//------------------------------// // division of responsibility // Story: Friction fitting // by Hope //------------------------------// chapter 4[title: division of responsibility.]/ The grass is oddly comforting, it feels right despite my limbs being encased in some other being’s body. The green stalks bend and break under my steps, the first few I have ever taken like this, consciously. Each step feels like I am falling forward and barely catching myself, but the grass... After a moment I lay down on the greenery, staring up at the doctor. “So... you said that there are other people turning into these... things? How do I know you’re not just indulging a fantasy, that I’m not just having another psychotic break?” I ask him as firmly as I can manage. All around us walls keep us in, topped with curved metal spines that hold fencing, the muscle strung along ribs of steel. We lay in the belly of the beast, and thus are digested by it’s knives and sad smiles. “You are actually a pony. It’s unprecedented, but very real. All across the world this is happening, from ponies to dragons. How are you feeling? Any lightheadedness or nausea?” He leans against the gurney casually, his body pose such a reassuring one, the guard at the gate isn’t so relaxed. “No, thanks for caring,” I say as I look down at the green grass and dirt, my eyes drifting closed. “I mean...” A few deep breaths, as I calm myself down. He is just trying to help. He’s genuinely trying to help. Noone else does this much. “I feel fine, better than I should honestly, I think it has something to do with being outside. Do my family know...” He nods as he crouches, getting on my level. Such a cheap trick, so stupid... But it makes me feel better. “They know you are here. Besides that? They just know you are being cared for. We don’t want to alarm them.” “Doc, they wouldn’t even be surprised,” I snort, meeting his gaze for a second before looking back to the grass, and scuffing the hoof on it, digging in a little bit. “I’ve done worse. Maybe not as weird... But they wouldn’t be surprised.” “Faith, they are concerned. We are concerned, because we want you to feel better.” I can’t bring myself to look at him again, and I can feel tears struggling to fall, the burning in these eyes betraying the emotion that is crowding out my thoughts. “Doc, I’m not going to spill myself to you. I don’t do that mumbo jumbo thing,” I weakly protest as the tears tip over and wet the fur on my cheeks, matting it down in streaked ribbons. “I don’t need to talk about it.” He holds out his hand in front of me, and I become acutely aware of how peaceful and quiet we are out here, in this enclosed tiny courtyard... I fling myself against him with thoughts of pummeling him, these sharp hooves digging into his neck but... Instead I find myself weak in his grip, sobbing as loudly as I dare, tail tucked between my legs. Pathetic, but he doesn’t mock me. He doesn’t hurt me. For a moment I am allowed weakness. “I was abused as a child.” I sound bored, I am bored. I’ve told the stories so many times that I don’t think that I would even need to be awake to recite the trite tragedy that was my childhood. “He held me down and did whatever he wanted for hours, and my mother didn’t stop him. After that, foster homes. More people who didn’t want me there, and who didn’t care. So I eventually found myself back in my mom’s house. It sucked.” The woman dressed in dark green nods, before looking up and changing the subject. “The pony, what is her name, Faith?” I stare at her, wondering why she would care. “It’s Screw Loose. Fucked name, isn’t it?” She nods again, and I have to keep myself from growling at the repetition. “Which one am I speaking to, Faith, or Screw?” I almost laugh, before I speak. “Scraith.” The look of horror on my face is nothing compared to the shock on the Psych’s. I lose my composure, I spit and snarl and hide in the corner. By the time they collect me and pump me full of drugs yet again, I am slamming my hooves against the wall, howling. I am caged again.