I am done being afraid. I’ve cried all the tears I had left, and found that there was a blank slate that remains. This isn’t who I am, or who I want to be, but to survive, if I have to become somepony else to live through this nightmarish situation, then I will. I’ve been a nopony for as long as I can remember. So this morning I reinvented myself, in chains, and in blood.
He beat me when he woke up. Naturally he beat me with a rolled up newspaper, so it only stung and ached, without any damage to his precious cargo that he has been hired to transport. But he kept hitting me until he had to find a new paper, because he had shredded the first.
That was when I realized that he was scared of me. I’ve seen hunters lash out at their prey, and it is never a rational thing. A wolf tears its meal apart most enthusiastically when it was hurt or worn down in obtaining it.
I managed to hurt him.
There is no kindness I can give this man, and despite the pain I feel in my heart, I am no longer willing to care for anyone or anything that stands in my way with the intent to keep these chains on me.
But somewhere deep, I know it’s all just an act I am playing through in my mind, to convince myself that I am not going to die, alone and torn apart by these hunters.
The voyage takes on a breakneck pace, as it seems that he finally decides that some risks must be taken to get rid of me. Larger roads and swifter avenues whip the wind past the rear of my prison transport in a low howl, making it hard for me to sleep, or to ignore the bruises developing along my sides.
He has taken to tossing side salads into the trunk before tearing off again, leaving me with the plastic bowls and shells to do with as I wish. I’ve started a small collection.
What can you make with two sporks, three packets of ranch with a smiling face on them, and a small stack of plastic containers turned bowls? A low income family on the verge of collapse. But lucky me I don’t even have to work for the food so generously provided to me every 3 hours, roughly. I just have to lay here whimpering like an injured animal when he opens the hatch, and mumble to myself as though I could do anything, once he closes it.
Really, you’ve sure come a long way, Fluttershy. Went from being the animal caretaker of a small town of ponies who likely didn’t know your name, to a captive in a world that knows your life’s history and writes erotic fanfictions about you.
What an improvement.
My bitter speculation and overly dramatic self deprecation is cut suddenly short when I realize that I haven’t gone to the restroom in about a day, and my body isn’t appreciating that.
I hesitate for a moment before I pound on the roof of the trunk with a hoof, grimacing in anticipation of a less than pleasant interaction with Violent Mcbeatalot.
The car gradually slows down and pulls off onto a bumpy side road, only making the situation worse. Finally he opens the trunk with his own matching frown.
“What the hell do you want?”
I sit up. “I need to urinate. I would rather not do so in the trunk of a car,” I say clearly, hoping not to offend him by having a bladder.
He reaches forward and I flinch away with closed eyes, fearing that he might strike me, but the rattle of chains draws my attention to the spare tire I am once again chained to, which he is pulling out of the trunk.
I don’t really move quick enough, and I end up smacking my forelegs on the lip of the trunk, before gliding down to sit next to the wheel, rubbing the sore spots with equally sore fetlocks.
“Go then. I’ll wait.”
I notice that his nose is a painful looking purple-red color, with an interesting angle to it. He doesn’t seem to care that I am staring at him while I relieve myself, rather he takes it as a challenge to make it the single most awkward staring contest in the history of the world.
As I finish up, he decides to speak.
“I looked you up. Fluttershy. You’re supposed to be some weak little woodland nymph, not a brave bone in her body. So did we nab the wrong pony? Who are you?”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but I am trotting on thin enough ice as it is.
“I’m half human. All of us are half human. We got paired up, sort of,” I explain, without bothering to mention that I was no longer two separate beings.
He snorts, taking a step back and bending to pick up the wheel. “So what, the weak one get paired with some cagefighter?”
I laugh, before I can stop myself, earning a glare from him and a rough yank on the chain, sending me sprawling in the gravel next to the road, wings flapping madly to pull myself upright.
As he tosses me back into the trunk, I answer him. “My human is a computer nerd, a girl.”
He scowls, slamming the trunk shut without a word.
I take a deep breath, trying not to scream and throw a kick or two at the separating wall between me and him. After a few shaky steps I lay back down on my pile of clothing, staring at the sliver of light above me.
The car lurches into motion, and my trip resumes the howling progress, my eyelids growing heavy from exhaustion and weary mental collapse. Yet I somehow stay conscious enough to feel my anger simmering away, images of my hooves crashing into that bald head playing over again in my mind, the idea of Angel bunny biting his ear off making me smile a little.
“I wouldn’t mind feeding you to my wolves, mister,” I mutter, all sorts of gruesome deaths flashing through my mind. “There’s nothing good about you. There’s nothing worth saving.”
Of course, he cannot hear me, so he doesn’t reply.
I wonder what my friends would say if they found out I wanted a human dead. Truly, genuinely wanted to see him die. They would be horrified. They would think I was some sort of evil beast. So I let the shame and guilt wash over me instead. It hurts, to feel so angry, after years and years of blaming myself and trying to help everyone I meet.
Then I realize the pain is quite physical, and coming from my chest. I look down, and look in fear and awe at the now angry red gem on my element, the butterfly blood colored and warm, the heat painful to the touch. I pull the necklace off and drop it onto the floor of the trunk, watching the glow subside, and return to the soft pink color I am used to.
“Yeah... I suppose I deserve that,” I mumble, picking the element up and hugging it, as though that will bring some level of comfort.
“But I have to escape, I have to do something.”
I look at the element, noticing the dent where that bullet had impacted it. A bullet, and it only has a small dent. I wonder what it would do to a human skull.
At the thought, I can feel it warm up in opposition, but I hold it tighter.
“Next time he opens the trunk... I can do this. He must have the key for this lock on him. I can escape, I can see Angel again... My friends...”
The metal feels uncomfortably warm, like a fevered forehead against my hoof. I feel nauseous, a bit dizzy. But I cannot think of another way to get out of this, and to see my friends again.
So I cradle the sickened element, gripping it like a life buoy, and I sleep.
I roll from my stomach to my back as the car rolls to a stop, the short dream of holding Angel while we watch the sunrise fades quickly.
As soon as my eyes open, I am gripping the heavy metal necklace as tight as I can, crouching in the small space provided by the trunk.
My heart pounds, almost painful as I hear voices, and the crunch of boots on gravel move from the front of the car, closer, and louder. I have trouble breathing, as my pounding chest tightens up, the realization of what I am about to do hits home, and I can feel heat radiating from my element.
Then the lock clicks, and the blinding fluorescent light of a garage stuns me for just a second.
But I see him, leaning down to grab me, and I swing.