Reflections

As soon as Pixie returned to the village, he was sent straight home. He watched as Mama’s eyes flicked to his cutie mark. Like a wind-up toy, she opened the closet connected to the living room. Out floated a simple suit, one he recognized from old photos of his father at school. Pixie sat down as she draped it over his arms. The fabric swallowed him up, but Mama carefully folded and pinned the sleeves at his wrists with a button. She continued, methodically piercing the fabric with a needle, creating temporary sutures that could be removed as he grew or when he finally earned his true face. Once finished, she stabbed the needle into a stuffed tomato and silently floated it back up to a shelf, out of every pony’s view.

“Thank you, Mama,”

“Hmm,”

Her eyes were heavy with bags, the same puffy look she had when she locked herself away in her room. Always out of reach. Pixie stayed seated as she retreated to her room. He waited until the sound of her door closing prompted him to stand. He went to the bathroom, pushing aside the stool he used to use to see himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a look of uncertainty. He searched for words to describe himself, but found none. Knowing his part to play left him feeling like a blank sheet of paper.

“Mrrr!”

“Pickles!” he jumped holding back a yelp, “how did you get in here?”

The door creaked open wider as the feline rubbed her head against his foreleg, pushing into it with all her might. Pixie picked her up, noticing she felt a bit heavier, but that didn’t stop her from pawing at the air like she was reaching for something. As he went to kiss her forehead, a glint of lace caught his eye. Pixie held the vibrating cat close, feeling her claws kneading his chest, making up for lost time. Balancing her on one arm, he shuffled out of the bathroom and back into the living room, where his father lay out cold on the sofa. Moving closer, he kissed his father’s cheek before turning to head to his bedroom. But then, two porcelain bowls on the kitchen floor caught his attention.

With his mouth slightly opened he glanced back at his mother's door.

“Mama,” he called softly.

There was no response.

“…Thank you.”

…

“I love you.”

With silence, Pixie returns back to his bedroom.

The next morning, both his father and mother were gone. Pixie discovered their absence as he fumbled around the house, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sneezed, and noticed there was an awful lot of cat fur all over his new clothes. Grabbing a cloth from the kitchen sink, he wet it and tried to scrub his vest clean. Pickles, however, let out a loud yowl, as if he was doing something wrong.

“What?”

“Meow!”

“I'm sorry Pickles- I can't give you upsies right now,”

“Meow!”

“When I get home okay? Promise? Okay?”

She meowed again, almost as if she understood. After giving her two pats on the head, Pixie grabbed his things and headed out the door. He passed the rows of houses, the loud, pointy dog, and made his way to the yellow schoolhouse. The floorboards creaked under his hooves as they always did. Following the wall, he spotted a mare standing at the end, staring at a picture. Her pale powdery blue fur was marked with scattered nicks and bruises.

Pixie hunched down, his eyes tracing the grains of the wood. His hoof steps were slow, but she turned her gaze on him. Her eye was swollen, darkened to an angry purple, the bruise spreading outward like ink. It looked tender every time she blinked. Yet her gaze narrowed as she stomped towards him.

“You!” she growled,

“W-what?”

“It's you!”

Pixie blinked, “huh? What did I do?”

“...Don't act Stupid!”

“I ain't acting!”

“...You don't know?”

“No! I mean, yes? No, I don't know.”

MayTower eyes flicked to the buttons on the cusp of his sleeves and on the collar of his shirt, “She picked us,”

“...Who picked us? For what?”

“You really don't know?”

“MayTower!”

“We're… going to be married to one another.”

“...Huh?”

“Married! Unioned!”

“I don't want to marry you!”

“Like I'd want to be with you,”

“So why ya’ so crossed with me’ for?”

“I-” she paused, “Because it's… I'm just mad, okay!”

“Okay?”

“There is not a filly here who would want you, so why me?”

“...Thanks.” Pixie bit down on the top of his tongue, having to take a deep breath in to settle himself.

