//------------------------------// // One dumb raven // Story: The Fall // by waste //------------------------------// The soft cracking of broken bones and a rattling breath fill the tent. She turns her head to the tent opening; half open eyes stare at a mess of colour and light. A tiny sigh escapes her and she returns to stare at the canvas tent. She’d rather shut the world outside and ignore how far she fell. Rather stare at the knots and tangles of canvas then question why it’s here. Her eyes widen as a brutal grinding of broken bones and a monstrous fatigue both fight for her mind. She scolds herself to be more careful. She uses her horn to summon a change to her form, remove the weakness and pain from her body. But all she receives is a terrifying dark emptiness, not a trace of magic. She drowns in terror, fears how disgusting and sickening she must be, her shell covered in deep scars of blood and darkness. She’s Afraid of life without magic, afraid of a life without her shape changing and blending. Then she promptly tosses the traitorous thoughts out of her mind and scowls at herself for being so selfish. How could she worry about herself when the hive is left leaderless and alone? In her eyes she was less than worthless if she can’t find her family. She deserves everything that happened, for failing the hive again, for failing herself. She deserves to be this miserable angry sack of broken bones and failure. She doesn’t deserve to see her children. As you can see, being raised in the hive somewhat lowers any ideas of individualism or self-worth. A rather spiteful person would think that’s what she is though, a horrifically insecure sack of anger with an unbearable personality, a product of being raised in a society where the idea of an individual is not only detrimental but out-right hated and hunted down. She likes to throw it on others you see, throw all her petty insecurities and weakness on them, try and gain a little control from the community that told her she was worthless and weak without the hive. And because that society treats everyone the same, she never had any one to make her feel different, no one to set a particularly dejected sad little child on the right path, no one to make her feel safe. She had to convince herself that this lack of life and love made her independent and strong, that the hurt and loneliness didn’t make her an unhealthy boiling bag of rage. She’ll hurt murder and destroy not for some moral point, but because it’s easier, because no one told her it’s wrong, no one told her that the world doesn’t have to be sick or abusive, that she shouldn’t treat others like shit. She’ll gloat and boast, and string out that repulsive little laugh of hers not because she’s really that happy, but because if she’s been treated like crap all her life, then everyone needs to do some catching up. Even sitting there in that tent she wasn’t surprised by her agony because, well, that’s what life’s given her and that’s all she knows. It’s all she’ll ever deserve. Instead of fidgeting any more she decides to stay stock still, no need to provoke the torment that lives in her body. Her closed eyes and tired mind beg for sleep to take her. Her armoured form can’t feel the bandages that hold her together and her tortured mind can barely remember her saviour. She barely remembers where she is or what she said. All she can think about is falling, crashing and someone’s blue eyes. Too short-sighted and self-absorbed, she doesn’t quite notice the comatose unicorn sleeping next to her. ***************************** She opens her eyes, and her body is still a damaged wreck. The only thing that’s changed is a tray of bread and water, and a curious visitor standing in front of a shard of midday light. Wreathed in black with two cold eyes, the visitor is severe and intense. With a dark unyielding frame it awkwardly steps into the tent. Rather brave for a raven. More curious then his brothers and sisters, the raven remains confused at the strange structure in the field and the strange smelling creature. But the raven knows its time is short, for the farm is haunted by a horrifying four-legged unicorn that stalks the fields. It steps through the tent and carefully pecks at a discarded bandage, tries to find some treasure in this forsaken land. Surprisingly enough Chrysalis remains subdued; two green eyes track the pest. The raven’s search finally brings it to the creature and his greedy eyes spark with the promise of blood, since the creature next to him looks further from life and closer to death. He steps a little closer, the smell of earth and dead flesh falls from a sharp cruel beak. Chrysalis uses the only part of her body that works, and her tongue whips out. Rather tasty for a raven. With the taste of the bird’s feathers and the dusty air, she snaps the raven into a tomb of teeth and fangs. She chews slowly, because even if her tongue is undamaged her head feels like hell’s trying to claw its way out. Tiny trails of crimson fall and stick to her body while her tongue laps the bitter red nectar, she doesn’t want to waste a drop from the monumentally idiotic bird. Light spills into the tent’s only occupant, the canvas glows orange and gold. She bows her head as the warmth strokes her face, each bite of the raven bringing another tangle of her hair down. Brilliant blue green strands cover her face, her hair both unnatural and beautiful. Specks of red fall from brutal teeth covered in blood, two stunning green eyes watch them hit the ground. She lies there spread out in the sun’s gold, a broken triumphant queen in the farmer’s tent. But it’s not the bright strands of hair or the intense angelic eyes that make her beautiful. It’s that tiny unseen smile that does it. It’s surprising isn’t it? How a small open smile turns that changeling’s face into something honest and pure. How a little joy can burn away her discomfort and shame. It’s quite tragic, but she hardly ever uses that private smile of hers. She uses the other one though, her big arrogant grin that makes you want to punch her till she bleeds, uses it to remind you that you’re going to suffer for being weak and not strong like her, uses it to remind herself that she’s above all these inferior animals. But not that tiny hidden smile, it only appears when no one is looking. It grew on her face when her first child hatched, a goofy tired smile