looked around for any sign. The kitchen table held the answer to her parent’s absence for the current day and the last;

“Scootaloo,

Gone to Fillydelphia to visit your father’s mother on her deathbed. Left urgently.

The refrigerator is stocked with food, but don’t be afraid to ask for help from the other ponies in town if you need it.

Won’t be back for a few weeks. Hope you can do fine on your own.

No partying.

Signed,

Your Mother.”

A heavy sigh left the young pony. A sigh of sadness and fatigue. She knew her grandmother was ill, yet she could not help but feel slightly neglected. She had dealt with this all her life.

Her eyes wandered down the page and beyond it, gazing at her hoof and coming to rest on the back of her forehooves once more. The scars stood out even more now that her coat was dry. The filly shut her eyes and took a big gulp of air to hold back more tears. For the time being, it worked, and she dragged her tired body to bed for a restless sleep, ignoring her growling stomach.