Teaser of the next update · 4:59pm Apr 5th, 2014
Finally, I am overcoming procrastination and ploughing through! In just a little more than an hour, I was able to write more than a thousand words to add to the next update of When Kindness Met Hatred! Lately, I couldn't get more than 500 words out in a writing session. I have no idea where this fresh new fire is coming from, but I don't want it to stop. I'm hoping to continue later tonight after some projects and meetings, but for now, have a special teaser of what's coming your way.
SPOILER ALERT FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NOT READ UP TO CHAPTER EIGHT YET!
“Mockingbird,” Father said, “I want you to say it.”
Mockingbird choked. His eyes moistened, accompanied with a fur raising chill. “What, uh… what do you want me to say?”
“You know very well what I want you to announce, Son.” Dad looked over the crowd, straightened his glasses, and cleared his throat. “Mockingbird, you have gone against everything I have taught you to believe. Last week, you have left us when we wanted to help. We wanted you to get better, because you were sick, but you rejected our hooves, when we reached out to you, and attacked me. I refuse to let you live a life where you will fall even more sick to lust, drugs and abuse. I’m only making you do this because I love you, but you won’t listen any either way. I’m sorry that it has to be like this, but you leave me with no other option. So say to my coalition, what you said to me on your birthday.”
Mockingbird closed his eyes like he was preparing to drink poison. His breathing went from unsteady whispers to tiny bits of huffing. Sweat rolled down every muscle, forming a small moat around him.
“A-are you sure?” Mockingbird asked, now terrified.
Dad’s voice grew thin and sharp. He leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I said say it. Now.”
With a crackle of the vocals, Mockingbird softly coughed out, “I-I like colts.”
“Louder, Mockingbird, for all to hear,” Father retorted.
“I like colts,” He repeated with just a small change in volume.
“Celestia and Luna can’t hear you!”
“I like colts.”
“LOUDER, MOCKINGBIRD, OR SO HELP ME—!”
“I LIKE COLTS! I LIKE STALLIONS! I’M GAY; I’M A COLTCUDDLER!” Mockingbird’s spirit was officially broken. He craned his head. Silent for a moment. Then soft breathing. Then a pause. His eye lids seeped with liquid. A small stream slipped and ran down his cheeks. It made a turn down his muzzle. The trail reached its cliff and flowed onto the floor.
His breathing escalated to a muffled huff. His tears broke through the dam of his eyes and soaked his face. The floor below him went from a tiny puddle to almost an ocean in a matter of a minute.
My natural instinct to hug and protect him was screaming in my mind’s ear. Of course I wanted to act upon it, but I couldn’t. My legs felt like tree stumps, planted into the soiled earth. Why was I like this? I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will, please don’t ask me.
There was a mixture of faces from the crowd. Some showed bitter disgust for this discovery, but most showed faces of pity. But no, I could not see the pity I usually feel. They did not feel sorry for him being up there and being humiliated by the stallion who was suppose to be the greatest role-model in his life. This was the pity that said, ‘Let us help you.’ And ‘We want you to get better; we can cure you.’
I could not believe that these ponies were actually thinking of their actions as a way of showing love. I almost felt sorry for them, not being able to feel the empathy of the ones they were “helping.” To me, they were nothing but marionettes, mindlessly being controlled by a puppeteer of false charity.
Rainbow Dash looked up with a furious war snarl in her lips. Her nostril flared like a bull ready to charge. She gripped the bottom of her chair like she wanted to rip it in twain. But she still remained sitting, just as frozen as I was.
Mother continued to sit, but now with much uncertainty. She clenched her chest and took slow breaths in and out. I swear I could even see her attempt to lift a hoof off from her chair and push it forward like she wanted to come up. But she never did. And that’s when I had to force myself to accept that I was not slumbering. This was really my life now.
father sounds like a dick.
1983521 The king of dicks