Hard Life, Hard Truth (Eggshell White Guardian 1)
Hard Life, Hard Truth (Eggshell White Guardian 1)
There was only one place completely devoid of light that she knew of. It was cold and humid. Wooden splinters stood up like an ocean of tiny spikes that could easily engulf a pony if she was not careful enough. An army of dust and dirt stood ready to attack everypony who dared to enter, sticking to fur and invading lungs. This was the description of heaven.
The entrance, a big hole in the floor under her bed, was only known to her. It was place a of solitude. Somewhere to hide from the constant beating. Someplace to stay safe from headmistress Ms. Birch.
Had it only been for all the other foals, Scoolaloo’s life would have been nice and easy despite being stuck at an orphanage, the way it had been before the new headmistress had arrived.
Now life was unbearable, a constant series of school, sleep and pain. A gruelling treadmill she was forced to run all day, the pony in charge of her violently pushing her back in whenever she tried to escape.
The headmistress was a dark green mare with light blue mane and tail. When asked about her cutie mark, a long leafless twig, she told most ponies that it was a symbol for the development of her wards who would grow up as the sprouts of the tree of society. Maybe in her youth it even had had this meaning, but it was no longer true.
Nopony knew this better than Scootaloo, every single day in her life mercilessly following the same basic pattern:
After they all had been forced into bed two hours too early, because obviously their care-giver didn’t want to have her evenings spoiled by annoying little rats, Ms Birch would enter the dorm one more time to single out a foal of her liking.
No pony really understood what the headmistress was looking for in her victims, but Scootaloo definitely had it, a fact obvious not only to her enemies. Even her closest friends didn’t talk to her anymore, out of fear of being the headmaster’s next target, but at least they had the decency to ignore her while the other foals reacted with hostility and mobbing. Life had gotten lonely.
Whoever the fresh prey of the day was, he or she would be brought to the office, a plain room only consisting of a few shelves containing the records of all orphans and a hard writing desk they had to lean on. Ms Birch’s favourite twig hung ready and waiting on the undecorated wall at all times. From here on the rules were easy: The more you cry, the more it will hurt.
By now Scootaloo could stand through a session of serious whipping without even flinching, only to cry herself to sleep afterwards, although the filly had the strong suspicion that the headmistress was listening to every sob she made.
In her hiding place, she could escape at least for a few hours each day. She had even managed to avoid a few beatings down here, although she had felt bad that somepony else would have to fill in each time.
She realised it wouldn’t go unnoticed if she missed the abuse too often, so that was not always an option, no matter how much she wished for it to be. The only real chance she stood was to run away. She was past feeling sorry for the foals who had to stay behind, but the urge to leave was bigger than her guilty conscience. She couldn’t take it anymore. It was escape or die trying.
Weeks of careful planning had brought her to the current state. Only one more piece was missing before she could finally embrace freedom.
Getting a map had been easy; the only thing required for the task being to save up her meagre pocket money of 10 weeks and buying one. Getting the needed paperwork to change school had proved to be much harder, but not attending was out of question as it would not only raise suspicions in her new hometown, but also deprive herself of daily hot free meals and a lot of fun, both of which she would be in dire need of.
In Equestria, education was not enforced by law, but rather by social convention, not creating the need of a central school register. As a lucky result of that, Scootaloo did not have to fear being tracked down for it, which enabled her to pursue her independence.
School was meant to help to discover your special talent and broaden your horizons, the reason every foal attended. Grades were given only as means of orientation.
The true learning process would begin once your cutie mark was leading your way. While some jobs required a fixed academic background, like being a weather manager or a mathematician, ponies were hired because of ability, not formalities.
However that did not hinder paperwork to be a constant attendant of everyday life, emerging as bills, countless personal documents and forms for every conceivable official act.
As Scootaloo had found out, two things where needed in order to enter a new school: a special form signed by your legal guardian and your certificate of birth.
She had already acquired the form in a visit to the town hall one week earlier, pretending to have been sent all alone by her busy father to fetch it for him. It had taken 30 minutes of arguments and her bursting into tears, something she had not meant to do but was triggered by her desperation, for the official to finally hand her the paper. Filling it out and faking a signature hadn’t been much of a challenge after this ordeal.
