Chapters 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.
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.
The next day found itself peeping through the shutters of the second story window. Routine demanded that she lift her head from her pillow and stretch her sore limbs, stifling a yawn. To her, the day seemed dull and bleak, and she could see no way of getting out of truancy for a second time. Her only other option was to attend school and face the classroom full of ponies. A fearful thought ran through her mind.
‘The scars! If anypony sees them they’ll think I’m a freak. Well, I am a freak. I just don’t want anypony to laugh about it. They’ll probably avoid me for the rest of my life.’
She would have to be careful if she wanted to keep it secret, and that wouldn’t be easy considering how nosy everypony can get in this town. It was likely that if one pony found out about it, let her alone her whole class, the rest of the town would know by the next morning. And then she would be shunned by any and everypony. Scootaloo didn’t mind solitude, when it wasn’t cruel to her, but she didn’t think she could handle isolation.
‘That’s completely different,’ she assured herself
Moving into the kitchen, she quickly threw together her unimaginative breakfast – two slices of bread and some wild daisy she had found in the refrigerator – and grabbed her saddlebags which had still been slumped beside the lounging chair in the living room from two days before. She didn’t bother making a lunch as she walked out the door. She probably wouldn’t have eaten it anyway.
Approximately half an hour past the time class had started, Scootaloo ambled in the door, having taken her time getting there. Cherilee shot her an annoyed glance, but said nothing as she took her seat. Whispering passed back and forth between the pupils, until finally the already distracted teacher was forced to interrupt.
“Is anypony listening to me, or is everyone going to just fail the surprise test tomorrow?”
A tense silence cracked into the room. Cherilee smiled, knowing her words had precisely the impact she had intended them to. Several squeaks from desks and nervous coughs echoed before she continued on with the lesson.
“Right. Now, can anypony tell me who the 54th mayor of Ponyville was?”
But Scootaloo had already lost focused, and instead concerned herself with hiding her face, and most importantly, the backside of her forehooves. She wanted to be anywhere but there, though she knew her absence would not go unnoticed.
As the morning dragged on, the poor orange filly’s thoughts grew darker. Her emotions transcended. Pity and regret clouded her mind.
“And that, fillies and colts, concludes this morning’s lesson. You may break for recess and lunch. Be back in an hour!”
Students began to file out of the classroom, eager to be out in the afternoon sun to play with their friends and enjoy their lunch while talking about their exploits in the hours after school. They talked like foals in their innocent way. They cared for trivial things; who could run farther, who could jump higher. They begged for attention from their peers, but looked with a condescending eye at those they deemed lower than themselves. They jested and they taunted, caring little for the consequences of their words. And in their naïve way, all was right with their world.
Scootaloo was the last to leave the room, but made sure to avoid the teacher who, thankfully, had busied herself with cleaning the chalkboard. The sun outside was pale and stagnant, lingering over her as she found herself a seat next to a shaded oak in the far reaches of the playground. Even though she could no longer see it, she knew it was there.
She hoped nopony would bother her. Right now all she wanted was to be left alone. Though she was sure that nopony wanted anything to do with her anyhow.
But her wishes today, it seemed, were not to be adhered. Not ten minutes passed before a familiar voice filled her ears.
“Look! Ah told yah she’d be around here somewhere. “
A yellow filly with a short red mane complete with pink bow came bounding around the side of the tree, followed by the pink-and-blue maned white unicorn. They sat down comfortably with their lunches around Scootaloo, who had tucked her forehooves underneath her in the meantime.
“So what happened yesterday, Scootaloo? You weren’t at school…” Sweetie Belle squeaked.
“Oh, um…I, uh…wasn’t feeling good yesterday.” Scootaloo hated lying, least of all to her friends, but did she really have a choice?
“Sounds’ Resenabl’, ah S’pose.” Nodded Applebloom.
Relieved, Scootaloo leaned back. The other two had started a conversation about crusading they were planning for later that week, but she didn’t care. She’d think about it more when the time came. Maybe she could use the time with her friends.
Suddenly, Sweetie Belle seemed visibly disturbed, a look of concern written across her face.
“Say Scootaloo, how come you don’t have a lunch with you today?” She inquired.
“Uh, I’m not really hungry,” was Scootaloo’s attempted response, though the audible growl of her stomach betrayed the truth.
Sweetie Belle smiled comfortably, and reached out with a half of her own sandwhich.
“Here, have some of mine!”
“Uh, I….Oh, alright. I guess I am a little hungry”
For a brief second Sweetie Belle began to giggle, but all in an instant stopped as it was replaced with a sharp gasp.
Without thinking, Scootaloo had reached out for the offered food and exposed the underside of her forehoof, revealing the scars of her pain for all to see. Especially the two fillies sitting beside and across from her.
