Scar Flank's Journal

Once again I’m in the blackness of the void in yet another dream. My hooves planted on solid ground that isn’t there. Looking around would be fruitless and futile as it appeared no different than when I close my eyes. The sounds of hoofsteps were distant and muted on their approach from behind. Spinning to look and see only to have nothing to view. Rapidly the steps increase in audibility and pace, always coming from behind. Fear grasps me as I frantically look left and right, to and fro, here and there to see more and more nothingness. Louder and louder, faster and faster they trotted till it was as though they were underneath my very own hooves. I’m not sure what possessed me to do so but having looked every which way except for down it had become apparent that it was my hooves doing the running. Galloping in no particular direction and going nowhere. I consciously force my hooves to still their clamorous gallop and in doing so could feel some strange force abruptly crushing me against the floor. What little strength I did possess could only stave off the weight on my body for so long. Even though it was a dream, the pain was all too real. The sound of clopping hooves resounded in my ears again clear as day. In the distant dark I could see…him again; my Bro trotting towards me, again sporting that smirking smile that annoyed me so. "You certainly have a ton of weight on your shoulders."

I stared at him in confusion before turning my gaze upwards. I had only glimpsed at it, not long enough to understand it, before I had awoke to the sounds of annoying chirping birds. There I was once more, in my tiny bed blankly staring upwards at my tiny ceiling, my body sore from cleaning all of Ponyville of its trash for my punishment. For the moment I just laid there trying desperately to recall the dream only to gain no success in such an endeavor. Only what he said remained. “You certainly have a ton of weight on your shoulders.” My Bro was never the type to be mysterious when he was alive. He wasn’t exactly the smartest pony from our old gang. Why was he visiting me in my dreams? Is this part of my curse? Is he haunting me for my failure? Memories flooded my head for several hours that morning.

My earliest memories, other than my sad beginnings, were of the orphanage I lived at in the bustling city of Manehatton. It was called Sheltering Wings Orphanage and sat at the edge of uptown and down town. Ironically that’s how the lives of us orphans would end up, either part of a rich upper-class family or another wandering soul in down town trying to make a living. Life as a foal was normal like any other childhood would be. At an early age, before cutie marks would appear on our little rumps, I was fairly popular among the other foals. My scar intrigued everypony as would anything out of the ordinary interest a child. But as time passed and we all became old enough to earn our cutie marks my “friends” deserted me and isolated me out of the group. It didn’t help that I refused to speak. Thinking about it now, I don’t know why I refused to talk to anypony. Maybe I just had pent up bitterness about losing my parents and never got over it. No. That wasn’t it. I think I was bitter because I was different from all the other ponies. So to hide myself from them all I found a cap to wear that covered my face well enough. Old habits die hard I guess. Being a blank flank was bad enough, but having the burn mark made me a target for bullying. Sundays were a nightmare for me as well. That was when prospective parents would come to do some… shopping. They’d have us stand at attention for examinations. Ponies with cutie marks were always favored over the blank flanks. Every rich family wants a talented son or daughter I guess. When each one got to me they’d fake a smile and polite greeting because they didn’t want to make me feel bad about my little issue. I only wish I spat in their faces for looking at me in the first place with those fake smiles. I was a little smaller than all the other colts and fillies so occasionally I’d have bruises and scrapes that the caretakers would pull me aside to ask about. They’d soon lose interest because of my refusal to speak. They’d always say to me. “If you don’t talk to us we can’t help you with the problems you are having with the other foals.” I just wanted to be left alone. I’d trot through the barrack style rooms pretending to be invisible, ducking my head down under the cap. Some days that’d work. The care takers, the good ones that is, would try to watch over me to protect me from the others. But they couldn’t be their all the time.

Things didn’t really get bad until the day all the colts decided to gang up on me in the pouring rain. I can still recall their chanting of my nick name, the name all ponies best know me by. “Scar Flank, Scar Flank, has no talent for that ugly flank.” They backed me in a corner against a brick wall covered in various graffiti in a nowhere ally in Hooftown. Through the dripping of rain on the brim of my cap they advanced toward me. Fear and helplessness was a usual thing in my early days at the orphanage. I winced my eyes shut, praying that it would be over quickly and that walking home wouldn’t be so hard after.

I jerked and twitched at the sounds of hooves meeting fur, the painful thuds of bodies hitting water soaked pavement, laughter echoing here and there as well as shrieks and cries of colts scurrying off. The tension eventually left my body as I cautiously opened my eyes to see… him standing with his back to me, lowering down his two front hooves to the ground. What I noticed first of all was his black jacket followed by his drill cutie mark. With jaws agape in amazement a thought crossed my mind. This adult just beat up a bunch of kids…is he mental? That day, that dreary day, the day that started my journey from a nopony to where I am now is the day I met my Bro. Looking back at me he gave only a smirk. "This is the only time I will help you. After this you are on your own."

