//------------------------------// // Person Mare pt 2 // Story: Short Scraps and Explosions // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// "And I'm not just any normal horse, either. No no." Persephone sprawled back on the couch, sighing towards the ceiling as she curled her forelimbs to her chest. "And, believe you me, I know my horses. Half of my elementary school days were filled with studying as much as I could on all sorts of equines. I mean, since nobody else believed in what I was, then I might as well have educated myself, r-right?" "Certainly," Dr. Sharp said with a nod. He continued listening to her as she went on. And go on, Persephone did. "Horses... are different than me. I mean, they have to be. They're larger. Heavier. Taller. They've got hairy fetlocks and yucky nostrils. Their eyes are waaaaaay more spaced apart, and they got every frickin' gastrointestinal problem that you can imagine." "But, by and large, you're not the same kind of horse as them?" Dr. Sharp asked. "Right! And that's the part that kills me!" She clenched her teeth for a moment and proceeded. "My coat is—like—super short! And although it's brown, it's—like—a bright brown, y'know? It's damn near shiny as plastic bedsheets all the time, regardless of which way I brush it. And my mane is pretty pastel-colored too. And my eyes? Pffft... Don't get me started on those babies. They're huuuuuuuge! It's like looking into a Disney flick everytime I gaze at the mirror. It used to creep me out, until I got used to it, at least." "And yet, nobody around you ever seems to notice but you?" Persephone tilted her head aside. "Well, how about it, Doc?" She pointed at herself. "What do you see lying on this couch before you?" Sharp blinked a few times. After an awkward five-second pause, he sat up straight, cleared his throat, and smiled as he said, "Well, I see an anxious young woman, well-kempt, perhaps about age twenty-four..." He chuckled. "Though, to be honest, I got the age from your file, so I suppose that counts as cheating—" "Be more specific, Doc." Persephone's jaw clenched. "What do I look like?" He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "Well, like I said: grown woman, aged twenty four." He waved a hand. "Caucasian. Long brown hair; bright brown eyes. Slight bags on her face, probably from lack of sleep." "And what am I wearing?" "A white button-up blouse with a pair of khaki pants and a stylish belt!" he finished with a smile. She leaned forward and stretched her hoof out. "Do me a favor." "By all means." "Feel my hand with your hand." She bit her lip. "Unless, of course, this is breaking psychiatric etiquette or some jazz." He scooted towards the couch in his chair. "I don't see the harm in it, really." He palmed her hoof and wrapped his fingers around it. "There. How's that?" She leaned forward, squinting. "What do you feel?" He paused slightly, then space his words apart with care. "I... feel a warm palm. A human palm. And your fingers are intertwined with mine." He waved their joined limbs slightly. "Like that. See?" Persephone leaned back, sighing. "That's just it, Doc." She gazed up at him with sad amber eyes. "I don't have any fingers. What you felt were phantoms. But I'm not calling you crazy, ya hear? Because it's not just you. It's you and everybody else on this damned planet." She waved her limb up. "This... is a hoof. A very round, flat, smoothe hoof—not like the ones you find on normal horses either. And yet, everytime I touch another person, they feel fingers. It just... boggles my mind, and after nearly a quarter of a century of floundering around, I'm desperate to get to the bottom of it!" "I believe you," the doctor said. She squinted at him, grimacing. "Do ya? Do ya really, doc?" With a slight frown, she pivoted about and pointed at her flank. "What if I told you that—beneath these khaki pants that, to you, probably look like they actually fit me—is the image of a horseshoe?" "I... I don't believe I understand." "Think of a brand, doc. As if someone burned the image of a horseshoe on me at birth with a red-hot iron. And not just one side, but on both sides. But that isn't the half of it!" She chuckled bitterly. "The horseshoe is bright purple, as if it came out of a Valentine's Day candy box! That, combined with how bright my coat is and the flatness of my hooves and—I swear!" She sighed and tossed her mane, lying back straight on the couch again. "I feel like I'm some sort of MacDonald's Happy Meal playtoy." Silence reined across the room and its morning-lit windows. The Doctor leaned back in his chair. "Miss Ceres, you said that you've encountered this sensation all of your life." "That's correct." "Do you mean all of your adult life?" "Heh..." She smirked over at him. "Is this the part where you ask me to talk about my mother?" She winced and waved her hoof. "No offense, Doc. But I've kind of been through a lot of these talks before. I apologize." "Nothing to be sorry for, Miss Ceres. I know a little bit about your prior—shall we say—medical ventures." He pulled out a folder, flipped it open, and ruffled through a couple of sheets. "Let's see here... 