Author's Note

Once again no accent-reduced version. Like Starlet Radiance, Corn Pops has not much of a Manehattan accent, so it's not needed.

Solace T̴̑ͤ͐ͥͨ̂̌ͬͯ̓̋ͨ̔̈́ͥͤ̆̚͏́é̏͒̽̃ͩ͌ͩ̅͗͋ͥ̊̓ͨͫ̉̂̀͢͏͟ŗ̷̏̆͂̓̌̑̀ͮ͛ͪ͜r͛ͯͧ̈́͋ͫ̌̇ͩ͑͆̌̋͝͡ǫ̴̵ͧ͊̓ͫ̈̾ͭ̀́҉r̴̊͂̏ͯ̎͂ͬͣ͑̎̀̃̃͂ͦ̒̆͡

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Solace T̴̑ͤ͐ͥͨ̂̌ͬͯ̓̋ͨ̔̈́ͥͤ̆̚͏́é̏͒̽̃ͩ͌ͩ̅͗͋ͥ̊̓ͨͫ̉̂̀͢͏͟ŗ̷̏̆͂̓̌̑̀ͮ͛ͪ͜r͛ͯͧ̈́͋ͫ̌̇ͩ͑͆̌̋͝͡ǫ̴̵ͧ͊̓ͫ̈̾ͭ̀́҉r̴̊͂̏ͯ̎͂ͬͣ͑̎̀̃̃͂ͦ̒̆͡

Corn Pops did not dare to move. It was around him, he could sense it. Something, whatever it was, stared at him. He did not open his eyes, nor look around. But the little colt could feel the eyes on his body, burning, like they wanted to set him on fire.

His whimpers still filled the air around him. There was something here with him in the diner, something that hated him, and it frightened Corn Pops more than anything that had ever frightened him. Trapped in this disastrous state, his mind began to drift off, to flee into a more pleasant world.

Behind his closed eyelids, in his imagination, Corn Pops could suddenly see himself. He was sitting on his tricycle and rode it over a gravelly path. He could hear the shouts and giggles of other foals playing in the park where his mental image was driving around. He could see them, chasing each other and playing Hide & Seek between the trees. It was a soothing scene. His lips curled up into a smile and he began to forget where he was. “My tricycle,” he whispered.

Suddenly there was his mom. She ran behind him, playfully slow, while he turned around and smiled and laughed. “Catch me, mommy!” he shouted and the darkness outside the diner swallowed the words.

With the scary atmosphere around him and the eyes that still rested on his body, it was not hard to flee into another reality inside his mind. Corn Pops had done this before when something scared him a lot. But this time it was different. He was used to see and to hear things in his imagination but, so far, he could never feel them. Now he could feel something.

His eyes were still closed, but under his flank was something hard. He felt eruptions coming from a few inches under it. A breeze hit his mane. “Flowers,” he whispered. He could smell them. Then the voice of his mom rang out. “Corn Pops, open your eyes! You know that driving with closed eyes is too dangerous!”

For a moment, Corn Pops felt so confused that he forgot his fear. He opened his eyes.

What he saw made him gasp: He was not in the diner anymore. He was in the park of his imagination. And as he looked down, he saw his tricycle under him. He was sitting on it, his forehooves were holding the steering rod and his hindhooves were pedaling. His fear disappeared lightning-fast and he began to feel comfortable and happy. As he turned around, his mom was standing behind him.

“Look where you're driving, Corn Pops,” she warned him. There was a stern, but benign, expression on her face.

Corn Pops could not explain this situation. Why had his eyes been closed? Had he fallen asleep while driving? And had he even managed to dream such a horrible nightmare, all while his hooves kept pedaling? Was it even possible to sleep and dream and to ride a tricycle at the same time? Corn Pops felt irritated. But given that the park was so much better than the mall at night, what was there to complain about? He was safe now and that's what counted.