He began to walk away, for the moment I had nothing to worry about. However, I’d still have to face all those ponies upon my return to the orphanage and they’d most certainly have a beating waiting for me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go back, it’d be worse this time because this idiot had to butt in. What could I do? He was getting farther and farther away. The rain just kept coming down, offering no respite on my weary bones. There was no other choice; I scurried after the dirty, yellow earth pony in hopes of more protection despite his earlier declaration. I stayed behind him at a distance thinking if he knew I was following he’d tell me to trot off. The journey seemed to go on forever and no destination in sight, but all trips seem longer when the end is not known. We ventured deeper and deeper to the older part of the city. Looking around all that could be seen were worn out vacant buildings, homeless ponies and boarded up businesses. He rounded a corner, I was way behind, distracted by the sights and unpleasant smells that I had let him get out of sight. I rushed as fast as my hooves could carry me praying not to be picked off by any unsavory characters, sliding only a little bit at the corner and crashing head first into his chest. He knew I was following all along and stopped to catch me in the act. Retreating few steps back and peered slightly upward in fear of what wrath would descend upon me at the hooves of the pony that took on a whole group on his own. The cap I wore hid his eyes that would surely be blood red in anger.

"Oranges or pears?" he spoke to me with calm and collection in his voice. Bewilderment ensued I tilted my head to signify I didn’t understand. His hooves reached into both of his pockets and produced an orange and a pear. Could he make any less sense? Taking the pear with one hoof and the orange with the other, I bit into each one. My face distorted with disgust as I chucked the pear as hard as I could, smashing a nearby window without thinking. Biting into the orange however was too good to be true. The juicy sweet taste, the succulent flavor exploded in my mouth. A smile couldn’t be bigger even in this pouring rain. Food like this was a rarity at Sheltering Wings and only the strong would lay claim to it. He passed behind me before saying "That’s good kid. If you picked the pear I’d have to break one of your wings." Shivers went down my spine and swallowing became difficult the moment he said that. I felt it best to scarf down the rest of it so as not to agitate this dangerous looking pony. From the corner of my eye he waved me along to catch up. Finally after awhile of walking in the downpour we came upon an old abandoned diner.

"Home sweet home." he proclaimed, giving a shake of his fur to dry off. Everywhere you looked there was something sordid about the place. The booth’s seats were shredded, tiles were missing from the floor, only two stools at the bar were standing up right and water dripped and dropped from holes scattered about in the ceiling. I took one step inside before being surprised by two other earth ponies, one hiding behind the bar and the other falling out from one of the far off booths. Mean and nasty couldn’t possibly describe the visage of these thugs as they slinked and slunked their way towards me. My hooves moved on their own, stepping backwards in hopes of escaped only to be blocked off by my savior. Was I going to be mugged? Tortured? Even….killed? Nothing could prepare me for what happened next.

~Weeeelcome to Rockbottom Diner,
There is no place that is finer,
Sure it may stink and we know what you think,
But its problems are really minor,

So come on in and have a seat,
We’ll cook you something really neat,
Why in such haste, have a little taste,
We got anything you could eat,

(If you got the stomach for it that is)

Welcome to our place it’s a tiny little space it’s where we want to be,
Where friends all meet and life is cheap cause everything’s for free
it’s our home, it’s what we got,
It’s a big bad boot in the plot
So lets toast, raise a glass
Here’s to Bro, a stallion with CLLLLLAAAASSSSSSSS

Soooo hello from Rockbottom Diner, you’re gonna love the view
It’s our nest that beats the rest
We’re so glad that you’re our guest
Please try not to mind the peeeeeeesssst
Rockbottom Diner welcomes yyyyyyooooooooouuuuuuuuu~

I stood there dumbfounded at what my little eyes had beheld. The song and dance that had transpired in such color and glamour that made it all the more ludicrous since it came from such dangerous looking individuals. They held their positions with their hooves out from the end of the song expecting me to respond. I’d say a good minute passed before I burst out laughing. Standing was impossible as my hooves gave way to the utter absurdity of it all, clenching my gut at how painfully funny it was. They soon followed suit in the laughter. Afterword Bro began to introduce himself and the two others. "This blue guy here with the beanie hat is Bula. We call him kid to tease him and see what faces he makes each time. It’s so much fun to torture this colt you have no idea."
"That’s me I’m just….. HEY!!!"
"Relax relax kiddo it’s all in good fun. And this big mammoth of a pony over here is our chef, Bronco. He is a pacifist at heart but a sports nut to the letter. If you talk bad about his favorite teams… well let’s just say you might be in several places at once when it’s all over."
"Hey Bro come on I’m not all that bad when I am angry……am I?"
"Hehehe I’ll let the new kid decide if he roots for the wrong team. And as for me, my name is Digs, but everypony around here just calls me Bro because I’m such a good older brother type pony. So then squirt. Tell us. What’s your name?"

