Chapter 4 - Anger
"At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.”
― Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
Lord A. Tennyson once penned the poem with the oft quoted line, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
At this particular moment, all I wanted to do was break into the Starswirl the Bearded wing in Canterlot, steal anything related to time and universe-travelling magic, and build a time-space-universe travel machine and bite his smug Brittish face right the fuck off!!!
Completing the anger feedback loop was the continuing problems of not being able to read Equestrian, not being able to speak Changeling, let alone Common Equestrian, being only a few weeks old by this world’s standards, and a general lack of knowledge of the workings of magic in general and time magic in specific. So I was right back to where I started.
The first 20 years of my human life were filled with abuse, loss, upheaval, and minor tragedy. Two divorces, a literally evil stepmother, bureaucratic cock-ups with Child Protective Services that left me feeling that I’d have been better off with my abuser, an epidemic of lies all around to the point where truth was a foreign concept, and nearly losing my mom, dad, and sister during that time span. I had fuel for the fires of rage to last until the Last Days.
The next decade or so was spent in that fire, wanting the pain to stop but not knowing how. Once I got therapy for it my head-space improved drastically, which naturally was the perfect time for life to kick my teeth in through the form of divorce.
In the space of a single year I experienced enough betrayal to make the ghost of Julius Caesar nod in appreciation. Instead of knives, it was sworn testimonies. Instead of death on the Senate floor, it was a divorce decree in the mail.
And through it all, from my earliest memory to my last moment alive as a human, was the nagging, disturbing feeling of being born in the wrong body and wanting desperately to be able to do something about it. Puberty was a special form of Hell. On the one hand it meant I was growing up, and soon I’d be able to make my own decisions rather than have the committee of my parents, step-parent, the courts, and whatever state-appointed-rep-of-the-week wanted to choose for me this week. On the other hand, instead of swelling breasts and thighs and getting to talk about make-up and boys and what other girls were wearing, I watched in somewhat muted horror as hair sprouted in places I didn’t want it to and had to fake interest in “guy” things just to survive high school.
And once my “male” identity had been established by the time I was in college, I met the woman who’d steal my heart and give me a daughter. By this point, I knew I was thoroughly committed, and I was between a rock and a hard place: Embrace my femininity and lose my wife and possibly my daughter, or remain terminally miserable pretending to be someone I really wasn’t to keep the relationship going.
Once the divorce was complete, I started making plans to transition, but there was always that niggling fear that once I started down that path, I’d lose any chance of reconciliation with my ex-wife. Those fears kept the transition in the “planning” stage, and any move out of that stage got delayed again and again.
And now, I was dead. Sure, I was female, but my worst fears were manifest; I’d never see my wife and daughter again.
Can someone say, “Faustian bargain?”
No, not Lauren Faust.
Read a book!
The point being that I had so much ammunition for anger that tantrums were inevitable. Everyone knows what tantrums in toddlers looks like, complete with the flailing of limbs, the screeching howls, and the tears and snot on the faces. The challenge for Chrysalis was that she was expecting a toddler. Not a 40-year old.
40-year olds don’t flail about uncontrollably, though there may be screaming, it will not be wild and banshee-like. More likely there will be gritting of teeth, carried grudges, and physical symptoms as the mind and body desperately try to find an outlet for the bottled anger.
In my human life I carried my anger and tension in my back, and that seemed to continue into this changeling life. After a couple of weeks of gritting my teeth so hard I got cramps in my jaw muscles (NOT fun when you have a carapace), I woke up one day to find my right wing-pair jutting out at an odd angle and a knot in my back the size of a bowling ball (or at least it felt that big)
The trips to the caretakers only increased. I did find out they were absolute master-crafts-lings at massage, even through carapace. Momma Chrysalis was starting to notice when something was pissing me off; she just watched for my wings. When the right one started to lift off my back, it was time for a trip down to the caretakers. While one was working out the tension in my back, Chrysalis would be talking with the another. At first, she would be quietly, though urgently begging for information. I recognized the tone and the emotions that come from a parent who’s concerned for their child, knows something is wrong, but is clueless as to what to do about it. After a couple of weeks of ever increasing trips to the caretakers, both in frequency and duration, the single caretaker and calm tones grew to a small counsel and shouted, harsh words.
That particular scenario came to a head, as it inevitably would. My back was hurting so badly I could barely walk, my right foreleg curled up against my barrel and wing canted out. Chrysalis was stomping in circles around a cluster of caretakers, practically shaking the stalactites in the room loose with her angry shouting as the one working on my back was trembling so badly that she was barely doing anything for me.
