You are a unicorn living in ponyville.
“I shouldn’t have been so showy!” yelled the light blue mare from her cabin. She scolded herself over her mirror. “Ugly,” she thought, “Try harder, eat better, stop bragging, practice harder, be nicer, do your makeup, do your nails, fix dinner, do your mane, tip the driver, Be better!”
Trixie panted at herself and stared intently into the eyes of the mare staring back at her, “And get another mirror, My reflection will never please me.” Trixie had formed a number of opinions about herself and had to make sure that they were cured. She would never be loved, she’d always be kicked out. She was a worthless, cheap street-performer. Trixie looked down at her dark black cloak. Tears had formed on the outer edges.
Trixie will never be satisfied with herself, because she hated herself. When will she ever learn to be the performer she was supposed to be. Trixie moved to the back of her small trailer and stared at the photo of her parents. Her mother and father were featured in the picture as bridle-way (ahem, like broadway but Equestrian) performers dancing on stage.
“Why can’t I be like you?” she asked out loud.
Trixie cried, her first tear tore through her wounded eye and hurt her.
“I just want what you guys had,” her cut throbbed on her face as she spoke, “and now, I’m less like you than I ever was.”
The rain poured outside and beat against the sides of the buildings around you. You yourself had already started to get soaked up to your mane in the wrath of the sky. Your house was nearly a mile and a half away. It’s time to turn to in for asking ponies to let you stay.
You knock on the door to a cottage: no answer.
Next house: no room.
Next house: “No room.”
You’re alone. No one will let you in. Why should they? You’re a stranger that probably would be considered unsafe to let in anyways.
You try several houses and each of them turn up to be the same response: “No” and to make matters worse, it’s also hailing now too.
The street almost seems to narrow before you as you lose yourself in the cold of the storm and the pain of the hail. You’ll never make it home. It is too far.
Finally, you can make out the dim figure of a trailer parked in the street. You hobble up to it and knock soundly.
There’s no answer. The trailer looks to be uninhabited though. You wait at the door for a short period of time before your body forces you to open the door and duck inside where you’ll be warm.
The door shuts behind you. The room immediately heats you up and the lights are on as if welcoming you to the new temporary home that you stand in.
You hear sniffling, though and it’s certainly not your own. You look down the hallway to see a partially lit-up bedroom no larger than the closet at your house. Some Pony's legs are draped over the side of the bed, but curtains prevent you from seeing anything other than that. Weeping is barely audible behind the small mess of the trailer.
“Hello?” you ask. “I’m sorry, I thought this place was empty, I was hoping I could stay?”
You look at yourself in your position asking that question and it becomes very evident whomever it is, you’re probably not staying much longer.
“Who’s there?” asks the voice of a mare as the curtains are pulled back.
You watch as the soft mane emerges. The elegant curves move up to the round head with glistening purple eyes. Still, though the majority of her face was blocked by the shade that was still being held over her by the curtains.
“I’m sorry, I was…”
The mare looks at you with a hint of awe, but with a good amount of depression.
“Is… Is something wrong?”
The mare nodded and then leaned back against her pillowcase. Again the face illudes you.
“Can I help you?” you try at her.
The mare flipped over and hiccuped. Her tears grew so thick you could almost hear them hitting her sheets.
It might as well be this way. You look around for something soft and lay what you find over the mare to keep her warm in this weather before you finally walk outside into the rain.
It was rude to walk into somepony else’s house anyway.
Trixie felt the soft fabric press up against her and rubbed it between her hooves. It was her own cloak. She turned her head to look at the picture of her parents in the frame beside her bed. “This wasn’t what they would want,” she told herself
You overlook the great pouring rain and anticipate the cold and the pain you’re about to feel as soon as you leave the small shelter the side of this building has to offer.
You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to meet it.
“Come inside,” urged the voice before the mare quickly turned and guided you inside.
Inside, you see the mare pull a tissue out of the greatly used tissue box before using it and turning to her bed.
“Are you okay? I hears you sniffling before,” you express.
“I’m…” the mare “responded.”
Another tear fell from the upset face.
“No, no it’s okay, I’m sorry for asking.”
There remains silence for several minutes. Outside the storm rages and thunder booms close to the small trailer.
Before long, the thunder shakes the ground beneath you and you’re forced to talk to her to distract from the terrible noises.
The mare finally lifts her depressed head as the bolt hits signaling that she felt it too.
“That was big,” you acknowledge the obvious truth.
“I...I know,” said the mare cutely. Her face remains hidden behind her curtains and you’re only able to see a little bit of it. She’s gotten over her fit from before guessing by her response.
“Have you ever been caught in a thunderstorm like this before?” you ask, hopeful.
“I...haven’t. This has been the worst so far.”
You keep speaking to her as an attempt to break the ice, but nothing seems to work.
“What do you do here?”
Trixie stared down at her cutie mark and then over at her parents’ picture.
“I’m a performer,” the response comes in a weak tone.
“Well that’s an exciting occupation,” you acknowledge.
“I-It’s...Not.”
“How come?”
“I…” Trixie stopped talking and you take a step towards her to make sure she’s alright.
“Everypony hates me and I’m never able to get a home. I’m stuck traveling town to town and…”
You walk steadily towards her as her voice cracks in a sad tone.
“...And I’m...heartbroken,” she concluded.
You look stunned at her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just…”
You stand just about over her now and look down at the admiringly beautiful mane.
“I’m sorry.”
Trixie cried for just a moment before turning her head and revealing her cut.
You gaze at it in shame.
“I’m so sorry,” you say.
Trixie blinked away tears and then looked up at you.
Her cut, though apparent took up none of your attention and you stared directly into her eyes.
“What’s-*sniff* what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing, it’s just…” Trixie leaned in to hear your response, “I… was wondering if you’d consider going out sometime… with me.”
“Why me?” she asked, “Why not somepony that’s beautiful and...perfect.”
“Aren’t you?” you ask.
Trixie blushed at your comment and moved her hoof over her eyes to wipe away her tears.
“I would love to,” responded Trixie.
the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes. Trixie moved the picture of her parents to the side. She didn’t need to be like them. She was herself and that’s the greatest “her” she could be.
No one is hated by all.
No one has to be left out.
Everyone has someone to be (and that’s you).