PutP rewrite #1, incomplete. #2 will be on FimFiction

This is as far as I got with this before I left the threads. Since I went to FiMFiction and started writing prose, my standards have gotten higher, and this would never meet them. So I'm going to rerewrite this, and it's going to be better. Yaaaay.

 

>You've been in Equestria for around six years, now.

>You've been in prison for around five.

>It's unclear how you arrived.

>You don't know, and nobody was ever able to explain it.

>One thing was clear, though: Nobody wanted you there.

>In a way, you couldn't blame them.

>If a strange, alien creature appeared suddenly out of nowhere, you'd have trouble trusting it, too.

>It seems ponies are just like humans, when it comes down to it.

>You lived in a small town called Ponyville for the short time you were free.

>Eventually, you even managed to make a few friends.

>Twilight, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack.

>Rainbow Dash was always suspicious about you.

>And Rarity just never seemed to like you at all.

>For a while, things were peaceful, if pretty boring.

>Then, the murders happened.

>Three ponies you had never even met before turned up dead in Ponyville, and all eyes turned to you.

>There was no evidence to even place you at the scene of the crime, but that didn't matter to them.

>You were the outsider, the foreigner, the alien, the monster.

>Who else could it have been?

>Normally in these cases, the pony princess, Celestia, would use magic to read the mind of the accused to determine guilt.

>Somehow, however, you were unaffected by magic, and she was unable to see inside your head.

>Instead, they threw you into a cleary biased kangaroo court, and that was that.

>Life imprisonment, for crimes you didn't commit.

>The worst part of the process was your so-called friends didn't even testify.

>Nobody said a single word in your defense.

>Turns out the only friends you had in this world didn't trust you, either.

>And so here you are, in prison, for well over five years now.

>Laying on your undersized cot, staring up at the ceiling, you heard hoofsteps approach your cell.

>Glancing up, you see it's one of the friendlier guards.

>Friendly, here, meaning less likely you kick your legs out from under you for a laugh.

>"Hey, Anon. You have a visitor."

>You sigh and sit up, shaking your head.

"What, again?"

>"Yeah. Should I tell them you're not coming, again?"

>One Friday, about six months ago, you were told there was a visitor there to see you.

>Who could possibly be there to see you?

>And whoever they were, why would they wait five years to visit?

>So, you didn't see them.

>Fuck everyone; simple as that.

>But, next Friday, they told you there was another visitor, and again you said no.

>Sure as the tide, however, they were back next week.

>This went on and on for over half a year, and you're getting tired of it.

>Enough is enough, already.

>Might as well see what they want, so they'll leave you alone.

"No," you say, sitting up with a groan. "I'll see them."

"Really?" The guard looks surprised. "Alright, then. I'll tell them you'll be out soon. The others will get you prepared."

>Getting prepared involves tying your ankles together with a length of rope so you're unable to run, a ill-fitting straight jacket, and a custom made bite mask.

>Forced to walk in slow, jerky movements, you almost trip several times as you're lead down a maze of hallways.

>Finally reaching your destination, you stand before the double doors leading into the visitors room.

>There's a shrill buzz followed by a loud click, and the doors slowly swing open.

>In the room, there are a few other prisoners talking to visitors of their own.

>They all go silent and stare at you as you're lead inside the room.

>You take a seat at an empty bench, behind a scratched metal table, doing your best not to look around at the staring ponies.

>You must look like you'll go psycho any second, wearing this getup.

>The guard keeping tabs on you nods to the guard across the room.

>He, in turn, unlocks the security door.

>A mare you don't recognize trots through the door, and into the room.

>Her hair is a burnt orange color, and a fucshia mane.

>You're positive you've seen her before, but for the life of you, you can't remember where.

>Reaching the table you're seated at, she takes the empty stool across from you.

>She looks at you with soft, purple eyes, and smiles.

>"I'm glad you finally decided to see me, Anonymous."

>You're stunned as it finally hits you.

>That raspy, yet feminine voice, those colors...

"Scootaloo?"

>She gives a quick smirk.

>"What's the matter? Didn't recognize me?"

>You shook your head.

"Not at first. You've grown so much since I last saw you."

>And she had, too.

>She'd gone from the tiny filly you remembered and into quite the mare.

>Her tiny wings had bloomed to the correct size, and her mane was grown out.