In So Little TimeView OnlineIt Started with That HummingIn So Little Time“No further questions, Your Honor.” the Prosecution says. “Dr. Gait, you may step down from the stand.” the judge says with a nod. He gives me a weak smile. The evidence is shaky. I admitted I did it because I enjoyed it. They’ll lock me up again. Who knows how long it is for aggravated assault? I probably should have slept last night. “You may call your next witness, Mr. Brief.” “The Prosecution would like to call Miss Screw Loose to the stand.” I knew it had to be coming. Azalea’s parents glare at me as I walk to the stand. Another pony approaches me and holds up a ceremonial sword. “Put your hoof on the hilt and repeat after me,“ I put my hoof on the hilt and feel the cold metal wake me up a bit, “I swear by the Royal Sisters to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” I repeat, smothering a yawn just in time. “You may take a seat.” the judge says. I sit and blearily glance up at the advancing lawyer. I can tell just by looking at him that he already has this case wrapped up. I wonder if telling them I had a daughter would help or hinder my case? It probably wasn’t best for my parents to find out I was a mother when I tell a bunch of strangers in court. I really want to be able to look for her. The adrenaline I get from anticipation helps me sit up straighter. I might be able to keep myself out of jail if I don't fall asleep when he's asking me questions. “Miss Loose, You’ve made significant progress mentally these past few months, correct?” “Yes.” “Almost miraculous?” “I wouldn’t say that.” “Why not? Was there a miracle pill that made you better? or did doing the same thing after four years seem boring to you all of a sudden?” “Neither of those reasons. I don’t know what helped me get better.” “That’s rather convenient isn’t it?” “I don’t remember four years of my life. How is that convenient?” “Have you not considered how inconvenienced my client is?” “Yes I have but—” “So when did you do all this thinking about how she suffered?” “Since I these past few months. SInce my mind was restored.” “Did you enjoy it?” “Enjoy what?” I ask, honestly not remembering the question. “Do you enjoy thinking about how my client suffers? An upstanding pony and aspiring nurse before you attacked her?” “No.” “Really? But, didn’t you say that you enjoy hurting her.” “Your Honor, I object! He is misquoting her and taking her statements out of context!” “Acknowledge, Mr. Brief, watch yourself.” “My apologies. A better way to ask would be does not some part of you feel like this is perfect vengeance for how she treated you?” I blink repeatedly before answering. I know this is my chance to apologize, “What I did to Azalea was wrong, no matter how I was treated. I regret deeply what I did to her.” “But was your attack not revenge?” “No. It was a foalish reaction. I was letting stress and emotion get to me.” I said, this time my irritation was keeping me awake. “Miss Loose, I could help but notice in your interview you showed little remorse—” “I show remorse differently than most ponies. I haven’t slept in the past fifty plus hours.” “Is the worry that keeps you up—” “Your Honor, I object! She did not state that it was worry.” And so the trial continues. I stumble on for what feels like an hour, answering questions then answering questions about my answers then answer questions about the answers to the questions about my answers. I almost have to slap myself to keep awake. Finally, my lawyer comes and completely overturns what the Prosecution had done. I think. I lost my ability to pay attention back when he was asking about my GPA before my breakdown. Not sure what he needs that for. “No further questions, Your Honor.” my lawyer says. I nod thanks and close my eyes for only a moment. I feel a nudge. “Miss Loose!” the judges voice booms at me. I jump in my seat. I must have drifted off in a matter of seconds. I stumble out of the stand and almost collapse onto the table. Basically, if the Prosecution can prove that I have not been insane these past few years, and that I attacked Azalea out of pleasure, they win. What my lawyer has to do is convince twelve strangers that I have been insane for the past few years and that was driven mad by my roommate. At least I think that’s what has to be proven. Drat, they’re nudging me up again. “The Defense rests, Your Honor.” my lawyer says. What just happened? Were Dr. Gait and I really the only witnesses? Or did I really sleep through the whole trial after my part? My parents enter and sit on the other side of me. My lawyer looks at me, incredulous. “I told you to get sleep last night!” “I couldn’t help it. I was nervous.” I say, resting my head on my mother’s shoulder. “Well, maybe they’ll deliberate enough for you to nap it off.” “They don’t seem to think that the Prosecution has a case.” my dad says. “Well, if they were paying attention, yes, but I think he successfully confused half of them about what the trial was attempting to prove...” Everything fades as I slide forwards from my mother’s shoulder onto the table to close my eyes. I look up. The sky is a field of cotton candy. The night and day keep switching back and forth every couple of minutes and I think I can smell chocolate. I look down at the grass beneath me and find a pink and purple checkerboard plastered over the ground. A wind whistles a jazzy beat. I'm so confused. I know this memory well. Ok I didn’t have to get nudged so hard! “Stand up. They have the verdict.” my lawyer says in a fervent whisper. “Have you reached a decision?” the judge asks the jury. A light yellow mare with red and beige hair stands. “We have, Your Honor. We the jury upholds the previous decision of Screw Loose vs. Azalea Meadows. Screw Loose is not guilty for her actions due to insanity.” Not guilty. I don’t register that my parents are hugging me. My father is crying into my mane and my mother almost chokes me. I’m not guilty? How is that even possible? And why did they say “previous decision of Screw Loose vs. Azalea?” “Miss Screw Loose. You have already been deemed mentally stable by official doctors. You are free to return to your home. Case dismissed.” I’m free. I’m free to go home. My parents half lead/half pull me out of the courtroom. I’m free to go home. Just like that. If those glares I feel are coming from Azalea’s parents I don’t have the strength and stability to look at them. I’m too dizzy to care. I’m free. I’m free to go. I’m free to go and try to find my daughter. I’m sure I thank my lawyer before leaving, I’m not sure. I think somepony takes my picture too. What I remember strongest is that my parents and I enter a carriage. The ride takes off, rolling away from the marble columns and gold accents of the Ponyville County Courthouse. The top is up on the carriage, being pulled by six strong stallions, and it shades my eyes as I close them and lean against my mother. Her foreleg wraps around me and she cradles me close. I have to be sure to cradle my own daughter like this at some point. I barely spent any time with my child when she was born. My dream replays that memory almost every night in full detail. Eleven months of pregnancy happened a total of eleven minutes and to say it was incredibly painful would be an insensitive understatement. I remember that after I delivered my daughter I lay there for at least five or ten minutes. I almost passed out. A sharp elbow nudges me, and the sharp pains suddenly disappear. I open my eyes and