//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Someone Who Cares 
// by Frizzy 
//------------------------------//

It was last period on just another average school day. Unlike most students, you never looked forward to the end of the day. Not one bit. No, you absoultely dreaded the bell ringing at 2:35. You had nothing to look forward to after school. No clubs. No sports. No friends to hang out with. Not even a family that cared. Nope, you had nothing to look forward to.

But, of course, there is no avoiding that final bell. Much like the sun rising in the morning, it was inevitable. So, as the bell rings, you quickly pack up your stuff and begin running to your locker. You don't make eye contact with anyone. Same as every day. Finally reaching your locker, you let out a sigh of relief. Maybe fate was looking down upon you toda-

BAM!

Before you even had the opportunity to finish your thought. Your face slams into your locker. White hot pain spreads throughtout your head. You turn around and face him. Tommy Wheeler. They guy who made your life hell since you met him on the first day of kindergarten.

"You made it all the way to your locker before I caught you. Must be some kinda record." He jeered. Behind him, two of his "friends" laughed. Idiots. "And to think, you were so close to safety." You say nothing. You just glare down at your shoes, not meeting his gaze. "What's the matter, bitch-boy? Ain't ya even gonna make some snappy comeback?"

You slowly make eye contact with him. "No." You deadpan. You know that he's going to beat you anyways. Why even bother?

Wheeler's fist slams into your gut, knocking the wind out of you. You fall to the ground, clutching your stomach in pain. "Smart move, dickweed. I think I'm gonna be nice today, and just leave it at that. See you tomorrow, queer!" He says, marching off, goons in tow. Oh what you wouldn't give just to punch him in his stupid, fat face as hard as you could. But you wouldn't dare, for fear of what he would do to you. Hell, you didn't even have the balls to get a teacher to help you. No, you would rather it stay this way, bad as it was, than for it to get any worse. Slowly rising off the floor, you stuff your books into your locker and run home.

...

You arrive home (or, rather, the place your mom called "home", and the place you called "that place that I live at"), and open the front door. Mom wasn't home. As usual. She was normally out drinking, or in bed with three guys. She never did care about you. In fact, she always made sure to let you know that she hated your existance. Some days she didn't even bother getting out of bed, save to puke or pour another drink. You wondered why you even got out of bed in the morning. It's not like you had any reason to. You weren't a star student, had friends, or even had a hobby. Some days, you wondered why you hadn't just ended it yet.

Night was begining to fall, and you figured it was about time to eat something. All you managed to find in the house that wasn't expired or alcohol was some bread. 'Toast it is, then.' You thought, walking over to the toaster. After eating your meager meal, you figured that you might as well take a walk. There was nothing to do here, not even some books.

Walking out the door (you don't bother locking it, considering you have nothing worth stealing), you wander aimlessly throughout the town. Eventually you find yourself in a parking lot at a local grocerey store. Unfortunately, you also cross paths with Wheeler.

"Well, lookie what we have here; bitch-boy back for another beating. I guess you really like them, don't ya, you little bitch?" He says, flicking some ashes from his cigarette onto the asphalt. You simply glare at him. "What?! You gonna do something, pussy?! C'mon, I fucking dare you!"

All the hate and anger you have dealt with your entire, miserable life, flashes through your mind. You pull back your fist, and swiftly punch him in the face. After all these years of his shit, you had finally had enough. You hear a satisfying crack, and feel something warm and sticky on your knuckles. You broke his nose!

Wheeler stumbled back in pain. "Son of a bitch!" He roars. "You are fucking dead!" He too, pulls his fist back, and brings it into your face.

CRACK!

He also broke your nose. He then pulled his fist back again, this time hitting your eye. It begins to swell and darken. For one last time, he brings his fist back, and punches you in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you. You fall down onto the ground, too hurt to care about anything.

"Anything else you'd like to say?" He growls.

"Fuck off and die!" You say. This results in a swift kick in the stomach.

"Remember this in school tomorrow. That is, unless you pussy out." He turns on his heel, and walks off into the night.

You let out a sob. So many emotions have been brought up. Your worthless existance. Your mother who hates you. Your father, who may not even know about you. Your lack of friends. Wheeler. You begin to cry, not even caring if anyone sees. You just don't care anymore.

The wind gently blows around you, sending cold shivers throughout your body. You lie there, eyes clenched shut, tightly, nose bleeding everywhere, eye swelling like a balloon, and crying. This day is even worse than the day you were born.

You hear a gentle clip-clop sound, like hooves on pavement. Something begins to stroke your hair. "Shh, shh. It'll be okay." A sweet voice says. "You're safe. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Just open your eyes, sweetie."

You slowly open your eyes. Before you stands a magenta pony, softly stroking your hair, in a motherly way. You look around. No longer are you in a dirty parking lot, but a different town. It's cleaner here. And there are no cars to be seen.

"Come on," the pony says, tugging at your shirt. "Let's get you cleaned up." You don't know why, but you decide to follow her. For once in your life, someone has actually cared about your well-being. It makes you feel happy on the inside. "I'm Cheerilee, by the way." The pony says. "We need to get you cleaned up, and get some rest. Follow me."