Another day...

by chil304

giggle at the ghosties.

Hiding.

It's all I have.

It's all I want to have.

It's all I will ever have.

And that's ok.

I poke my head round the Manehattan street corner, trying to deduce weather it's safe to come out. A few ponies are still dotted around the streets but, at this time, they're probably drunkards.

Well, not all of them are drunkards.

See, when you have done what I do for as long as you have - just to survive in this brutal, brutal world for another day you start to feel things. You start to be able to guess when royal guard patrols are scheduled, when ponies are distracted... When you have an opportunity to get something - anything - that can help you.

And right now, every feeling in my body - from my messed-up horn to my hole-ridden hooves was telling me that there was a royal guard dressed as a civilian on the street. I can't see him, I can't hear him I can just... sense him. It's hard to explain really, but it's helped me out of a few scrapes in the past so overtime i've learnt to trust it.

Soon, just as expected, a pony walks past at a casual trot. It's obvious immediately that he's a royal guard: His build; his posture... and the fact that he isn't stumbling forwards in a drug-ridden stupor.

Sometimes I consider trying to get a guard's attention - I dream about them listening, understanding... helping me. I almost did on one occasion, but luckily I withdrew at the last minute. The guards don't like creatures like me. The idea that me, and anything like me, isn't one hive-minded, relentless monster who focuses on nothing but the good of the hive isn't something ponies like to think about, especially so soon after the Canterlot wedding invasion. According to the media, to their princesses and to their education we are nothing more than merciless killing machines who will decimate ponies' lives for fun. This... Idea of what I am, this forced label, is why the guards don't want me. They don't protect Equestria, They don't protect it's citizens, they protect it's ideals.

I start to crouch down and ready my paper-thin wings. My fangs shimmer in the moonlight as I prepare to strike. I try to focus any magic I have left in me. I prepare to be a monster once again.

Without a second thought, I swoop out of the alleyway and slam into the guard, using my magic to help me push him down. He tries to kick, bite and even stab me at one point but years of experience with this sort of thing has made me an expert in avoiding these attacks. One swift bite later, and the guard is left as nothing more than a hollow, twitching shell drained of all it's emotion and soul.

See, that's the problem with changelings. On the surface, our food source sounds ideal to utilize as a way of getting free food in turn for being good citizens and helping other civilizations progress, but... only on the surface. Most changelings don't require the skill with magic necessary to extract only one emotion so we have to go to the horrific alternative - drain all emotion from a pony, along with its soul, and in the process damn the creature to a painful death after multiple hours on the ground.

My ears twitch in the wind, which makes a slight whistling noise through one of the many holes on said ears. I glance around quickly, ensuring that the only ponies to see what I did to the guard were either too stoned to notice what happened or too drunk to be believed then slip back into a back alley and hope for another meal to tide me over for a few more hours.

It's almost routine now, honestly.

A routine of hiding, crying and killing.

A routine created by desperation, which in turn is caused by an inability to do what changelings should be able to do.

A routine based around the fact that I can't change form, so I was useless to the hive.

It was all so sudden, really. One day a bunch of guards told me that as I wasn't skilled in magic and couldn't change form I was useless to the hive.

Then I was beaten and left to fend for myself.

Alone and cold, I tried going towards civilizations, tried to become a member of civilized society despite the my natural shortcomings. Despite the ingrained fear of me. I tried to practice magic, to get good enough. I snuck into schools, libraries and castles trying to find emotion separation spells. In the end though... It was all for nothing because, really, no pony would accept a changeling as a friend even if they didn't know how changelings feed because ponies need monsters. In order to have heroes who came come in and save you, you need something to fight. You need something to hate. You need to be able to ignore the horrors of this world because, in the end, monsters like me are doing far worse.

They need monsters, they need something to be afraid of so their heroes can triumph once again.

And I will give them everything. I will become the monster they need me to be whether I want to or not.

and that's ok...

It's always been ok...

I'll keep on living, keep on feeding and keep on crying until I die to old age or until I pick a fight with the wrong guard.

Until then though, I guess I can just keep on living.

Keep on hiding.

Keep on feeding.

Keep on hoping.

Hoping...

For another day as the outcast,

For another day as the monster,

For another day as the survivor,

And for another day to hide.

Comments

[Brenden1k]

this is dark.