'extensive child psychiatric care, ages seven through ten.'" Persephone's ears drooped and her face grew more and more melancholic as the man read through each detail. "'Home Schooled with a psychiatric tutor between ages ten and eleven.' 'Had a reported psychotic breakdown at age fourteen while on the campus of Stone Creek Elementary School.' 'Four recommended medical sabbaticals.' 'Diagnosed with symptoms of bipolar disorder and dissociative personality disorder at age nineteen.'" He took a deep breath and murmured forth, "'And was Baker Acted while traveling across country at the age of twenty-one.'" "Yeahhhhh..." Persephone gulped. "That's my life in a nutshell." "And in all of these instances, it begs the question." Dr. Sharp glanced up at her. "Did you share with your therapists the same information that you're sharing with me?" She slowly, slowly nodded. He rubbed his chin, then flipped back to the first page. "It states here that you were adopted at the age of two, Miss Ceres." She rubbed a hoof over her tired eyes. "Nnnngh... what's that have to do with anything?" "Well, to be frank, it may hold a great deal of importance! If this perception of yours is something you've dealt with all your life, perhaps it would be good for us to try and endeavor the source of the matter." "I'm telling you, doc," she growled briefly. "I don't just think that I'm a tiny, colorful horse... I am a tiny, colorful horse." She tilted her head up. "I've come to realize that the reason I kept going in and out of nuthouses like a revolving door is because all they ever did was put me through the same motions! But you know what? I'm fine with all of that! If the last three and a half years have proven anything, I can live just fine with people not believing what I am!" Dr. Sharp took a deep breath. "And yet, just recently at your workplace, you've done something to threaten your entire career." Persephone was silent. "If I recall the report, I do believe this 'Roger Clemens' fellow received five stitches following the altercation." "It wasn't an altercation, Doc," Persephone grumbled. "The bastard got what he deserved." "And what of all the other people in your life who treat you like you're a person and not a horse?" He asked with a gentle smile. "Do they deserve the same treatment?" She bit her jaw tightly shut. He slapped the folder shut and leaned forward. "I really, really believe we should look at your life as a whole." Her nostrils flared. "Fine. You wanna go over my life? Let's start at the beginning." She leaned over and faced him on the couch. "Here's something for you to scribble about in your medical journal, Doc. What better a way to start a screwed-up life than I did... inside a garbage can lying in the friggin' street!" Covered in grime and rain-water, an infant foal curled head-to-tail, sobbing into the plastic detritus upon which she lay, shivering. Her wailing sobs rattled the metal lid careening off the top of the can. As droplets of water splattered over her tear-stained face, her shrieks echoed dully off the steep bricklaid walls of the dark alley enveloping her. "You hear about this sort of crud in the papers or on the Internet. As horrible and melodramatic as it all sounds, it does happen. Some kids... simply aren't wanted. Maybe their moms and dads are too poor or too sick or too scared to do anything else. Doesn't matter. Infants get abandoned by the truckload—a lot of them right under our very noses. We only hear about the really, really tough cases when it's convenient for the public to know... or at least for the seven o'clock news to use it as some sort of sappy ratings grab. Whatever. Turns out I was one such super tough case. Several basonets and cribs stretched in a row beneath dim electric lights. Every tiny bed contained a young infant—clad in pastel blues or pinks—save for one, which instead held a tiny foal. The timid thing stared through the plastic bars, its amber eyes wide as it stared at all of the figures squirming in the adjacent cribs. She gazed up at a dangling assortment of twirling plastic figurines directly above her bed. There was a teddy bear, a shooting star, a bird with wings spread, and finally a prancing creature with four rearing limbs. Gurgling, the foal reached a stubby hoof towards it—but gasped as a nurse gently scooped her out of the crib and carried her across the room. "It must have all been crazy overwhelming from the start, but I was far too dang young to remember most of it. Truth is, I was super lucky. Some people found me in the street and took me to a foster care center before I could come down with anything serious. I was barely there for two months, recuperating, before a pair of decently rich folks found me and went all gung-ho over adopting my little poopy butt. No doubt their hearts were won over by the sob story that the foster center had prepared about my discovery. The nurse layed the foal into the arms of a middle-aged woman seated in a chair against the wall. A sharp breath left the would-be mother's lips as she held the infant pony gently, cradling her in loving arms. The woman's eyes watered, and she tilted her head up to murmur something towards a man standing