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// If Only, 2nd POV 
// Story: If I Could 
// by FriendlyTwo3 
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If I Could

“. . . So, if you take the probability of Y into account, you will find the answer to X. But before that, you must factor in the probability of blah blah blah math stuff yadda yadda yadda. . .”

You struggle to keep your eyes open as Ms. Cheerilee lectures you and the class about some stupid math crap. To be honest, you couldn’t follow it if you tried, so why bother trying? You currently lie with your head in your semi-folded arms on your desk. Your eyelids feel as though they weigh a hundred pounds each. Every time you try to sit up and at least look like you’re paying attention, the world proceeds to spin and darken, leaving you to lie back down.

Doesn’t everyone hate Mondays?

It’s last period, but you still feel like it’s five a.m. The fact that you’re still getting over a nasty cold from yesterday isn’t helping. You look over to your right. Your friend, Twilight Sparkle, listens intently to the lecture. She always had a fascination with math. And science. And history. Literally an obsession with school itself, for reasons you could never understand. To your left is your cousin Raindrops. She gazes out the window, her mind obviously elsewhere. Of course, her mind is almost always elsewhere. Behind you is the leader of the sports team, Spitfire. In front of you is a long, soft pink head of hair that belongs to the girl named Fluttershy.

To be honest, your little crush for her was never really. . . well, little. Ever since fourth grade, you’ve harbored a secret love for her. How could you not? She’s one of the sweetest, kindest, most caring people you’ve ever had the immense pleasure to know. You've been friends with her for a while now, sometimes meeting up to have lunch, or go see a movie; things good friends do. She puts others before herself every minute of every day. She tends to those in need, and offers to give further support to those who aren't. Thing is, she’s also one of the quietest, shyest people you’ve ever met. Most of her downtime is spent at home, either sipping tea or something or tending to her many animal friends. She’s as pale as a ghost, due to not spending a huge amount of time in the sun. She has a short, meek frame, due to not having the opportunity to work out or be active much. She often hides behind hoods, or her long angel-like hair. She seems to enjoy your company about as much as you enjoy hers. Well, maybe not that much, but still. She lets out a good laugh when you’d do something comical, or tell her a funny joke.

Of course, you don’t exactly ‘tell’ jokes like other people.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out your small notebook and pencil. Opening the book, you see conversation after conversation in writing, all your dialogue.

Flutters
“He did what?! Ha!
It can’t be that bad.
Oh really?
Then I’m glad it worked out for you.
Lol.
That. Was. Awesome! I really can’t wait for the sequel.
I'll see ya later. I gotta go see Raindrops.
For sure.”

Raindrops.
“You’re joking.
You’re not joking, are you?
How long did he say?
What?!
Where is he?
Yes I am, Rain. He can’t treat you like this.
All I want is to protect you.
I’m sorry.”

You remember these conversations like they just happened. The first one was at the movies, when that one giant robot movie came out. It scared poor Fluttershy half to death, but she seemed to enjoy it by the end. The second was just afterwards. Raindrops’ boyfriend of two and a half years was found to be cheating on her with some other girl. Sunset Shitter or something like that. You wanted so badly to put that jerk in the dust, but she didn’t want it to get out of control.

You weren’t always mute. When you were nine, you were in a horrible accident involving a Timberwolf. Your vocal cords were damaged beyond repair. The doctor said it would take a miracle for you to talk again.

Of course, it wasn’t really an accident. As a kid, you were disobedient. If someone told you to do something you would do the exact opposite. “Don’t touch the vase.” “Don’t be rude to strangers.” Don’t go near the Everfree Forest.” You were a complete jerk too, looking back. If someone was weaker than you, they were going down. When you lost your voice, you were teased. You were bullied for years. That’s when you met Fluttershy. When you were cast into the loser’s table at lunch.

Fluttershy raises her hand to answer an unheard question.

“Um… Forty-seven?”

She’s been trying to talk more, get more involved in school. Her overall participation grade was down the crapper, so she wanted to try and get that up. You dearly hope that answer was right, for her sake.

“Uh, almost. You seem to have forgotten to carry the two,” says Ms. Cheerilee apologetically. Fluttershy lowers her hand and ducks down. A few snickers are heard from across the room. Ugh… Them. The group of boys who constantly pick on poor Fluttershy. Honestly, you can never figure out what their deal is. They always laugh at her tiniest of failures. Even just now, slightly slipping up on an unimportant math question. What is the deal?