My ears folded downward in sudden depression, I knew full well they wouldn’t have the patience to deal with my muted personality. Even as nice as they were I still didn’t want to speak. I regret that all now. Bro shifted his head ever slightly and saw my scar as did the rest after only a few seconds of my silence. With a scratch of his chin he and the others took turns speaking. "Oh I get ya. You are from Sheltering Wings Orphanage like we were. You don’t have a name either. It’s ok. Neither did we."
"Our names are actually nick names because we were all orphans too."
"That’s how most orphan ponies get their names really."

Bro looked to the others. "So guys what should we call him?" The three of them huddled together as they deliberated my name, the sounds of mumbles and inaudible words were the only things I could hear. I hoped and prayed to Celestia herself that they’d not call me Scar Flank, that they’d come up with something that didn’t relate to my stupid mark. But that’s how nick names work, you don’t ever get to pick them, and once they stick it’s all over. Digs stood center to the other two, confidence beaming on his face as he made the decision. "From now and on, you will be known to us as… Scar Flank." Surprise surprise I guess. They could all see the displeasure that washed over my face as they declared my new name. They spoke once more in turns, starting and ending with Bro. "Hey now that scar on your flank is something to be proud of."
"Our cutie marks define our talents even if we don’t like them."
"But your scar stands to say that you can do anything, that you are not limited to just one talent"
"Exactly you can do anything, maybe even everything."

The moment they spoke those words, it hit me. For the first time I wasn’t ashamed of my scar. I glanced back at it with pride. That pride would soon be tested over the many years of my life as most ponies wouldn’t look at it the same way these ponies did. I then looked back at them once more. They really didn’t mind my silence. They accepted me for who I was. I felt a fuzzy feeling inside from it all. Fearing looking stupid in front of them, I pulled my cap down a little to hide my face. They chuckled at my embarrassment. Wiping a tear away from the boisterous laughter Bro bent down to my level. "Well Scar now you are one of us. Welcome to Rockbottom Diner and also welcome to the Hooftown Hooligans." After he said that to me he patted top of my head. He really did act like a big brother to us. Suffice it to say, I didn’t go back to the orphanage. But sooner or later it would drag me back. This family, as fun as it was, wouldn’t last forever.

For the several hours they talked about how they received their cutie marks and how they got their nick names. Bula got his name because the others said something about him “being fula bula”. Not sure what that meant at the time but it dawned on me nowadays. Pretty funny now that I think about it. His cutie mark was that of a hat as he aspired at one point to be a hat maker. He was pretty good at it too, as on several occasions he’d fix my hat up when it got worn out or torn. Bronco was a different story altogether. He earned his name from his wild personality when he was a little colt like me, often exhibiting bipolar personalities from nice and cheerful to a rage of emotions. Bro and Bula joked that it was because his teams were always having good or bad days. Later down the road he took to cooking to calm his emotions and put his mind at ease. And that is how he earned a ladle and spatula cutie mark for his cooking prowess. Bro, or rather Digs earned his name from the fact that he would always dig himself and others into so much trouble and somehow always manage to dig right out of it. He was always causing trouble and always able to slip right out of it again. After his explanation there was a pause, the others looked uneasy when we got to the part about his drill shaped cutie mark. It wasn’t a happy story for him. I wouldn’t learn the truth about it for some time, not until I saw him emotionally compromised. But I don’t really feel like going into that now.

The rains had finally stopped as the sun was soon setting on our little abode. One by one they made their way upstairs to their prospective rooms, the sounds of creaking wood under their hooves with each step. They said their goodnights and shut their doors… not realizing quite yet I was still in the hall wondering where I was going to sleep. Simultaneously each of them poked their head out and looked at me, seeing me squirm in discomfort at not knowing what to do. Their gaze were upon me, then each other, then back to me again, back and forth they just couldn’t figure out what to do about my situation. Letting out a sigh of dissappointment Bro announced to the others what had to happen. "Ok I think I know what needs to be done…… Bula go sleep downstairs."
"What!? Why me?"
"Pweeeeeeees~"

His eyes became big and glittery. I sat there in even more confusion at the kind of character he was to the others. No way would Bula do it for something that stupid. "Fine… prefer sleeping in my favorite booth anyway." Bula snorted under his breath as he passed by. Well…… it’s ok to be wrong sometimes, but that was just completely messed up. It didn’t take long to get to sleep. Beds at the orphanage were much cleaner yes, but this was soo much more comfortable. I could sleep in it forever… well I would have if Bro didn’t decide to sneak into the room and wake me up for Celestia knows why. I was perfectly happy nestled in my ratty blanket and pillow. Nudge after nudge he poked and prodded at me. "Hey, Scar, get up. Come on I got something you have to see." Turning over on my side should have told him flat out to go away. Nope. "Ok then, I guess you won’t mind if I just sat on top of you."

