//------------------------------//
// Catharsis 
// Story: What About the Rest of Us? 
// by kudzuhaiku 
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These… were turbulent times and Equestria was enduring the growing pains of sweeping justice reforms. Every day the papers were filled with headlines announcing some triumph, some great justice, some fantastic accomplishment, or some unjust old law being struck down. These… were optimistic times and Equestria, it was said, could look forward to a bright, prosperous future, even with uncertainty and war ever-looming on the horizon.

But for Cerulean Skies, the future seemed bleak indeed. Desperation was everywhere she looked, even the very architecture of the city radiated a suffocating sense of diminishment that left her hopeless and filled with despair. One brick apartment building looked exactly like the brick apartment building that was next to it, and whole rows of them dominated the skyline.

School was over, and she knew that. It wasn’t her being sulky, or a decision made while emotional, Cerulean knew that she couldn’t go back to school. After what had happened to her brother, she knew that it would be only a matter of time before something pushed her over the edge and she reacted. It would be irresponsible to go back to school, because something awful would happen. There would be no end of gossip about her brother and she would react.

Life was absurd and this was evidenced by the fact that right now, at this very moment, a trio of rats came around the corner of a building. Not just any rats, no, the big rats, the kind you heard stories about, the kind that walked around on two legs, talked, and terrorised Canterlot. She had heard stories when she had lived there, years ago, but had seen very little.

One of the rats had a sword, another had both a sword and a wand, and the third was carrying a crossbow of complex design. All three of them were sprinting, huffing and puffing, pushing and shoving one another along. Not a one of them paid Cerulean even the slightest bit of attention. Bipedal, they went running by and Cerulean wondered what would happen if she tried taking a shot at one. She’d either miss, and get herself killed, or hit one, and get herself killed.

Hooves rang out on the cobblestones as another trio rounded the corner, coming out from between two imposing apartment towers. This group wore masks, strange bird-like masks, with bright red eyes, and long, curved, pointed beaks. The one in the lead was the burliest pony that Cerulean had ever laid eyes upon, and he was covered from ear to hoof in body armor. How he moved with such speed and grace while encumbered by so much bulk, she did not know.

Trailing after the one in the lead were two wearing light armor, both rather slight of build. One was loaded down with gear, the other was limping somewhat, and trailing blood behind them. Cerulean watched with great interest as this trio pursued the rats, whose lead was rapidly shrinking. Even covered in armor, the first pony was fast like nothing that Cerulean had ever seen.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” a female voice shrieked. “WE’LL KILL YOU!”

As the pony in the lead closed the distance, he pulled something out from beneath his cloak, which trailed and flapped behind him. For a moment, Cerulean was confused about what it was, but when she heard the terrifying sound of a chainsaw sputtering to life, her confusion fled from her and she felt her blood run cold.

Was… somepony filming a movie?

The revving chainsaw now had a banshee wail and the trio of rats were motivated to run faster, but to no avail. In a straight run, the psychopath with the chainsaw was faster, and the rats were doomed… doomed. Frozen, all that Cerulean could do was watch as this horrorshow happened right in front of her eyes.

There was no more street to be had, not without turning; the three rats, rather than stopping or slowing down to turn, all of them lept over the rail and into the canal down below. The chainsaw wielding maniac didn’t even slow down and like a steeplechase racer, he too lept over the rail, the chainsaw still smoking and buzzing.

“Flicker, you dense motherfucker! Look out!”

“Piper, he’s gone! You know how single-minded he is!”

There was a distant splash, a plop sound, and the chainsaw went silent as the two remaining ponies also ran right for the rail. They too, did not stop, but lept right over the top of it. A second later, they were gone, having vanished from view, and Cerulean was alone. More splashing could be heard, and as curious as she was, Cerulean erred on the side of caution: she fled, willing her legs to move with all haste.





A short distance away, Cerulean found a city maintenance worksite. An empty chainsaw case was here, along with a somewhat rusty canister of fuel oil. Protective goggles lay on the ground, and there was a small wagon still filled with snips, shears, clippers, and canisters of pesticide with skulls and bones on them.

Of the maintenance worker, there was no sign, and Cerulean hoped that whomever they were, they were okay. She couldn’t imagine what it might have been like, trying to do one’s job, and then a bunch of masked weirdos chasing rats bent on world conquest just happened to go by. As she stood there, taking it all in, trying to cope with the absurd events and the horrible day, she noticed a can of spray paint sticking out of the cart.

Pegasus ponies and earth ponies had trouble with spray paint cans, but unicorns could use them, as could any creature with hands or hand-like appendages. It was a curious thing, something she had always been drawn to, something that was always fascinating to her for as long as she could remember. It was a funny thing, to put a picture in a can, or words, or a sign, or anything. Spray paint was liquid thought in a can, just waiting to come out and be given form.

When she bit down too hard upon her own lip, Cerulean cried out, because she hadn’t even been aware of biting her own lip. Tasting blood, she cast a sidelong glance around to see if anypony was watching. Was she alone? It appeared that way. This time, the temptation was just too strong, and Cerulean was too weak willed.

The heft and weight of the can was reassuring and there was something comforting about its weight. It was full, or nearly full, and when she shook it, she could feel the liquid sloshing around inside. Something inside this can rattled and for Cerulean, that made this can male, because she could shake its balls. Give it a shake, a squeeze, and it would go spurting everywhere, giving birth to thoughts, words, pictures; Cerulean rather liked this notion.

Timid, trembling, she approached a nearby wall. Which wall? It didn’t matter. All walls were the same. Walls were empty spaces begging to be filled. Blank purpose. A wide, flat womb waiting for some messy act of creation. Cerulean, who had never felt much in the way of sexual thrill in her life, was feeling it now. Mostly, sex was just disgusting, but this… this left butterflies in her stomach and every muscle in her legs quivered with some unknown, expectant sense of anticipation.

Lifting the can, she gave it a good shake, and then she held it aloft, high over her head. The first spurt of paint was electric, it startled her, and she almost dropped the can. In moments, she understood the basic workings, and could control the stream. One letter appeared, then another, and with each pass of the can, her control grew greater. The hairs of her tail clung to her sweaty backside, her sticky, clingy, unmentionable places, but she was far too lost in concentration to notice.

Something about the fumes left her giddy and lightheaded.

Cerulean had left behind a statement and a question. The Question. It had been bugging her all day and as she looked up at the words she had left behind, she felt better. Why, she almost felt hopeful. It was as if the stressful events of the day had been ejected along with the paint from the spray can.

Had Cerulean looked back, she might have noticed her new cutie mark, but she was too busy examining what she had done. There was a smile on her face now, and her optimism burned within her like a keen flame. It was a magical moment in the truest sense, because Cerulean had just connected with her destiny, her future. She had a way forward and the will to find a way. Her work here was done, and right now, she had a feeling that both of her parents needed her.

It was time to go home now that she had awakened and had achieved catharsis.

I get to be the Princess of Disillusionment and Disenfranchisement. But what about the rest of us?