Nothing was said. That silence was the worst Scootaloo ever went through. For a long time nothing happened save for Scootaloo’s sharp, nervous breaths and Sweetie Belle’s wide eyes. Applebloom glanced frantically between both, unsure of how to act.
Slowly, Sweetie Belle rose to her hooves, and in an instant, bolted in the other direction. The orange filly could see in the distance the whispered conversation between her and their Teacher, and she could almost make out Cherilee’s expression change when Sweetie Belle finished. As the purple mare turned to trot in her direction, fear filled Scootaloo’s heart, and a lump began to form in her throat. This was it. Now everypony would know.
‘Great. Now not only does one of my friends hate me now, but the entire town is going to know I’m a freak.’
Applebloom began to get visibly nervous, edging her way around the tree, until she got clear and quickly trotted away.
‘Hmph. Make that two friends that hate me. I deserve these scars, deserve this hurt. I just wish I could go and hide somewhere.’
She remained rooted to the spot, nearing her fate and the inevitable event that was about to take place.
It felt like it took an eternity for Cherilee to cross the distance between the Schoolhouse and Scootaloo’s tree, but finally, it ended. She wasted no time, and with a surprising firmness, grasped the filly’s hoof and brought it up to her level. Gazing up and down the scars, she contemplated for a moment before speaking with a surprisingly dominant voice tinted with care.
“What is this?”
Frightened, the filly was at a loss for words, but attempted to sputter anyhow,
“I-“ But she trailed off…
“Scootaloo, tell me now. Did you do this to yourself?”
Scootaloo could only bite her lip and nod, tears forming around her eyes.
The abrasiveness in Cherilee’s face dissipated, and replaced with an expression that reflected either sympathy or pity. The younger pony couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she was now being led back into the empty schoolhouse, and being told to sit down. She didn’t know what was going to happen.
But she longed for so long to let it out. Perhaps her teacher, of all ponies, could understand.
So Scootaloo told everything. The neglect from her parents that she had felt for so long. The embarrassment and shame from her inability to fly. How she felt that no one knew who she was. The feelings she felt; depression, guilt, agony. And finally, how they had led to the events of a few nights ago. She hadn’t intended to say so much, to completely spill all of her burdens onto her teacher, but she had.
Cherilee bore through it all, hearing every word. She nodded and smiled to the retelling of yesterday’s foray into the woods, but remained grim during the part related to the scars. She comforted the filly when it came to her thoughts, and reassured her that the town would not, in fact, hate her. Her eyes were filled with understanding.
In the end, after Scootaloo had let everything out and relinquished a deep sigh, the purple mare drew her in to a tight embrace. The filly cried out all her pain while her teacher held her close to her heart and whispered her care.
At last she pulled away and looked into her student’s eyes, pausing for a moment before speaking.
“Why...why didn’t you come to anypony?”
Scootaloo just shook her head as a tear fell down her cheek. The truth was she didn’t feel she could tell anypony, but to say so would be hurtful.
Wiping the tear away with a hoof, Cherilee smiled warmly. At that instant, Scootaloo felt loved.
“I’m here for you, Scootaloo, and I won’t leave you alone. You and I are going to get through this together. Until your parents get back you can stay with me. I care about you as I care about all of my students, and I’m not going to let you suffer. Do you understand?”
Hiccupping, Scootaloo smiled genuinely.
“Yes, Miss Cherilee. That would be nice.”
The rest of the day was slow. Shortly after their conversation, Cherilee called the class in from recess, though late. Nopony seemed to mind the extra time.
One by one they shuffled in to sit at their desk. Applebloom was last, following a sad looking Sweetie Belle, who avoided looking in Scootaloo’s direction. Applebloom offered a questioning glance, to which Scootaloo gave her a weak smile. It didn’t give her much, but she seemed to understand and took her seat behind Sweetie, at the far end of the class.
The exchange comforted Scootaloo a little more, knowing that at least one of the two didn’t hate her, and for the rest of the class the world felt a little brighter. Some ponies really cared about her. The lessons were tolerable and her teacher’s voice was sweet. The orange pony found that, above all else, this day was pleasant. She was truly looking forward to her time with Cherilee, and she felt happy that Applebloom didn’t appear to hate her.
Dismal though she was, things were of a relatively mellow state. The way it appeared to be turning out, Scootaloo could almost see a bright light on the horizon. She was nervous; unsure of what the journey would bring, but she felt like her world could and would get better. The thought sparked a smile from her. Cherilee noticed, in the middle of teaching, and smiled as well.
Three hours later, the class was called to an end for the last time that week. Sweetie Belle was the first to leave - in front of every other pony who was eager to begin the weekend - without saying anything to a confused Applebloom, who simply shook her head and set out to approach Scootaloo instead.
“Hey there. How’re yah feelin’?”
Scootaloo nodded her head.