look up. “Well, it’s a girl.” a resonant voice says to me. I look into the face of the wriggling filly he is holding. “What is wrong with her eyes?” I asked, startled, as I stare into two swirls of light and dark purple that point in different directions. “She’s half chaos, what did you expect?” Discord says as he sits down directly in front of me, the filly finally settled in his arms. “But, is she blind? Will her eyes ever go back to normal?” “Eugh! Gag! Why would you want that?” “Well, as her mother I don’t want her having a scarred childhood because nopony wants to play with her.” I say, pushing myself up the hill behind me so I can sit more comfortably. The pain is lessening enough to be curious. “She doesn’t need other ponies to play with her. She can make her own friends depending on how well she masters chaos.” “She needs normal friends.” "What is your obsession with normal?" "I...I just don't want to have a child who ends up..." I looked at him again. Best not to use the word I was thinking of. I finish my sentence, "I don't want her to be hated." “Screwy, are you going to argue with me or are you going to hold your daughter?” “Don’t call me, Screwy! I hated that nickname growing up!” “Fine. Screw Loose,” he says with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “Are you going to hold her?” Hold it? I look at those eyes again. It's half chaos. It doesn't even have a chance of being normal. I don’t even want to look at it. What had I brought into the world? It’s not a pony. It can’t be my daughter. This... this thing was not something I had bargained for. I had always pictured my daughter being a normal pony like me or better. I wanted her to have a chance of being liked and accepted. Would Discord be willing to take full custody of it? Those eyes did not look healthy and would certainly set her apart when she grew up. I didn’t want that for my child when I would have one. A sneeze ruffled its body completely, poofing out its mane and tail. “Germs! Catch!” Discord yelps and tosses the filly at me. I catch her. Her eyes roll around in her head for a moment then look straight at me. Her little mouth opens and a small squeak comes out, not sounding like alarm but...recognition. This is mine. It...knows who I am. It loves me. This thing...loves me. This is my child. This...chaotic mess is my daughter. My heart breaks. This emblem of discord and disharmony, with eyes that nobody could ever love, is my daughter. This adorable hodgepodge...is somepony I created. Fifteen minutes ago she didn’t even exist and now she’s here. How can I change so completely is so little time? She doesn’t even look anything like me. How can...how can she know I’m her mother? She sneezes again. “Get her a blanket. She’s cold.” I say. In an instant she is wrapped in a fluffy purple blanket. How can I feel so much and not explode? How could my feelings change from being disgusted to enraptured with one little sneeze? This child is mine. I could keep staring at these little hooves, this little muzzle, and her crazy hair for the rest of my life. I can watch her grow up, hear her voice, find out what she loves. I hold her close and a part of me aches inside. I just want to hold this moment and live in it forever. “Times up, Daddy’s turn.” Discord says and wraps his tail around me to pull us all closer together. He scoops the filly into his arms and holds her close to his chest. I want to protest, but then I watch his face. He was a pony when I first saw him. I had no idea what sort of a...thing he really was. After he turned into his normal form I could do nothing but be terrified and disgusted of him. But...as he looked at her, his eyes dilate and shimmer. The teasing grin he had on his face slowly slips away. I can see the ache in his eyes. Did I look like that when I was holding her? His mouth hangs open at first then closes and curls up in a smile that pushes tears from his eyes. I realize I'm smiling with him. “She’s beautiful.” I say. “Oh she is. She is the perfect little abomination!” He declares. His eyes streaming. My smile drops. “You really know how to kill a moment don’t you?” “You know you thought it too, dear.” he says, quickly bopping me on the muzzle with his left...claw? “Well, what are we going to name her?” “Mayhem of course.” “...I don’t like it.” “Well we have to name this fluffiness something!” “Cotton Candy?” “I mean, we can’t just give her any name. It needs to denote her chaotic origins.” “How about Swirly?” “It needs to speak for my elegance.” “What elegance?” “No, We’re not naming her ‘Elegance.’ That’s so...Rarity?” “That works I guess...” “No, I meant Rarity would probably name her spawn ‘Elegance’ if she ever has any. Although my daughter’s name should show how unique I am.” “We’re not renaming you, Discord. We’re naming this little one.” I say, sitting up and nuzzling my bundled daughter. “Well, I’m not going to give her a name I don’t like.” “We could just wait until she gets her cutie mark.” “But what to call her until then? Little Discord? Screwy?” “Fluffy?” “Ugh....predictable and it’s no fun to shout the name Fluffy.” “All right then, until she gets her cutie mark, lets call her Mayhem.” I say, tired, “Now may I hold her again?” “I’m still holding her.” “I’m her mother.” “Better idea.” He takes his left arm and pulls me on top of him as he reclines on a soft hill. I can wrap my forelegs around her and see her face perfectly. His claw rests on my shoulder as he holds us both close to him. This is the first tie he's held me in his real form. I'm not sure if I can get used to it. I still have some questions to ask before the drowsiness overtakes me. The pain is almost gone but I'm still exhausted. “Exactly how did I go from not pregnant to here in only a few minutes?” “I can accelerate time if I desire. I accelerated her growth so I could spend more time with her.” “Hmm.” I say, meaning “makes sense.” Discord does make an incredibly comfy pillow. “By the way...I didn’t tell you this before—I might not have much time left—I want you to take care of her until I can find a more permanent way to take care of her.” "Figures...” I mumble, closing my eyes after glancing at little Mayhem, who is already asleep. “We’ll discuss it later. Just keep her hidden when I'm gone.” I open my eyes to the carriage. My heart drops deeper into my chest the more awake I become. I have no idea where to start looking for her. I have no idea what name she goes by or if she is still called Mayhem. I hope not and I hope so at the same time. It could be easier to find her if that is her name but it’s not a name I’m fond of. I just gave up fighting for a different name so I could take a nap. I didn’t know I would never see her again. I have no idea what my parents are going to say. I mean, I had a child with an enemy if the Royal Family. I’m not even sure why I agreed to do it in the first place. Maybe I wasn’t entirely sane that moment I met him. No matter what, I can’t change what happened. I can just try to find her. That’s all I have left to do. I feel my journal sit in the front of my dress suit that I wore for the trial. As soon as I get home I’m going to write out the first journal entry. It’s been in my mind for so long that I almost have it memorized. I’ll give it to Mayhem when I find her. I will find her, no matter what I have to do. Author's Note Yeah...I know. This chapter weirded me out when I was writing it.