Looking up at the clock, you see just how close it is to 3:00. Just about a minute and a half and that majestic bell will ring. Ms. Cheerilee wraps up her lecture and bids you all a wonderful rest of the day. The students, nearly by instinct, put up their chairs and throw on their jackets and backpacks. You slump your heavy black bag over your shoulder, not bothering with the straps, while Fluttershy slowly slips her yellow backpack on, careful not to bump anything with it. You take a step forward, tap her on the shoulder, and offer a small smile. That was your way of saying ‘Hey.’ She gives you a sad smile in return.

“Hi.” She looks up at you and notices your new expression, one of curiosity, sympathy, and caring. “It’s nothing. Just. . . Just a long day,” she says after a sigh. “Um. . . I. . . I can’t come over to your house today. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to, it’s just that, my parents wanted to see me for something a-and. . . I’m sorry. . .” You offer another smile, telling her that it’s fine. She simply smiles back. Fluttershy would often go to your house after school. For whatever the reason, she always seemed to enjoy it there. Perhaps it’s because she’s always so lonely at her own home. Sometimes, you entertain yourself and think it’s because she totally digs you.

Wishful thinking.

The bell rings, and you exit the school with Fluttershy close behind. She heads down the opposite path towards the close-by parking garage her mom picks her up at, and you head down the path to yours, offering a wave she weakly gives back.

Later. . .

You stare into the mirror. Your shirt is off, but your jeans are still on. You stare intensely into your reflections eyes. Opening your mouth wide, your stare into the back of your throat. You close your mouth and clear your throat. Taking in a large amount of air, you open your mouth wide again. You force all of your energy into your stomach, then your chest, then your throat. You hope so much that your voice projects outward, but all that comes out is a throaty choking sound and a squeak. You retract and cough vigorously. After a few barks, you gaze into your reflection again and touch the front of your neck. You’d do this often with your downtime.

You’ve been silent for far too long.

Supper’s been eaten. Xbox has been played. Shower’s been taken. Homework’s been done. All in that order. You lie in your bed, ready to head to sleep. But before that, you unlock your phone and scroll to Fluttershy’s name. She often tells you how much she loves texting, mostly because she finds it so odd. Like how one’s grandpa reacts when they have a texting conversation with him. She responds to basically every single one of your texts. Hell, she even responded to a spam text from some company. She was mostly sheltered from most forms of technology for the longest time, until high school even. Hell, she didn’t have internet until she was thirteen. Poor soul. She got her first phone last year for her birthday. An IPhone 4 that you personally bought for her. If she’s gonna start, she’s gonna start right!

“Hey,” you text to her.

. . .

. . .

. . .

“Flutters?” you text again after about five minutes.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Weird. She always responds. Maybe her phone’s dead. She does tell you she keeps losing the charger. Maybe whatever her parents had to talk to her about had to do with her phone. Whatever the reason, you’ll see her tomorrow. In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never, never missed a day of school. She won perfect attendance more times than Twilight has. Not once have you seen her absent; it’s pretty stunning.

With that in mind, you roll over and go to sleep.

The Next Day. . .

You haven’t seen her all day. Not once. For the first time since you’ve known her, Fluttershy’s absent. It’s currently last period, and school ends in about fifteen minutes. Today was a study-day, a day to prepare for the quiz tomorrow. Everyone else, except those annoying boys, are studying hard. Ms. Cheerilee is one of the nicest teachers you’ve ever had, but man, if her quizzes weren’t the most challenging…

You slowly look up from your paper to the empty seat in front of you. Huh. You almost forgot that Octavia sits in front of Fluttershy. Speak of the devil; her image worms its way into your brain. You rest your cheek on your fist as your eyes look over the notes without actually looking. In reality, you see a slightly crumpled, heavily doodled-on piece of paper, but in your mind, you see her.

You see that same old fantasy. A setting sun on the left, a rising full moon on the right. A small hill on which you and her lay. Bordering the soft green hill is a vast meadow, with a few mountains in the far distance. A dirt path is at the base of the hill, where your black, flame-patterned chopper sits. A low hanging oak tree under which you both slumber. Your right hand holds her right hand. She lays softly on your left arm, her cheek buried in the crook of your shoulder. Her smooth skin against your bare chest. Her free arm unconsciously stroking your rock hard abs.

And then the bell rings.

