Fleeting Crumble

by PacifistDoodl3r

Rating: teen
Tags: Fleetfoot, Suicide / Self Harm, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad
Length: 3500

Fleetfoot finds a cookie incased in a protective glass dome. This sweet treat isn't edible... it's painful

Leisure time at home was all Fleetfoot wanted. Instead, she got a cookie on her table encased inside a protective jar. It calls to her. It is her.

Written for suicide prevention month. Next time you talk to a friend, consider the fact you may not just have a random chat... but you could be ultimately saving their life with each moment spent together too.

Content Warning: Contains the actions of suicide, cookie body gore, graphic imagery , and disturbing themes revolving around them.

Thanks for pre-reading this, Kentavrista

Cover art is illustrated by me
If it's your birthday today- happy birthday!

Published 2022-09-21 06:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-09-21 06:40:01 UTC

Milk and cookies

Above the fluffy puff of white in the sky where birds chirped while evergreen trees sway to the breeze under them, an apartment flat in Cloudsdale awaits a Wonderbolt. The pegasus zips past a few ponies walking on the haze of marshmallow and pillows, nearly causing a few collisions. At first glance, one may criticize how annoying it is to witness a pony trying to get somewhere so quickly but Fleetfoot shot through the air like this for the heck of it. With no regard for anyone, without a voice to make her feel done, having no need to calm down and flutter by, any bystander would wonder: what is up with this pegasi? She lived at the edge of the floating city, alone in her apartment. Wonderbolts typically live in special quarters near the academy but Fleetfoot is a special case. Being Spitfire’s right hoof mare, she was moved further away due to her record fast speed. You see, the Wonderbolts thought it would make the most sense to house the fastest flyers about thirteen kilometres away from the academy due to their incredible speed. Some members felt bad due to Fleetfoot having a harder time attempting to fly recently but she assured them everything was fine.

Rising in the distance, amidst the drifting fog of silky cloud, the swirly lines of white along the horizon, there stood the apartment building as brick red as nature would allow. Some tiles were grey, but it was mostly a crimson shimmer that reflected off of white flooring around it. Fleetfoot was closer, moving to the staircase that most found… useless. She slowed her speed, flapping a baby blue that blew gusts of air behind her. This flat wasn't the best in quality but it'll do, being funded by the Wonderbolt team.

It neighbored other places where her close friends stayed. Fleetfooot opened the door, out of breath like an empty bottle of shampoo. Her room wasn't anything to take note of on the account of it being a neatly cleaned place. Those who had visited silently commented on the lack of personality ever since something afwful fell upon her. Nopony knew what.

Fleetfoot thought her home was fine, recovering from a change of decoration or lack thereof. It felt professional to live in a place with such cleanliness. Everypony had a kitchen, but it was unusual for a kitchen to have lamps displayed in such a way as to show off something. Her brow raised with a curious beat, squinting two purple eyes at the anomaly. Inside a clear glass capsule was a clawed metal stand that held up a cookie.

It was a cookie. That was it. Nothing appeared to be special about it, save for the way it's inside this case. Fleetfoot looked both ways before crossing her living room. Was her house broken into? The pegasus scrambled and raced to the windows for any sign of a break in but everything looked exactly how she left her house.

“Okay, you can come out of hiding! It's nice of you to buy me dessert!” Fleetfoot called out with a slight raspy voice, shifting her body to spot anypony nearby.

Only the cheerful clouds and winds outside responded adrift in a bright blue ocean of air. Fleetfoot traced her steps back to the front door, attempting to visualize how one would drop off this strange gift. A ghostly blue mist somehow opened the door with their hoof, carrying the case with the other. Fleetfoot decided to not assume whether or not they were a pegasus even though it was rare for an Earth pony or unicorn to be here.

The figure placed the cookie case on the table, aligning lamps to face her table with a match to light each candle inside. She objected to a few things against this hypothetical. Firstly, the door was locked. There was the normal lock that needed a key but also a bolt lock.

No signs of busting any of the locks were present. Another thing was the match issue. It would've smelled like… well… a match was set. The lamps had a bulb covering over them to protect ponies from carbon monoxide. According to scientific studies, Earth ponies have tougher lungs but oxygen is a luxury up here. At least this is what Fleetfoot was taught. This would've been more trouble than it's worth to cough the entire time while setting up some lamps. The bottom line is, a lot of holes were appearing.

No matter how it happened, the cookie was still there. Fleetfoot was half inclined to believe it broke in itself.