at her side. He leaned over her, smiling at his reflection in the foal's eyes. The baby merely blinked at them, the tip of her hoof tapping the woman's index finger. "It's a dang miracle if you're adopted while still in your infancy. I've known kids six times as old as I was who desperately needed adoption at age ten or eleven or twelve, but never got it. Guess they're past the adoracute stage and wanting parents just... aren't sold on 'em, y'know? That wasn't the case with me. Apparently I was cute as a button, or so that's what my mom and dad swore left and right. Poor saps. Must be easy to adopt a kid when you can't see her scrunchy muzzle, her cloppy hooves, or her big fuzzy ears. Inside a high-story apartment building, a series of baby's toys were laid out across the carpet. Little Persephone sat in a circle of rubber plastic doughnuts, knocking the items all around and giggling. In the background, her mother shuffled towards the closet, pulling out the feeding chair and dragging it towards the kitchen. As her footsteps came and went, the foal's eyes flicked across the carpet, then narrowed on an object at the far end of the room. A wooding rocking horse lay besides the TV set. With melodic gasps, Persephone leaned forward in her little pink jumper. Her legs wobbled, but she soon found her balance, trotting eagerly towards the figure in her sight. Barely five seconds later, the mother rushed over, scooping the baby up in strong hands. Persephone fussed and whimpered, her hooves kicking at the air as she was carried away from the rocking horse and into the kitchen where her high chair waited with a bowl of porridge. "They treated me nicely n'all. At least... at f-first. Ahem. But it wasn't long before I started noticing... weird stuff as I grew up. I mean, I was just as healthy, intelligent, and bouncy as any other baby girl. Pretty soon, I could tell that something was fishy... that something wasn't right. Stuff that my mom and dad said. Stuff that I saw on t.v. The ways my clothes just never seemed to fit right. And then there were the mirrors. Egads, I hate mirrors. "Mommy?" A three-and-a-half old Persephone blinked, looking over her shoulder from where she sat on the bathroom counter. "Whose horsie is that?" "Hmmm?" The mother struggled and struggled to straighten Persephone's bangs before turning her attention to the puffy sleeves of her Sunday morning dress. "What horsie, Percy?" "The one right there!" Persephone stretched her hoof out and a hoof stretched back. The foal's face fell blank. "Hmmm..." The mother smiled before fixing the child's bangs. "You silly girl! That's you!" Persephone blinked, her muzzle hanging agape. "But I'm not a horsie, Mommy?" Her tongue curled at the last word, turning the exhale into a question. "Come on, baby." The mother helped her down to the floor and grabbed her right front hoof. "Daddy's got the car waiting for us!" "Nnngh!" Persephone winced, struggling to hobble straight on her remaining three legs. "Mommmmmmy? Not so faaaast!" She leaned her head back, struggling to look at the reflection again, but it was gone. "My confusion was just the tip of the ice berg. You thought I was getting weirded out? Imagine those around me. Soon, people started noticing some... behavioral quirks about me. In other words, I was doing stuff that just wasn't typical of a normal little girl. "Percyyyy?" A pudgy little girl in a red jumper pouted. "Pass the shovellll!" Persephone blushed. "Sorry..." Squatting on her end of the playground's sandbox, she leaned forward and pushed the shovel towards the girl using her nose. "Heeeheeeheee!" The girl giggled and pointed. "You're so silly! What are you, a bull?" "No, I'm—" Persephone stopped in mid-sentence, blinking. While her playmate started shoveling a long trench out of the dense sand, she gazed down at herself, then at her forelimbs. Her amber eyes squinted and unsquinted. At last, she chanced upon another kid's handprint in the sand. She brought her hoof over—hesitated slightly—then pressed it firmly into a white patch right next to it. When she brought it back, her lips parted, for the shape made was altogether different—almost a perfect circle, except for a spot at the bottom that refused to connect. "I'm gonna build the moat!" Her friend hummed. "And then you can help me build the stables!" "St-stables...?" Persephone looked up with glistening eyes. "Yeah!" The girl smiled. "For the princesses' prized horses!" Persephone's face scrunched up. "You... really like horses?" "Mmmmhmmm. But my Mommy says I'm too old to ride one." Persephone brushed her hoof through the sand again. After half a minute, she grinned. "Hey Kimmy?" "Yeah, Percy?" "What if it was a really, really small horse?" Several feet away, Persephone's adopted mom sat on a bench, chatting enthusiastically with an elegant woman sitting next to her. "And so I said, 'Sure, Ayn Rand is no Faulkner! But if she's not on the reading list, then this Book Club is officially bulls—'" "Weeeeeee! High-ho, Percyyyy!" Both ladies glanced over... then gasped in horror. An ebook fell to the ground between them, its screen shattering. "P-Persephone...?!" "Kimberly! Get off