As you look around, you see everyone’s chairs are up and everyone is piling out the door, except for Raindrops, who waits patiently for you. You quickly lift your chair onto the desk and swing your bag over your shoulder.

You and Raindrops walk along the sidewalk, to the crossroad. To the right, the path to your house. To the left, the long path to Fluttershy’s. Perhaps she’d be fine with a little visit? She must be really under the weather to miss a day of school. Raindrops turns to you.

“You comin’?” she asks, nodding toward the right path. You stare down the right path for a moment, before nodding toward the left. “Ah. Gonna go see your girlfriend?” A furious heat enters your cheeks, causing Raindrops to laugh. “I’ll see ya at home. Don’t take too long, lover boy!” she exclaims while skipping down the path. You so desperately want to call out to her, but obviously, can find no such luck. However, something odd does happen.

A slight grunt, high pitched, but noticeable.

With a hint of voice in it.

Wide-eyed, you stand in place for a brief moment, before shaking your head and beginning down the two mile trek to Fluttershy’s house. You take out your phone and scroll to her name.

“Hey. I’m coming over, if that’s alright. Be there in a bit.”

Almost immediately after sending, your phone vibrates. Did she even read it? The message is long, and begins with your full name.

“Thank you for being the best friend you could be. You’ve made my life so much better, and I can’t thank you enough. You in particular, have made my life that much easier. I know you see me as nothing more than a friend, but I just thought you should know that I’ve always had the biggest crush on you. I’m so sorry for not telling you, but I was always so nervous. Recently, constant bullying and teasing and harasssing have made thimgs so much hardeer/ I hope you can understamd my motives..

Thank you so much. For everything.
-Fluttershy.”

No.

No.

NO!

You throw down your bag and start to run. You throw off your jacket to lighten your load anyway you can. You sprint as fast as you can down the street, whizzing by various people who look to you in shock.

She can’t do this.

Your feet feel light as they tap the ground, one after the other. Your entire body feels as light as a feather as you run faster than you’ve ever run before. The people on the street seem like mere blurs as you sprint past them. After a few moments, your breath begins to deepen. But you ignore, it; for it’s not important right now.

She just can’t do this.

You’ve been sprinting as fast as your legs could move. They’ve long since started to ache, but that’s not important right now. You’ve passed the city limits and the forest is now visible. You run off the street and onto the small path into the woods. The trees are more blurred than the people were. You nearly trip on stray branches several times, but you force through them. A branch catches your shirt and tears off a good chunk of fabric from your side, slightly cutting through skin. You yelp a little and hold your side until the stinging goes away.

You won’t let her do this.

There’s a clearing in the forest. A wide open clearing. The smell of freshly cut grass enters through your nostrils as you run into the yard. You meet the road again as you sprint into the driveway, devoid of cars. You jump clear up the four steps and come to a grinding halt. You allow a single second to catch a little bit of breath. Turning the knob violently, you force the door open, nearly breaking it off the hinges. You bolt into the house until you come to the threshold of the living room. . .

. . .just in time to see her lift the bottle of rat poison to her lips.

“FLUTTERSHY!!”

She jumps a foot, and you sprint over to her, slide a bit, and rip the bottle from her hands. She stumbles backward a bit, and you notice her bloodshot eyes. Swollen, and wet from what looks like hours of sobbing. Her beautiful, stunning oceans for eyes reduced to red, bloodshot messes. Her hair is a wreck. Various strands of pink locks twisting and turning in sharp directions. Frayed, split ends down the length of her once beautiful long hair. Her clothes are nothing more than thrown-on pajamas, wrinkled and twisted around her meek, fragile body.

You drop the bottle, rush over, and wrap your arms as firmly, yet gently as possible around her shaking form. She simply freezes as you squeeze her. Other than her violent shaking, she’s completely still. Everything in the room is dead silent, aside from your rapid breathing. Your lungs feel like they weigh a hundred tons each. Your skin feels like sandpaper. Your legs feel ready to fall off at any moment. Fluttershy’s arms hang off her shoulders, still shaking. Your throat hurts, your tongue is numb, and your jaw aches. You want to tell her to think this through, to never ever do anything like that again.

But all that comes out is a grunt and a quiet squeak.

Fluttershy’s breathing soon becomes sporadic and rapid. She squeaks ever so quietly as her arms come up to embrace you. Her fast breathing turns into quiet sobbing. She squeezes you as hard as possible and cries into your shoulder. You can feel her hot tears on your shoulder. You close your eyes tight and bury your own head into her trembling shoulder.