I sighed, waved the poor caretaker away so I could move freely, and hopped off the heated stone that served as a clinical bed. I limped over to “mom,” by the time I reached her the whole room had stopped and was watching me. I stopped in front of her, established eye contact and waited. She looked down on me curiously, then tentatively picked me up. I waited until she brought me eye level, then reached out with a hoof…
...and smacked her on the snout.
The caretakers gasped in shock, one fainting dead away. Chrysalis let out a vocalization that I took to be the ‘ling equivalent of “Ow!” The caretakers needn’t have worried, the emotions from “mom” were closer to surprise than anything else, completely shutting off the over-bleed of anger she had just a moment ago.
“Look, mom,” I said, fully aware I may as well have been speaking Pig Latin in Farsi with a Urdu dialect, “It’s not their fault, it’s not yours. They are the only ones able to make my back not feel like a thousand tiny needles are stabbing me, and you’re making it so they can’t do that. Now stop taking it out on them.” With that, I squirmed out of her grasp and fell to the floor, only barely managing the cat-like turn that landed me on my feet.
Another of the caretakers fainted dead away at that.
I limped my way back to the heated stone bed, scrambled my way back up, and waved at the caretaker who’d been working on my back to return to her work.
The caretaker looked nervously between me and the Queen a couple of times before Chrysalis barked out a single laugh. Shaking her head and chuckling, she simply left the infirmary.
-~<^>~-
I knew it was only going to get worse, and it did. My back muscles cramping up on me peaked out at the “walk with a limp” stage, and only ever got that severe every so often. The anger that fueled the cramping, though. was consistently bubbling just under the surface. After all, even the best lived life will result in regrets, and I’d lives far from the best life. I had so many regrets, and being stuck on the other side of the deadline to address those regrets only served to make them all the more raw. My inability to communicate any of them to anyone compounded things.
There’s no feeling quite as dark as feeling alone.
As far as communication went, I was starting to pick up some of the spoken language. Just basic concepts, and if I had been in a better frame of mind, I might have felt rather proud of myself for picking up language nearly 60% faster than the average human child. Each new word and concept I learned in the changeling tongue only drove home how far I had to go, rubbing even more salt in that particular wound.
As with any pressurized system where the pressure only increases, I suppose the eruption was inevitable.
I was limping my way to the caretakers, ahead of Chrysalis by at least a few dozen feet (or should I say “hooves?” Note to self: Find out what the standard for measurement is) and was in the nursery section of the hive when I tripped. I suppose I simply wasn’t watching where I was going, but whatever the reason a simple trip was apparently enough to blow the cap I’d kept on my anger. I whipped around, doing a 180 so fast I’m sure that wherever she was Rainbow Dash was jealous and didn’t know why, only to come face to face with a grub.
I’d tripped on a larval changeling. I knew the look on my face was one of absolute rage, because the poor thing looked terrified.
Back when my wife and I were still together, when our daughter was large enough to be wiggly but small enough she wasn’t quite a toddler, we were getting her ready to go to the only professional photoshoot that was ever done of the three of us together. At different times before and after we’d have our photos done by a pro, but none of them ever would include all of us again. My wife and I were holding our daughter, I was holding her back and legs and my wife was adjusting her dress and supporting her head, when Freya just...juked. All of a sudden, she heaved her hips so hard it was like she leapt out of our hands. It was nobody’s fault, and given that we both had hands on our daughter, we never did figure out why it was even able to happen.
There’s moments in a parent’s life when they are absolutely powerless when something bad happens to their children. I hope that you never have to experience the horrible, meaty smacking sound followed by the dull thud of an infant child bouncing off a coffee table and onto a hardwood floor. In that moment I think both my wife and I were positive we’d just killed our only child. The impact was so great it stunned Freya for a few seconds, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to hear a child crying at the top of their lungs in pain. It meant she was alive. The relief was bitter-sweet, of course. Our daughter just experienced a pretty nasty fall. I still remember the exact look on Freya’s face when we were looking her over, trying to find any hint of lasting injury. I was checking my daughter’s eyes for possible concussion while my wife was on the phone with a nurse friend of hers to find out what we should do next. The look of pure terror, seeing her father not as a protector and shield but as a source of this extreme level of pain she’d never before received will be forever burned into my mind.
That’s what I saw on that larval changeling’s face in that moment.