No matter how hard her first time experience with bureaucracy had appeared to be, the final and worst task was still waiting for her. During the past few weeks she had watched Ms Birch’s every step, memorising her enemy’s daily routine to the minute. Now was the time when the old mare would go to collect all the foals playing outside, one of the few amenities left to them for an hour each day.
Not a single foal was allowed to re-enter the heartless halls of the orphanage without feeling bad about any kind of fun they might have had during the day. A task Ms. Birch felt obliged to execute personally every afternoon, allowing herself a full fifteen minutes for her amazingly varied speeches.
It was the biggest time frame available to the filly, as the door to the office was locked at all other times.
Perfectly on schedule, the headmistress passed by, gifting Scootaloo with one of her typical disapproving glares. For once the filly didn’t care. She had more important matters at hoof.
Now was the perfect time, she was the only pony in the corridor. Hastily she dove forward, entering to office as fast as possible, closing the door behind her.
Her record was located at the leftmost shelf, the third entry in the fourth row from the top. She had spent enough time staring at this spot while a wooden stick came down hard on her buttocks to burn it into her brain.
Knowing where it was located was one thing, but actually getting it was something totally different. She grabbed a nearby chair with her teeth and dragged it over the ground, ignoring the loud screeching noises of wood on wood as best as she could.
Cursing herself that she hadn’t figured out how to fly yet she climbed onto the piece of furniture once it was in place, elongating herself as best as possible in her quest for the stack of paper. No matter how hard she tried, flapping her wings, jumping on one leg or balancing at the tip of her toe, she was short more than ten inches.
Desperate for her goal, she stepped on the backrest of her makeshift ladder, further increasing her height way more than was needed in one simple stride. While the basic idea seemed to be good, the barycentre of the chair did not agree with the plan.
Scootaloo’s tiny wings did nothing to break her fall, gravity sending foal and chair alike back to the floor in its relentless grip.
Still very dizzy, the little pegasus pulled herself back to her hooves, using the chair for support. Feeling unsecure on wobbly legs that felt like jelly, she hauled the ungrateful piece of furniture back to where it belonged.
With what limited capacity was left in her brain next to the throbbing sensation of malfunctioning synapses, she had already decided give up for today. She would have to come back the next day bringing a box or something next time. Another day wasn’t too bad, was it? She sure would make it tomorrow.
Just as the defeated filly was about to leave the room, her eyes wandered to the birch twig on the wall. The clock confirmed that she had at least three more minutes left. It was worth to try and use the stick for good at least one time, she thought to herself.
Because of its long nature, the stick was hanging low, simplifying fetching it tremendously. A lot harder was poking down the object of her desire after hurrying back to the shelves.
Stick in mouth, the pointy end directed towards the shelf as best as possible, Scootaloo inched forward, the long piece of wood wobbling in unequal orbits at every move, only periodically aligning with the target.
Scootaloo jumped forward, gaining the last inches in height but also missing her target. Wood mode contact to wall, leaving a scratching mark on the plain white paint and burying the stick a little too deep into her throat, causing instant retching and the taste of iron in her mouth. It took all her inner strength to fight the gag reflex that overtook her and left her small frame shaking. Vomiting right there on the spot was a rather bad idea.
The spinning in her stomach adding to the perpetual evasive motions of the already uncontrollable poking object, she tried again, this time using an additional hoof as guidance, only missing by half an inch.
She had to make it. She just had to. Once her body felt no longer the need to regurgitate her dinner, she tried again, failing another two times before she hit the right spot. Thankfully, the stack of paper was tightly bound, so there was no need to gather the sheets if they should float about, but on the other hand, it better hadn't been, as this exactly was what made it into the projectile that it was.
Other than to exhale in a low grunt, Scotaloo did her best to ignore the impacted areas, the record of all possibly places hitting the swelling that had been forming on her forehead. But she didn’t mind. She had done it.
The stick thrown to the floor and her loot securely in her mouth, Scootaloo ran to the hallway as fast as her little legs would allow it and slammed the door into the frame behind her. It was nearly done.