You got here in the very definition of the nick of time. One more second and she would have downed the lethal liquid and ended her own life. If you were but a second later, you would have been too late. You would have failed. You would’ve killed Fluttershy. The image of her slowly sickening and grey body worms its way into your subconscious. The image of her wasting away, the poison taking its intended effect on her already weak body. The image of the life in her beautiful teal eyes fading away into nothingness.

You open your eyes to remind yourself that you saved her. That you got here in time.

You saved her life.

Fluttershy’s shoulders constantly bounce up and down with each sob she lets out. After a few minutes, which feels like a few eternities, words start to form in her cries.

“I’m sorry. . . I’m so sorry. . . I’m so sorry. . .”

You begin to slide your right hand up and down slowly, stroking her back, comforting her in what’s probably her lowest low. This only seems to make her cry harder, but you don’t stop. As the moment begins to slow down, you notice how deathly cold it is in here. Your pores swell up into rigid goosebumps. Fluttershy’s embrace hardly helps. If it were any colder in here, you’d see your breath. As your hand reaches up to Fluttershy’s shoulder, you notice an excessively damp bit of fabric. And you notice how blurry your vision is. You’ve been crying as well. It’s hardly a shock, and it was actually sort of expected. You’re not the crying type. But when your best friend in the whole world; the one you love with all your heart threatens to wipe away her very existence. . . Who can blame you?

For a moment, you imagine a world without Fluttershy. If you were too late, what would that mean for you, and for everybody else? Her parents would be nothing short of devastated. How would they react, knowing you could’ve saved her? Would they hate you forever? Or would they applaud you for trying? What about her other five friends? Twilight. . . She hasn’t been known to get extremely emotional. But her outlet is locking herself in her room. If one of her best friends in the world were to be killed, there’s a good chance you may never see her again. She’d lock herself in her house, be an absolute shut-in. Twilight’s strong, but there’s no telling how long she could be in there.

Rarity would most likely go into an absolute depression. She’s a drama queen to begin with, but if her closest friend (as the two are, in fact, the closest friends out of them all) were to die, she might consider doing it herself. She probably wouldn’t, but she’d be pretty close. Being the diva she always was, she would continue to think of ways to keep herself in line. It might even keep her from tending to the needs of others.

Rainbow Dash would probably mourn by spending her time alone, not talking at all. She’d still go outside, play sports, and work out, but she’d be the most antisocial of the bunch. Her tomboy exterior would build up even more, making that shell a million times harder to crack.

Applejack would mourn heavily at first, but act as though she’s over it in just a couple weeks. In her line of work, getting emotional isn’t really something she can afford. She’d push it in the back of her mind, pretending like it never happened. She may be the most honest person you’ve ever met, but something as devastating as Fluttershy’s death could alter the lives of anyone. Anyone.

Even Pinkie Pie. Her usual bubbly and ecstatic behavior would flip a full one-eighty. She’d let her hair down. She’d wander the streets and the halls as if she didn’t have a goal, or a purpose. She’d throw a couple parties like she always does, old habits and all that, but they’d lack that one element. Laughter. Her entire laughing demeanor would fade away. Pinkie’d laugh no more. Applejack would tell lies. Rainbow Dash would be untrusting and untrustworthy. Rarity would think of herself and how to get back to her glory days. Twilight would no longer be capable of speaking to anyone or making any new friends. The magic would all be gone.

And what about you? You wouldn’t be able to go on. Either you’d live the whole rest of your life in the epitome of despair and depression or you’d off yourself eventually. You’d no longer smile. No longer function. No longer be able to move. To breathe. To see. After a while, you’d just decide to give up. There’d be no moving on. There’d be no letting go. And definitely no forgiving.

If you came in a second later, you’d never. . . NEVER forgive yourself.

You’d blame yourself for not standing up for her more in the face of those damned bullies. You’d blame yourself for not being able to save Fluttershy’s life. You’d blame yourself for not being able to mend your friends’ bonds. You’d drive yourself beyond insanity with guilt. You’d attack those closest to you. You’d lash out at those only trying to help. You’d blame yourself for Fluttershy’s death. She’d be dead because of you. You’d be convinced that Fluttershy died by your hand. That you killed Fluttershy.

