Who would create such races? Races in which we die off within two years or less? What sick, sadistic person would do this? Obviously, whoever is doing it, is having a hell of a time enjoying it. Whoever had created our races, did not care if we parished, or even if we died out. My name is Clubs. I'm a neon green custard pony, and to be honest, I wish I wasn't. Everycuster here rots, everyday from birth. Rotting. Waiting to be decomposed. The death toll has risen about 300 a day, considering it is summer and almost all the Custards and Glazes have melted off before the mold could eat them. Here in Donutopia, life is hell. We were born to reproduce then die. There is no other option. We are completly covered in dark green mold by the time we have finally lived a somewhat "fulfilling" life. But life here isn't what most invision it to be. When I was born, I assumed I was a special custer. But I was no diffrent from the other thousands of glazes, custards, and sprinklis (sprink-lies) that were born each and everyday. I was no diffrent from my purple mother, and green father. I was no diffrent from every single pony that dies, each and every day. I wish I was, but a wish can't be granted without some type of gimic, so i'll save the "Genie in a Bottle" for later. As for now, I can just hope that the rumours of a great master coming to save our kind, are true.
* * * * *
It was a normal day for everycuster in Donutopia. We hear screams of anguish, many trying to grasp the reality that their loved ones are gone. The crying of babies, and the mumbles of horrid secrets and scenes.
"Hey Clubs!" a female, thick voice sounded from behind. That voice. The voice that I hated hearing the most.
"Hey, Barrels." I tried to smile, to cover up the pain of my parents passing. Unlike most ponies we have heard tales of, we do not recieve "cutie marks." Our flanks our bare no matter what we do.
"Wanna go shoot some hoops with Click-Clackidy?" she bounced a soft, jelly donut basket ball on the gingerbread sidewalks of our city.
"I have to," I started, as I entered my apartment building. Nodding to the mold infested bell-hopper,who didn't have too much time left. I continued towards a staircase, ignoring my thoughts of death.
"Oh." Barrels sighed. She didn't need for me to tell her why I was going to my apartment.
"N-need help?" she studdered, almost pitiful.
"I'm fine." I called to her as I opened the door to display a case of old, rat covered stairs.
"Well, if you need me, I'll be at the park." she turned around just before I danced up trhe stairs, trying to avoid the angry, yet straved rats that wore then coats of mold simular to the ones we also had the burdens of holding. Barrels was my chosen mate. As soon as we were born, our parents chose a mate that they believed was suitable. Personally, Barrels wasn't the prettiest. she was born a pegasus, but unless you were a sprinkli, it was almost impossible to fly with such a weight. Unicorns however, you could only be a glaze to use there almost useless magic. I was an earth pony, none the less, most people here were. It wasn't normal to see a pegasus or unicorn trotting around happily, for most people here were completly drenched in mold, or unhappy with their horrible lives. I swung open my apartment door, and for some odd reason, a part of me expected to hear my mom's warm voice, calling me from the kitchen. Some part of me wanted her to be there. Some part of me loved her. I scoffed, quietly. She always rejected me. I never knew why. She just never wanted me, always staring at me with her cold, deep green eyes. I can still remember the day she died. I felt almost happy about her passing. My torment would end. But a small voice, always kept me going. Told me everything was okay. My dad. He left when I was little. He wanted to take me, but my mom got custody of me, and I've always felt he really loved me. I cursed the name of my horrid mother, but as she got older, she seemed to get softer towards me. She went from telling me I was a disgrace the custer race, to soon telling me I was a handsome young custard. I never understood why. But to be honest. I'm glad she's gone. I'm glad I don't have to keep hearing her everyday, telling me she was sorry for what she did when I was younger. But I never forgave her, not even on her death bed. Even though she pleaded with me in the hospital, I kept a stern face and whispered no, as she gave her final breaths before the mold finally consumed her. My father was not too far after, and he aswell apoligized, and I can honestly say, some fraction of me still won't accept him. But at this point, I could care less. I just need to clear out my apartment of all signs of my parents, and make it presentable for Barrels parents. I picked up a few boxes and threw them out the window. Maybe somecuster will enjoy my terrible childhood and get a good kick out of it. Sitting down, I wiped a few tears from my face and looked around. Memories came flashing back. The beatings. Yelling. Cuts. Bruises. They all felt that they were happening all right now. I screamed out, throwing my head back, ignoring the consequences that I knew would happen. The door, still open, even shuddered at the sound of my screech that i've always wanted to release, all through the years of my life. There was a pause, and I dropped my head, slowly releasing more hot, jelly-like liquids, that slid down my face, and hugged my cheeks.
I took a deep breath a stood up. I knew I was stronger then this. I didn't want to cry. I needed to. Wrapping my hooves around myself, I fell down. My face pressed hard against the dirty oak, but it seemed to welcome my presence. Sobbing uncontrollably, I began rolling around like toddler with a severe tantrum. I closed my eyes. Memories of my dad gushed through, and they seemed to trigger anger, not happiness of what I invisioned. He left us. Mom's words echoed through my brain, trying to convince myself that my dad was the villian. But I could honestly say, I knew dad was terrible, but he was the only one I could turn to. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Or minutes. But then, I felt myself relax, and I finnally knew who was the antagonist.
-
As I woke-up, I was still in the puddle of tears, but things were hazey, and I was still the same pony as I used to be. I glanced at my window. It had turned to night, and the city was ill-lighted. I dragged myself to a small cot that used to sleep in, and threw myself into it. I smelled something. Something unnatural. It was coming from my left thigh. I glanced down, and what I saw made me break-down. I couldn't control myself. What person would do this to anybody? Who would plant a virus and purposfully kill them off faster then they can reproduce? I felt myself give in to depression, it seemed my only option. What did I do to deserve this? I thought I wasn't going to feel this until I was atleast a year old. Tingling continued to escalate. I cried out my window, and none seemed to look up. They all knew the sound. The sound of a dying custard. The sound of rotting custard. Yes. That's right. my entire left thigh has become mold. It's not the best, and I don't want to live it much longer, even though I most likely don't have much longer, It is my life. Even if it's been messed up. It's still mine, and I can't fix that. This is my Life. My fucked up Life.
Author's Note
My first time writing a fic, and I believe it was good (:
I tried to fix some grammar mistakes by myself, but i'm not too nit-picky. If you find something that seems "off" just leave it in the comments! ♥First Time Fic-er?♥
Hope you enjoy reading, just as much as I had writing!
STORY WILL BE UPDATED DAILY/WEEKLY (:
