//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Freak // by TomTheHunkyDiamond //------------------------------// Scootaloo alighted in an apple tree. Sitting in the branches, hidden by leaves, and looking out at the world. The world that she didn't want to live in. She looked down at her body. Her orange fur rippling in the light breeze. Her impressive wings, bigger than average, tucked against her sides. She was pretty by anyone's standards. She looked down at her body again. The body she didn't want to live in. Scootaloo felt tears welling up in her eyes, she didn't even try to stop herself. They rolled off her cheeks and splattered the bark below her. Bucking fillyfooling little freak! She winced at the words of her father, touching the back of her head where she still had a scar from where his horseshoe had cut into her. I deserved it... She smacked her head into the tree. I deserved every horrible thing that ever happened to me. She smacked her head into the tree again, making it shake and a few apples drop out. I'm just a horrible pony who no one will ever love. Who doesn't deserve to be loved. I don't deserve Rainbow Dash... Or Applebloom, or Sweetie Belle... Or any of them. I don't deserve anyone. She smacked her head into the bark again and again. Crimson liquid flowing down her face and into her eyes, mixing with her tears. Making the world swirl in front of her eyes, a red tinge acquired from her blood. She felt light headed, she probably had a concussion. I deserve it She looked down at the fields of Sweet Apple Acres from her vantage point. She could see somepony approaching with her clouded vision, thought through the haze of tears and blood it was impossible to tell who. Scootaloo wiped her eyes, the world suddenly jumping into focus. Big Mac was beneath the boughs of the trees, going about his business. A cart being pulled behind him. The yoke that no one ever saw him without perched on his back. He looked up into the trees, not for any discernable reason, and saw Scootaloo perched among the branches of one. At first he though nothing of it, she was probably just taking a nap. But as he continued looking he saw that she had blood flowing across her face from an open wound on her forehead. His eyes widened as he saw the injuries. He shrugged off the yoke and it hit the floor with a ground shaking thud. He rushed across to the tree and bucked it hard. Scootaloo tumbled out and he gracefully caught her on his back. He looked back to see the filly barely conscious, blood and tears smeared across her face. She had her face buried in his crimson coat, dampening his coat with the juices of despair. He looked around for a short second, catching his bearings. He bent his legs for a second and set off at a sprint to the farmhouse. "Granny!" Mac bellowed, his voice carrying easily to the farm house across the last orchard between him and the house. "Granny y'need ta help!" He called again, as an elderly green mare stepped out of the rustic farmhouse. "Ya don't need ta shout young'un! Ah'm right here!" She said in her croaky old voice. "Granny ya got ta help! Ah found Scootaloo in the orchard in one 'o the trees. She's in a bad way, ya got ta help!" Mac fired, turning around so Granny Smith could see the young orange filly perched on his back, blood still flowing freely from the gash on her head. The old lime mare's eyes widened as she saw the amount of blood on the filly's face and Mac's coat. "Well don't just stand there ya idjit! Get 'er inside!" She said. Mac rushed into the home and swept everything off the table, breaking several dishes in the process before laying her on it gently. Granny Smith came in with a first aid kit and some water. "Right, lets get this done" She said, rubbing her hooves together Scootaloo opened her eyes hesitantly. She was in a comfortable room in a bed. It wasn't her room because the bed was made of cotton and goose down, not clouds. She tried to move her head but a shooting pain in her skull stopped her. She let out a hiss of air through her teeth and groaned. The door creaked open and a big red stallion she recognized as Big Macintosh came into the dim room. "Yer awake huh?" He asked, a kind smile on his face. Why is everyone I know so bucking nice? Scootaloo asked herself as her eyes started to water again. "You should have just left me out there..." She mumbled, not wishing to go on. Mac's eyes widened. "You woulda died!" He said, taking a step towards her. "That's the point!" She yelled, her eyes streaming tears. She sank back into the bed as Mac looked at her with shocked eyes. "I'm nothing but a freak. I don't deserve to live..." She said, remembering the words spoken to her once. Bucking fillyfooling little freak! "...just a fillyfooling freak..." She mumbled, her voice hoarse with all the crying she had done. Mac's eyes widened even farther for a second before they were replaced with a look of barely contained rage. "Don't you ever talk about yourself like that young filly!" He yelled, his eyes ablaze. "You're a wonderful, pretty young filly with some of the best friends and family somepony could ask for! No one is going to care if you don't like colts!" He continued, stepping closer to the orange filly. "Who put that idea in your head? Who was it?!" He roared. "M-my father..." She stammered, terrified at Mac's outburst but also somewhat comforted by it. "That bastard..." Mac breathed, his eyes showing his rage. He finally stepped close enough to Scootaloo to give her a bone-crushing hug. "M-Mac..." Scootaloo blubbered, her eyes overflowing with tears. "Sshhh... It's okay, everything's okay." He said comfortingly. So many things had happened throughout the day that Scootaloo should have had more than enough on her mind. All she could think about as she drifted off to sleep however, was that she had never heard Big Mac speak so much.