I felt this pressure at the back of my neck. This lump. It hurt when I press on it. I thought that maybe it was some sort of pimple and that I could pop it.
Have you ever told a story so many times it begins to sound like it didn't really happen at all? As I'm shuffled from doctor to doctor in Ponyville General, they whisper to each other in hushed tones about the growth behind me. As I lay back on the stretcher, trying to count the tiny holes in the ceiling tiles above me, I think to myself how nice it is to have this soft stretcher to lay on, rather than the mildewy blanket in my box.
"She doesn't have coverage," a doctor murmurs.
"There's that experimental treatment next week."
"But the side effects," she interjects.
Honestly, a part of me wonders if they might as well just let me die. What's the point? Mom and Dad are a million miles away. They check in just the bare minimum to let me know they still exist. And 'care'.
And what do I even have to look forward to? I do my best to fill up my day with enough distractions to keep me sane, and enough bits to let me eat. For what?
Things were supposed to get better.
The sound of hoofsteps jolt my eyes to the side.
"Miss Scootaloo," the doctor says. "We need to notify your Aunts and parents about-"
"Fine," I interject. "Whatever."
The doctor shifts uncomfortably on his hooves.
"We have only seen a mass like that a few times before at this hospital, Miss Scootaloo. Based on the size, and..." He stutters.
A nurse steps into the room, for a moment, and opens her mouth as if to say something. She looks down at me with her bright blue eyes. She looks to the doctor as if in a daze.
"The parents approved."
"We think it's wise to get in and surgically remove as much of the mass as possible. Then we can biopsy the tissue."
"Just do it," I say. "It hurts."
The doctor moves closer and tilts my head to the side to look at my fleshy tick.
"How much does it hurt?" he asks. "What sort of pain is it?"
At this, I find myself speechless. There is no word sharp enough.
It feels like it has it's own heartbeat. It's own breath. It's own thoughts, goals and dreams.
If my hooves were long enough, I'd cut it out myself if I could focus past the stars in my eyes and the dancing colors.
The roots of this breathing being feel hungry as they root deeper inside of me. Delving down through my muscles and bones like ants building a colony for their queen, and I am it's vessel. A god trapped in biologic form.
it hurts
They wheel me into a room where a bright light shines directly into my eyes. They tell me to drink something. Take these. I obey like a good filly.
"I want you to put this mask on and count to 100, okay?" The doctor asks, a blue mask muzzling him like an untamed dog.
One
I think for a moment that maybe a reason that I feel so hopeless and alone is because I am hopeless and alone. After this, all that's waiting me is some bill for bits I don't have and can't pay for. So I can go back to the alley and spend another cold night trying to find the soft part of the box.
Seven
But no, you stupid filly. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom care for you. If you just told them that you came out, and it went really poorly, they would be happy to hide you out in the club house for awhile.
Fourteen
Then I'd be doing what I always do. I become somepony else's problem. Just because I have a fucked up body that can't make brain chemicals properly, I make the biggest deals out of nothing. It's just like my Aunt's say. They support me, but I have to let them in. This is my fault. I'm feeling the wrong feelings.
Twenty-One
I'm just broken. That's as simple as there is. Once the doctors cut me open, dig through enough of the dirt to pull out the root of these weeds, I'll be better, right? All they have to do is rip out all the bad parts. The poisons, and I'll be okay.
Twenty-Nine
Unless I'm the poison. What the fuck is wrong with me.
Thirty-Three
It hurts.
"Can someone tell me why the anesthesia hasn't taken hold yet." I hear a far off voice say.
Thirty-Nine
I cough. The rain is warm and sticky. It's the nicest feeling. Like a hot shower after playing outside in the snow. I'm so tired. I'm so tired of the same thing every single day. The same quiet walls. The same dark corners. The same electric songs. Its nauseating.
Fourty-One
It's beginning to not hurt anymore. I just feel tired. All of the muscles in my body relax. I try to open my eyes a little wider to see why the doctors are talking so loudly, but I can't hear them. Then I can't see them.
Fourty-something
Maybe I'm just overreacting. I don't know what I'm talking about. And if I don't know what I'm talking about...
I miss Dad. I wish he'd call more. I wonder if I'm making him proud.
When I woke up, all I saw is a bright, beautiful light, shining directly in my eyes.
I blinked
It hurts
It hurts
It hurts
It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts
please