her this instant!" Both jolted up to their heels and dashed towards the sandbox where the five-year old was riding Persephone in a prancing little circle. Several children watched, throwing forth a giggle-fit. Parents wandered up, their faces mixed with amusement and awkward curiosity. All the while, Persephone laughed and reared her front limbs, causing the hair of the girl on top of her to flounce around her laughing, rosy dimples. She made little whinnying sounds and kicked up sand—at least until the two mothers dragged the two girls apart. "Kimberly! What's gotten into you?" "But... b-but Percy said I could ride her!" "It's okay, Mommy!" Percy giggled and smiled in her mother's arms. "We were just playing Castle Stables!" "I don't care what you were playing! Don't let other kids ride you!" Kim's mother dusted the sand off her child. "You could have hurt little Percy's back, darling!" "Yeah, with all the pop-tarts you've been feeding her," Percy's said. "Excuse me?" The other woman flashed a snarling face. "It was a little bit amusing at first, as are all things in the days of youth and innocence. But soon, all of that went south. Because things started getting sillier... "Whoops!" Persephone winced in the middle of class. She reached out too late to grab a pair of scissors from falling off the edge of her arts and crafts table. Biting her lip, the uniformed filly glanced around at the rest of the kindergarteners. They chattered briefly with one another, their bodies collectively hunched over their ends of the table as they created landscapes, bunny rabbits, robots, and shooting stars. Persephone sighed heavily, gazing lethargically down at her sheet of paper. All she had was an elaborate mosaic of curved lines, all made in multicolored fingerpaint. She glanced at her untouched bottle of glue and similarly neglected container of glitter. "Percy?" The little foal looked up with a start. An elderly woman in a long skirt leaned over the table, her expression hung between neutral and stern. "Pick up your scissors, please, dear. You dropped them a moment ago." "Oh... uhm... sorry." The teacher shuffled on. "It's not good to leave things lying randomly about." With legs fumbling beneath her skirt, Persephone winced and pushed her chair in reverse. Hobbling on stiff hooves, she leaned down and reached for the bulky, plastic scissors. "Mmmff... nngh..." Her hoof knocked the scissors around loosely, incapable of gripping the bright handles. "Gnnnnghhh..." Persephone licked her lips and bit down on her muzzle, sweating. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get a grip. A pair of girlish voices giggled from behind. "What's the hole there for?" "Maybe she has trouble pooping!" "Teeheehee!" Persephone blanched. She glanced behind to see her skirt flaring up and her tail flickering up in open view. Stifling a whimper, she slouched tightly to the tile floor of the classroom. After a few deep breaths, she gulped, leaned forward, and clasped onto the edge of the scissors with her teeth— "Miss Ceres!" "Mmmffff-Ptooie!" Persephone sat up straight in the shadow of her teacher. She gazed aside, fumbling nervously with her mane. The teacher leaned over with a sigh. Glancing aside at the bright eyes of everyone watching, she whispered hoarsely, "Miss Ceres, we talked about this. What did I tell you about putting stuff in your mouth?" "I-I'm sorry, Ms. Rice!" Persephone gulped, clutching her mane tighter. "I j-just wanted to pick it up like you asked m-me too!" "Then use your hands, young lady!" "But... b-but I can't!" "Sure you can! It's simple!" The lady grabbed the scissors and stretched one of Persephone's hooves out, planting the handles of the instrument against it. "See?" She let go. The scissors clattered to the floor. Students giggled mischievously. The teacher tried to contain her fuming breath. "Persephone Elizabeth Ceres..." "I'm so sorry!" Persephone sniffled. "I couldn't grab them!" "Just use your fingers." "But... but..." A tear rolled down Persephone's cheek. "I don't have any fingers." More giggles. The room was roaring at this point. "Miss Ceres..." The teacher's eyes had become rigid stones. "I'm tired of you playing these little games with me." "But I-I'm not playing games!" Persephone shivered and cried. "Honest!" She stretched her forelimbs out. "I've got hooves! See?" "What I see is a little girl who needs time out." Persephone hung her head, whimpering with folded ears as the class reeled around her. "And then they started getting even sillier... "This is the fifth pair I've found this week, young lady!" Persephone's mom squawked, frowning viciously from where she stood in the doorway to the foal's room. She held a pair of panties in her hands and fished her finger through a gaping hole in the back. "All ruined! And I know who's been doing it! So why lie to me?!" "But I'm n-not lying, Mommy!" Eight year old Persephone stood by her bedside on wobbly hooves. She bit her lip and fought tears. "It hurts whenever I wear then like normal!" "And just why is that?" "Because..." Persephone winced, then looked aside as she mumbled beneath her breath. "Speak up!" With a shudder the mare