Sore Throat

by gapty

Rating: everyone
Tags: Equestria Girls, Trixie, Slice of Life
Length: 2274

Despite losing her voice due to a sore throat, Trixie has to go to school today. It shouldn’t affect her daily life much.

Despite losing her voice due to a sore throat, Trixie has to go to school today. It shouldn’t affect her daily life much.

Huge thanks to PseudoBob Delightus for proofreading this fic!

Published 2024-04-19 01:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-04-19 01:30:00 UTC

Sore Throat

Having a sore throat sucked.

Losing your voice because of that sucked more.

But having to go to school because of an important exam sucked the most.

But Trixie wouldn’t be Trixie if she couldn’t overcome whatever obstacles she faced! After all, she was great, powerful, and armed with a full bag of cough sweets and three thermoses of hot tea!

(Her mother refused to fill them with coffee. “Too much caffeine,” she said. “And you’re still too young for coffee!”)

But despite her arsenal, she could only whisper in pain. Well, it shouldn’t be that hard to go silent for a day, right?

She marched through the halls to her locker, her head raised and her back straight. She went past a group of students. Then another. Then another. Then—

She stopped and looked back. Something was wrong. On a normal day, she would usually break into these groups and announce herself, and receive the appropriate greeting in turn.

But she couldn’t announce herself without her voice, and it didn’t seem right to confront anyone without the usual pronouncement of, “The Great and Powerful Trixie rewards you with her presence!”

Still, couldn’t they feel her magnificent aura? Shouldn’t they have been head over heels and wondering how Trixie felt? Why was she ignored?!

With a silent scoff, she continued on her way, carefully observing every student she passed. She even walked slower than usual, to give them more of a chance to notice her, but it was to no avail.

Not a single soul even glanced in her direction.

Maybe she was a ghost? Had she been run over by a truck on the way to school? Or was this all just a nightmare? No, her sore throat confirmed that this was cruel, unjust reality.

The student body’s ignorance of her graceful presence hurt Trixie, so she ignored them back, got her books from her locker, and plodded to her classroom.

The scarf around Trixie's neck was enough to let the teachers know what was up, so she was spared having to answer questions during class. However, she couldn’t have imagined how torturous it was to be truly silent. Usually, when she got distracted, she would bestow her idle thoughts and opinions on whoever was sitting next to her. Now, though she had neighbours, she was left all alone with herself.

It couldn’t be that no one wanted to talk to her. She was the Great and Powerful Trixie, after all!

But Trixie wouldn’t be Trixie if she couldn’t figure out how to escape her bonds of silence. Ripping a small piece of paper, she wrote a single message (“u bored 2?”), folded it, and threw it to a boy to her left.

He raised his eyebrows, unfolded the paper and, after reading the message, sighed quietly before folding it back.

Trixie waited a second. Then a few more. Then a minute had passed, and the boy still hadn’t written back to her. Who did he think he was to ignore a message from Trixie?!

She ripped another paper, wrote an angry message asking why he hadn’t replied, and—

“Trixie Lulamoon!”

The teacher’s voice rang loudly in her ears, shattering her peaceful ignorance.

“Yes?” she replied, her voice a quiet whisper.

“One more time, and you go to the office!”

Trixie crossed her arms silently. Genius always went unrecognised.

Changing classes was always a mindless task she had done without much thinking. Today was nothing different: she stood up, walked to the next classroom, and sat down.

However, the time before the teacher arrived had never felt so stretched out.

All of her classmates were talking with each other. All except her. She couldn’t talk, after all, but that nobody had even tried starting a conversation? It was… confusing.

Maybe they held her in such high regard that they feared taking the initiative? Yes, that must have been it!

With renewed confidence, she butted into the nearest cluster of students and placed herself right in the middle, crossing her arms.

“Um—”

“You are allowed to talk to Trixie,” she whispered.

No reply. Maybe they didn’t hear her? Everyone else was talking at a normal volume, after all.

Wait, she got it! They must have been so stunned by her sight, that they were speechless!

In that case, she could excuse their silence.

“You are allowed to talk to Trixie,” she said slightly louder, even though it hurt. All for the comfort of her admirers.

“We heard you the first time,” a girl responded.

It felt… awkward. The tone of her voice wasn’t nervous. Rather… annoyed? Something wasn’t right about this.

Before Trixie could ask about it, the teacher arrived, and everyone rushed to their seats.

At the table, Trixie waited for the girl to look at her, so she could resolve this confusion. Soon. Any moment now…

Trixie waited until the teacher turned around and quickly poked the girl. When she turned to her, Trixie smiled.

However, the girl only furrowed her eyebrows in response.

After that excruciating and unnecessary exam, she was finally gifted a lunch break. But the universe remained cruel. The cafeteria offered a wonderful menu of chips and curried sausages, none of which she could enjoy due to her sore throat. Tomato soup was the alternative.

She hated tomato soup.

However, she hated the pain in her throat more, so she settled for the soup and searched for a table to sit at.

She walked from table to table, but there were no open spaces. She couldn’t get any attention without raising her voice, so no one moved to give her room.

What was going on? Did nobody want her? But that was impossible!

No, she had to move on. At least one table would want her!

She walked to another.

No reaction.

One more.

Not even a glance.

One last table! There was a free seat!

“Let me sit!” she called as loud as she could, immediately regretting as her throat burned in agony.

However, it didn’t hurt as much as seeing the students spread out over the bench to take away the free seat.