Carefree and happy, Corn Pops increased his tempo. He looked behind him again and laughed. His mother became smaller in the distance, he easily left her behind now. Then he closed his eyes, knowing well that his mom could not see it. He felt the breeze tugging at him and the vibrations of the graveled path giving tiny shooks to his body. Laughing, he removed his forehooves from the steering rod and spread his arms wide.

Corn Pops kept pedaling and increasing his tempo, until the wheels of his tricycle hit something. He felt it tilting and his heart jumped. The colt opened his eyes, but it was too late. The tricycle leaned to the left, then fell over and buried him under it. Crashing like this at full speed and on a path scattered with tiny pebbles, he soon felt a searing pain in his left hindleg. Instantly, Corn Pops' face turned red and he started crying loudly.

Having witnessed the accident, his mom galloped closer. She hastily pulled the tricycle off of his body, fear in her eyes. “Corn Pops!” she gasped. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?!”

Corn Pops did not answer and kept crying as she turned him around to inspect his body. A long abrasion shimmered through his yellow coat; tiny, bloody dots that covered his entire left hindleg.

“Oh, Corn Pops, see? This is what happens when you close your eyes while riding your tricycle!” she scolded him. The mare shook her blonde, curly mane and sighed.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, it hurts so much!” the colt whimpered and looked at his mother from tear-filled eyes.

Her face fell apart at the heartbreaking sight. “Oh, I know, I know, Popsy.” She only called him with this nickname when he really needed it. She leaned down and kissed his mane with a loud and exaggerated smack.

Corn Pops sniffed repeatedly and closed his eyes. “Make it stop, mommy! It hurts saw much, make it stop!”

“Aww, Mommy will! Mommy will make the hurt stop once we're at home, Popsy! You just need to wait a little longer, we'll be back at home soon!”

“No!” he shouted. “Not later, now mommy, now!” His crying increased in volume.

Corn Pops' mom reached down to her crying son and sat him on her back. Then she raised the tricycle and set it upright. “Let's go home, Corn Pops. Mommy will patch this up in no time!” She turned around and nuzzled his wet, reddened face.

The apartment complex she lived in with Corn Pops was right next to the park. While she moved the tricycle down the path and towards it, she did not speak more words. Only the crying of Corn Pops persisted in the same volume and intensity, drowning out the noises from the foals and their parents around them.

As they were inside the apartment complex, the mare parked Corn Pops' tricycle in an alcove. On the way to the stairs, she opened the mailbox of their apartment and took out a few letters, that had been in there since the morning, before heading up the stairs.

Arrived at the apartment door, she unlocked it with her keys and trotted inside. The door got closed with a bang by her and she locked it again. Then she tossed the keys and the letters carelessly into a corner and turned around to her colt.

“Okay and now we take care of you!” she spoke. Corn Pops' eyes were still closed while he kept crying and so he could not see that the face of his mom had turned grotesque. She plucked him off her back and sat him down on the floor, face pointing at her.

Startled by the rough impact with the cold, marbled floor, Corn Pops opened his eyes. His vision of her face was blurry, as the tears had formed a thick film over his eyeballs. He pointed down at the injury. “Mommy, can you kiss it?” he sniffed up. “Make it good again!”

His mom clicked her tongue. “Awww.....” it came from her mouth. “You are such a mommy colt, Corn Pops!”

Corn Pops looked at her, bottom lip quivering. His mom lifted a hoof and slapped him in the face. His head got yanked and a sob rang out of his throat.

“BUT NOT ANYMORE!” his mom screamed. “Corn Pops, it's time we make a strong colt out of you!” Her voice had a shrieking tone suddenly, one between madness and conviction.

Corn Pops looked at her and, almost instantly, began to crawl back in panic. But it wasn't long until his back hit the wall behind him. “M-Mommy?” he whined. The slap had swept the tears out of his eyes. The face of his mother scared the little colt. He gulped.