Without looking back, she sprinted to the dorm where she hastily stashed her newfound passageway to freedom into her saddlebags. No one had ever looked at her school materials. This surely was not going to change today. Groggily she let herself fall on the bed, her heart was pumping furiously, her breathing a mess of irregular huffs and puffs. She could feel an abnormal amount blood rushing through her veins in a regular pulse. One more night and she would be free. One more night. Drowning in the warm feeling of satisfaction, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
“Scootaloo.” It was the voice of the devil herself who jolted the filly out of her well-earned dreams. “Since you seem to like my twig so much that you personally visit it in my office, I think you will like today’s special.”
Although the level of adrenaline in Scootaloo’s bloodstream had normalized in the meantime, it took her barely two seconds to jump up and hide under the bed. Another two second later she was already down in her hiding place. This was bad, really bad. How could she have forgotten to put back this damned piece of wood? She was such an idiot!
“Ohh Scootaloo, I know you are in there and you know there is no way to hide from me.” Her voice suggested that she was seriously enjoying herself, intentional heavy hoofsteps reverberating through the wooden floor telling her victim that she was coming, the swishing sound of air streaming around her stick that she was ready.
“The first one to tell me where Scootaloo is will get 10 bits.”
By now there was only one thing left in the young pegasus’ mind: The instinct to run, to get away as far as possible as soon as possible. Ignoring the splinters piercing into her, she crawled forward in the dark. With each step wave after wave of century old dust broke free into the air, entering her respiratory system and leaving her short of breath as she pressed on.
“Under her bed? Now what a lovely place to hide.” Dripping venom was probably the only good way to describe her tone.
The sound of furniture being moved followed by a loud crash penetrated the hiding place, sending out a subliminal message of impending doom. At the end of her capacities, Scootaloo increased her pace, only to be stopped by her body tightening up into fetal position within seconds. She didn’t think her heart could take it much longer. Her lungs had already given up on her, leaving her wheezing and coughing loudly, unable to move on the floor.
“Oh... hiding in the subceiling. Well played young filly. Well played.”
The room became silent after that, with the exception of Scootaloo’s uneven not-so-much breathing. None of the many foals above dared to speak or even think too loud.
The big question was: Had she won? Had her tormentor left the room or was she just waiting for her to come out. She was sure it was the second option, or at least she didn’t want to be proved wrong in her assumption after she crawled back out if she acted upon the first one.
She had hit a dead end. Tomorrow the headmistress would have given up temporarily. She wasn’t much of a morning pony and was literally never present at breakfast. Scootaloo would use this time to leave for good. Until than she could try and sleep. Down here she was safe.
One minute later Scootaloo found out just how wrong she was, a crowbar penetrating splintering planks bare inches beside her head. There was light once more in her life, but at the moment that wasn’t a good thing. Her hooves no longer followed her command, a mixture of missing oxygen and shock preventing her from moving altogether.
Another well-set blow ripped through the pegasus’ defiled sanctuary, enabling the setting sun to shine onto the lost soul cowering in it. The rain of wooden chips drenching the helpless foal had not yet died down when a third powerful blast hit the dissolving ground, spelling Scootaloo’s immediate doom, creating a hole that could only barely fit the foal. The remains of what once had been parquet floor cut through the filly, much like she did to the wood in return, enlarging it in a very painful way as she was dragged out against her will.
Under the eyes of a handful of stunned foals all over the room, the stupefied limp body of Scootaloo was dragged away. For all bystanders she could as well have been dead or some sort of gruesome puppet. None of them had the courage to help her. Not that they could be blamed for it. The filly was mentally cursing them now, returning the blank stares with a grimace of hatred as she was dragged to the corridor and beyond, but still, she could feel for them. She couldn’t find the strength to fend for herself after all.
Two doors went by without action, two doors on her transition to hell. The hard edge of the desk took the air of her lungs once more, crushing the filly’s ribs as she was thrown against it with brute force.
The situation was familiar, yet so much worse at the same time. The first slap came without warning, pressing a strident wail from filly. The game had just begun and she had already lost it.
“You know the rules. The more you cry, the more it will hurt and you have earned yourself a little extra already.”
The headmistress laughed hysterically while more hits rained down on the filly, leaving a crisscross of blue marks shining through the orange fur. Normally she made sure not to leave any traces, but at the moment she couldn’t care less. The foal in front of her had disobeyed her, had tried to flee from her, and probably had even been sneaking into her office. Severe punishment was due.
Awaiting blow after blow, Scootaloo bit down onto her front leg, muffled cries getting stuck in orange fur.
Annoyed by the silence of her victim Ms. Birch stopped dead in her tracks, her laughter dying down instantly.
“Ohhh. I forgot how good you are at our little game.” She spat on Scootaloo’s mane. “Now raise your tail!” Those last words were more shouted than spoken, leaving the small pegasus’ eardrums ringing.
Scootaloo obeyed, only to regret it again after wood cut into her most tender flesh. The howl that followed could be heard everywhere in the orphanage, frightening foals who tried to hide under their blankets.
“That is more like I imagined it!”
Ms Birch’s merriment was back to new heights, Scootaloo pressing her tail down as best as she could, but it was no use. Strong hooves lifted it back up again. Another smack, another wail.
“Too bad for you. You know the regime. More pain,” the mare started, her voice instantaneously serious again. “Let’s see how deep this will go.”
Scootaloo’s world went black as the stick entered her, breaking in the last sanctuary she had had left.
“Is she dead?”
“No, look you fool, she is breathing.”
“Should we help her?”
“NO! Ms Birch will do the same to us.”
Despite the pain rocking through her body with every move, Scootaloo raised her head and snarled, scaring off of the owners of the hushed voices, a blue filly and a red colt, both of them younger than her.
She realised she was lying in the corridor, just outside the office door. The position of the sun told her it was nearly time to go to school, or in her case to flee.
Mobilized by the thoughts of freedom she tried to stand up, the jolts of pain emanating from her backside sending her back down immediately without mercy. She tried again, more careful this time, finding that while the pain was still present, it was bearable if she went slowly. A few steps proved that she could walk under tolerable conditions, although she would have to drag her hind legs more than use them. She had hardly any feeling left from the waist down.
Slowly, she began to limp to the dorm following a trace of her own blood sprinkled to the ground in small drops. The room was devoid of all life, friend or foe alike, all had already gone, consequently having passed by her unconscious body on their way out, as Scootaloo realized.
Her bed, or better the parts that where left of it, lay strewn all over the place, not one piece had remained where it was meant to be.
For Scootaloo every room had a certain feeling to it, like for example her class room that had an atmosphere that somehow could be described by the words warmth, trust and learning.
Putting two holes in the floor could change a room drastically, not for good, though. The flashbacks of the last day didn’t help either.
The filly’s saddlebags had remained untouched next to her nightstand. Somehow the bed had managed to fly over it, not even scratching the cheap particle board. A quick check confirmed that her record and the school form where still inside. She would have done a leap for joy, but that was physically impossible at the moment.
Instead she took the bag in her mouth, throwing it to the air to land onto herself in a swift and well trained motion. In retrospective, she should have chosen a less crude way to done the heavy container, as she only managed not to faint by breathing away the agony in short erratic huffs.
Despite her suffering, she had to press on.
The orphanage had a large collection of toys, both for inside and outside usage, mostly remains of pre-Ms-Birch times. Only a few functional scooters were left, most missing a wheel or not offering the possibility to steer anymore because of a bent handlebar, but Scootaloo had her own personal one stashed away. Not that she really owned it, but taking and hiding stuff was the only way to possess things in a place like this, with too many other foals competing over the few resources.
Since her wings were the only part left of her body that did not try to kill her with every movement, her scooter was just perfect; it was her favourite means of transportation anyway. After fishing her helmet and ride from behind the shack where they were hidden by a layer of rubble, she sped off to school. There was one more thing to do before leaving this town for good.
The education centre was just two blocks away, only a small detour on her way even in her damaged state. Ignoring all rules she did not stop at the entrance but pressed on with her vehicle. The narrow corridors did not provide much space for navigation, forcing ponies to duck aside everywhere on her way to the classroom. She did her best to block out the infuriated shouts directed at her as ponies pressed themselves tightly against walls and lockers alike.
