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// The pain of Foxy Stripes. 
// Story: The pain of Foxy Stripes 
// by Askre 
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Sometimes I just stare into the mirror and I’m not sure what I see. Some would say that they see a mare with a maroon coat, except the muzzle, back and two hooves that are white, a dark navy-blue mane and tail, red wings and three small suns on the flank. That is what some would say when seeing me. Why don’t I see it?

I see an ugly oaf, a big klutz with a blue rat's nest for a mane. I see a too big, awkward, hideous thing pretending to be a pony. Ugly abnormal white blobs on her maroon coat. That stubby looking blue tail looks more like it belongs on a mop than on a pony. I’m just a big dump, a stupid, ugly beast not worthy of anypony’s love.

I’m sorry… uh, Foxy. I just don’t think it will work out.

Does the mirror lie to me? I’m told those are just silly ideas in my head. Are they really? I’ve been told that I’m pretty and that I look nice. Those were all lies, pretense and empty words to trick me into their bed for one night. One night only, that’s all I am useful for, just an object of a dare, an object to be used.

I just wanted to try it with someone uh… larger. I wasn’t looking for commitment.

Why am I so big and clumsy? Why couldn’t I have an ordinary coat? Why can’t I have a flowing pretty mane? Why can’t I have lush eyelashes? Why am I not smaller and more petite? Why am I so different from the other mares? Why am I cursed with those white blobs on me that show so obviously against the maroon fur?

You know you’re supposed to brush down your mane after you wake up? Oh, that’s how it looks naturally?

The mirror tells me nothing. A hideous face stares back at me, its white-colored muzzle clashing with the otherwise red head. I hate that white. I want to rip it off, sink my teeth into the fur and just pull it all out. But that’s no use, it just grows back.

What’s up with those white parts? Did you have an accident with a paint bucket?

I could cut off my mane and tail, but it will just grow back. I could dye the fur, but it will eventually wear off. I could do so many changes, but it just seems so pointless. I’m still there underneath it all, a dumb, stupid, ugly, oafish, klutz who is too large and too strong.

I prefer them smaller.

Sorry but you’re just too big, kind of freaky really.

Jeez, what a klutz.

Oh, you’re a mare?

I can’t stand looking at myself anymore and turn away from the mirror. I hear them talking again and again in my head. It’s all so true, what else can it possibly be but the hard, bitter truth? Nopony can ever love a painted freak like me.

The tears trickle down my cheeks and I wish they could wash off the white part. But all they will leave is wet messy fur as if I didn’t look like a mess already. I tear off the dress from my body, ripping apart the golden yellow fabric it was made of. It does not belong on me; nothing can make this hideous body look beautiful.

I knew they were laughing when I wasn’t looking and wondering why I was pretending to be pretty. They probably found it hilarious that big clumsy Foxy Stripes could entertain the thought that she belonged amongst those who look normal.

Next goes the golden band on my head and I throw it to the floor. Why did I put it there? Why did I think that would improve my mane? Nothing can improve it. I stomp on the band, stomp and stomp until my hooves hurt and I’ve cracked the wood of the floor. I haven’t destroyed it, just made it look wrinkled and twisted just like me.

The half-destroyed dress still clings on to me, as if to mock me. Now that it is ruined it will stick with me forever, reminding me what an ugly fraud I am. Thinking if putting this on then maybe, just maybe others would think I was pretty too.

I look up and my tearful eyes see the paper on the dresser, the invitation. Everpony in town got one, even me. But it meant nothing; it was just general formal invite to a regular event that happens every year. Nothing special about it.


You are cordially invited to the yearly Summer Festival Ball.

Fun and dances aplenty and good food promised.

Special guest this year: DJ Pon-3, who will provide the music.

Bring a friend or date.


Date, yeah right. I would be lucky if I got a simple lunch date. Nopony would escort me to a ball. I went alone as always and everypony noticed. There goes that big, klutzy, oafish Foxy again, always alone. Why does she bother to show up? Why does she try? Who does she think she’s kidding?

Just silly Foxy, thinking she belongs with the normal ponies. Silly Foxy, who wastes time on making cloud sculptures in the sky. Just silly, klutzy, ugly Foxy.

“Foxy?”

“Uh just a minute,” I put on the voice, that deceitful cheerful voice. I tear off the rest of the dress, push everything under the bed to hide it.

“Come on in,” I invite and turn to face the door. It opens and there stands the most beautiful little mare. Lush white and red mane and a tail like a candy cane, shimmering blue coat, finely preened wings. The beautiful sister, the pretty sister, the one they try to get to by using me. Dew Doe.

“Stop it, you’re not fooling me,” she says, staring at me with that hard yet understanding look. She always sees right through me. I sniffle.

I rush forward, defiling that blue coat with my ugly legs as I wrap them around her. Clinging to her, sullying it more with my tears. Why can’t I be beautiful like her?

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve already rearranged few faces,” she says in a soothing voice as she pats my hideous back with her neatly cared for hooves.

“Why am I not pretty!? Why does nopony want me!? Why do I just get the jerks and the creeps!?” I sob bitterly, ruining her fur even more with my tears.

She says nothing, just hums a song. Mom always sang that song to me and she does too. It’s a nice song, nice like them. I just continue to cry.

You are the sun and the moon.

Her soft voice begins to sing it, she gently coaxes me towards the bed. I let her and climb onto it and lie down. She drapes the blanket over the hideous body, covering it from sight until tomorrow.

You are the stars in the sky.

You are the white fluffy clouds.

You are the daisies on the plain.

She keeps singing, patting me gently. I now stain the pillow with my tears, ruining it.

Like a fresh gale of wind.

You make me feel all anew.

You are the rock on which I lean.

You are the pillar who holds me up.

I close my eyes. Listening to the song, just letting it exist in my mind. Dew never stops believing in me, I don’t know why.

You are strong when I feel weak.

You make me smile when I am down.

You have me laugh when I am sad.

You are always there for me.

“Never forget, little sister,” I barely hear her whisper as I feel sleep come to me. “You are pretty. Pretty on the inside and pretty on the outside.”

I wish I could believe her.

The end