said, "Because there's no room for my tail to go through!" With a heavy, heavy sigh, the mother dropped the colorful article and facepalmed. Lungs heaving, she grumbled, "I am sick to death of these games you keep playing, Persephone!" "But Mommy—" "Don't 'but Mommy' me!" She leaned over, shaking her finger. "You know how much money I've had to spend on your clothes the last month alone?! Grownups don't pluck dollars from trees, honey! If you keep ruining your things like this, soon I'm gonna run out of clothes to give you!" "But... wh-why do I even wear clothes, Mommy?" The woman recoiled as if she was stabbed with a bayonet. "Excuse me?!" Persephone gulped and bravely said, "They always feel stiff and uncomfortable against my coat and—" "Your skin, Percy! Your skin!" She leaned forward with a snarl. "Is it your father who's encouraging you to play make believe all the time?! Because if so, I'm going to have a long talk with him! This 'horsie' stuff is just not funny anymore!" "No, Mommy, please don't take this out on Dad!" Persephone backtrotted, shivering. "It's me! It's just me! I'll stop it! I promise!" "But you've said that before, Percy!" the woman stamped her foot. "And then things would get downright... well... frightening... "Dammit, Larry! Call the god-forsaken ambulance already!" the mother shrieked, pacing about with Persephone curled up in her arms. "I am, darling! I am!" the man stammered as his fingers blurred over the numberpad. "But you still haven't told me what's going on! I need to know what to tell them!" "She ate the apple!" the mother cried hysterically from across the kitchen. "What do you mean, she ate the apple?!" His face twisted in confusion. She sniffled and pointed at the empty plate. "I mean that she ate the whole goddamn apple, Larry!" She hiccuped and rocked Persephone's body. "Core and all!" "She swallowed the core?!" The husband gaped, nearly dropped the phone. "Jesus!" "Daddy! Mommy! I'm f-fine!" Persephone gasped. "Breathe evenly, sweetie!" The mother kissed the foal's forehead and stroked her mane. "Everything's going to be okay—Larry! 911, dammit!" "I'm calling them! I'm calling them!" He shivered, holding the phone up to his ear. "How is the thing not lodged in her throat?!" "I-I don't know, but we gotta get her to a doctor so they can take it out of her stomach or s-something!" The mother seethed, her face streaming with tears as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. "Dear God in heaven, I can't take this anymore..." "I'm all right, Mommy!" Persephone stammered. "My teeth crunched through the whole thing! I don't need a doctor—" "Oh, yes you do, Percy. Yes you d-do. Larry!" "Yes! Yes—9-11? Thank god! Look, I need paramedics over to my apartment asap. Our nine year old just ate something that she wasn't supposed to—" "Looking back, I can't fault my parents for reacting so dramatically. The situation couldn't be helped, really. At least, that's what I learned to accept in those early, early years. People just couldn't see or feel what I was... not even the ones who wanted to take care of me. It didn't change the fact that I was really, really confused, and when everything started falling apart at the seams, I felt as if I had nobody else to blame but me... "...because I'm sick and tired of it, Fran! Our little girl is not a little experiment to be poked and prodded by these money-grabbing shrinks! She is young, she is energetic, and she is beautiful! There is nothing wrong with her!" "Oh, you are in such denial, Larry! Will you open your god damn eyes for once?! She's getting worse and worse every year! It's come to the point that it's alienating her from her classmates—" "I'll tell you what's alienating her! Being made to look like some pyschotic freak with all of these needless therapy sessions and sick days—" "It's alienating her from her classmates and I'm scared that—very soon—she's going to lose it completely and start hurting herself! Is that what you want for our daughter, Larry?!" With a creaking sound, Persephone cracked the door to her bedroom open. A tiny amber pupil peered out from the shadows. Two shapes heaved and shook in the kitchen towards the far end of the dimly-lit apartment. "What I want is for our daughter to feel loved in this household! But all I hear when I come home from work every day is you bitching at her for one tiny thing or another—" "Screw you, Larry! You don't have to keep a close eye on her every waking minute of the day! You don't have to help her pick things up off the floor like she's suffering from paralysis—or-or-or pretend that she's somehow incapable of reaching the friggin' door handle to her own bathroom! Shit, I accidentally stumbled in on Percy the other day and she was squatting on the toilet seat with her palms and the soles of her feet! Like she was a cat taking a shit in the litter box! She swears that it was just a one-time thing, but how much do you wanna bet she's been doing stuff like this behind our back?! Our daughter! Acting like a friggin' animal?!" "She's a child, Fran! She's going through a phase! Every kid goes through it—" "But for their whole life?! For teir whole frickin' life, Larry?! For