I ran. I almost wasn’t paying attention to where I was running to, just that I was attempting to get away from contact with anyone. Once again, the hivemind came through, and before long I found myself in the deepest, darkest part of the hive. Even to my changeling eyes it was dark, almost oppressively so. With little heat to create even infrared light, the tunnel I was in was as dark and lonely as any place I’d encountered since being hatched. Even the hivemind was significantly muted this far down, the layers of rock and soil between me and the rest of the hive acting as a natural insulator.
Heaving, but not nearly out of breath, I skidded to a stop and glared around. Only the occasional dig marking marred the walls, indicating this was a discovered tunnel, not dug. Meaning I wasn’t going to be encountering anyone else.
Good.
I pulled in a deep breath, and screamed. This wasn’t the kind of shouting you do when you’re hollering across a room at someone, you don’t do this yelling at a sports game when your favorite team is scoring points, “high-volume debates” have nothing on this.
Women giving birth are in the same class as this scream, as are soldiers about to die. Pure, white hot rage blasted out of my throat in waves of sound. That first scream even scared me a bit, I had almost forgotten that I was in a changeling body, turns out the shifted, buzzing sound that is produced when speaking words is an artifact of a truly frightening set of vocal chords. There were what sounded like no less than three distinct tones coming out of me, each at three different pitches. The lowest almost sounded like my human male voice prior to my death, the highest slammed into the upper ranges of what living creatures could hear, and the middle one was what I’d become accustomed to hearing when I spoke since hatching.
Were I in a more lucid state of mind, I might have been fascinated by the triple-voice and started experimenting. At that moment, however, it was yet another reminder of my situation, and it merely prompted another scream. I howled for so long I started seeing stars from not taking in enough oxygen.
Panting and sobbing, tears of frustration running down my muzzle, I half-collapsed to the cave floor. I heard a set of hoofsteps approaching, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to care who it was…
...right up to the moment they put their hoof gently on my shoulder. Growling, I spun around and started, well, slapping the offending hoof. It wasn’t dignified, it wasn’t controlled or measured or anything resembling anything other than purely emotional flailing.
Dimly I was aware that the victim of my ineffectual slapping was Chrysalis, and I also recognized in a somewhat detached way that she had a sad, patient expression on her face and that the emotions she was feeding me were entirely about love and comfort.
The part of me that was slapping at her didn’t care about that, and was firmly in control at that moment, “Stop it!” I yowled at her, “Stop trying to be my mom! Stop trying to comfort me, nobody can…” a strangled sob interrupted my rant, “NOBODY can help me! I’m stuck, I’ll never see my wife and daughter ever again! Even when she was being a total bitch to me I at least knew I’d see her, have her in my life in some capacity! Now I won’t, and I don’t know WHY!” I clutched her hoof, my energy running low after the high emotions I’d been letting loose.
“Crystal…” said, Chrysalis. I didn’t notice it at the time.
“...and my daughter...God, I miss my daughter so much. I know what kind of special hell you’re going through because I know what it feels like to have a daughter and not be able to help her!”
“Crystal Amber…” soothed Chrysalis again. Again, I pretty much missed what she was saying.
“And the worst part is I know things! I know things that are so good and valuable and helpful, and it’s all TRAPPED IN MY HEAD because I can’t speak Changeling…”
Before I could continue, ‘mom’ swept me up so I was being held directly in front of her face. She paused only long enough to be sure she had my undivided attention, “Chrystal Amber, you are speaking our language!” Her voice was stern, but she had that tiny upturned corner of the mouth that parents get when they’re endlessly amused by the behavior of their children, even if said child is in the midst of what is clearly a challenging event.
My only response was to blink at her. I simply stared at her while my brain caught up to the rampant emotions that had finally gotten some release. Once it had, I said, “Oh...how…?”
Chrysalis chuckled and settled me into a cradling hold, “I was starting to wonder when you’d allow the hive mind in fully. Once you did, you receive full access to every language we as a race have ever encountered.” she ‘booped’ my nose with a chuckle, “But it doesn’t work with written words, don’t think I didn’t catch you trying to read.”
I could feel the tears drying on my muzzle, I wiped them off as I processed her words, “Wait, so I know Changeling...does that mean you know English?”
She appeared to ponder my words for a moment, then responded in English, “Indeed, though only what you were able to bring into the hive mind.”
Speaking of the hive mind, I noticed that where before it was the jumbled noise like a million radios all blaring a different station at once, now it was like a computer network. Every node was busy and chattering away, but only in specific, highly organized paths that I had full Admin access to.
A few deep shuddering breaths later, and I was starting to feel very fatigued. “So I guess you have some questions…?”
“Quite a few, but they can wait. I think you need a nap after that, you are a growing queen, after all.” She smiled down at me as she moved me to her back. She started trotting back to the hive proper.
“Any chance we could stop by for another massage real quick? My back still hurts.”
She chuckled, “Of course, my princess. I had some business with the caretakers as well.”
I nodded, then asked, “So, you named me Crystal Amber?”
She cast an amused glance over her shoulder, “Mm-hmm,” she replied with a nod.
We trotted in silence for a bit, only interrupted when I said, “I like it.”
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MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
"In equesteria"
Well my little pony y...
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
What in the name of equis was that Celestia.
That was a brony screaming for more chapters.
Hahahhahah that ending made me laugh I don't know why tho
You, good sir, deserve a follow
Ohhh. Well now this is about to get all kinds of interesting.
7953977 more please
I admire the strength it must have took you to write this, you're a good author.
In response to the annotation at the top of chapter 4 - Anger
Don't feel rushed to release new chapters if you're struggling with your emotions. I'd rather you be happy and have delayed chapter releases over you struggling with your emotions and not being happy.
Good chapter. Emotions allowing the character to progress is something I see often in these types of fics, but you've done it better than most. I eagerly await the next chapter whenever it may come!
"lived"
While this chapter was difficult for you, and I am sorry for that, I can't help but be put off by the angst. Maybe it is cause I cannot relate or it is a reminder of how 'angsty' all the other self-inserts I have read have been; it just felt weak too me. The protagonist seems like the ultimate smoothie of "I hate my life". Combined with the hive mind being the typical instant gain of knowledge I have seen far too often, this was not a good chapter for me. It looks like other people have enjoyed it and I will keep reading since I am hoping for something new, an odd twist, and/or a situation handled differently.
Keep writing, just ask if you want me to explain something, and see you next chapter.
... so at twenty years old he had already married twice...
and he wonders WHY his life was in pieces?
Well damn this is a good stuff.
You definitely should give "moonponi" a medal for the first comment.
Without it? I would walk past this story with no regrets.
With it? Considered, done reading, liked, faved, tracking.
I'll advise doing something with your presentation of story description. Because it somehow just screamed at me that "here there be bad fic".
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I'll have to find some way to clarify that, it was my parents, then my dad and step-mom that got divorced. My own divorce was only a couple of years ago.
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I caught your comment at the last minute before posting Chap. 4. :) Chap. 5 and 6 are going to have more in-depth conversations with Chrysalis and more on her P.O.V. As for other/side stories, I've got three "books" mentally mapped out for this, I'm sticking with first-person P.O.V. for book 1. Other people's perspectives will come in during books 2 and 3.
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While I appreciate the sentiments, I without a doubt would never have completed this chapter had I not pushed myself to do so. I'm not even terribly satisfied with what I've got up for it, but there's a point where you just have to say, "f**k it" and pull the trigger (so to speak); I'd actually sat on this one for nearly two days, one pause halfway through to get my head on straight (there were about six paragraphs that I completely axed because they just weren't working) and one after I finished the last line where I just kept re-reading the thing trying to improve it or find another way to finish it.
I have a whole new appreciation for authors and scriptwriters who have heavy emotional scenes in their works, now.
7955761
Hang in there just a little longer.
I'm doing a "stages of grief" thing here, and once I'm through that the narrative will by necessity be more upbeat.
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vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/mlp/images/6/62/Rarity_blushing_EG.png/revision/20130725172446
They love my work!!! Thank you, thank you!
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Well OK, then.
There's not a whole lot I can write for that yet that wouldn't be a Spoilery-McSpoiler. When I have enough written, I'll adjust the short description.
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At the request of MkktBkkt, this is for you:
s20.postimg.org/q0qw15jct/The_Influencer_Badge.png
You've now broken the usual trope of "I must conceal my true situation from everyone at all cost, and most especially from anyone who might be able to help me!" I am happy to not see that re-hashed.
Ouch, well, best of luck with your life.
Great chapter, I'm so glad that they can finally understand each other. The next few chapters should be really interesting.
'talking with the another' - remove the or replace another with other.
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Isn't trying to appear normal a good idea?
This is awesome. Hopefully Crystal Amber will talk some sense into Chrysalis so that the Invasion of Canterlot might not happen; there should be a few things she could do to help so things might not even get to that desperate point.
Even when characters are not 'true' self inserts, I believe every author portrays a bit of their own person in each character. What is more, when forcibly trying to distance the author from the character, you end with the author's perception of another person if it goes well, and a copy of the template of some fiction if it goes bad. The art, I think, is balancing the influences and experiences (pondering their quality) and sprinkling the singularities named originality.
I don't mind the tired trope, if it is well developed. Perhaps I'm biased to being supportive, but does it really matter?
Kudos
Yay!
A name and a break for Crystal Amber! I'm looking forward to the next chapter!
It's interesting so far. I look forward to more chapters.
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Your going to have to give an example mate. I'm not sure what you mean. All writers struggle with portraying their characters the way they want them. And what's the problem with minor self inserts into the character? Your right in that there's always just a little bit of the author in them because they can only write situations and reaction to how they think the character will react. I myself run into this issue and can only logic out how an angry or boastful character will react. Also how can you really tell? Do you know the author that well? This is a first person story (so far) of an OC it'd be easy to make the mistake of putting yourself into it.
Are you saying his/her writing is bad? If so give an example. Tell him how to fix it. Give him something other than "this isn't my cup of tea". Because I see nothing grammatically wrong with the story and it the content flows well so far.
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I did not say this story was bad, rather it was a kind of appreciation for the author, because of his open admission of being a self insert. And what I said: it's a kind of silly rhetoric; that is, one can only write about what one has perceived, by experience or because one processed what someone has foretold (and filling the gaps with our own pieces).
It's just there are better and worse ways. This one I think is fairly good.
In short, I said nothing, but with the purpose of being mildly supportive.
I think logic is predated by language, and language is built in our context. Thus, even if our arguments might be sound, the approach is largely determined by context. I mentioned the two extremes, but there is only grey in reality.
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Hmm maybe I've read too many negative comments and when I read yours it came off as empty complaining. Sorry about that, and I agree whole heatedly.
Huh. A whole lot of how you act is foreign to me. I don't clench when I get angry, I remain calm. Sure I don't feel comfortable in my body, but I've never been able to give enough of a fuck for it to bother me. Never did things to affirm "masculinity" or "femininity", I just did whatever the fuck I felt like doing. I had nothing to prove to the world. Those trying to peer pressure me into doing what I didn't want to could go eat a bag of dicks for all I care.
7962585 Both, of course!
I even owned the smaller version of the fully articulated lions set. Managed to hang on to the blue lion for over a decade before it disappeared into the mists of time.
Not bad, I'm looking forward to the next chapter.
Any idea when we will see it?
Also,
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Da fauq?
7968581 Working on it later today, actually. :)
THIS STORY IS GOLD!!!!
I was going to comment about your character but seeing as this is a self-insert, it would be kind of awkward.
I rarely comment.
This chapter is a great emotional Rollercoaster. Not sure if that word fits, but there is a lot of ups and downs, wich is good. I like it.
The emotion in this chapter was amazing!
this my Total Words: 32,773,293,
i read A lot of Books
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had to look up my total word count on fimfiction at that.
total word count: 97,041,853
....holy crap
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My word count... 45,509,100 I read more than a lot... We are all readers
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How do you check that?
Even if I know this probably happens more often than I think, it is kind of suprising to see how many people have that kind of problem when I'm reading a story from them. Well I hope everything went kind of well enough for you.
Not sure how much I'm going to like that if they should have that "suddenly I got knowledge about an alien species cheat option. How much do they know about him?
Strange and I hoped she would blow their mind much later and not like this again,....however Chrysalis was pretty cool about it and I might like it.
Isn't that what I'm doing? 😋
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No you fool your reading a fimfic!
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How do you check that?
I know how you feel sir, while I never had it as bad as you did I expirecned divorce between my parents and the betrayal of my mother. So I can greatly sympathize with some of the things you went thru.
I truly hope things get better for you good sir.
OH MY GOD that was great I laughed so hard I had a coughing fit and tear's in my eyes
ugh. this reminded me of a terrible book i made the mistake of reading part of: "a child called IT", by Dave Pelzer.
Oh. Hm. Awkward.
And we have sync! Excellent!
The comparison to radios is actually not far at all to the truth. Listening to things like WiFi sounds really dumb until you've synced, and only then can you start decoding stuff. Until then? Noise and meaningless drivel.
Loneliness is definitely a quiet killer...
Damn tough start for both of em... Now it can only get better
I am reading a book.
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Be it a digital book but still a book nonetheless
That description of her emotions hit really close to home.
O hey, Chrysalis daughter is a alien in a Changeling body... She takes it remakable well...