The Useful ActView OnlineIt Started with That HummingThe Useful ActThe night breeze dries the ink on the page of the open journal lying in front of my window. I finished the first entry. It’s addressed to “My dear daughter.” According to the clock on my wall, it’s 2:00 AM. I had to finish the entry or else it would keep me awake. Under the journal sits my discharge papers. If I try to get a job anywhere I’m going to have to show my possible employer those if they request them. I doubt they won’t once they figure out I was a mental patient. Hopefully after finding out that I attacked a girl just because she hummed and then believed I was a dog for years they will decide that they still want me to work for them. I doubt any employer would be so understanding. Or desperate. I close the journal and put it away in my desk. My parents kept my room exactly as I used to four years ago. Everything has been dusted and the floors swept but that’s all that’s been touched. I’m still not sure how to tell them. I’m certain they’re asleep by now anyway. I’m not scared that they’re going to kick me out or hate me. I’m just scared that I’ve disappointed them. That’s worse than anger. I shrug out of my dress suit and leave it on the floor so I can crawl into bed. I know the longer I wait the more disappointed and hurt they will be. I’m just...I don’t know how to tell them. How do I even start that conversation? Hey, Mom, guess what? I’m already a mother and the child is half chaos...While it might spice up a dull conversation at the dinner table I doubt it would be the correct way to break the news. I bury my head under the covers until the sun rises. For the 20th time this week it happens. I hand my resumé to the pony behind the desk, this one is a blue stallion with a green mane, and he looks over it, sees my last place of employment, then looks up. “I see you were employed at Ponyville Hospital. What did you do there?” “I was a guard.” I say. I’ve rehearsed that line so many times now I’m starting to believe it. “I see. You were a guard for four years it seems. Did you enjoy it?” “I...I think so. I wasn’t really needed often.” “Did you get along well with your coworkers?” “I believe so. I never heard them complain about me.” “I see you live in Saddleburne. Why did you work so far away from home?” “I didn’t really have a choice.” “Well, where did you live when you worked at the hospital? You don’t have the address listed.” He asks. Well, here it goes again. “I lived at the hospital.” “Did you go home when you weren’t working?” “No, I had to stay at the hospital.” “Why would they make you live at the hospital if you were only there as a guard?” Usually it takes longer for them to get to that question. “I was also a patient there.” I say and let him work it out in his mind. “But if you were a...” realization comes to him, “Oh...” he leans back into his chair, “The Useful Act wasn’t it?” I nod, “I didn’t think about that...” “Not many ponies do.” I say. I can feel my disappointment coming already. I know I’m done. He just has to be polite enough to tell me instead of making me wait. I know what will happen next. “Well...do you have your discharge papers?” I dig into the saddlebag next to me and pull out the forms, then pass them to him with my mouth. When he gets them he scans the first page. His expression doesn’t change until the second page, detailing what triggered my attack on Azalea. His eyes grow and he leans away from the paper. His head snaps back up to look at me in surprise. “I was acquitted.” I offer weakly. He clears his throat and blinks down at my paper again. He hasn’t read the third page yet but I doubt he will. Nopony has yet. Once they seem why I went crazy, they don’t bother to read how the doctors know I’m sane. He looks back up at me and gives a rushed sigh. “Well, I see that. I have to be honest, but, I don’t know if insurance will cover us taking you on even with the Useful Act in place.” “I understand...” “I mean, if you were still covered—” “Yes. I know. Coverage stops as soon as they think I’m ready to re-enter society.” His eyes fall back down to the paper as he slides my forms across the somewhat cluttered desk. “I am sorry. I know it has to be hard.” I pick the papers and place them back into my bag neatly. I don’t need his pity. Pity doesn’t give me a job. “I’ll get used to it.” “Well, best of luck to you, Miss Screwloose.” “Thank you for your time.” I say, throwing my saddlebag on and leaving as quickly as possible. My eyes are starting to leak. I’ll try some other places tomorrow. Again. The Useful Act. It was only useful to me when I was barking at everything and on drugs to curb my more violent impulses. The Act helped me until it became a name I would have to live under when it no longer applied. The income it gave me wasn’t enough to live off of. It was more of a pittance to give to my parents, making them feel like I was at least appreciated. Ponies may not often go insane in Equestria to the degree that I did, but there is a “provision” for them if they do. If they are safe enough to be around and can perform a task, they are automatically given that job and provided for. The same goes for ponies born disabled, though depending on their disability, they may demand a little more compensation so they can be independent instead of being looked after like a...like I was. I was more of a pet than a pony, I was just a little more expensive. Although, in my case, I was “paid” if they ever needed a guard dog but most of my payments went towards treatment costs. If I didn’t get better, I stayed “useful” but they had to take care of me. It wouldn’t have been a bad life if I had just stayed insane. I lost my “usefulness” when I got my mind back. I think my mind just got tired of playing games with me and decided to return to normal. If only my situation could do that. I can figure out how to live on my own and support a daughter, but to do that I need a job...and very understanding parents. I rest my hooves on a bench in the park; my saddlebag in a lump next to me. At least today is beautiful. There is just enough cloud cover in the skies to keep the day from getting too hot. I smile to see a proud stallion walk by with his daughter hopping besides him, prattling about school that day. Some day that will be me: my daughter Mayhem and I walking back from school as she tells me every detail about her day. Will she bounce excitedly like that little filly? Will she prattle? With other parents look at me and share my joy? Or will they have revulsion for my daughter because of her eyes? I watch the father bend down to let his daughter onto his back. At least I know she’ll have me, once I find her. Why do I have to worry about this now? Today is gorgeous and— How did my bench get flipped over? Letters float to the ground and land on me like snowflakes. “Eh! Mh fwo fahmmn!” A grey pegasus puffs around a mouthful of letters. She spits them out and nudges me roughly. I think she’s trying to help me stand. “Oh. I’m ok are y—?” “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you and I was going to sit on the bench for a second to put some letters in my bag but then I saw you were in the bench and I had to pull up but I lost direction. And I just don’t know what went wrong!” she says, breaking into a sob and collapsing onto the grass. Her shoulders heave with each wail that comes from her gaping mouth as tears gush from her eyes. “It’s ok! Just calm down,” I say, standing up, “and...I don’t know what all I can do, but let me help you.” “No! I got it!” She chirps, her eyes mysteriously