At that moment, that feeling she had so desperately tried to suppress emerged and took her over. Like heavy chains it tied her down, leaving her defenceless to the realisation she didn’t want to accept.

She was alone.

There were hundreds of students in this school. She had dozens of classmates. She talked every day to several of them. But now, without a voice, she was nothing to them.

They just endured her. No one was happy to see her. No one wanted to talk to her. No one even wanted to sit next to her!

Her throat burned, but this realisation hurt more. She wanted to throw the tray to the ground and run away, but she was paralysed.

She looked at the expressions of the students around her. They talked. They smiled. They laughed.

They were happy.

And they had never been happy when she was around.

She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear away the tears. Before they could flow in an endless stream, she tore away from her trance and left the cafeteria.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. Some walked at a slow pace as they talked with their friends. Some ran, trying to catch their bus. Some stood in groups, laughing loudly together.

And Trixie watched, waiting silently before her locker. Someone would smile at her. Someone would say goodbye to her. Someone would at least acknowledge her existence.

This was her last hope, her last desperate attempt to deny the truth.

All she needed was one glance.

But the hallway got emptier and emptier.

She sighed. What did she expect? Why did she think this moment would be any different?

Defeated, she walked outside, passing the students who hadn’t left the school ground yet.

Each step was more painful than the last. Each step announced that no one cared for her. Each step confirmed how quickly she could be forgotten.

The students’ voices got quieter, until they faded to a screaming nothingness.

With a lowered head, she walked home. If only she hadn’t had this stupid exam today. If only she hadn’t lost her voice today. If only she hadn’t seen how no one sees her.

But now she knew, and despite being Trixie, this realisation was one she couldn’t ignore—even if she wanted to.

Once she got her voice back, Trixie had no other choice than to go back to school.

This time she didn’t walk up to anybody. She didn’t announce herself. She silently went to her locker like a shadow, got her books, and went straight to her classroom.

The voices of other students drilled relentlessly in her ears. So many voices, so many classmates, but not a single one that cared for her.

She could go back to her old, flamboyant habits. They would listen to her. They would endure her.

But it wouldn’t be the same. She had lost her blind confidence. The truth was standing right before her eyes, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was pointless to try.

How were they doing it? How did normal people form groups, or make friends? Even if she learned, it was too late for Trixie to reverse her mistakes. She had built herself up with this Great and Powerful persona. She wanted people to be in awe of her, and that was exactly what they despised.

Maybe this was destiny. Maybe she was supposed to be alone. A shadow no one cared about.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? She’d done this to herself. Boasting and making herself the centre of attention while not caring the slightest for others—of course she would end up alone.

In spite of all that, she was still Trixie. She was great and powerful. Even if she was alone, she would march through every day of her life with pride!

Well, after she was done being sad about it. For now, she allowed herself to feel awful.

Weeks passed, and the feeling of loneliness didn’t stop hurting—really, it was the opposite.

The more days that confirmed how no one cared for her, the deeper it cut through her heart.

She didn’t know how to talk to anybody. She didn’t know how to make friends. What could she offer to anybody anyway? Narcissistic gloating? Pshaw!

Despite wanting to move on, she couldn’t. Her thoughts always returned to it. Distractions like learning the electric guitar or playing video games only made it worse, once she realised that she could’ve bonded with others through it—but would this bond last if their hobbies didn’t mean anything to her? Wouldn’t the relationship be built upon a lie?

This pain of loneliness persisted even when she went to the markets with her mother. There was a lively festival with loud music and bright lights. But none of it was enough to distract her.

“Wait here a moment, sweetie,” her mother said as she entered a small shop.

So Trixie waited outside. So many happy faces. But not a single one smiled at her.

A honk got her attention. A clown grinned at her, waving his hands excitedly.

Trixie sighed. It wasn’t a genuine smile. He was only playing his role.

The clown lowered the corners of his lips, forming an exaggerated frown. Then he snapped his fingers and pulled out three glass bottles. He juggled them, quite impressively, but still Trixie didn’t smile.

The clown stopped juggling and made a thinking expression, before snapping his fingers once again and pulling out a red ball. He made a fist and squeezed it tightly, and when he opened his hand again, there were now two balls.

Trixie’s jaw dropped. But this was impossible! He had clearly placed only one ball in his hand!

The clown clapped at her reaction, then placed one ball in his hand again. This time, after he closed and opened his hand, the ball was gone!

“No way!” Trixie called, grabbing his hand and turning it over to inspect it. “Where is it?!”

The clown wiggled his fingers before taking her hand, placing the remaining ball in her palm, and closing her fingers over it. Then he tipped the brim of a nonexistent hat and turned around, leaving her alone.

Trixie raised her hand and called after him, “But what about—” but once she opened her hand, a dozen red balls flew out and fell to the ground.

This left her awestruck. How did he do that? How was it possible? She wanted to run back to the clown! She wanted to see more! She wanted—

Then she remembered how she felt when she saw each magic trick. She took a moment to realise how she was feeling right now.

Impressed. Excited. Astonished. Amazed!

She wanted more!

And, more importantly, she realised that this was how she wanted others to feel about her. This, all along, was why she gave herself the title “The Great and Powerful”. Was this her key to becoming friends with everyone else? To get them to talk to her, at least?

“I’m back,” her mother said, leaving the shop. “Sorry it took so long.”

Without warning, Trixie took her mother’s arm and tugged on it. “Quick, we need to go to a magic shop!”

Maybe she would still be alone. Maybe nobody would talk to her anyway. But if magic was a way to make others feel like she did a moment ago, then she would dedicate her whole life to it!