with uncontained love and pride spilling out of it. When she stood outside with her child, the bright sun soothing their skin, she’d hold it tight and pretends that nothing could stop the love of a mother and child. She knows that she’ll protect that small defenceless bundle, and that small bundle will protect her from her harsh desolate life. But she’s only pretending. For the good of the hive, she’ll let them take the child while they tell her that she is a strong queen for giving them such a soldier, she’ll nod her head and they’ll leave thanking her contribution to the union. Then she’ll break her hooves stomping the wall. And even if her eyes are small lakes of tears and anger, she’ll still have that little smile on her face because for the briefest of moments she was a winner. For the briefest of moments everything was perfect. For the briefest of moments she was lucky. So whenever the world looks at her kindly, she’ll tuck away that memory in the back of her mind, turn it into an anchor to stop life overwhelming her. For a crippled mess, having breakfast hop into your mouth is pretty lucky. A smile is still painted on her face. Then the tent flap opens, and he steps inside. He places a basket of fruit next to the opening. Hard cold air steals the warmth she took from the sun. “Hello” His words drop with unpleasant weight. She stays silent, her large eyes widen. “Do you remember me? I helped fix you up” His gaze drops to his side because her eyes are maddening. Her eyes will reach in and take his heart. “I gave you some bread and water. Got some fruits as well” She doesn’t know how to respond to generosity. Meaningless words of gratitude want to push out of her mouth. The changeling is helpless and mute. “You’re going to be okay. It’s just going to take some time” He reaches out, but she shrinks back. “My name’s Wandering Thoughts. I’m going to make sure your better and I’m not going to hurt you. And no I don’t want it. I don’t want to be asked why I’m doing this or what I want out of this situation. I don’t deserve to watch someone die again. You don’t deserve to die.” Now she’s worried, as his hooves reach out and squeezes her shoulders. She’s trembling because no one told her what to do when a stranger cares for you. And he’s wrong. She deserves nothing. “Don’t touch me” She spits the words out. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” “Don’t touch me.” She throws the words at him. “I’m no-“ “DON’T TOUCH ME!” She howls at him. And her voice shatters the small peace he worked so hard to make for her. She catches him in the face with a hoof. He stumbles around, a small dent of flesh on his temple. And she breathes heavily, miserable and guilty, while old wounds reopen. She bites back a sob as she tries to hold her body together. He recovers and stares at the demon in the tent. The strangers look at each other and Chrysalis knows what will happen. She knows that he will bring a hoof down on her face, use magic to beat her, repay his bruise by breaking her. She’s seen it before, done it before and it’s been done to her. He’s going to beat her and then he will regain his dignity, make himself feel a little better and everything will make sense. She wants the beating because being hurt makes sense, being hurt is normal. She wants the beating because she doesn’t want to comprehend this dumb act of kindness that doesn’t fit in her world. She wants the beating because he’s maddening. His gentle voice, his calm, and his compassion; it’s maddening and disgusting. She wants to understand why this idiot gave so much of himself to her, saved her life when all she wanted was to die. She wants something to make sense. “I’m sorry I touched you.” “I want to go home.” “Look at you. You can’t go anywhere.” She takes a few seconds to stare at the ground. Bows her head and waits for punishment. “I’m sorry I hit you.” “It’s okay. I forgive you.” Anger bubbles in her chest again because he doesn’t make sense. “I don’t understand.” “I forgive you. Don’t feel too bad about it” “You shouldn’t forgive me.” “Tough.” He gets a little closer, decides to sit next to her frail form. She looks a little empty from learning that he will never make sense, that he will just accept her abuse. He gets an apple and slips it into her hooves, and she quietly stares downwards at that mundane fruit. Without her anger she looks lost. “Can I feel your bandages?” She peeks up underneath her shock of hair, and nods her head. For a small moment she’s only a hurt victim that wants to hide behind her hair. He helps her sit up then gently unfolds her legs. He put his arms underneath hers, feels the gnarled edge of vicious wounds. Methodically and coldly he checks the plates of bone that ruptured and broke from her collision. Much to his satisfaction their healing up well but the bandages are too loose. He reaches under and sniffs the bandages, wonders if the sour smell of infection has set in. Either way he’s going to need to redress and clean them. She mutters close-mouthed words, his embrace both comforting and hellish. As quickly as it came, her anger is swallowed by his coarse touch. She keeps her head bowed down, the queen of changelings submissive and weak. All that intimacy and closeness is now brought back, back from the time she knew she was going to die in that crater and she had to hold his hooves because cruel abhorrent torture was dancing in her flesh. Her windows of green eyes stare at the apple in her hand, while his touch traces lines over unnatural canyons of bone. She closes her eyes because his touch is both too short and too long. He finishes and stands up; his hooves no longer feel the ruin left on her body. Suddenly she is shy and subdued because when he stood up he took something with him that she wanted. Words want to free themselves from a foolish mind, want to take what he stole from her. No matter how confused and hateful she is, she wants those few seconds of kindness and care. His presence leaves and her muscles relax and tighten at the same time. With a small awkward grin, he laughs nervously. She’s still holding that apple in both her hooves like it’s going to bite her. He takes an apple from the basket and slowly bites down. She follows his lead, the smell and sound of the apple sweet and crisp. “Better then you expected right?” He steps out in to sunlight. She has a small smile painted on her face.