dry again. She tries to stand but I think her wings get confused because she flies, muzzle-first, into the now vertical seat of the bench, knocking it back, upright, into its place. I scoot some letters together in a pile with my hoof as she rolls off the bench and falls on her hooves. She shakes her head wildly and her eyes spin around before settling in two different directions. Her gray hat is lopsided and covering her right ear. The only things that aren’t knocked around about are her perfectly straight, yellow mane and tail. Ponies all around the park are stopping to stare at us. Her constant stream of babbling nonsense isn’t helping. “No, really, it’s all right. You don’t have to feel bad.” I explain, glancing around for other letters. “Wait...what?” she asks, staring at me, snapped out of a thought. “I...I wanted you to know you don’t have to feel bad about crashing into me. It’s fine, really.” “Oh yeah. I was thinking how I really don’t need zapapple jam.” “How did you even—” “I’m late!” she squeaks, her blastoff knocking me over again. What just happened? As I stand up I see that she had forgotten a few letters in her haste. I sigh and gather them up. The post office will take care of them...hopefully. After I drop these off I can catch the train back home. I’ll probably search a little closer to home tomorrow but I figured I’d start out as far as I’m willing to commute and work my way closer to home. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to my parents. The bell above the door rings as it bounces up and down on it’s metal hanger to announce me. A hassled-looking stallion stands behind the counter. I drop the letters and he looks at them with apprehension. “I think one of the mailponies dropped these.” I explain politely. “It wouldn’t surprise me. The way things have been. Derpy been pushed in just about every direction. She doesn't even work here but she was transferred to replace the last one that left. I’ll tell you: two ponies have left to move to Canterlot, one moved away to be with family in Appleloosa, my other pegasi went to the Wonderbolt Academy, and four went away to study in the Crystal kingdom! Derpy is my only pegasus left here and we’re down to two unicorns per shift left to sort everything while the earth ponies are working overtime to move all the packages off the train. Say...” he says, looking at me with an idea brewing in his tired eyes. The bell above the door rings again an hour later. Just like that. My saddlebags are a touch heavier with a package of clothes. I hadn’t intended to stay that long, but I figure that Mom and Dad won’t mind when they realize why I’m late. I hadn’t planned on applying for the Brayington Pony Postal Service...but, they’re the only ones crazy enough to offer me a steady paycheck. My heart burns in my chest as I settle down onto one of the seats of my train car. I don’t understand how a job could have shown up so conveniently but it did. I’m now one step closer to Mayhem.
Family MealView OnlineIt Started with That HummingFamily MealThe wind crosses over Saddle lake and saunters in through the open window, passing by me into the empty parlor behind me. Sailboats lazily glide over the dragon-like sea monster that is at home in the waters here, outside the windows of my family’s house. I haven’t seen the flash of its green scales in a while, but I know it’s still there.The light from the setting sun illuminates the sails like candles with flames all the colors of the rainbow. Another train is traversing the bridge that crosses the lake and I watch it pass while hearing the rhythmic cli-clack, cli-clack, cli-clack of the gears and wheels on the tracks. From now until I can officially start my search for my daughter, I’ll start and end each day traveling those tracks. The sun rolls behind the peaks of the mountains and quickly pulls a brush of purple along the horizon where it bleeds upward into roses and lavenders. All the clouds left to wander between Saddleburne and Cloudsdale turn pink. I guess Celestia can make cotton candy clouds too . . . to some degree at least. The fresh air of the country spills over my lips and into my lungs. I inhale and taste the rain clouds being made for tomorrow. Ponyville can be spotted on a clear night, when the lights begin to fade except for the candles burning in the windows of industrious ponies. They all have normal lives. Lives that are painfully simple. Their conflicts are common and enviable. Although, I suppose there must be others who struggle the way I do. I can’t assume I have it worse than any other pony. At least now I have a job . . . until the Braylington postal service come to its senses. Who knows if I will be needed after more qualified candidates are found? The sailboats assemble into the harbor outside the glittering city of Braylington. It’s a place I’ve always loved visiting. I remember looking forward to Hearth’s Warming train rides into the city with my family. All four of us before Photo moved away. She now lives miles, to my back, away in Canterlot. “Screw Loose. Come to dinner.” my father calls. I reluctantly remove my hooves from the open window ledge and walk into the dining room. The dusty chandelier burns the cobwebs it had accumulated when our butler light the candles with his magic. He pulls out my chair across from my mother and pushes me in. To my left, at the head of the table, sits my father. The foot of the table is at least a dozen ponies away from me. Our servant brings out the rolling cart and serves us our dinner. I don’t move until my father does. Once he nods to the servants and we’re left alone, I pick up my fork and select a perfectly dressed daisy as my first taste. “How did the hunt go today?” “I got a job.” “Oh wonderful,” my mother says while my father smiles at me, “Where is it?” “The Braylington Postal Service.” My father places his fork down without taking the food from it. Here it comes . . . “The Postal Service? Why did you seek a job there?” “They offered it to me.” “Didn’t you check at the bank?” “Yes. They rejected me.” “Which one did you interview at? I can—” “Please. I’d rather do this on my own.” “We’re not saying that being involved in the Postal Service is a bad job . . . It’s just . . .” my mother flounders, unable to keep her muzzle unwrinkled. “Not what you expected your daughter to be?” “Well, is it something you want to do for the rest of your life?” my mother asks, rhetorically. I feel my father’s penetrating question though I won’t look at his face directly. “I . . . I just need money.” “For what?” I can’t bring myself to answer her. “If money is your concern, we’re not exactly poor you know . . . “ my father points out, “You could also speak to Photo Finish—” “We didn’t end on a good note and I doubt that will change until she drops her accent.” “Photo is allowed to be eccentric. You have your own quirks.” “Like humming?” The flush of hot annoyance in my cheeks turns to shame. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” “You’re tired. How long until you have to work?” “I start tomorrow.” “So soon? Are they desperate?” “Basically.” I admit. My father suppresses a groan, for the most part. At least he’s trying. “Screwloose, are you certain you have to have this job? We can pull some strings . . .” she stops when I shake my head then gives a quick nod to show her understanding. I want to tell her. I want to tell both of my parents. Will they understand? They do care about me to some degree and they might love Mayhem . . . I think. She is their granddaughter. Could that be enough? I will change her name once I find her. I doubt when they look at her beautiful large mismatched eyes and hold her . . . But, she’s already a filly. She’s not a newborn anymore. She won’t be the infant wrapped in a bundle that rested against her father and me. I’ve missed the first years of my daughter’s life. Her first step, her first words, I’ve missed almost everything. Hopefully I can find her before she gets a cutie mark. “Screwloose? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” My mother asks, alarmed. I don’t realize my tears until I see some make a puddle in my raspberry vinaigrette. “It’s . . . I’m so sorry.” “Tell us. We’ll take care of it.” I sniff and look up at my father. Well, the opportunity is rather accessible at the moment. “When I was in the hospital . . . I had a child.” “Do you remember who did it to you?” my father says after he throws his napkin on the table. Murder is in his face. “I . . . I do.” “GIve us the name and we’ll see him in court.” “You can’t.” “I won’t let my daughter’s rapist go free.” “I wasn’t raped . . . I agreed to . . . “ I can’t even look at him. “You what?” My mother asks, aghast. “Which doctor was it?” “It wasn’t a doctor.” “Who then?” I can’t. I can’t tell them. They’re looking for a scapegoat. It always has to be someone else’s problem. If only they knew. “Some random pony.” “‘Some random pony’?” “Screwloose, you don’t have to protect him. We don’t think you’re weak because you were taken.” “I wasn’t taken.” “Of course you were,” my dad says, placing a hoof in my shoulder, “You were barking mad then, quite literally. Obviously someone took advantage of that and he needs to be brought to justice.” “There were a few hours, 3 years ago, when I had a small moment of sanity.” “Why didn’t you say something?” “The court didn’t need to know that I have a child.” “Good point. We’ll have to deal with your colt later.” my father says. My mother lets us continue the conversation, waving the butler back into the kitchen. “Filly.” “What?” “I have a daughter. I don’t know her name.” “If you were conscious for only a few hours, how could you have gotten pregnant and known the gender?” “It’s . . . complicated.” “Well, the point is: you don’t need to protect the father. Obviously he cared nothing about you and he needs to be brought to justice.” “Except you can’t send a pony to jail for a one night stand and you don’t need to. I refuse to press charges.” “Well, he needs to take custody of the baby—” “What?” “Well, obviously, he needs to take responsibility for his actions—” “The whole reason I got a job is so that I can raise money to get my daughter back.” “You want to raise her?” “Of course I do!” “Now, let’s think about this: You still have your whole life ahead of you. You can have another child once you’ve established yourself in a job that you want.” I knew this conversation would end in crying. The tears form a solid lump in my chest that forces itself up into my burning eyes. “Because children are expendable. I know.” It was a nasty thing to say to them. Both of my parents sit back in surprise. I have to watch my father struggle to say something else, to cover what he had just said. “Screwloose—” my mother begins. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” “You should know better than that.” My father says, the shock of what I said has worn off, “You weren’t 'expendable' to us, even when you went crazy and had to be employed as a dog four or five towns away. We still visited you but I suppose that means nothing.” “Capital . . . “ my mother says to my father, threateningly. “We weren’t suggesting you completely abandon your daughter. I spoke hastily and you should have given me a chance to correct myself. All I’m saying is: don’t be so focused on getting her back as soon as possible that you neglect your duty to yourself. Find a job you can manage to enjoy for the rest of your life and then start looking for . . . her.” “May I please be excused?” I ask after a significant amount of silence. “Yes, you may.” my father says. My mother is emotionless as I leave the table. I hear her calmly tell the butler that it won’t be necessary for the kitchen staff to bring my entrée out to the table, but to send it to my room in an hour. I ascend the wooden stairs to my room, letting a few stray tears slip. I should have known. I’m always going to be a victim of my circumstances and the actions of others. I couldn’t have possibly made the choice to get pregnant. It was his fault only and now any problems in my life will be because I'm so— I don’t want to think about it. She’s their granddaughter. They couldn’t even acknowledge that. She was always ‘your daughter’ or simply ‘her’. Of course, I shouldn’t expect them to think of her like that so soon. They have no reason to love her like I do. She’s . . . a disappointment to them. Work for Photo Finish? I literally blow a raspberry towards my closed door then pace in front of my window. I tried that once. I get enough of her bossing outside the set. She also kept dressing me like some architect or carpenter pony who forgot to remove the hanger from her clothes and then fell into a vat of glitter and fabric scraps. Yes, she was being experimental at the time, but I’ve never been able to look at sequins without flinching since then. Medical school was a great deal less stressful than modeling under her hoof. I’m just glad she never showed my face without it being altered beyond recognition through makeup and hair dye. Just the thought of those sharp fumes causes me to wrinkle my muzzle. I need to wind this down. Staying angry won’t help. I close my eyes and sense the edge of the round braided rug on my floor. My anger is on the carpet. All my hurt is there. I slowly walk around the edge twice and then step into the carpet space, following the braid of it inward. My anger and hurt are growing smaller and smaller and condensing into a tiny, breakable sphere in the center. Each turn around the carpet makes the sphere smaller and smaller. Everything is normal. I don’t have to be a victim. I have my life ahead of me. I have nothing to be scared of. My hooves reach the center and I open my eyes, imagining a sphere in front of my hooves. I can almost hear my therapist shout ‘Now, smash it!’ I rear up on my back legs and imagine the glass sphere of my anger shatter under my hooves. I’m completely lying to myself but it does help me to calm down. “Is now a bad time?” a bright voice teases from my door. I turn and smile at my former nanny. “Miss Halcyon! Did you come to visit me?” “Of course I did. Come here.” she says, holding out a foreleg for a hug. As I hug the middle-aged unicorn, the smell of vanilla and butter brings back memories from when she would bake with me on long afternoons after I came home from school. “What did my parents say?” “They don’t know I’m here yet.” “Miss Halcyon!” I say over a laugh, “You were supposed to give back your house key when you left.” “That was only if I never intended to come back. Besides, I’m sure your parents won’t mind that you let me in when I knocked.” she says with a wrinkled wink. “Of course not.” I say with a smirk, letting her walk over to my window to open it with her magic. “It’s so stuffy in here.” “I did just get back last week.” “I know, and without a single note to me to tell me that you were home!” she huffed dramatically. I laughed again. “I’ve been busy.” “Getting a job? Yeah . . . how is that working