Her Past

by Green Plant Icon

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Tragedy, Slice of Life, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad
Length: 1041

Her past is mysterious. She has not told her friends of it. Her past is dark. She grew up sad.

(Set before the episode 'Flutter Butter')

Fluttershy has never told the mane 6 of her past. Rainbow Dash is hiding it. She is hiding it. But one faithful day, four ponies and one dragon realize they barely know life before they met. So as ten eyes turn on her, she has no choice but to uncover the memories she tried hard to burn.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-12 17:19:45 UTC

Pity is Cold

Mother's day was coming up. Shining bright, the sun hung in the sky. Ponies were stuck in their own worlds, preparing for the trip to their families, or families coming to them. Banners were hung around Ponyville, and - thanks to Twilight - decorations were strategically placed throughout the small town.

Fluttershy walked through town quickly, trying to keep her head down so she didn't see the decorations. Though, she could see out of the corner of her eye ponies passing by.

A tear ran down her cheek, at the reminder of - No, she can't cry over something that can't be controlled. It happened already. She was there then she was gone, still somepony dear to Fluttershy. The past is the past, however. There's no changing it.

No going back to false hopes. She's done with those childish dreams.

'Bang!' The left door flew open to reveal the pink-mane-ed pegasus just outside the castle. While the door only barely hit the wall, the cold, crystal lined walls of the spacious halls made a pin drop sound like a gun shot, as it echoes around the rooms of the castle.

Fluttershy wiped away her tear, and the trail it left behind on her fur as she guided herself through the halls, reciting Spike's directions to the throne room in her head.

She listened to the loud 'clop, clop, clop' of her hard hooves, hitting the even harder crystalized floor. Lonely, but professional, and making a statement. The same walk she was taught years before she met Twilight and the rest.

Pinkie's squeals, and Rainbow Dash's laughter was heard, as she pushed the heavy doors open. With a loud creak, they opened. However, it went unheard, over the chatter of Fluttershy's six other friends and their families together.

It was funny. Ponies got together in this town. Celebrating a holiday, like it was Hearth's Warming. Dressed up in fancy dresses, and hanging banners, and throwing so many parties, the townsfolk's families start questioning Pinkie's abilities, and how she does it. They can't even figure out if she's a real pony!

What was there to celebrate? Fluttershy asked herself that on this day, every year. She had lost so much, and this day seemed to be made just to make her miserable. A constant reminder, that what was gone, is gone. Life lived and gone, will never come back.

Selfish, to think of only her like that. Applejack and her family had lost their parents, and Rarity and Sweetie Bell haven't seen theirs' in years! The difference, however, was that the Apple siblings had Granny Smith as a parental figure. Rarity and Sweetie Bell's parents were still alive, and they came and visit on occasions.

Fluttershy, though, had no parents, no siblings, and no known family that was a legally eligible parent.

There were so many ponies, yet she had never felt so alone. She felt as if they couldn't be there for her because they didn't know what it was like to lose someone close, and not have anypony to fall back on. It was the pity she feared. The constant 'sorry' from ponies, and the pity she would get from them.

Save the 'sorry' for the lost pets. Housebroken, and nopony to care for them. Don't give them to her, because she'd only give them back, because of the foul smell, and it smelled foul because she had been exposed to the wonderful scents, called friendship. Muffins baked fresh in the morning. In the kitchen, the smell of it drifts out through the window into the crisp air, of the new day. The way her mother made them.

Her mother. The one who died on this day. Death, which taught her that pity, is cold. A secret, she kept, of what happened to her mother, because she didn't want pity. Pity felt too much like the loathsome cake from her eighth birthday. Which weighed down her tongue, when her mother's cook set a piece of her birthday cake, and said 'eat.'

Fluttershy had eaten the slice of cake, but being too shy to deny anypony's orders, she ate piece after piece. That night, her mother held her hair back, as she vomited into a bucket. Pity felt like the day, that the cold ceramic containing the remains of her mother, after she was killed twice.

It felt like the urn being pressed hard into her chest, almost cracking under pressure, and every jagged piece suddenly noticeable. And the voice of a pony, who had loved her mother only almost, as much as she did. The voice, uttered a slow and quiet 'leave.'

As you could probably tell, she was gone the next second.

No tears are shed for that stallion, however. He never cared as much as she thought he did. As much as she hoped he did. That so called 'father' disowned Fluttershy, the second she blew out her eighteen candles, on the day of her birthday. Even more ridiculous than these ponies caring so much about a simple holiday, is that he cared so much to keep track of her age, yet never cared for her or her mother.

Fluttershy's father wasn't how her mother went down though. She was close to pushing the knife, that she kept sharp and under her bed farther than just a slight mark on her neck. Before she could though, some insane thought came into her head that got her to stay. Something that had always happened to Fluttershy, and she blamed her mother.

The blaming of her mother, stopped long ago. But Fluttershy still felt sorry for herself. Not of the abuse, the death of her mother, and all the things she could be grieving for, but for the child. Who had been naïve and had fallen in love with the idea of hope.

But those butterflies, were from her mother. By some miracle that she had forgotten to believe in. This very day was something to grieve. Sixteen years ago, she was nine years old. Sixteen years ago, her mother was alive going into the year, dead coming out. On this very day, sixteen years ago, and still counting.

This was the day her mother died.