“I—” MayTower hesitated, “I didn’t mean… Look, I have enough issues with the fillies here. I don’t want to give them another reason.”

“how would I give them another reason?”

“You don't see that?”

For a moment, Pixie was silent. He watched as she shifted her weight, pressing her lips together, her thoughts overwhelming her as easily as he did.

“You know MayTower,” Pixie said, “you're really mean,”

“I'm— I'm not mean!”

“Nuh-uh you're mean.”

“How am I mean?”

“You just are! I don’t know what I did to make you hate me, I don’t know why every pony in this stupid school hates me.”

“They-”

Pixie huffed and pushed past her, walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“We don't know each other. Remember?”

“Don't you dare walk away from me!”

“Sorry I can't hear you over the sound of my hooves walking away from you!”

The belle rang leading children to walk out into the hall.

“Look! I'm sorry, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”

Pixie turned around. Looking into her eyes, he sighed, shook his head, and continued off to class. MayTower wasn't far behind, practically stalking him into their classroom. Mama’s things were here, and board wiped clean, yet that Mare was nowhere to be seen.

It got MayTower to speak up. “Why are you still mad?”

Pixie slouched at his desk, his books strewn haphazardly across the table. He pretended to read, flipping through pages with mechanical disinterest, but his ears betrayed him; one twitching toward the mare who now hovered over his shoulder, peering at the book he wasn’t really reading.

“You’re being so immature right now,” she chided, her voice dripping with disdain.

Pixie slammed the book shut. “That’s it! You wanna know? Because you're awful! Just go away already. I’ll have plenty of time to deal with you when I gotta spend the rest of my miserable life with you! Okay?”

His words, sharp and venomous, sliced through the air, leaving the mare stunned. Her face paled as the sting of his anger sank in. May Tower’s ears drooped, and she finally closed her mouth. Her bangs fell over her face as she lowered her head, her whole demeanor collapsing like a crumpled paper. The fire in her eyes, which had flared just moments before, was snuffed out like a candle, leaving only the dim glow of regret. Pixie watched, uncomfortable, as she seemed to shrink before him.

“I mean it.” MayTower's voice broke that ringing silence,

“Mean what?”

“I'm sorry,”

May Tower sank into her seat, retreating from him, leaving Pixie wide-eyed and frozen as the space she once occupied grew more distant with each passing second. Conflict tore at him, dread clenching his heart and rising up to his throat until he could taste it. He wanted to throw up, but he hadn’t eaten anything, hoping to avoid this very feeling. So why now? Why did it feel like he was some unstable bridge on the brink of collapse? All he could see of her was the jack of her ponytail, her black hair surrounded her as she laid her head on top of the desk. Mama came in shortly after… Even as the chairs filled up she stayed like that… he also saw the looks the other filly’s gave her. Some would whisper and point at her, snickering shortly after. Other's flicked paper into her long black hair when Mama had her back facing the crowd. Who knew girls could be so cruel?

It was sparse when they did that. Yet once or twice was enough to chisel itself into the young Colt's mind. He didn't notice them doing that to another pony, even Flint spared him until the few times he caught him outside of school. How often was she teased like this? Were those scratches and bruises not from her playing a little too rough outside? Pixie wondered who else was hurt like him and Monotone? If his Papa and Mama went through something similar, or if it was simple his age type of thing. So focused on keeping his head down, not once did he ever think to look up at the Mare ahead of him. So he waited. After school, when the ponies began to leave. There he raised his voice.

“MayTower,” Pixie said, his voice squeaked as he forced it off the edge of his vocal cords,

“Yeah?” she replied, softer than she ever spoke to him before,

Their eyes met, and for a moment Pixie knew what he should say, but he didn't.

“Nevermind,” said Pixie as she disappeared in the crowd.

Author's Note

Thought I should add this here. I'm aiming for posting on Monday. This will be the schedule for arc two, thank you.

-Lurker