Puffing and huffing out an annoyed sigh from her failed security measures, she hovered to the cookie and lifted the glass case. Doing this made her feel chilly, ruffling her coat and adjusting a white mess of a mane. With her right wing, she began to pick up the cookie-

*Snap*

She let out an anguished cry, retracting her wing which burned with a twisted cackle of flame inside of her bone. The cookie had a small snip along with a bunch of crumbs taken at the tip of it. She held her injured limb with a hoof, cradling it with a tight tremble. Fleetfoot eyed the shaved piece of treat, clenching her teeth.

After a few seconds, she attempted to move three tipped feathers, “What the- fllluuufff!! Agghh!” She raised a hoof to smash the cookie but stopped, looking down at the puddle of dark brown wetness. It was speckled along her wing, dripping on the carpet floor.

Some feathers were missing, mysteriously plucked amongst the dark brown substance. Quickly glancing at it revealed red shine, bubbling into the shifting darkness.

Fleetfoot strained her eyes. At the injured wing. At the cookie. Then back at her dripping machination of dead weight feathers. It burned. The pulsing nerves that pinched every other second was eclipsed by the sweet smell of cocoa. Her nostrils whiffed the burning scent of chocolate, flaring to the direction of such a delicious source. She eyed the cookie on the table… but… it didn't come from over there.

She was about to say something, suddenly gulping down her words the second her darkened wing tip came into view. It dripped with the dark substance in question. When the light hit her feather; it turned into a brown colour. Albeit, a very dark brown colour. Fleetfoot took a deep breath, and then another.

And another.

And another.

It was time to come to terms with this reality. With a hoof, she took a wad of the dark brown substance which continuously dripped before sipping a sample of it.

“I'm chocolate.” A statement she wasn't about to second guess. “Why am I chocolate.” This wasn't a question, as rather, a confused remark with a tinge of acceptance.

Surveying the house again proved to be of no use. The windows were still locked, no sign of forced entry, the lamps had been mysteriously lit, and no neighbors were around to- wait!

“Angel Wings is next door… I bet I have an eyewitness… hmm…” She thought to herself, heading straight towards the front door. Fleetfoot felt the stinging throughout her wing, taking a moment to nurture the pain. Inside her bathroom were some bandages that she quickly wrapped around the tip of her wing, straightening out the tiny bones.

Flying wasn't a viable option anymore to her dismay. The wing flopped against her side, now an accessory to look at. Even bandaged, it still dripped despite the pressure on her wound. If Angel Wings couldn't provide answers… well… she has to.

Opening the front door felt odd to do with her left wing. Any thoughts about learning how to primarily trot from now on were dispelled.

“This is like any other injury, it'll all be healed within a few days!” The voice inside her head chimed in. Fleetfoot had wing injuries before, so, this had to be nothing. “Wait- I'm made out of chocolate now… somehow… frick. This isn't a normal injury.” More thoughts like this cropped up, “Should I go to the hospital, or the local candy shop?” Nothing was clear to her anymore.

Angel Wings’ door was right in front of her. All she had to do is just– raise a hoof and ask. Why was this so hard? What's with the ticking time bomb of a heart? Is that sweat? Fleetfoot took a few steps back, turning her head back to the sweet comfort of her home.

Fleetfoot began to awkwardly walk away, looking from both directions in case a pony was watching. One was. Angel Wings tapped on her window, gaining Fleetfoot’s attention. The pegasus had light grey fur with dark grey hair. Her hair had flashy red highlights, a red that dared to mix with a pretty shade of pink. She wore a bow that matched this shade of red, with bracelets of a similar colour.

Angel Wings opened her door, waving a hoof hello. “Lovely perfume you have on. I wouldn't know the brand… I use whatever Dash uses.”

“Aha, ha cute! Someone broke into my house.” Fleetfoot blurted out, startling her neighbor.

“Oh, my– well… break into mine! I mean– no– come inside but don't break into mine. Uhm, I bought everything here… uh- irresponsibly… breaking into my place would suck, you know?” Her house was filled with wonderbolts memorabilia and merchandise with the unfortunate feat of mostly being scattered on the floor.

“Was that a toothbrush? And a- nevermind- I'm not even gonna ask. Ew.” Fleetfoot did an amazing job at hiding her true feelings of looking at Angel's living room. But a strange wave a sadness passed once the mare found a carton of milk on her counter.

“So, have you heard or seen anything strange over at my place while I was away?” She finally asked Angel, carefully stepping over an expired apple juice box.

“No? Which is weird for a break in– I heard nothing. No window smash or lock breaking… did they take anything from you?” Angel Wings picked up a wing brush with her mouth and began to comb her feathers soon after.