You blink a few times as reality floods back to you. That would be the very definition of hell. That wouldn’t compare to any problems you had before that. But it hasn’t happened, and if you’ve anything to say about it, will never happen. You did save her. She’s alive. She’s safe now. Whether or not she’s sound is yet to be seen. But you’ll try your very hardest to make sure she will be.

Her sobs slowly start to become fewer and further between. You rub her back a few more times and slowly lean away. Your eyes met hers and she sucks in another shaky breath. Her lips tremble a few times as she begins to speak.

“I-I . . . Y-Y-You t-. . . You said m- . . . my name. . .” You pull her into your shoulder again with a soft ‘Shhh. . .’ She sighs, a quiver still in her breath. Your right hand finds its way to the back of her head as your left continues to rub her back. For the longest time, the two of you stand there in utter silence. You slowly start to rock her back and forth. The embrace you share can be described as nothing less than warm. Fluttershy’s hugged you many, many times before. She’s told you that she loves hugging almost as much as she loves her animals. Each time was magical, a moment you never wanted to end. But this one feels different. It feels as though you’re beginning anew. No matter how hard either of you try, your relationship will never be the same. You may move past this eventually, you may try your damnedest to forget about this, but it won’t change a thing. Fluttershy tried to commit suicide, and that’s not something you can forget about.

You push her forward ever so slightly toward the couch. She takes a step back and lowers herself into the sofa. You sit next to her and take hold of both of her hands. She stares at the ground. Her beautiful eyes look even worse than they did before. Her sniffles aren’t soft and petite anymore. She’s trembling harder than ever. Her eyes flick from place to place on the floor. They make their way to your foot. She follows your leg up to your conjoined hands. Her eyes widen slightly as she notices the sticky red liquid on both of your fingers. The side of your shirt is slightly stained with blood from when the tree caught you.

“Y-You’re. . . Y-You’re. . .” You lift your clean hand to her cheek. Her eyes meet yours. Your hand grazes up her arm. You notice the goosebumps dotting her fair skin. “Here,” she starts, “I-I’ll get you cleaned up. . .” She begins to stand, but you grab her arm. She looks back in confusion. Closing your eyes, you shake your head ‘no.’ After a moment, she sits back down, and you stand up. With a subtle hand motion, you signal her to stay put. She closes her eyes and lowers her head, shaking even more.

The more you start to think about the blood on your side and hand, the more the cut starts to sting. You look down and lift up your shirt partially as you walk up the stairs. Ooh, that is a nasty one. Some peroxide and a bandage should be fine, but it’ll hurt for a while. You come to the oak door at the end of the hallway, the old familiar one with butterfly stickers on it. Fluttershy’s room. You open the door and turn on the light. It’s as cold in here as it is everywhere else. Fluttershy’s pet rabbit, Angel, runs around quickly in his large cage until he makes eye contact with you. He stands up on two legs, and gives you an expression that seems to plead for help. He knows. That rabbit always seemed oddly human-like. You give him a smile and a small nod that assures him that his owner’s fine. He slowly retreats into the small house in the cage, but not before giving you something that looks like a smile, and something that sounds like a sigh. Walking over to the bed, you begin to hear a strange noise. An odd buzzing, as if something were vibrating. You stop at the foot of Fluttershy’s bed. Looking down, you see her favorite blanket. It certainly is soft. One of the softest blankets you’ve ever felt. It’s also very pink. Very pink. In fact, Fluttershy’s whole room is very pink. Like a typical teenage girl’s room. There are posters of some movies you’ve seen together on the walls, a big mirror on a white vanity, and a big stack of books. You take a quick peek at them. Romance novels.

Wait.

You think back to Fluttershy’s text to you. What she said. She’s always had a crush on you? A heat rises in your cheeks. Fluttershy’s always had a crush on you. And you were too blind to see it.

With a shake of your head, you expel those thoughts. They’re not important right now. What’s important is that Fluttershy’s freezing down there. You grab the blanket with your clean hand and roll it into a ball, which you tuck under your uninjured side. After you do this, you notice what had been making those buzzing sounds. It’s her phone. And it’s vibrating like crazy. You pick it up and unlock it. Forty-seven unread texts and twenty-two missed calls from Rainbow Dash, Twilight, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and Applejack. There’s a note on her bedside table too. You read only the first line.

“Dear mom and dad. . .”