“I’m…fine. I’ll get better, I promise.”
“That’s real good to hear, Scoot. Listen, did you maybe wanna get together tomorrow, I’ve got this great idea for getting’ our cutie marks…”
Scootaloo cut her off,
“It sounds nice, but I can’t. I’m staying with Miss Cherilee until my parents get back.”
“Oh…” was all Applebloom could say before the teacher interrupted the conversation,
“Why don’t you and Sweetie come visit us tomorrow? I’m sure Scootaloo would love the company. I think it would be fun for all of us!”
Applebloom nodded her approval and Scootaloo positively beamed. Suddenly, something came to her mind that bothered her.
“I…I don’t think Sweetie will come.”
Cherilee looked confused.
“Why not?”
“Because she hates me for….for…”
Unable to speak of it, she indicated the scars on the underside of her forelegs. Applebloom winced, but said nothing. A tear rolled down Scootaloo’s cheek.
But Cherilee just gave her most reassuring smile.
“Sweetie Belle doesn’t hate you. She cares about you very much, and that’s why she did what she did. It's just that it was hard for her to do that to her friend. She just needs time, that’s all. You’ll see.”
Scootaloo didn’t believe it, but nodded anyway. Trading a goodbye with Applebloom, she followed Cherilee out the door into the bright world outside, illuminated by the passion of the mighty sun, and silently awaited the weekend that was to come.
The journey through Ponyville wasn’t long. It was, after all, but a quaint little town. Cherilee’s house was on the eastern side, bordered on both sides by trees and, a few hundred feet away, neighboring houses. The yard was substantially large, even for one in as small a town as it was. From the back a garden stretched its rows far beyond the width of the house. The air was pleasant and homely, and a bright mixture of green and white decorated its siding. To Scootaloo, it felt like home.
“Here we are!” Cherilee beamed, reaching the steps to the door.
The orange filly lifted her head and sniffed the air, taking in the smells of the environment. It was so pleasant, so peaceful.
Her memory faded to her own home; Dismal, uninspired. It was dull, colourless, and the air was often stagnant.
Cherilee giggled at the filly’s current posture; eyes closed, ears pinned back, nose stuck high in the air.
“Coming in, dear?”
Scootaloo’s eyes snapped open, and she blushed slightly.
“Y-yeah.”
The inside of the house was warm and welcoming. The wallpaper was vibrant and colourful, and the tables were filled with trinkets and framed photographs from foals that Cherilee had presumably taught. The sitting room was at the immediate right, complete with a large couch, several adjoining chairs and a coffee table. Scootaloo found herself being led into a kitchen at the far end of the sitting room. Cherilee motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table as she set about preparing the stove for a pot of water.
“I’d like you to try some herbal tea, Scootaloo. I think you’ll find that it is an excellent way to relax yourself,” Cherilee sang. Her voice hummed around the room in a sort of sing-song manner as she bustled around, bringing out cups and a tray of assorted snacks. Every so often she cast a glance at the filly sitting at her table and studied her for a moment before continuing her work with a hum. Before long, the water began to boil, and the older mare procured two steaming cups which she brought to the table.
“My mother used to make this when I was a filly. It used to make me feel so safe.” Cherilee hummed, dipping her muzzle into the cup.
Scootaloo did the same, feeling the warmth touch her lips and the flavors envelop her tastebuds. She sighed deeply as she felt relaxation waft over her at the heat of the pleasant liquid which flowed down her throat.
Cherilee chuckled as she took another sip of hers.
“So what should we do this weekend, Scootaloo? She asked.
The young pony paused for a moment, but she knew her answer.
“Well…I was hoping that tonight we could just…talk.”
Cherilee nodded eagerly.
"That's a very grown up thing to do. Talking about the way you feel is an excellent way to help understand it."
“Understand what??” Scootaloo quietly inquired.
“The way you feel. Your emotions.”
Scootaloo nodded, dipping into her cup once more. For a moment, Cherilee seemed to hang on to something she wanted to say. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak, lowering her voice. Her sing-song tone completely void from her speech.
“So, do you want to talk about what happened to your wrists? Why you felt that way?
Setting down her cup, the orange filly closed her eyes and sighed. A silent stillness filled the room for several moments, enveloping it, creeping into every nook and cranny. The melancholy filly shifted her gaze from the floor; speaking slowly and quietly.
“Because I was sad, Miss Cherilee. And...I...just wanted the pain to...go away.” She hung her head, hiding her face.
The teacher nodded reassuringly.
“But, you know, there are other ways of getting rid of the pain, Scootaloo. Of coping with it, I mean. Look at how far we’ve come today; you’ve told me so much and let go of what you’ve been holding in. And now you’re sitting here enjoying a cup of tea and talking with me. Doesn’t it feel better?”