out?” “Found one desperate enough to take me.” “There will be no self-pity while I’m here, Little Miss Trouble!” she declares giving me her best disapproving nanny look. I used to cower to that, but this time I laugh moments before her grin returns. “Fair enough.” I say, sitting on my bed. “Yes, but you’re not so little anymore.” her yellow eyes glimmer a touch more as she smiles again, “I am proud of you, Screwloose.” “No matter what?” I ask, my voice cracking on the last word. Her smile drops and I know she’s read me almost completely. “While I won’t allow self-pity, I am more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on,” she says, sitting next to me, “Come here, you.” she says, pressing my head to her shoulder with her dark green hoof. I let go. Everything that’s happened to me tumbles out and I have to stop multiple times to sob. She patiently holds me and pats my head like I’m still a filly. With her I don’t care. “So, who is the father?” “He’s . . . an enemy of the royal family.” “Hmm . . . prestigious.” “I don’t know what I was thinking.” “He sounds like the first male pony who treated you like you weren’t a waste of time.” “He used me.” “Yes, and I’ll beat him sore for that, once I find him, but what happened happened and now you have to work with it. Now, who is he?” “First of all, he’s not actually a pony. He took another form when he met me. He’s . . . I don’t know what he is really, but his name is Discord.” Her back straightens and she lets go of me. But, the look she gives me is surprise, not revulsion. “Don’t you . . . don’t you know?” “Know . . . what?” “Discord? The draconequus? He’s free now.” “What . . .” “Yes, he was released over a year ago.” “What?” “He’s living in Canterlot now.” “What!”
SetbackView OnlineIt Started with That HummingSetbackOuch. I can feel my vertebrae reaching the breaking point as the edge pokes into my back. Only a gasp comes out as the box rolls over my pelvis before falling over to the side. “Sorry, Loose! I thought Pumpkin was there.” Haven gasps as she crawls back over to stand above me on the platform. She pants from the exertion of rolling the box off of me. “I’m fine . . . “ I wheeze out as I stand up, provoking a coughing fit. Oi. “What the hay was that?” Timestamp asks as he trots in from the front desk, “Haven?” he bellows to the female earth pony who hides all but her muzzle and eyes behind a large box. My back cries with pain while I can only manage a gasp. “Get over to the front desk, Loose.” he commands, “I’ll take over here. PUMPKIN!” he hollers as he trots away. Haven pokes the rest of her coco tan head above the boxes. “I really am sorry, Loose. I didn’t mean to—” “Please, don’t worry about it.” I groan before another coughing fit. “Need any help?” “I’m fine.” “PUMPKIN!” Timestamp calls again. I pass the open doorway where two unicorns feverishly sort mail through half-closed eyes hinting at redness. It’s bills month. I blame them for finding the coffeepot empty everytime I go to pour myself a shot. There is a crash from the other side of the post office. I brace myself against the wall out of habit. Pumpkin, a massive earth stallion colored dark orange with a pea green mane and tail, canters past me while keeping his hat on somehow. I carefully plod over to the front desk where a light yellow unicorn mare stands with a manila envelope in her mouth and a stunned expression behind her glasses. “Can I help you?” “Yes,” she says after depositing the envelope onto the counter,”I was wondering if this manuscript counts as —” “PUMPKIN!” “I’m right here . . .” the burly stallion replied. “How does anyone possibly miss Pumpkin?” the unicorn commented. I shrug then lean against the counter with a slightly concealed groan. “Your manuscript?” I remind her, trying to take her inquisitive look off of me. “Are you feeling alright?” “Just sore.” “Your cutie mark is a nail?” “Screw actually. Can I—” “A Screw? What are you? A mechanic?” “ . . . Why does it mean anything to you?” “Just curious.” “I’m not a mechanic.” “But your cutie mark—” “It’s a long story.” “I love long stories!” she piped excitedly then shrunk behind the counter in a fashion similar to Haven’s a few moments ago. “Yeah . . . can I help you?” “Oh, yes. I was wondering if it counts as a package because it’s a little heavier.” As I assist the unicorn, I’m aware of the burning that’s growing up my spine. I probably pulled a muscle. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to take time off of work. I’ve barely been here a month. The implications of possibilities weigh on me. After the mare trots off, having paid for her manuscript to be sent to a Canterlot publisher, I collapse onto the bench and let myself groan. Timestamp walks in. “Where does it hurt?” “About where my shirt ends.” He gingerly touches the spot and I howl, arching my raging back. When I come out of the howl, I see Timestamp bracing himself against the counter. “I see . . .” “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” I say, concealing my panic under my blushing. “Do you want to head home? Get some rest?” “I’d rather not lose more time.” “If you’re in this much pain—” “May I take a fifteen minute break? If it still hurts then I’ll go home?” “Can’t say I don’t need the help . . .” he reasons, “But only if you’re perfectly fine after your break.” “Ok.” I concede. I crawl toward the break room and roll onto the couch. Lying on my spine with my hooves in the air helps. Fifteen minutes should leave my back feeling alright again. The bell in the front rings but thankfully it’s only Derpy flying in to check on the mail for the nearest pegasus village. She hovers above the counter and peeks into the break room. “Hi!” she shouts excitedly, waving her hoof at me. I wince as her wings stop working and she plummets to the counter. How is it that she gets through a single day without injury? Timestamp canters out. “Who fell?” “Yup!” Derpy says through her permanent smile. Does nothing ever bother her? Timestamp facehoofes himself. “Derpy . . . I told you not to fly in here.” “I’m sorry!” “No, you’re fine. I’ll get the mail.” he says and trots into the mail room, returning shortly with a perfectly stacked pile of letters. Derpy shoves them haphazardly into her bag and the bell rings again. An elderly stallion approaches the counter and inquires about stamps. As he finishes up a voice behind the counter asks for a flat rate box. It seems that after each customer leaves there is little wait before the next one approaches. For fifteen minutes I rest my back and my eyes. I accidentally fall asleep and Timestamp wakes me up with a gentle tap of his hoof. “How does your back feel?” I roll off the couch and stretch my neck slightly. “I think I’m good. I’m a little sore but I can handle smaller packages.” “Are you sure?” “It’s only thirty minutes until Hokey Pokey arrives.” “All right. Just take it easy. I don’t want you injured even worse.” he says and leaves to answer the bell. I return to the package warehouse, glancing at the nervous unicorn stallion with no letters. Maybe he’ll need a job and help Sleepy Stars or Weeping Willow get a break every once in awhile. I stand under the truck as Haven nudges the last box to the edge. “Are you sure—” “Yep, I’m good.” I assure her. She tips the small box onto my back and I feel a twinge. I hide my discomfort and place the parcel with the others. Haven hops off the truck and another one backs up. The process continues. Each box brings a sharp pain to my spine and both of