//------------------------------// // Nightmares // Story: The Scar // by FriendlyTwo3 //------------------------------// Chapter 1.5: Nightmares A heavy bead of sweat drips down your dirty face. Your hair is greasy and stringy. Your body aches all over. Arms high above your head, you let out a low groan. The stone on the makeshift bed is cold and hard. Your back had long since been broken by it all, but Chrysalis’ healing spell made you survive. It didn’t help the excruciating pain, but it sustained your life and made it possible to walk. Not that you have a choice whether to walk or not anyway. The shackles on your wrists jingle as you try to lower your arms. Your wrists only go down to the top of your forehead. A low growl echoes throughout the pitch black dungeon. Your stomach feels as though it’s about to crumble in on itself. Chrysalis’s never ending arsenal of torture spells continued when she cast a hunger spell on you. You don’t need food or drink, but the spell keeps your body from thinking you’re malnourished. You always feel like you’re on the verge of starvation and dehydration. You haven’t eaten in what you can only assume is months. But perhaps it’s been years. Hell, it could’ve just been a few weeks. Suddenly, a green light fills the room. You’re familiar with this light. A torch has just been lit. Huh. It must be morning already. Hard to tell. Most hours in the day are spent in total darkness, not a single figure or shadow passing your vision. Now your eyes hurt from the sudden light. A throaty chuckle breaks the silence. “Sleep well?” asks an all too familiar voice. A simple scowl answers her question. The changeling queen struts toward you before locking you in a magical grip. “Me too.” She hovers over your stone bed and looks you in the eye. Something’s wrong about her. Her usually acid green eyes are a golden yellow. Her pupils aren’t slitted. And they are pointing in two different directions. “…I’m here to save you…” Brightness fills your vision as you open your eyes. Your eyelids close as soon as they open and you’re jerked from your laying position as you cough and sputter. The bed shakes as you jerk forward, hacking into your hand. Eventually, your body lets you calm down. Clearing your throat a few times, you sit proper. A loud sigh passes through your lips as you look into the hand you coughed into. A pale green liquid now stains your hand and sticks to your fur. It feels scratchy and smells like salt. It’s the toxin that was injected in you to keep you alive. It acts as blood but feels like poison. Very little natural blood runs through your veins. That’s why you tend to avoid ponies now. If you trip and fall, hit your head, get a shot, or even blow your nose too hard, they’ll see just how much of a freak you are. A low moan escapes your lips as you rub your brow. Standing up, you hear a few satisfying pops in your back. With a stretch, you unfurl your two long wings— Never mind. You’re an Earth pony now. Get used to it. With yet another loud sigh, you lift up your black sweat-soaked nightshirt. Two long pink scars run down your back, both parallel to each other. That’s where your wings used to be. The first week in Chrysalis’s dungeon, they removed them. “Mommy, why do I have to have wings? They just get in the way.” “Oh, don’t worry about them, sweetheart. You’ll grow to love them.” “How do you know?” “I’m a Pegasus too, remember?” A loud crack sounds throughout the house as your fist collides with the wall. The wood is sent into the dark hollowness of the building. A small cloud of dust rises from the impact zone as your remove your fist from the hole. Gritting your teeth, you place both of your hands on the wall. Rearing back, you prepare yourself for the blow. Once again, the pain in your forehead does nothing to soothe the memories. Twice, three times, four times, five times, six times your head collides with the wall in a vain attempt to cool your rage. A lava hot tear runs down your face as you kneel to the ground, clawing at your poor wall all the way. It’s not just the sheer thought of losing your wings. It’s not the thoughts of what they did to you, even though they don’t help. It’s not even the thought of how helpless you were. It’s the memories of what they did before all that. "You're going to come with us, Lieutenant." “Guh… K-Kiss my flank!” “Oh, I think you’ll want to watch your tone, my dear… Otherwise, this lovely mare will pay the price.” “Mom? Mom!” "...Calm down, sweetheart." Once again, you slam your head into the wall. "Take your mother’s advice, guard. You’ll come with me and my soldiers. And you’re going to tell us all we need to know. Otherwise, the mare dies.” “Wait! Wait…” Slam! "Don't do it, honey... Think of Equestria..." “…I’ll… I…” "Don't..." SLAM! "I... I'll tell you nothing!" SLAM!! "Very well..." "Stop! No!" "I love you, sweetheart." "NO!" SLAM!!! "No! I'm so sorry!!" “STOP!!” Suddenly, loud coughs bring you out of your flashback. Loud, heavy breaths in between hacks and sputters fill the silence in the room. Green splotches of toxic fluids drip onto the rug with every loud cough. After what seems like an hour, you’re reduced to pitiful wheezing and panting. Your legs and arms weak, you decide to go back to sleep, and perhaps the memories will go away for a while. But that bed is just so damned far away. So you do the only logical thing to do. Curling up into a ball, you fade into sleep on the floor, in a small puddle of your own toxic blood.