The filly looked up.
“Sort of...I want to be better.” She bit her lower lip, looking away.
“And you can! You and I can do this together. I’m here for you as a friend rather than your teacher. I want to show you how you can learn to face your pain and make it past it. Believe it or not, I was in your position once; I lived my life much like you and I was also very sad like you. But I found out how to deal with it: through hope, and finding something to believe in. A pony can learn to live after dealing with it, Scootaloo. You can make it through this.”
Smiling sadly, the little pony who once thought herself completely alone now found herself in awe of the mare she didn't realize she hadn't truly known before. She felt at ease around her, as she always had, but for the first time in her life she felt truly understood by somepony. Her heart was warmed with a small bit of happiness.
Some moments passed as they sipped their tea, sitting around the small oak table. Outside, the sun was beginning to set.
“Do you ever feel like nopony understands you?” Scootaloo asked suddenly, her voice still hinting to her inner grief.
“Hm, that’s an interesting question. I teach foals, so whether anypony understands me or not, they know who I am and what I do, and how long I’ve been doing it. So as long as they accept me, it isn't necessary to that they understand me. Does that make sense?”
Scootaloo cocked her head to one side, pondering what she had just heard.
To be accepted…that’s all she ever wanted. It would be worth it for that.
“It does... I like thinking that... If everypony could accept me... even if they can’t understand me.”
Neither pony spoke after that. The only sound was that of the clanging of cups as they enjoyed their drinks. The air between the two was peaceful, yet simple and wordless.
Cherilee took one final sip and set her cup down. She looked at Scootaloo with a slightly tilted head, contemplating something. The mare waited until the filly finished her drink before she she spoke.
“Why don’t we go for a walk? I know a great place where we can sit and talk…”
“That would be nice.” Scootaloo agreed, rising from her table as her teacher did the same. She was momentarily being led out a door on the back wall of the kitchen and into the vibrant yard outside. The first thing she noticed was the variable sea of colour as a result of the combination of the diverse garden and the calm forest which sat on the edge. Across the garden and onto a small, worn path was where they traversed, and before long they emerged into a quaint little meadow. A steady breeze wound its way through the tall grass and the fur of the two ponies that walked amongst it.
The sun had begun to make its descent. The sky was a shadowy blue, littered with the voices of a million stars. The passion of each and every one lit up the meadow with a dim haze.
In the center of the meadow sat a single tree. Oak, larger than any in the forest around it. Yet in this one plant sat the stories of a thousand lives, intertwined into its gnarled bark like the age that defined it. Eternity had created it, and like the sun it had probably always been there, a testament to the time which passed it each day.
As they neared, Cherilee’s steps slowed, taking in the surroundings as well as the massive tree itself. She came to a stop, and turned her head, preparing to speak, but shut her mouth when she saw Scootaloo. The orange filly had come to a sitting position, eyes cast onto the night sky. She was in perfect serenity at that very moment.
Cherilee, smiling, laid herself down beside the filly, resting her body atop her bent legs in a position characteristic of ponies. She watched patiently as her student continued to watch the stars. A thought crossed her mind, remembering what she had been told earlier.
“You’re quite fond of nature, aren’t you?”
Breaking her stare with the sky, Scootaloo turned to look the mare in the eyes.
“I’ve always loved it. Whenever my parents fight, when I get in trouble, or when I just need to get away from things, I come to nature to just be alone. It’s always been so special to me.”
“That’s excellent. You know, having something to believe in is the best way to cure sadness. When we are lost in our thoughts, it’s important to have something to turn to in order to comfort our fears. I’m glad you have something, Scootaloo.”
The orange filly became fascinated with the grass while she hung her head and spoke with a gentle whisper
“I never thought of it that way. But I can…”
She looked back up to the sky
“…I can rely on it.”
She laid herself down, bending forward and tucking her legs underneath her torso.
“Can I tell you something?” She asked.
“Of course, dear. You can tell me anything. If it’s bothering you, I encourage you not to keep it to yourself”
Scootaloo paused, moving her eyes back and forth across the meadow and finally resting them on the purple mare.
“I enjoy this time we’re spending together. I’ve never felt really loved before, even by my own parents, but when I’m with you I feel like you really care.”
Cherilee said nothing, smiling broadly. Gently, she shifted towards Scootaloo, who leaned against her favorite mare in the whole world. Burying her face inside the purple fur, the orange pony closed her eyes and listened to the gentle heartbeat of her mentor. Peace wafted over her, the fears of days before washing away.
Gently, Cherilee lifted her head and placed it over top of the younger pony’s. She knew perfectly well she had done exactly what she needed to, and that she could and would be there for her young student.
And the days wafted by. Time; life as it were. moved on through it's regular course. And the young pony knew rebirth. Relief from pain. Honesty and truth sprang from hardship.