my hocks. I know I’m being very foolish. Still, half an hour’s pay means I’ll be closer to my goal. I pant after setting another box on top of the large on that Pumpkin had just deposited. Something wraps around my barrel and squeezes tightly and my eyes fly open and I draw a deep breath. “Good afternoon, Shrimpy!” Hokey Pokey bellows. He takes my yelp as a yelp of surprise and hugs me tighter. “Hokey! She hurt her back! Be careful!” Haven cries out. Instantly I’m dropped on my tail. That does it. I can’t restrain my agony as my back is whipped by a strap of fire. A scream blasts from my muzzle and my eyes water. Timestamp rushes in. Hokey Pokey backs away, embarrassed. “I, didn’t realize you were in pain.” he mumbles. I’m shaking. I can barely feel my legs. Please, I don’t want to have to give up work! “She can’t go home like this.” Timestamp says. I cry into my foreleg. “What was the scream?” Derpy asks, hovering above us. “Screwloose has hurt her back. I don’t thinks he can make the train ride back home.” “I’ll be fine!” I sob. “Don’t be ridiculous. I shouldn’t have let you back here.” “Please don’t fire me. I need this job.” “Screwloose, don’t be silly. We’re not going to fire you. I’m just not going to allow you to come to work until you see a doctor.” I keep blubbering into my forelegs from panic and pain. How long would it take for me to get back to work? How much will this cost me? I should have just gone home thirty minutes early. “She can stay at my house.” Derpy offers. “I don’t want to . . .” “Shut up, you’re staying at Derpy’s house and I’m going to help you get there.” Pumpkin says. I gulp and nod. Nopony ever argues with Pumpkin, even if he is at risk for being wrong most of the time. “How are you going to get me there?” He instantly lies down next to me. I could argue but I know he is fully capable of carrying me and that I can’t walk to Derpy’s house . . . wherever it is. I wait until I can move without fear of passing out and climb onto his back. I feel each movement of his muscles in my spine as he stands up and I shut my eyes to try and keep the tears in. “Follow me!” Derpy yips excitedly. I smother my yelps of pain into whimpers as he walks cautiously, carrying me like a box of fine porcelain. “All right, Hokey Pokey: you and Haven get to work. I’ll clock you out, Screwloose.” Timestamp calls to us. “I don’t live far from here.” Derpy says as I hear her land next to us. Even with my eyes closed I can still tell that Pumpkin is taking me out the back door. It’s nice that I won’t have to see too many ponies by going out the front into the town center. “Where do you live?” “A block to the right here.” she says and I hear a door open. I keep trying to find something else to focus on instead of the pain in my back. The day outside is warm but a breeze wafts over me, leaving chills that clench my back. Pumpkin stops when I groan. “You ok?” “Please, keep going. It will be better when I can lie down.” He patiently resumes plodding on. “We’re almost there.” “You live close.” “Yeah, I had to be close to the school. Sparkler works after school to help cover the cost.” “I’m not complaining . . . “ I interject. “The stairs are a doozy though.” “Stairs!” “Don’t worry, Loose, I’ve carried heavier stuff than you.” My cheek burns against his neck. At least my back is starting to relax again. “Up here.” Derpy says, flying over us and opening the door after using her key. “Ok. Tell me if it hurts.” Pumpkin warns before entering the cool shade of the duplex. “The guest bedroom is upstairs. It will be quiet up there.” “Derpy, this is really too much.” “No, don’t want you getting hurt any more.” Derpy says, her eyes growing shiny with tears. I still feel guilty as Pumpkin walks me past books, papers, and toys scattered on every available space. My parents would have a fit here. This is a house that’s been lived in. I must admit, even I feel claustrophobic. After some grunting and stopping, I’m brought to the guest bedroom and I roll from Pumpkin’s back to the bed, settling into the soft mattress. “I’ll be right back. I just need to finish my shift and get the fillies. Pumpkin, can you stay with her?” “I need to head back to work, too.” “I’ll just sleep until you get back.” “Sounds best.” Pumpkin says, giving my hoof a friendly nuzzle, “Get better soon, ok?” “I’ll try.” Derpy drapes a quilt over me, “Thanks.” “You’ll be all set in no time!” she says, flying into the doorframe. She backs up again, shakes her head, then cautiously lowers herself to the floor to stagger out. Pumpkin follows behind her, closing the door. I hear their hooves trot downstairs and the back door lock. So, Derpy Hooves has fillies? How long has that been the case? She’s never mentioned her family before and being secretive isn’t normal for her. I stare at the closet door before me. My back still hurts but the longer I stay still the more it goes away. I'm sweaty from the exertion. Finally I can let a few whimpers run free. It's still burning but at least I can move my posterior legs so I know I'm not paralyzed. Now I have plenty of time to worry about what happens next. Discord’s in Canterlot. Great, I have time to think about anything and the first thing my mind jumps to is him? Then again, he is my closest connection to Mayhem. I hope she doesn’t mind living away from her father, if she knows who he is. What if Discord is taking care of her right now and has forgotten me completely? I hold the pillow closer to my face and close my eyes. That shouldn’t have hurt. He's hurt me too much already and there is no reason i should trust him to be a good father to my daughter. What will I name Mayhem? She can't go by that name the rest of her life. Raspberry Cloud? What is her cutie mark? Does she have one yet? If she doesn’t have a cutie mark, her name can still be changed. Sherbert Cloud? Candy Twister? Curly Cute? I come up with a whole list of names, some ridiculous, some are ones I’ll have to remember. How big is she? Could I still hold her in my forelegs? Will she look up at me and know who I am? Will she be the same filly I held while I close my eyes in the field? I'm not sure when I fall asleep, but when I do I can't move anything below where my back hurts.
Blank JournalView OnlineIt Started with That HummingBlank Journal“It was the humming, Dr. Gait. I know it sounds silly but it really was that. I just...she knew it irritated me. I don’t know why humming bothers me so much. But, she knew better. I told her. I warned her. But day after day she would do it again and again. I got tired of asking for her to stop or at least wait until I was not in the room anymore. Without fail she would always forget. ‘I’m not sure why it bugs me, the humming. Ponies I have asked find it pleasant, but how can they? It’s like a bee inside of my ear that just buzzes and buzzes. I want to smash it with my hooves just to stop the noise but it keeps on going. I try to make noise other ways, flipping pages, moving stuff, cracking the bones in my neck, tapping, changing my position at the desk...I try to do something but that stupid humming keeps buzzing next to my brain. With her, usually when I began hitting my ears she’d notice and stop. I ended up developing tinnitus from striking my ears so much. ‘Honestly, I don’t really know where to start.” “Maybe something from your past triggered your condition. Did you ever own a dog?” “No, I didn’t have a dog, I was allergic.” “I see. Maybe if you started with the events that led up to the incident where your mental state was altered?” ‘But where to start with that?’ I think. “Alright. Scratch that. Tell me about your college roommate. Azalea was it?” “Yes. I...I first met Azalea the day I moved into the dormitory at school. She was nice but I didn’t get the impression she had much personality when I first met her, if that makes sense. It was two of us and another pony. The first week of classes flushed her out though. They make that first few weeks hard just for that reason: they want to get rid of ponies who are not serious about getting involved in the medical profession. After...the other pony left, it was just me and Azalea.” “And how did you two get along?” “We got along well, at first. She kept to herself and her friends, kept her stuff clean and left my stuff alone. You know, a good roommate. The first two times she hummed I didn’t say anything. Then I realized it was a habit of hers. I asked her politely throughout the semester and she was apologetic at first, stopping for up to weeks. Then, it became a daily thing. I know that perhaps I was a bit of a nag about it. It’s just...she kept doing it. I kept telling her and she kept doing it even though she knew I found it irritating. I kept telling her and I think she started doing it on purpose just to irritate me. I mean, she knew I would say something or start hitting my head again. ‘I also noticed things were going missing. My hair mousse would turn up empty in half the times it would normally take. I confronted her and she admitted she was using it without asking. She still kept using it even after I told her to stop. Then, her friends would ask me why I was wearing her clothes when I was wearing my clothes. I skipped class one time and she walked in wearing my dress that I had spent all morning looking for. I had even asked her if she knew where it was and she had denied. She lied right to my face. ‘She started going through my other stuff without asking me whenever I was in class. I told the dorm sup but all Azalea got was a figurative slap on the fetlocks and a warning that she would be in trouble if she was ever caught again. She finally left my stuff alone. Her friends still bothered me about wearing “her” clothes, though. ‘Basically, things just went downhill from there. We stopped talking outside of fighting or snapping at each other. I would clean my side of the room and she’d “accidentally” spill her coffee or tea over there, especially if I had a piece of clothing out. I would have gone to the dorm sup again, and I probably should have, but her and her friends insisted I was harassing her and trying to get her kicked out. They knew that she was guilty and I had plenty of proof. I really should have talked to the dorm sup. I tried talking to Azalea myself but of course she never listened. I just kept getting worse. ‘Yes, I regret what I did. I remember it all too clearly up until my mind just stopped. I remember what happened because it happened so slowly, like I was watching somepony else. It wasn’t until I saw my hooves that I realized... ‘What provoked it? Well, I think if it had started any other night before my most difficult final then perhaps things might have been very different. I sat at my desk that night and reviewed mental disorders, trying not to diagnose myself with every single one in the book. ‘Then that humming started. It was the Heart Carol. The holidays were coming but neither of us had time to get into the holiday spirit. I...I was rude and I snapped at her to shut up. She hummed louder. I yelled at her to stop it and she hummed louder. I shoved my hooves into my ears but I still felt the buzzing of her vocal chords. I began to hum myself but she began singing. The only thing that bothered me more than her humming were her tone deaf performances. Every time I bought earplugs they disappeared, but I could never prove that she was the one who took them. For five minutes I tried to read the page detailing Schizophrenic Paranoia and block out her assaults on my ears. ‘Finally, I broke. “Will you shut up?” I screamed at her. She had the nerve to laugh at me. She was stupid enough to laugh at me. I flew at her, feeling my hoof hit the bones of her muzzle. She started bleeding instantly and screamed at me, calling me every insult I had heard already. I rose up on my back hooves and bucked her in the chest. Her head hit the wall and she started coughing. I think that was when she got scared. She screamed for help. I dove at her, grabbed her head between my hooves and slammed her skull into the countertop of the sink in our room so she’s shut up. I was scared. She screamed at me to stop. I slammed her head into the counter again because I was angry. She begged me to stop. I didn’t. I didn’t because...because now a part of me enjoyed it. She went quiet. That’s the moment I felt scared. I ran to the dorm sup. All I could think of was “Fetch the dorm sup. Fetch the dorm sup. Azalea is in danger.” By the time I found her all I could do was make a series of indistinguishable sharp yips...like a dog. I guess I was in shock from what I had done. I thought I had killed her. I was certain I had killed her. I was shaking so much from the rush of adrenaline. I couldn’t speak properly.” “Did you know she was able to recover?” “She was? Did I damage her permanently?” “She’s been deaf, ever since then, in that one ear. There was also a brain injury which forced her out of school...” I groan with regret and put my face into my hooves. “I’m sorry.” “She’s making it, though. She regretted what she did to you. What more do you remember?” “The last thing I remember is grabbing the dorm sup’s belt in my mouth from her bathrobe and pulling her towards my room, whimpering. I was terrified. I don’t remember much else.” “Well, I guess that concludes this interview. I’ll see you in court in a couple of days. “ “Thank you, Dr. Gait. How is my family?” “Well, they’re stressed out about the trial but your parents are hopeful about all this. They wanted me to tell you that they love you.” “Did they ever...see me when I was...you know?” “According to the reports I received from Dr. Cough, they did. At that point you hadn’t quite been trained as a guard dog yet. Your parents were understandably upset. He assured them you were happy though.” “Alright. Thank you.” I say. Dr. Gait stands up and gathers his papers with magic. He then proceeds to the metal door and gives it a ringing knock. The guards open it to let him out and let my escort in. I’m led back to the jail cell where I would be held until my trial. Azalea’s family hadn’t forgotten what happened five years ago. They want retribution for what I had done. They deserve every bit of it, in my opinion. Azalea had asked me to stop between each blow and I didn’t want to listen. This trial can go either way: either my family and I would have to pay with bits and jail time or her family would have to pay with possibly more lost time. I reach into my orange coveralls and pull out a small journal. I’m still waiting to start entries but I already know the first one I’m going to write in it. I should wait until the trial is over, just for protection. I want to get out. More than anything I want to get out. I’ve been planning it all ever since I can remember. I’ll stay home for a little while, get a job to earn enough money to live with, and then move on from there. Once ponies have forgotten me I can begin looking. I know I have a daughter, and I’m going to find her before she can grow up without me.