the love of God, face it! She's warped! She's warped and she needs help and I-I am... s-sick and t-tired of cleaning up after her all the time—" "Dammit, Fran—" "And if you're not going to help me, then I'm going to look for something professionally! I did... nnngh-n-not give up my nine-to-five job to become a stay at home stable-hand for some... snkkt-sick little brat's warped fantasy! Neither of us signed up for a telethon girl living under our very roof!" "For the last time, don't—" "And don't pr-pretend you haven't regretted it either, you selfish, close-minded sonuvabitch! I hate having to deal with all th-this heaviness all on my lonesome! This is your household t-too and she's your daughter! So start acting like it and admit that she's... not... normal!" Silence. At last, the husband sighed and tossed his arms. "I don't know what to say, Fran." "Oh! Well, what a big stinkin' surprise! Why don't you go off to your friends' place and play more 'cardddd games with the guysssss' like you so love pretending to be actually doing when you'd rather not be at home dealing with all this bullshit!" "Now don't you get started—" "And why shouldn't I?! You think I haven't noticed how—?" By this point, Persephone had long retreated to the far end of her bedroom. She dragged something along with her, fumbled with her nightgown, and ultimately climbed into bed, pulling the tiny wooden rocking horse with her. She hugged the antique toy to her chest, gazing into the shadows, her fuzzy ears twitching every now and then when the walls shook from the continued argument. Tears trickled down her cheek, staining the pillow cover. She sniffled, keeping a straight face as she hugged the rockinghorse tighter, nuzzling its wooden mane. "So, as time went on, I learned to withdraw into myself. I tried to play the game by the world's rules, pretending that I was just like everyone else, pretending that I wasn't a problem child or some Freudian poster girl waiting to be documented in medical journals cross-country. For the most part, it worked at home, and I got by reasonably well. At school and in public—well—that was another story altogether. "Hey! Percy!" "Yeah, what?!" A teenage filly turned to look over her shoulder. A wad of rotten carrots ricocheted off her face. "Gaaaugh!" She hissed and rubbed her muzzle clean. "Derek, you friggin' turd monkey!" "I thought that was supposed to make ya run faster, thoroughbitch!" A pimply-faced punk smirked, surrounded by laughing middle schoolers. He spread his arms wide as he faced off from Persephone and her friend in the center of an urban school courtyard. "What's the matter?! Not enough running space for you to charge me?!" Persephone fumed and fumed, her hooves grinding into the bottom of her sneakers. A boy stood beside her, rolling his soft green eyes as he carried Persephone's books. "Just ignore 'em, Percy. Don't let those creeps get to you." "Oh, I never do..." Persephone straightened her mane and smirked up at him. "It's just a terrible waste of carrots, is all." She and the boy chuckled. "Hey! I'm talking to you, horse girl!" Derek stomped his foot. "You remember all those funny noises you used to make years back at recess, right?" He nudged his buddies and chuckled. "How about two clomps for 'yes' and three clomps for 'no?'" "How 'bout you guys just buzz off?!" her friend barked in a cracking voice. The boys just laughed. He shuddered and turned around. "I suck at being intimidating." "Then don't try," Persephone said. Then, clearing her throat, she turned around. "Oh Derekkkk?" "Yeah, what is it, Mrs. Ed?" She grinned from one side of her muzzle to the other. "Nice jokes'n all, but in case you haven't noticed, none of us are really all that into watching reruns of Rugrats anymore." "Heheheheh—" Derek stopped, blinked, and then his face sunk in confusion. "The Hell are you talking about? "Only that the horse jokes were soooooo elementary school!" Persephone rolled her eyes and grinned. "Just because you can't grow balls doesn't mean you can't try a new comedy act!" "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" The boys around him jumped and chuckled, slapping his shoulder. Derek merely fumed. Persephone and her pal shuffled forward. "Okay, so maybe that wasn't intimidating, but it sure felt good." "Heeheehee... y-yeah." "Where you runnin' off to, Flicka?" Derek suddenly dashed in, shoved the boy aside, and jumped—straddling Persephone's backside. "Gaaaaie!" Persephone went bow-legged, almost tripping over her friend and spilled books. "Gnngh! Derek?! What the f—" She snarled. "Get the Hell off of me!" "Yippy-kay-yi-yaaaay!" Derek thrashed and wormed on top of her shoulders. "What's the matter?! You thought you could ride me! Well, it works the other way, bitch!" He slapped her rear-end and tossed an invisible hat. "Kiyaaa! Off to the gold mine, Silver!" Boys laughed. Girls in the distance gasped and murmured to one another. "Get... your sweaty crotch off me!" Persephone snarled, her hard teeth flashing in the daylight. "I mean it!" Her left rear hoof slipped out of its pink sneaker and slammed over his ankle. A nasty crack lit the air. Derek yelped