“More like… placed something. It's hard to explain but a weird sort of– case thing– whatever– has a cookie in it and now…”

“Oh, my goodness!” Angel gasped as she spat out the comb, gesturing a foreleg at Fleetfoot, “Your wing is bleeding! I'm so sorry for not noticing! We got to get you to a clinic or something!”

Angel Wings rushed out of the living room, nearly tripping over a few items scattered on the floor, to get something from her bathroom. Moments later, she came out clutching healing cream and a few cotton balls. Noticeably, the mare was squeezing out a breath more frequently, giving soft wheezes alongside them.

“H-here! I- ahhhheee– I am not… *huuvhh* g-good with… blood! Or- or injuries! Oh, Celestia– are *heeaaave* you… ok!?” Angel Wings placed the items next to Feetfoot, winding up timid hooves to back away.

“Girl, I'm not even bleeding. This is chocolate.” Puzzled as to why Angel Wings stared back with a shocked expression, Fleetfoot smeared some of the dark substance against her hoof. “See it's… ohh… I– I thought you wouldn't be freaked out.”

“It's– wha- I– Chocolate? Are you trying to make me feel better or something?” Angel's face shifted between emotions, allowing her eyes to race across the floor and dart with precision to which her messy ground welcomed.

“You're not going to believe this… but… hear me out…” Fleetfoot tried to take off the bandage but the cloth stung specs of nerves as it slid.

“No! I- uhmm– do not want to see it! Just–” Angel Wings grimaced with eyes wired shut. “...please leave me alone. I am sorry about your wing.”

Fleetfoot took the offered supplies and left, dripping a trail of melting chocolate behind her. She started to limp, feeling her wing harden with something forming around the loss of feathers.

“Well, that was brief!” Her thoughts pestered, deliberately ignoring the influx of gnawing pain within the wing tip.

Whatever was inside bounced a few beats like a jazz band, springing up and around bones within a lake enhanced by a chorus of skipping stones. It sizzled and purred. Watching. Waiting. Grasping onto the winds from Cloudsdale’s ambience, ever so gently humming inside Fleetfoot’s muscle and tissue that connected her wing. Each tendon and cartilage drifted away once it felt such an alien presence pet her insides like a friendly stranger. As the odor from the wound built up a plume of dried fruit around the pegasus, she opened her door. Unfazed by this sickly sweet whiff so close to her nose, she locked, hung up the key, and sighing soon after. But then she froze, deciding whether or not to scream or laugh from tiny crumbs and bits of dough forming over the feathers.

Hardened, crystalline-like dough. Although it was looking pretty worrisome, this persistent needle driving deeper and deeper inside her wing tip stopped. Fleetfoot eyed the cookie, accompanied by a small swirly puddle of chocolate. She scoffed, almost offended by the fact this thing exists to ruin her day. At least, that's the conclusion Fleetfoot came to.

“The Wonderbolts better excuse my absence tomorrow or so help me I will– find! Yes, find! And track down the fool who has placed you here!” She growled at the cookie, trying to tame the fire in her eyes.

Fleetfoot paced the room, still toying with thoughts of one setting this up. The lamps were turned off to please the cookie. It seemed to do the trick seeing as there were no signs of the dough growing on her wing.

“What if… I put you in a padded box? Hmm? So nothing can harm you or something? Yes? You'd like that?” Unfortunately, there was no reply to her question. “I'll take that as a yes. You seem like you'd want to be all cozy and snuggled up somewhere safe. I'm still upset with you! But– between the two of us… I think you're just a drama queen! I'm Spitfire’s right hoof mare… that means I don't have to be intimidated by your magic– s-so take a time out in my horseshoe box!”

She slowly made her way to the bedroom, preening what used to be a pure baby blue wing. Fleetfoot whimpered, holding back invisible tears with sudden thoughts of the future blurring by.

“I'm okay… I'm fine… this is just a temporary magical mishap.” She said aloud, wincing once these words echoed back. “It's been only thirty minutes?” She looked at her clock, scratching the back of her head. “No! No way… I–” Fleetfoot turned to hiss at the cookie from the other room, resting calmly on the table, “You've ruined my life in thirty minutes!”

She grabbed the box, pre-padded with red felt cushions, slamming it down in front of the cookie moments later. Fleetfoot began to lift the glass casing around the cookie stand. She would've used her wings instead of hooves in any other circumstance. Strangely enough, the cookie smelled… different. It wasn't an all too noticeable stench but the cookie subtlety stung her nose with this ticklish hue of metallic sourness.

Nothing seemed to provoke a reaction. Fleetfoot was calm. She was… searching for an emotion at the moment while sucking down saliva as a voice told her to eat it. Her brain disagreed with such a request, flicking thoughts of hunger away like a moth scratching against a lightbulb. Her pupils expanded from this idea radiating within the cookie. It was the only thing she could eat. The only thing she must eat. Wherever these voices came from… they were waiting.

