• Published 28th Nov 2011
  • 2,332 Views, 22 Comments

September's Fillies - Rysonn



Sweetie Belle's attraction to fillies isnt necessarily smiled upon by the outside.

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Chapter 2

Saturday melted away before Scootaloo's eyes just as soon as it had come, and Sunday had made it's greetings to her many hours before. The moon hung low above her head, falling, ever falling, to the black horizon.

Her mind raced with the images of that unforgettable day, even the most faded of which sent chills running down her spine. All that she saw reminded her, tore her from the world she saw before her and placed her perfectly back into that small room with her friend. A few minutes would pass, many times longer, and finally the crisp autumn leaves would rustle her back to her so-called reality.

Though that was another thing that bothered her about that afternoon. 'What did she mean? Why did she do that? ...Did she... kiss me as a friend, or...'

Then the leaves played terribly magnificent symphony through themselves and the trees, shaking her back out of the solitude of her mind and back into the life before her.

The autumn wind nipped at her body, it's cool caress engulfing her. She lay almost perfectly still in the bed of vibrantly coloured leaves that blanketed the ground all throughout the small grove that she had taken as her bedroom for that night, or last few nights. She hadn't moved in nearly three long days.

'...What would she think? She didn't leave to have me without a home... She'd at least want me to have some food so that I could actually fall asl-'
-----

Scootaloo's eyes crawled open as the slowly dawning sun burned across the horizon. The birds made their cheerful, early-morning greetings to her. Climbing to her feet, she stumbled sleepily out of the grove, her eyes begging to be closed once again. Her hooves carried her shakily, and for a short while, all she did was walk, peacefully walk. Soon, however, the torments of her not-so-distant past began to return to her mind, coming mercilessly as they did.

She didn't bother with school. None of that mattered anymore, not for now at least. She knew that the one thing that mattered to her anymore, she wouldn't find at the school.

Blue Jays, Sparrows, Morning Doves, and the like flew over her head, no doubt headed southbound for the cold months drawing ever nearer. The few leaves remaining on the trees just sat there, lifelessly, uselessly. The ones on the ground rustled about in the light gusts of wind. She saw not far from her an elderly mare let out a group of three little fillies to go play in the leaves. They built up piles to jump in, forts by the trees--some of which were rather impressive--and threw them into the breeze to float away, so quickly forgotten.

Scootaloo didn't like it. Didn't like any of it. The leaves were too dull, yet to fetching at the same time. The fillies were too happy, and the birds were too loud and obnoxious.

Finding little comfort in the trifles of the surrounding scenery, she walked on, fighting the urge to just lay there and cry because nothing made any sense anymore. She was so confused about all of it--the picture, Applebloom, the... the cutting--none of it fit together. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe it, because it fit together all too perfectly. It made too much sense.

The sun's rays continued there almost monotonous crawl across the land, emblazing the sky with it's brilliant torment, and the boutique drew nearer, beginning to take an iridescent form in the sliver of sunlight that she had to see by.

She knew that knocking would do her little good, so she let herself into the large, dark main room of he towering building. It remained in the unrelieved silence of the night before. She proceeded up the large staircase.

Twisting the knob slowly, she opened the door to her friend's bedroom. The large room sat in a state of pure blackness. Wading throughout the darkness, she reached up and yanked on the pull-chain above her, and the lights flicked on.

Scootaloo screamed.

There sat Sweetie Belle quietly, secluded to the corner of her room. Blood dripped, fresh, from the corners of her lips, and a faded purple colour rippled away from her eye. Her face seemed to somehow have grown paler even than it had been before. Her head was crooked to one side, and a horrible little grin lit her face. Not a grin of happiness, but that of pleasure.

"Sweets, W-what happened to y-"

A small, empty syringe lay on the floor beside her foreleg.

"N-no… P-please, no…

Sweetie Belle's pressuring smile faded finally, slipping into more of a fearful disgrace.

"D-don't tell Rarity!" Sweetie Belle shouted unnaturally loudly, "She's mad enough at you as it is! …M-me, she's mad at me, I mean…"

Scootaloo ran over towards Sweetie Belle, tripping over her own hooves and landing in a pile of blood-stained white cloth. Some of this blood was fresh, but some of it dried. It was probably the cloth she'd used to wrap her friend's leg in, but she couldn't remember. It was all such a blur now.

She crawled over to her friend, now laying beside her rather that opposite her. That's when she saw it. The streaked and crooked letters on the wall pleaded 'FIX ME' in a sanguine ink. Just beneath these letters, was the mark of lips, a kiss, in the same sickly red liquid.

Scootaloo reached over at the syringe. The sight of it was all too familiar. Her mother had gotten in a lot of trouble for this. After just a week and a half, she couldn't--wouldn't--live without it. A hot stream of tears ran down her cheeks and fell to the carpet beneath her. It had been three long years since she had cried for her mother. Too long.

"You look tired, dearest. Please, get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow, you know."

"I know, but it's not my first first-day-of-school!"

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're tired. Go to sleep now, honey."

Scootaloo sighed softly. She was tired, but it was over an hour from bedtime, and there was so much left to do with her time.

"Now, I want you to promise me you'll go to sleep. Okay?"

"…I promise…"

"Good. Now, Good night, Scootaloo. Love you"

"…Good night…"

The tears began to overwhelm her, taking over any reserve of self control she had left.

"…Not you too… Why couldn't I just tell her that I loved her, Sweets…? Why…?"

At that moment, something clicked in Sweetie Belles mind.

"Because she didn't need you to. She didn't want you to."

"W-what?"

"You couldn't save her, no one could, she was already gone, and you, at just seven years old, you were smart enough to know that you wouldn't find your mother in the morning. You didn't want to make it harder for her than it had to be."

"…B-but-"

"Shhhh… You're tired. Just get to sleep now, okay?"

Sweetie Belle planted a soft, gentle kiss on Scootaloo's lips and wrapped her front leg around Scootaloo's neck, enveloping the filly in her own warmth. She soon began to slip back into the pony that she had become. Her eyes wandered, following nothingness all around the room. She began to breath irregularly, and murmur an incoherent sort of conversation with an invisible being. 'Maybe an angel. Maybe it's her.'

Scootaloo's tears began to dry, and her uneasy breathing began to return to a light, regular rhythm as she drifted off once more.

"…I love you too, mommy…"

Comments ( 7 )

Dude, you seriously should continue this story, I'm loving it!

2363612 Thanks for the kind words, but I'm afraid that the 20+ hours I've already spent trying to make a continuation were enough for me. If the urge strikes me to try again, perhaps someday I will, but as of right now, I'm not officially trying to write more.

2366272
Then I will just have to wait and pray for it to happen. I can be patient if I try to :pinkiehappy:

2368793 Alrighty then~!

One question I have for this is at the end of chapter two. Who was the one who was acting like she was talking to an angel also another WHY HAVENT WRITTEN MORE THIS FIC IS GREAT:pinkiehappy:

3485499 Thank you for reading, glad you enjoyed it. And I never really thought of it as an angel, but that's sort of the idea. The ending of Chapter 2 is supposed to play on how the troubles of others can make us see something we'd forgotten inside of ourselves, and it was intended to be Scootaloo talking (through memory and imagination) to the spirit--or angel--of her dead mother.

I've tried VERY hard to continue this story, but it has been to no avail. Honestly, at this point, I've pretty much dismissed chapter 2 as not even being part of the story. Chapter 1 i think is meant to be the end, i'm sorry. :fluttershyouch:

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