like a wounded puppy and hobbled off her, jumping on one leg. "Chr-Christ!" "What's wrong, Derek?!" one student squawked from afar. "Grrrghhh!" Derek's eyes teared. "Her foot's made out of friggin' oak!" "Yeah, well, so's your head, dickmuncher!" With snorting nostrils, Persephone spun and with both legs aimed high, bucking him hard. Derek instantly ragdolled, toppeled for six feet, and struck a set of metal bleachers head-first. He slumped to the ground, muttering something unintelligible as blood trickled down his forehead. Several students flocked over, gasping in thick commotion. Soon, two chaperones were running in from the doors to the school cafeteria. They knelt by Derek's side, examining his head and shrinking pupils. As the seconds oozed by in stunned silence, several gaping faces turned Persephone's way. The young mare stood, panting, her ears pulled sharply back as she slowly, slowly backtrotted from the scene and tore off down the far side of the courtyard. "Some... erm... 'accidents' were more unavoidable than other. You think that would have made me extra cautious—paranoid, even. Truth is—especially in recent years—I sort of... let loose. I threw wild abandon to the wind, as if a part of me accepted the fact that I was completely and utterly screwed in life. For a while, this turned out to be incredibly therapeutic. Ultimately, however, the past came back to bite me in the flank. And over the last three and a half years, I've been every bit the model citizen. Ever since... ever s-since... well... "Get your stinkin' hands off her!" Trisha hissed, squirming her way through a huddle of police officers. Her hair hung like a loose blonde rag as she fought her way towards a white van parked along the edge of a crowded motel parking lot at night. "She's done nothing wrong! Were were partying, for Christ's sake! Haven't you ever heard of spring break?!" "That's far enough!" A heavy-set man in uniform pushed her back. "Sir, I'm going to need you to stay calm or else I'll have to—" "Who're you calling 'sir,' you pig?!" Trisha spat. "Take your nightsticks out of your—HIC—eye-sockets and shove 'em up your candied asses! Can't you see she was just havin' herself a little tr-trot?! Heheh!" "Your friend was found running naked across a junkyard at midnight," another officer said in a firm, calm tone. He held his hand up before Trisha's heaving face. "I'm sorry, but according to her mental records, it's for her safety that she be taken to—" "Does this look like friggin' Florida to you?!" Trisha growled and thrashed forward again like she was in a mosh pit. "How 'bout—HIC—I try my h-hand at the 'stand your ground law' you dougnut huffing—" "Trisha, just drop it," Persephone muttered, trotting a serpentine path towards the van while wearing a brown towel over her shivering shoulders. Two strong men in medical scrubs kept within a hair's breadth of both her flanks. "It's going to be okay." She fought the urge to vomit and lurched ahead, leaning on one of the men with a bleary expression. "I promise. Just head back to the motel room—" "Like Hell, I will! They have no right to—" "Trisha, you're drunk and you're upset. Always a bad combination for you! Don't make it worse than it already is." The van doors were opened and she was given a boost inside. "Hopefully, I'll only be inside for a few weeks." Trisha's green eyes bulged. "A few w-weeks?! Goddammit, girl—" "No use tellin' them my hooves can't be hurt by a simple streak through the junkyard." Persephone hiccuped as she sat down. "I swear, Trisha." She managed a smile, wrapping the blanket tighter around her as she stared out into the parking lot. "You and your friggin' dares." Trisha sniffled. "Ah Hell, Percy. I'm so sorry..." "Pssst! None of that, now." Persephone slurred. "Remember? No moping." She pointed. "Because moping is for m—" The van door slammed shut. One orderly got in the far side while the other took to the driver's seat. The vehicle drove away from the motel, escorted by a single cop car. Various half-dressed party-goers craned their necks to see better, giggling into plastic cups full of beer and suds. Trisha sighed, shuffling around, bobbing and weaving her lonesome way back to the motel. She stumbled about halfway, squatted down onto a parking barrier, and broke down sobbing, covering her face with her hands. "It's when I realized that I was actually hurting people close to me that I decided... y'know... to stop fighting. And I don't mean my parents, but people that I've gotten to know because they've grown to accept me for who I am—as a soul—regardless of... what really lies underneath..." Persephone stared thoughtfully across the sun-lit interior of the lofty office, her adult ears twitching to the sound of Dr. Sharp's continuous clock ticks. She took a deep breath through her nostrils, exhaled out her muzzle, and said, "So long as I tell myself that it's what I do that matters and not what I am... then... well..." Persephone shrugged. "I'm pretty darn close to 'sane.'" She produced a gentle smile. Silence. "And did this work with Roger Clemens?" Dr. Sharp asked. Persephone's smile faded. She looked up from the couch. The Doctor was