The rest of the paper is no doubt full of thanks and goodbyes. Some spots are a darker gray, from tears that fell from her face. You grimace and turn around. You turn off the lights and close the door.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you hear Fluttershy’s heavy breath, shaky and bitter. You walk into the living room to see her curled up into a ball on the couch. You walk over and unfurl the blanket. She notices you and straightens herself out a bit. As gently as possible, you lay her favorite blanket over her shivering body. As soon as the blanket touches her, she curls back up. Reaching down, you tuck the edges of the blanket under her shivering legs and stomach. “Thank you,” she says in a near whisper. You offer a gentle smile and lay a hand on her shoulder. She closes her eyes and thanks you again. You rub your thumb on her shoulder a few times before standing straight again.

You flick the light of the bathroom on and close the door. With a sigh, you lift your shirt over your head and throw it on the ground. Looking in the mirror, you see how messed up you are. Your hair is weighed down by sweat, stuck to your scalp. You have sweat running down your cheeks and neck. The left side of your stomach is covered in dirty water, probably from running through a puddle or something. You have dirt on your face, along with a few minor scratches. Whew, lotta trees.

But the part you focus on is your right side. There’s a lot of blood staining your stomach and ribs. And more is oozing out of the wound. When you got hit by that branch, you figured it’d be a small cat-scratch, not an open wound. Jesus. . .

You open the medicine cabinet and pull out a bottle of peroxide and a roll of gauze. You take a small wad of gauze and put it over the top of the bottle. You flip the bottle over, letting the medicine pour into the gauze. You flip it back over and position the wet gauze was over the cut.

This is gonna suck.

You bring your hand down on the wound and scrunch up your face at the terrible stinging. You'd curse if you could. The entire length of the cut burns and stings at the same time. Each individual cell burns as you apply more pressure. Your cheeks involuntary puff out and you let out a few rapid breaths. After a few more seconds, the pain begins to die down, and eventually it becomes no more than a dull numbing. You suck in a large amount of air, puff out your chest, and slowly release.

You take a couple large square Band-Aids from the shelf and apply them over the gauze and the cut. You look down at the terrible patchwork. Well, no one said you were any good at being a doctor. You walk over to the cupboard after placing all the supplies back in the cabinet. You take out a red washcloth and turn on the water. After a minute or so, the water turns warm. You wet up the cloth and bring it to your face. As you scrub the dirt away, you take your phone out of your pocket. Huh, you could swear you threw it down when you began to run over here. You have a single message from Twilight.

“Get to fluttershys now”

They must all be on their way. That’s good. Fluttershy needs her friends right now. You press reply.

“She’s fine.”

Send.

You look up at the mirror. That should do. You look a hell of a lot cleaner. You rinse out the washcloth and soak it up with warm water again. You pick up your damp shirt and put it back on. As you step out of the bathroom, you turn off the water and the light. As you step into the living room, you see that Fluttershy is still lying calmly under her blanket on the couch. You take a few steps toward her. She looks so peaceful, despite all that she just went through. With a slightly closer look, you notice that she’s fallen asleep. You kneel down next to her and lift the washcloth to her face. She stirs slightly as the warm cloth touches her skin, but she remains unconscious. You sigh as you wipe away her tears.

You hear the door open. “Fluttershy!” You stand up and hurry to the door. Rainbow Dash shoves past you as you shush her. Her eyes are slightly pink and her face is damp. She storms into the living room and gazes upon Fluttershy’s sleeping form. “. . .Is she. . .?” she starts as her eyes widen. She looks up at you and you shake your head. She sighs a heavy sigh. “Good. . . That’s good. . .” She strides over and plops onto the other couch. She puts her forehead into her hands with a quiet “Jesus. . .”

You walk over and sit next to her. She looks over at you and notices the tear in your shirt, along with the Band-Aids and blood stains. “What happened to you?” You give her a shrug in response. She returns her face to her cupped hands. “How’d she do it? I mean, how was she going to?”

You lean over and pick up the bottle of rat poison off the floor. Some of it had spilled out onto the carpet, but that’s unimportant. Dash looks at you as you place the bottle on the coffee table. The bottle is dusty, the bright yellow now dim and droll. Obviously, it hasn’t been used for a very long time, perhaps years. Dash sighs and leans back. “You got here just in time didn’t you?” A nod is your response. She raises her fist, pointing her knuckles toward you. You smile and bump your knuckles against hers. “Nice.”

