//------------------------------//
// chapter 54. Perseverance 
// Story: Becoming Fluttershy 
// by Hope 
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I have taken to burying myself in the pile of clean clothes as a sort of shelter, as the rear end of the sedan rocks and jumps over the dirt roads that my captor seems to prefer. I would expect nothing less of a trained abductor, but I truly wish he would learn to appreciate smoother pavement. As the hours wind on, I try looking for a trunk release, only to find it broken off and the cable cut, leaving a sharp edge I accidentally spear my foreleg on, leaving a dot of red that I try to rub off on a dark navy blue shirt to hide my pathetic and useless attempt to escape.

Every time he takes me out of the car, I feel like good old Fluttershy again, unwilling to start an arguement, doing what he wants me to. But in the trunk, alone, I feel it come back in bursts, fury with myself, him, and the world. This isn’t a rage, or a hate, it is simply the accumulation of many years’ emotions suppressed, a frustration that burns me, and makes me wonder just how hard it would be to lift this spare tire.

Sadly, the answer is “very” and I cannot even drag it from one end of the trunk to the other. The next target for my anger is the lock that connects my chained forehooves to the anchor. The lock is sturdy, and any attempts to break it would leave obvious signs of an attempted escape, such as dents or heavy scratches in the layered metal. I decide then that the only way to get away is to be unchained. Every plan of escape I can think of involves the brute in the drivers’ seat unlocking me and giving me a chance to flee.

I don’t hold this as an especially likely possibility.

So, with no more avenues of egress available to me, I lay back and stare at the small crack of light coming in through the speakers that top the trunk space. It is late afternoon or evening, and my stomach growls at me, to show it’s disappointment that I’ve managed to miss afternoon tea as well as my usual snack around this time. But there’s nothing to be done about that.

I wonder what the goal of all this is. He hasn’t hurt me, so obviously this is not an information gathering tactic. He has passed many places by now capable of hiding a body, so I am not going to be killed, or at least not yet. So this must be some sort of capture and test situation, as far as I can guess. It would make sense, get ahold of the only element of harmony who could not defend herself, and see what they can do. Maybe they could find a way to remove my element, or turn it into a weapon.

I wonder what sort of weapon the element of kindness would make.

Despite the situation, I smile. It’s an amusing thought, a gun that gives ponies hugs or some similar nonsense. Though... The thought of what the element of magic could be used for in the same situation, banishes that smile quite quickly.

So this is a research mission, apparently. Or... The option I have not considered, and do not wish to consider, is a private bidder. Thanks in part to my human side, I have an intimate knowledge of the allure that a timid and kind female figure possesses, of any race or in any story. I could not survive this. I could be violated in ways I cannot think up in my darkest nightmares. 

I have to stuff my head in the pile of fresh smelling shirts to keep myself from vomiting, my heart pounding painfully.

The fear grips me, and I spend several minutes trying to calm myself, until finally I can lay down, staring up at the light again.

“In the end, everything will be okay.”

For a moment, I don’t know who has spoken, before I realize that my own lips had moved. Speaking without thought, I completed the rest of the saying.

“If things aren’t okay, it isn’t the end.”

I let myself relax against the makeshift bedding, the chain laying across my stomach, as I try to remember where that came from. I shortly realize that it was a saying of mine from my days on messaging boards, trying to save every child in an abusive family, and put a smile on the face of every teen who thought they had nothing to look forward to.

Erica had been a hopeful sort, when she could be, and the saying had become her mantra in times of impassable sorrow. The idea was that everyone had to have hope, or they would fall apart. So, the saying was made to be easy to repeat, and simple to put your belief into. Carefully crafted to bring some small bit of joy to someone in need, whether they are religious, atheist, logical, or emotional.

The saying saved lives.

“In the end, everything will be okay. If things aren’t okay, it isn’t the end.”

I repeat it again, the late day sky reflecting into my cell giving my tiny world a soft orange glow. I brought to the front of my mind that image of my close friends standing in New York, keeping it safe for me.

Then the car stops, rocking on it’s wheels for a moment before I hear the door open and close, followed shortly by the trunk opening.

A rush of cold air makes me shiver, and the man ponders me as I look past him, at the “Econo lodge” sign that glows in the dusk sky.

“It’s too cold for you out here,” the sinister figure declares, as he takes a firm grasp of the chain, and unlocks it from the tire. Despite the bit of freedom, there is no way to run, and a quick glance around shows that we are at the far corner of an empty parking lot, mere feet from a hotel room door. 

He tucks me under one arm, and closes the trunk before turning the key and swinging the off-white door wide. 

Inside, I can see only darkness as I am carried in, the world vanishing and my heart racing before the light is turned on, and the door slams behind us.

I flinch away from the noise, but my nose is assaulted by the stale air of the ancient room, as well as the poisonous haze wafting from the man who holds me. He sits on the bed, chuckling to himself as he places me on the bedside stand.

As he speaks to me, he unshackles me, removing the cuffs from my raw fetlocks. “You’ve been good so far. No escape attempts. Don’t care what you are, I wouldn’t leave my dogs out in that weather.” His voice carries a small accent, but not one I can place.

“Thank you,” I whisper, more out of habit than any real appreciation, though he seems to take it to heart, looking at me curiously. I shift my wings, wishing I could just fly, leave this room and this man’s presence. The bulge at his hip convinces me I would not have time to open the door before being stopped. 

“You’re going to have to sleep on the same bed though, can’t have you trying to slip out,” he says, not a question but an order. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise, my foregs unsteady as I do anything but look at him.

“O... of course,” I stammer, cursing myself silently for not screaming, objecting, or somehow turning him away. Everything feels wrong, the whole situation feels like it is only going to get worse.

He picks me up and sets me down on the relatively soft bed next to him, examining my element as it is at eye level while he moves me. Once I regain my balance, he taps it with a fingernail, making a small ping against the golden metal.

“Fancy necklace you got there. I’ve been told it’s magic, not to try to take it off of you. How does that work?” he asks me, as I try not to collapse from fear, wishing only to crawl under the covers and never come back out. 

I don’t answer him, and he frowns, before smiling again, putting on an act.


“You can tell me, it’s just a piece of jewelry,” he says, still looking at the butterfly shaped gem.

I start to say something several times before I decide on the right words. “It’s part of me. It... It’s my element.”

Before I can react, the man has knocked me on my back, and is trying to slip his hand under the element, I’m so stunned by the sudden movement that it takes me several moments to realize that I cannot breathe.

“Damn, you’re... What’s wrong?” he asks, apparently baffled that he is so much stronger than me. 

All I can manage is to use my last bit of air to whisper “Breathe...”

He jerks his hand away, and I heave my lungs to bring in air, making me extremely dizzy, so that I barely notice when he lays his hand back onto me, lower, resting on my stomach.

He seems to appreciate the feeling of my coat as I struggle to remain conscious, my head swimming. All I can hear is him murmur “Fur, eh?”

I can see him leaning over me, his face so close as my wings press hard against my back, clamped shut in horror as I realize I cannot move, or even speak, as he leans down, pressing his lips against mine.

I fight not to vomit, my stomach churning as I struggle, but even the light pressure of his hand holds me down, until it starts to move lower...

Before I even know what is happening, I am on the other side of the room, in the corner, sobbing. There is blood on my hoof, and the man is cursing loudly, his face and chin dripping blood from a broken nose. I cower as he tries to staunch the flow, a towel turning crimson as he glares at me, his eyes full of rage.

Tonight I sleep in chains, a new bruise on my cheek. It’s not okay.