The cookie was crying.

A swift hoof yoinked it as she quickly shoved it in her mouth, immediately feeling this treat squeeze her ribcage. It started in her lower barrel, proceeding to latch onto whatever organ floated closest to her stomach. With a quick glimpse of something small– a parasitic creature crawl inside her eye through an open hole in her skull– Fleetfoot began to pour chocolate out from any viable place around her head. Ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and even pores. Gurgling noises filled Fleetfoot’s eardrums, pressing such audible noises even louder. Eyes were wide open, formulating any words that can turn into a prayer for Celestia’s grace.

It wasn't her that quickly decided to eat the cookie. The last thing on her mind was to even remotely touch it ever again. Something forced her to do such a thing. Another oddity stirred once she realized how this felt… painless. Every single bone and blood vessel twitched and jittered inside of her but nothing hurt. Like a strawberry sherbet ice cream, her mind was colourful and mixed while also maintaining… sweet. Yeah, sweet. If no emotion can accurately describe this newly found chemical that serenely spreads without pervasive intentions, then sweet is bliss.

Her fur was a brittle roughness that smelled of fresh wheat paired with the embrace of hot fudge. Gone, were her eyes that got replaced with empty sockets that dripped dark brown elixirs. She struggled to breathe, sensing a melted muzzle. She couldn't blink or see clearly, partially blinded by her missing eyes.

Partially blinded. For some unknown reason, sight was still there. Fleetfoot saw in a shade of dark red, attempting to survey the living room.

A few knocks were chained together on the door, averting the huge chocolate chips that had replaced her ears. Fleetfoot wasn't bothered by her cloudy white hair floating off of her like weightless ice cream. She had no other option but to heave a tan hoof made of delicious dough. Her limp slowed, feeling the anvil within a chest of sugar carry the pegasus downwards.

Organs and intestines clamped together inside her, mixing ounces of egg and flour around a pouring stomach. But no pain was present. Fleetfoot was empty. The mare’s thoughts switched off just as Angel Wings kicked the door in. Eyes, streaming watery tears of sorrow.

“I didn't know. I- I wish I didn't ignore the signs... I am- s-so... sorry.” Angel tried to approach her but the sight of a sweet smelling amalgamation of horrors crafted in front of her stared. Angel’s body couldn't decide whether or not to run or continue.

With a wavering throat, Angel Wings gagged on vomit that never came. Her next words would clear the silence. “I miss you.”

Above the fluffy puff of white in the sky where birds chirped while evergreen trees swayed to the breeze under them, an apartment flat in Cloudsdale awaited a Wonderbolt.

She took her time flying to her place, flapping slowly with a hunched posture. Nobody took notice. Nopony batted an eye. It took a considerably long time to get there, living so far from the academy. The pegasus simply entered her dark and messy room, looking away from a dismantled baby crib, giving one last smile to whoever out there would care.

Minutes ticked by in her bedroom, wondering when she'll do it and why her mind isn't ready. It's been years. Years of waiting for an answer to this suffering and if anyone would or... could save her.

It felt so easy and yet-- very-- very difficult. A day ago, she took a moment to herself to cry. Flashing memories.

They eventually ran out.

The mare made up her mind and got up but right as she did, a knocking was heard at the door. After thirty seconds of nothing, a few more knocks began again. She huffed, making an annoyed groan as guesses of whomever stopped by sprouted and died.

“Hello?” Angel Wing's voice was calm. An amiable care that softly spoke to the mare who listened drearily.

It was then, where she finally opened the door with her wing, giving Angel a warm smile and prepared a hoof bump. “Sup, Wings, I hope you're having a-”

Angel Wings gave Fleetfoot a tight hug, stopping her mid sentence. “It's alright... I know...”

“You... know...” Fleetfoot hugged her back tighter, digging a quivering muzzle into her hair.

They embraced one another, sharing the moment together.

“Stay strong. We're in this together.” Angel Wings said, letting go of her neighbor.

“That's... such a-- cheesy thing to say...” She chuckled through wet cheeks, beads of hot streams dripping down her face. “Thanks for that. I'm actually a little hungry... do you want to... maybe...”

“Go out and get some ice cream?” She asked, twirling her hair with a hoof in an idle manner.

“I was... thinking... cookies? Is that alright?” Fleetfoot took a few steps and closed the door behind her, locking it with a key.

Author's Note

It's suicide prevention month. It's ok to reach out to friends or anyone who's willing to listen to you. You're not alone. Stay safe, I love you :heart: