Time Marches Onward

“Finally awake, are we? Good. We can begin now. Do you remember me, Calico Stormwind?” A sinister voice was whispering in my ear. I was tied to a chair, with a flashlight in my eyes. I didn't reply out of stark refusal to believe the voice I was hearing.

“Mmph. Of course not. You always were an ignorant little fuck. Did all of that liquor break your poor little brain, Cal?” I was horrified. I was dreaming. This was some sick joke that my dickhead of a subconscious was playing on me. I tried to struggle, but it was no use. Primal instinct kicked in, and I began spitting threats that I couldn't hold up on.

“Now now, my little baby boy... Where did you learn such foul language? Was it your harlot little bitch with the wings? Or perhaps the DJ and her lesbian sex toy? Or was it that Macintosh, your drinking partner? I'll kill anybody who puts those bad words on my baby's tongue... Like I did with Jorge. Hew was arguing with you, so I killed him for you. Did you like the way I decorated him for you?” I negan heaving and gagging at the thought of what was happening. My mother. She was back for me. The Mare Murderer of Manehattan. I'd run away when I found out that she was the killer. She had murdered anypony that my father associated with other than her and I, and then, one day murdered my father himself while I watched. She ripped his entrails out and began gutting him like a fish. I threw up several times at the thought of the memories I had kept locked away in the dark corners of my mind using the strong barring walls of alcohol as a prison for them.

“Of course,” she began, “You came for this, didn't you? The lesbian's new little baby,” She pushed a small filly, maybe seven years old, over toward me with the heel of her foot. The child wasn't hurt, but looked like she needed fed, and was horrified.

“Look, honey,” my mother chided the little filly, “This big strong stallion came to save you!” My mother drove a knife into my abdomen as hard as possible and twisted it. I suck in a ragged gasp of air, holding it in.

"Oops!" my mother exclaims sarcstically, "Looks like he can't be helping you now!"

As I hold the breath that I'm positive will be my last, attempting to savor it for all of its worth, I begin to remember what brought me here. All of the fighting, the love, the hate, the passion and the strength. All i know anymore is that it was worth it. Every little bit of joy that I could squeeze from life is mine, in the end. And right here, at the end of the road, I start to see it all more clearly. My mother wanted me. Not the filly standing under her, crying. She never killed anybody she didn't need to kill to fulfill her causes. The child would live.

Suddenly, the filly cried out and stomped down hard on my mother's knee joint. My mother backed away, shouting in pain, leaving the knife sticking in me. I use the sweat and blood from my wrists to slip my hoof through the restraints and take the knife. Releasing that breath that I though would be my last, I pull the knife out with all of my will. Blood gushes from the wound, and I slice the restrains on my legs and what still holds one hoof to the chair. I jump up as my mother reaches for the filly, and dig the blade into her chest, allowing for her to release her breath and listening for her heart to stop before I let go. Her body slides to the floor, cold and bloodied. The young filly looks up at my.

“Are you okay? Are you going to save me?” She was so innocent. I hope for her sake that she forgets everything that happened here today. I pick her up, and begin to find my way to the exit.

“Yes,” I say, “I'm here to save you. I'm gonna take you back to your home,”