Like a flash I sprung up to my hooves. He just had to have that stupid smirk. Oh how I wish I could have smacked it off his face at least once. He led the way for about an hour with me trailing behind like a tired mindless zombie that just desperately wanted to go back to bed. Ally way after ally way looked all the same as my hooves staggered one in front of the other. Where the heck were we going? If that wasn’t bad enough he decided to climb a fire escape to the rooftops. From there things got really scary as he galloped and leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Did this earth pony know any kind of fear at all or was he just that stupid? Keeping up was a bit of arduous for me. I had yet to learn to fly and he was a ways ahead, shouting for me to catch up. Worn, battered and lifeless from my wings down, we made our way into a massive structure through a ventilation duct. It was dark inside wandering around on scaffolding above what appeared to be a boxing ring. Screaming and shouting ponies left and right cheered on their fighters as they entered the arena to the sparkles of camera flashes all over the place. Even with the roaring crowds beneath me I could barely keep my eyes open. Almost did I fall to sleep right there, that is… until I looked over and saw Bro’s eyes light up. His body was fidgety with excitement, smile stretching across his face and his two front hooves jolting ever slightly forward in a punching motion. As difficult as it was to keep awake, I just couldn’t ruin this moment, this act of him sharing something with me.

The fight commenced at the ring of a bell that seemed to be more audible than the screaming fans. I never saw anything like it before. These two ponies in the ring were… standing on their hind legs as they exchanged blow after blow after blow. Sometimes it’d appear that one would be the victor in a short round only to be sidestepped and taking punishment from his opponent in a burst of vigor. Staying awake didn’t cross my mind at that point; the thrill of the fight just… looked… SO COOL!!! The way they blocked, their right and left hooks, their hoof work, their punch placements, taking the defensive to wear out the opponent and even those beautiful uppercuts just looked too awesome to be real. For a moment I looked over to my Bro. He had been boxing along with them against the air the entire time. Punching this way and that way, ducking and dodging invisible attacks before throwing in a 3 to 4 hit combo. Looking at him I realized his dream. He dreamed to be a world class boxer pony. The bell rang out once more for what appeared to be a sort of break for the fighters. "Hey Scar check it out. Look look look. See her? I love seeing the end round mares walk across the ring with those cards. That’s another thing I love about this sport." Of course he’d be an idiot when I least expected it, ruining a cool moment in my head. Although, I can still recall my first night’s mare waving around those cards. She wasn’t a mare at all though, but a cute goat with all the right curves. You could even say that her butt was the stuff of royalty even from this height. Every week Bro would wake me up to go to these boxing matches. None of the others were ever in on this activity; it was just between the two of us. After that first night on the way back I rushed ahead of Bro, blocking off his path. Staring at me puzzled I raised on my hind hooves as best I could and put up my dukes. He snickered a bit before seeing the look on my face, the look of sincerity. I saw his talent and skill against the invisible foe and wanted to be strong, strong enough to stand on my own four hooves and strong enough to fight with him. "Well if you truly insist kid. I’ll be happy to oblige." He stood up getting into his stance, lights from the streets shining upward to our rooftops were our cameras, the wind picking up from our left was our screaming fan, he began to bounce ever slightly left then right and then….blackness. I woke up the next day in my bed with a nasty black eye that stung worse than anything the other colts use to do to me. It must have been so puffy that opening it was a chore in of itself. It was sure nice of him to carry me back. Every day since then, he’d practice his boxing moves on me while teaching me to fight. I must have been an idiot too back then. I traded down from just simple bullying bruises to full on professional bruises of a happy go lucky moron. It wasn’t all that bad though. He’d treat me to a movie and ice cream afterwards. Well treat isn’t quite the right word. We would sneak into the movies and we’d run out on the ice cream bill. That’s the life of a Hooftown Hooligan and I’d have wanted it no other way. We were a band of trouble makers we were. During practice the other guys would cheer me on, telling me how to dodge him and handle the fight. I think they did more harm by distracting me than helping me. For the first couple of months I could never lay a hoof on him. But as those months progressed, I’d last longer and longer against him and the black and blues were not as prevalent after a while. We’d always go at it and I’d be caught off guard by that stupid smile of his.

My hooves are starting to tremble as I write this. I think I’ll stop reminiscing here for now. Thinking about all my happy memories at once is just really painful. Tired of laying here in bed anyway.