But she refused to lose speed. She had no time to lose. Hitting a full break, she only stopped again directly in front of the teacher’s desk. Another big mistake on her part, a loud moan escaped her mouth as the braking force hit her hard.
The room had been the usual mess of playing screaming foals before Scootaloo’s entrance. Now it was dead silent, scared eyes fixed on Scootaloo, a last paper glider landing without notice.
They were all used to crazy stunts from their classmate, but what they weren’t prepared for was her appearance.
Freshly opened scabs covered her body, most of them oozing abundant quantities of blood and pus that flowed over already crusted patches. The huge blue swelling right on her forehead somehow managed to look worse than her black eye. But the worst part was her backside that seemed to be evenly split between red, blue, and orange patches. The hair on her tail had turned red on some parts as well.
Her teacher, Ms Chalk, was an eggshell white unicorn with a purple mane and tail. Her cutie mark, a green piece of chalk surrounded by a magic aura, was pretty self-explanatory.
She had always been fond of Scootaloo, because of the little filly’s personality and eagerness to learn. However she had also seen her pupil's problem to interact with other foals that she could not explain to herself. Now her worst fear about her charge had become true.
Trying to keep her voice as calm as possible, she was the first one to speak.
“Scootaloo. Please tell me what happened to you immediately.”
“Ms Birch is abusing us. Thank you for being so kind to me.”
With that the orange pegasus was off again, the pleas of her teacher to stay never reaching her.
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This looks like it is going to be a very interesting story. I can't wait to see it completed!
Welp, looks like somepony is gonna be the target of a rainboom powered punch to the face.
well done keep it up and you'll get many views
Sexually abused Scootaloo? Not sure I'm down with that, too far outside the spirit of the show. RIL'd for revaluation.
2976542 was only one scene and hardly one sentence
2976762
May only be once scene, but it sets the precedent for the character. If it's not the impetus for the plot then it is at the very least a piece of world building that clashes or conflicts.
One little lost soul does not like this story...
Only one? Pfft... thats the one who hoped for getting horny.
I must say that i loved it so far!
Read it while i was on a trip in a boring car...
Im most certainly gonna favorite and like.
But sadly, i could use some more Spike....
Its a simple request, you dont need to add him.
But now, im gonna go for a swim.
2976836
Of course abusion is way out of the scope of the show. That is why we have fanfiction.
And the whole point is that this has consequences. If it hadn't it wouldnt be a bad thing to do...
For me, the spirit of the show is to show how friendship works and people help each other when in need. I tried to do the very same with this story, only with more adult themes. I just wanted to see how the charakters would react to "darker problems."
I know it's not everponys cup of tea. Never thought it to be.
Maybe you will like it when you read it later.
2977500
Thanks for the heads up. Also to the other commentors, likers and favouriters (is that a word?).
The story is already fully finished, so I can't really add too much stuff. But there is a little Spike on mail-service-duty a few chapters in.
2978179
I feel you, but we do have a lot of stories were she can fly. We can let a few pass were she can not.
>>To the writer
It is my thing on this website to read every story that has Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo in it. This means the good and the bad. I am happy to say: that it is very unlikely that your story will leave my favorites. It is rare for me to keep a story there after it is done, but its some thing that you have managed.
My praising of you aside. I wanted to tell you to keep up the good work. You clearly have a good idea going here, and I am sure quite a few of us can't wait to see it to its end.
Stay awesome!
2978645
I am flattered. I hope you will enjoy the rest of this story just as much.
*racks bolt back on M16A4* where the fuck is Ms. Birch!!!! no one gets away with scootabuse of that magnitude alive!!!
2997225 meh wait till dash finds out O.O i know what the reaction is going to be like
Well, that was difficult to read. Damn, dude. Poor Scoots. :(
Mrs Birch I declare you a spiderimg4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140710143422/cwamilitarysquads/images/e/e3/Tank_meme_by_thatgardevoir-d77ftcy.jpg
Those that abuse like that deserve to die a slow, horrible death.
That is all.
My only thoughts are that I wish a certain brotherhood of darkness existed in Equestria. Barring that if Ter existed and found out someone would find Birch's body mysteriously drained of life energy.
abuse is not ok, any kind of abuse those who do that shall perish in the depths of hell!