You and Dash sit on the couch in silence for the next few minutes. You spend your time staring at the sleeping girl across the room. Her shoulders rise and fall as she sleeps her pain away. It’s going to be difficult, these next few weeks. There may be a long period where neither you nor Fluttershy talk much. How could things go back to the way they were? No matter how long either of you live, there’s no forgetting this. You can act like this never happened. You can take a blood oath to never speak of this again, but the memory will still be there.

You hear the door open, quieter and slower this time. Two figures come into view. Twilight and Rarity. Followed by them are Fluttershy’s final two friends. Applejack and Pinkie Pie. Applejack has an honest face of worry. Pinkie is bouncing slightly up and down nervously. Rarity shoots you an extremely distraught expression. Twilight looks less worried, but worried all the same. You give her a small nod.

“She’s fine,” Dash says, nodding toward Fluttershy. Rarity walks around the corner to see Fluttershy sleeping peacefully. A long sigh escapes her lips. She kneels down and rubs her best friend's shoulder a few times. She walks over to the recliner and plops down onto it, resting her head in her hands. Pinkie rushes over and kneels down next to the sleeping girl. She holds her ear up to her chest. After a moment, she sighs loudly in relief. Twilight turns to face you.

“When did you get here?” she asks you. You lean forward, reach back, and pull your notepad from your back pocket. You go to look at it, but notice it's crinkled and damp. You heave a long sigh.

“Just in time,” Rainbow Dash cuts in, giving you a smile. “Thanks, bud.” A smile is your response. Twilight walks around the coffee table and sits between you two.

“Really,” says Applejack, “We cain’t thank you enough.” She leans toward you and puts her hand on your shoulder. Her eyes are filled with nothing but gratitude. You can only smile in return.

“Yeah!” starts Pinkie, “You must have gotten here in the nick of time!” Your smile grows just a little. A tickling sensation washes over your throat and you cough violently into your fist.

“You alright there?” says Applejack, sitting in a leather chair next to a desk. After a moment, you nod. “You sure? You were coughin’ perty loudly.” You nod again. A bit of movement on the couch catches your attention. You watch as Fluttershy slowly opens her eyes. She rubs her shoulder a couple times, and takes a subtly surprised expression. She calms down again, but her eyes widen again as she sees all of her friends in the room with her.

“Oh. . . Hi,” she says in a near whisper. She sits up straight, allowing Pinkie to sit next to her. She rubs her eye a few times.

“Hey,” says Twilight.

“Fluttershy,” says Rarity, finally speaking, “Why did you do it? What drove you to take such action?” She looks at Fluttershy with hurt in her eyes. Her mouth is slightly open as she looks in disappointment to her best friend. Fluttershy returns a look of guilt and sadness. A realization has hit her just how much she hurt her friends.

“I. . .”

“I told you, Fluttershy,” says Rarity, “We are always here for you. We always have been. Anything you need to talk about; we’re always right here.” She leans forward, a pleading tone in her voice. Fluttershy simply continues to stare at her. She looks around the room at all of her friends, who give her similar looks. She looks at you longer. She looks at you with pondering eyes. Her eyes widen ever so slightly as she seems to realize something.

“I-I. . .” she looks from face to face, and tears well up in her eyes. Pinkie Pie puts her hand on Fluttershy’s shoulder as she hunches over. “It’s everyone at school. . . They all make fun of me. . . Th-they. . . call me worthless. They say I’m a waste of your time. . .”

“C’mon, Shy,” starts Rainbow Dash, leaning forward, “You know better than to listen to those losers.”

“I try,” says Fluttershy, softer now, “I try. . . so hard. I try to get them out of my head. I do what you all taught me to do. To keep my chin up and assert myself. But. . . every time I do. . .” She rests her face in her palms. You can only watch as Pinkie rubs her back as she sobs into her hands.

“Aw, it’ll be alright now, Fluttershy,” says Pinkie, a warm smile on her face, “We’ll make sure those bad people don’t mess with you anymore.”

“It’s. . .” Fluttershy starts, only slightly calming down, “It’s not alright. I-I. . . I still feel like a waste of space.” You open your mouth to protest, but of course, nothing comes out. If only you could tell her how much she means to everyone. If only you could tell her how special she is to you. You look to your left and right. Your vision settles on a large notebook on the coffee table. It’s her dad’s notebook. It’ll have to do. You grab a pen and flip to a free page.

And you begin to write. Your vision is focused on the paper, so you only listen to the conversation.