leaning his chin against his joint knuckles. He poked a finger out from the forest of digits. "Or could it be that something your co-worker did... something he said or acted upon... triggered one of the many unfortunate memories of your past?" "What do you want from me, Doc?" Persephone shrugged wildly. "I've layed myself bare enough as it is. And besides, you're no horse doctor." A beat, and she rolled her eyes, giggling. "Heeheehee—See?" She hugged herself and leaned her head towards the edge of the couch. "I'm so healthy, I can even laugh at myself." "And it's good to know that it works now," Sharp said. "But obviously this... structure that you've built for yourself can crumble. Otherwise, how can you explain the incident at In Step Incorporated's central offices?" Persephone's nostrils flared. She shrugged again. "Look, to be perfectly candid—" Sharp chuckled. "I would certainly hope that you have been so far." She continued. "I didn't ask to be here, okay?" She tossed a hoof towards the ceiling, shaking her head. "My boss—Mr. Hayton—he's simply cutting me a break by not firing my flank—erm... ass. I'm just doing this visit to make him happy." "I can respect that," Sharp said, nodding. "And I am performing this visit because I want you to be happy." He folded his legs. "And healthy." "Heh. Get in line, Doc." Persephone gazed up at the ceiling with a sigh. "Cuz there are tons of poor saps who have tried to sit in that very same chair before you, and all of them have crashed and burned." "Hmmmm..." He smiled gently. "Perhaps they simply haven't asked the right questions." "Yeah? Like what?" "Is there was one moment from your entire life—either joyful or traumatizing—that you would wish another soul on this earth could experience, just so that they could understand your plight better?" Persephone opened her mouth, but lingered. She tilted her head away from the Doctor, gazing at the reflection of a pained mare in the distant windows. Her breath sucked in tightly. She trembled in the darkness. Chains rattled. A sliver of sunlight flickered up and down across the room. A whimper escaped her lips. Bare hooves scraped against concrete. She shifted, and the chains rattled again. Just as she was about to fall into the fourth round of uncontrollable sobs... The doors rattled, and the sliver of sunlight widened. Persephone's ears drooped. When she opened her breath, it was with a wavering voice that she said, "M-maybe..." Dr. Sharp leaned forward in his chair. He took a few seconds before asking, "If you could have shared this moment with Roger Clemens... then would that have prevented what happened the other day in the office?" Persephone bit her lip. Seconds passed. A full minute. Dr. Sharp raised his eyebrow. "Miss Ceres?" She gulped. Holding her breath, she tilted, stared over the edge of the couch, and droned, "How are we on time...?" A little later, the door to Dr. Sharp's office opened gently. Persephone trotted out, stretching her legs in the middle of the hallway. "Ahhhh..." Persephone tilted her head from left to right, cracking the joints before adjusting the weight of the backpack against her spine. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She turned and grinned up at the well-suited man. "I think I feel better already, Doc! Thanks for the chat!" "Miss Ceres..." He stood over her, hands in his pockets as he gazed with a calm smile. "I'm certain you and I both know that there is still a lot of ground that needs to be covered." Persephone's gaze fell. She sniffed and muttered bluntly towards the plush carpet. "I'm going to have to come for another visit, aren't I?" He nodded. "I would think that it's in your best interest. And, as I'm sure it's no surprise, Mr. Hayton would believe that it's in his company's as well." "Uh huh..." His eyes lit up above his smile. "Same time tomorrow, then?" She took a deep breath. "Yeah." She looked up with a weary smirk. "Yeah. Same time tomorrow." "I very much look forward to exploring what we talked about further, Miss Ceres," he said with a wave. "Right..." She waved back with her hoof, turned tail, and trotted towards the front waiting room with a glaring expression. "Abso-clopping-lutely thrilled." She went to the receptionist's desk, scribbled her name in the sign-out sheet, ignored the woman's curious glares as she spat the pen out of her mouth, and then made her way towards the entrance of the office. As she fumbled over the lock, standing up on her rear hooves, she felt a vibration running through her forelimbs, and then rattling her ear drums. "Nnngh... what...?" Persephone grimaced. She blinked into her reflection. The backwards name of Dr. Sharp—soaped blackly across the glass door—blurred and unblurred. With it came a flutter to her ear hairs, like a breath being carried along some unnatural wind. And it carried her name, "Persephone..." The pony looked over her shoulder. The curly-haired receptionist was minding her own business, plinking away at the keyboard behind her counter. Persephone blinked. At last, nostrils flaring, she yanked the handle down and pushed her bumbling way out into the hallway. "I friggin' hate psychiatrists..."