Another couple came to visit us today.
I helped Caretaker down the stairs, as I always do. She's getting quite old, so I have to help her with a lot, like making food or doing chores or chasing down the little ones when they get too rowdy. I don't mind, though; helping her helps me feel useful, and that plus her grateful smiling is all the payment I need.
We entered the main area together and I got my first glance at the visitors. Newlyweds, by the look of them, probably wanting a foal of their own but unable to have one. That's the main reason anypony comes to see us, anyway. They seemed kind enough, walking along with big smiles on their faces as they interacted with the excited younger foals.
I put on my best performance, following along with a spring in my step as Caretaker trotted ahead to exchange pleasantries and introduce me. She really worked her tail off, spouting about 'how good a colt I am' and 'how much they'll love having me around,' just like those commercials in the newspaper. I did my part, too, making sure they only saw my good side at first and didn't notice my limp yet.
For a few precious seconds, it really seemed to work. I bowed all polite-like and the mare giggled and everything was turning out great.
And then I mucked it all up and showed them the rest of my face.
And they kind of just stared at my bad eye as their own widened quite a lot.
I wonder, sometimes, why the useless organ haphazardly slapped onto my head attracts so much attention. Why the marks and scars from my arrival here always draw such intrigue. Sure, I'm pretty misshapen from being dumped here as a baby, and at least some of it is definitely some genetic fluke or another.
I don't think that's it, though.
My bad eye, you see, is a passageway. When somepony looks into it, they become fully immersed in my deepest feelings. They witness for themselves just how torn up, how broken I am inside. I can play pretend and act along all I like, but that traitorous, vestigial sac always shows what's really happening behind the scenes. My scars and debilitating injuries may have healed years ago, but they still plainly tell everypony who cares to look just how damaged I am within.
At least, that's what I think. I don't know why else anypony would get so put off by them. Surely, they're not shallow enough to actually react that way just from some healed injuries and deformities I was born with.
The couple left soon after, giving some hasty excuse or another as they grabbed their things and all but galloped out the door. Caretaker was sad for a few hours, but then we fell back into our routine.
So, here I am now, cleaning up after the younger foals, all of whom were put to bed a few minutes ago. The work is boring, but it's a tedium that I wholly embrace; the quiet gives me time to think and reflect on my lot in life.
It'd been a slow process and one I just barely noticed happening a few days ago, but I've been starting to accept what that is. A part of me that's growing by the day is acknowledging the idea that I'm simply meant to be Caretaker's assistant. Meant to aid her in her final days and help make her life mean something, unlike mine.
Slowly but surely, the hope that some couple out there will end up wanting me is fading away. Instead, I'm only going through the motions, playing along whenever they show up to keep Caretaker happy. It's already a performance anyway, so what's one more step?
No.
I can't let myself cross that line. I know I'm not a lost cause; surely, there must be some way to make myself acceptable. To become better, less...less...me. The bad me, the one that keeps scaring all these couples away.
Self-improvement, right?
But in order to get rid of the ugly part, I need to first know what to remove. All my theories have been just that. I have nothing to work off of other than educated guesswork, and I need answers.
I find myself standing outside Caretaker's bedroom once I finish cleaning up. I stare up at the door, questioning for just a moment if I'm really ready for this.
A resolute knock follows, though, one answered by the familiar, frail-but-gentle voice of the mare who raised me:
"Come on in, Wish."
I do so, and hop right onto her bed when I see her laying atop it. She's facing away from me, though, and her body is all wrapped in a blanket, so I don't know what she's thinking.
"Caretaker?" I begin, wincing at the fragility of my voice. Through the years, she's been the only one I can trust to see me. I've never bothered with the act when it's just us, both because she knows me too well for that and I love her too much to even try and hide my feelings. "Why don't they want me? What're we doing wrong?"
I jump, utterly surprised by a sudden sniffle, and am even more shocked to see it came from her.
"Wish, I..." I lean forward, eager to finally learn the answer to my plight.
Caretaker's next words touch my soul.
"...I don't know. You're such a darling, and I--" She chokes and can't finish, instead breaking into tears.
A smile is slapped on my face. I prance right up and sit next to her, heedless of my true feelings.
I comfort the mare, dutifully rubbing her withers and whispering sweet, cloying reassurances as she wails. She thanks me, patting my head and calling me a 'good colt,' just as she always has. As she always will.
All while a single tear falls from my bad eye.