“You’re not a waste of anything, Fluttershy,” says Twilight, “You’re one of my very best friends. You were one of the first people I met since I moved here. You’re the kindest, sweetest soul I’ve ever met.”

“Ah think ah speak fer everyone here, Shy,” says Applejack. You can hear the shuffling of fabric on leather, “when ah say we wouldn’t know what to do without ya.”

“You’re just as important as the rest of us!” you hear the high pitched voice of Pinkie Pie exclaim, “You have your friends! You have your momma, poppa, and auntie and uncle! You have your cousin!”

“You have so many people in your life, dear,” starts Rarity, “who would be devastated if you suddenly went away. So many people love you, Fluttershy. You simply cannot let the words of a few lowlifes get you this down!”

“Yeah,” exclaims Rainbow Dash, “When life gets ya down, just get right back on the horse! I have a saying. When you’re flying high, you just gotta keep flapping your wings. If you don’t, you’ll fall. You just gotta stay strong.”

There is a long pause. You pen starts to slow in its writing and you look up. Fluttershy has tears streaming down her face. Her eyes are wide as she looks around the room. But she doesn’t look as miserable anymore. She looks as if her spirits have risen a little. You look back down to your paper.

One, two, three, four more words. Period.

You look at Twilight and hand her the notebook. She dons a slight look of curiosity as she looks down at the paper. A small smile forms on her face as she begins to read aloud.

“Fluttershy,

I’ve known you for most of my life. We’ve always been there for each other. Through the ups and downs. Through thick and thin. We took care of each other when we were sick. We watched movies, went to the mall, had sleepovers, and so many things that best friends do. I couldn’t think of spending a day without you. Today, when you weren’t in school, I was nearly miserable. We’ve grown so close to each other that I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t become very attached to you.

You’re beautiful. You’re sweet. You’re caring. You’re smart. Before I met you, I was unstable. I was a complete nobody. A bully. When I lost my voice, you were there for me when no one else was. When you sent me that text today, I felt that if I didn’t do something, I’d lose you forever. And if I lost you, I wouldn’t know what to do anymore. I wouldn’t have a purpose anymore. Fluttershy, you give me a purpose. You give me a reason to keep on keeping on. Without you, I would’ve given up a long time ago. So with all of this, there’s one thing left to say. . .

I love you, Fluttershy.”


You had been looking down at the floor for the duration of the message. When Twilight concluded, you lifted your head and looked at the people in the room. After a moment of shock on her face, Applejack smiles proudly at you, and tips her hat in your direction. Rainbow Dash winks at you as you look at her. Twilight has a tear in her eye and is smiling at you and Fluttershy. Pinkie Pie is bouncing up and down in her seat with a shocked ‘O’ plastered on her face. Rarity has her hands over her mouth and is looking back and forth between you and Fluttershy. She also has a tear running down her cheek.

Finally, Fluttershy has both of her hands over her mouth. Tears run down both of her cheeks and she’s breathing deeply. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. Her chest moves back and forth quickly.

“You. . . You. . . mean it. . . ?” she nearly whispers. Your smile growing, you give a full nod. You stand up slowly. It’s a short walk to the other couch. As you approach her, her chest seems to move more quickly. Each step you take seems to shock her. Pinkie moves away a bit, probably to give you some space. You are now a single foot away from Fluttershy’s seat on the couch. Rather than jumping onto her, or wrapping her in a bear-hug like all those stories, you simply kneel before her. She leans forward toward you. With the most sincere smile you can muster, you take her delicate hand.

“A-all this time. . . ?” Fluttershy squeaks out. You offer yet another nod. You take her other hand and caress them both gently with your thumbs. You see her lips tremble, her head tilt, and her eyes narrow as they are coated yet again in fluid. The corners of her mouth begin to rise into a smile. Her hands begin to shake as well before they’re ripped from your gentle grasp. You find yourself wrapped in a tight embrace, with a sobbing girl pressed against you. Words make their way through her cries.

“I do too! I love you too!” she repeats over and over. You bring your arms up to her warm back, still covered by her blanket. Her back and shoulders bounce sporadically as she sobs into your shoulder. After a few minutes of crying, you begin to worry she’s not just crying tears of joy anymore. You raise your hand to tap her, but she says something that lays to rest all doubts.

“You’ve made me so happy!”

From the other side of the room, you can hear Rainbow Dash’s high pitched voice.

“I’m not one for mush, Twi, but damn if that ain’t just adorable.”