“Mommy, mommy!” the mare mocked her son by imitating his voice. She moved close to his face. “What if mommy wouldn't be here? What would you do? Huh? HUH?” She brought a hoof down on his forehead and pushed it back.

“I tell you what would be,” her shrieking continued. “You would die! DIE, Corn Pops! Hahahahahahahahahaha!” She exposed her teeth to him. Her skin was pale suddenly. There were wrinkles in her face, far too many for her age. It looked worn and old.

Corn Pops tried to move further back, only to get reminded of it that the wall was still there.

“There is nothing you can do alone!” his mother hissed. “You want something from the fridge, mommy has to get it for you! You want something cooked, mommy has to cook it for you! You want to go to the park, mommy has to go with you!” Her voice raised in volume and tone with each sentence.

“And then you are dumb and hurt yourself and mommy has to disinfect the wound and patch you up! Really, Corn Pops, there is nothing you can do alone. You are a worthless, little scumbag!” She pointed at his injured leg, demonstratively. “But we can change that!” She grinned at him, exposing her teeth once more.

In front of her, Corn Pops started crying again as little worms suddenly crawled out from under his mom's lips. The slimy, fleshy worms wiggled their yellow bodies disturbingly as they crawled over her teeth.

“I have to help you again with it, as always. But once we are done, you will be a new colt, Corn Pops!” the wicked mare shrieked and pressed a hoof down on his injury with force.

The little colt started screaming, fresh tears running over his cheeks instantly.

“STOP YOUR FUCKING CRYING!” His mother slapped his face again. Her other hoof did not let go of the wound.

“You need to endure this, Corn Pops, it's the only way! Do you want to be a pussy forever? If we don't get you fixed, you will be an adult and I will still have to feed you!” She increased the pressure and Corn Pops cried out.

“I said STOP!” She slapped him again, harder this time.

Now it worked. The shock of the impact silenced Corn Pops instantly and he just looked at his mom anymore, fear in his eyes.

“That's better,” the mare said. “Maybe we can make a strong, brave colt out of you.” She released his leg.

His mother got up. “Now wait here. I'll go and get something for that leg.” She scurried away and opened a door.

Corn Pops heard his mother rummaging in something inside another room. Hearing this scared him and he started to whimper again, but he did not dare to get up. The sounds stopped and his mother appeared in the doorframe again. She was holding a large drinking glass, filled with water, in one hoof and a sharp kitchen knife in the other one.

Corn Pops shrunk back against the wall. “Can you get band-aid, mommy?” he whispered.

His mother growled as she scurried closer. “You don't need band-aid,” she hissed. “What you need is a treatment that makes you a tougher boy.” She put down the glass and the knife, both objects just out of his reach.

Corn Pops didn't dare to imagine it, but he knew what this meant. “No more hurt, mommy,” he pleaded. “Please, mommy.”

“SHUT UP!” the shrieking was back in her voice. She grabbed the knife and held it in front of his eyes. “Shut up or this will become more painful than you think!”

He shrunk back a little more, gulping. Now the back of his head almost touched the floor. Corn Pops nodded, not leaving the knife out of his sight.

She gave him the wormy grin again. “Good boy.” The knife was put back on the floor.

Corn Pops crouched there silently, as he watched his mother reaching for the drinking glass instead

“Now let's get started and make a tough, little boy out of you.” She smiled at her son, then poured some of the water over his abrasion.

The result became apparent immediately. “WAAAAAAH!” Corn Pops wailed.

“That's some good salt-water-solution, isn't it? Just what you need, my son.” She poured some more on it, then put the glass away. It was still half-full.

Eventually, Corn Pops' wails became reduced to a series of sobs and whimpers. “M-Mommy..... Why are you doing dis?” he spoke as the pain had begun to wear off and he felt the strength to speak again.

His mother brought a hoof to his face and stroke it. “To make a strong colt out of you, Corn Pops!” She grinned. “But we can't waste time with talking. You need a lot of work before we can call you 'strong'!”

Next, she reached for the knife again.

“NO!” Corn Pops cried and finally tried to get up. But his mother pushed him back down and held him in place.

“Oh, I look forward to the moment you stop being such a wimp, Corn Pops. Then I can finally do this without making you CRY!” She broke into a series of hysterical giggles, then cut the knife deep into his left foreleg.

Corn Pops threw his head back and a gurgling scream filled the room.

His mother forced the knife deeper and moved it around in the flesh wound, uncaring. “There we have it,” she said after a while. She put the bloody knife next to Corn Pops' leg. Reaching into the wound with both hooves, she spread the flesh apart until something white could be seen in the center of the hole in his leg. “There is your bone, Corn Pops,” she said, looking into the face of her son. “Doesn't it look nice?”His heart constricting in fear, Corn Pops forgot the pain and looked down at his leg. His pupils shrunk as he saw his own bone.

“M-My bone? W-Why, mommy? Why?” He felt cold panic rising in his chest.

“I already told you why, you idiot!” his mother shrieked again. “By the princesses, stop asking me the same question all the time, Corn Pops!”

Corn Pops wanted to respond something, but got distracted as he heard a loud bang. He looked at the apartment door, where it had come from. His mother didn't seem to have noticed anything.

“What are you doing?!” a male voice spoke. It sounded stressed. “You can't go inside there, you know that's where she.....” The voice suddenly trailed off.

A few seconds of silence followed, then a female voice rang out. “And what else would we do?” the voice shot back, sharply. “This might be our only chance, we must save her!” The voice sobbed.

Corn Pops' mother still noticed nothing. She took the knife again. With the methodical movements of a doctor, she left more cuts in Corn Pops' leg.

“Please, help me!” Corn Pops used the chance and shouted at the door in tears.

“Who are you talking to, son?” his mother asked, confused. She did not look away from his leg. “We are the only ones here.”

Corn Pops ignored her. “HEEEEEEEEEELP!” he screamed at the door now.

“Did you hear this?” the female voice said.

“Yes.”

“I'm going inside there with or without you. She needs our help and maybe somepony else does, too.”

Corn Pops heard hoofsteps and the male voice cursing. A door creaked as it got opened. He stared at the apartment door expectantly, desiring salvation. But it stayed closed.

“Please help.....” the colt whimpered, weakly.

His mother looked up at him, grinning. “What? Are you losing your mind already? Save that for later, we aren't done here yet,” she said and kept slicing into his leg.

Corn Pops heard somepony gasping and shivering. It was the female voice. “What is this?” she said. “Who are these foals?”

Hoofsteps could be heard again and the door creaked a second time. Another gasp followed. “What are they doing here?” the male voice asked. A few seconds of silence passed. “There are two more over here, fillies. One of them is unconscious, the other just stands there and stares at this table. What is going on?!”

Corn Pops could hear more hoofsteps. They moved into his direction, yet he could not see anypony.

His mother put the knife away and reached for the glass with the saltwater again. Corn Pops' left hindleg was covered in cuts now, so many, that the abrasion could not be seen anymore. He felt somepony grabbing his shoulders and starting to shook him, just as his mother brought the glass close to one of the bigger cuts.

“Enjoy it, Popsy. This is just for you from your mommy.” She giggled hysterically again as she began to tilt the glass.

“No, mommy, no. Please, no!” Corn Pops whimpered. “No! No! No!”

“Hey, wake up!” The male voice rang out again and the shaking became stronger. “Wake up, young colt!”

Drawn in by the voice, Corn Pops opened his eyes. The blue face of a stallion looked at him. The stallion looked away. “This one's awake!” he shouted back behind him. Corn Pops could not see who was there.

“Hey, how do you feel?” the stallion asked him. “What are you doing here at night?”

Corn Pops did not answer. He only stared at the stallion, shocked and confused.