Title:           Crippled in Equestria - Introduction
Author:          Violation
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/HXk3rvT0
First Edit:      Thursday 5th of July 2012 05:16:51 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Thursday 5th of July 2012 05:16:51 AM CDT

>You are Anonymous
>Six years ago your overly religious father went batshit crazy and killed your sister, mom, and himself.
>You were "lucky" enough that his bullet for you caught you slightly above the knee when you dove out of the way.
>And "lucky" enough that he slit your throat before blowing his own brains out.
>And "lucky" enough to be saved in the nick of time by paramedics.
>You salvaged the family business, taking it over after being released from the hospital.
>Every day you are wracked by pain from your damn leg, vicodin quickly became a close friend
>More and more you feel tired and sick all the time, and it isn't because you're a crippled, drug-addicted, friendless piece of shit
>You remember the doctor's speech well
>"Anonymous, I'm sorry but..."
>Cancer.
>Fuck God.  Fuck fate.  Fuck destiny.  You hit every branch falling out of the shitty life tree.  Fuck this gay earth.
>He said you had six months.
>Two years ago.
 
 
>You were nothing if not a tough, grizzled bastard.
>At least the doctor turned a blind eye and signed off on giving you lots of painkillers.  Might as well die happy, right?
>Happy, yeah, that's what you are.
>Your teeth clinch, pain lances up your leg as you reach for the top shelf of your medicine cabinet.
>A neat row of pills lines the marble counter.  This is your entire stash.
>You had a few run-ins at the hospital where you had OD'd in the past, and you were constantly warned that if you kept it up, you'd die.
>You were dying anyway.
>You're comfortable with that, though.  You might be dying a bit more each day, but, so was everyone else.
>You wanted it done with.
>You were tired of the pain all the time.
>At least this way was painless, and peaceful, and wasn't overly horrific to the unlucky fuck that found you.
>Fuck this gay earth.
 
 
>You spill the last of your stash on the counter and line up the pills neatly.
>No need to be uncivilized.
>You could still wipe your own ass, and cane your way to the corner store, better than some people.
>Your cane sat up against the counter, probably your best friend.
>Slick black, painted titanium, you'd had it custom made by a guy you knew in high school.  It was heavier than wood, but was worth every penny in the few fights people had tried to pick on the poor, helpless cripple.
>You'd named it Titan.  You were always a creative one.
>You hated that everyone saw the cane first.
>You hated that people always felt so sorry for you.
>You hated the fucking "arrow to the knee" jokes whenever you told people why you needed the damn thing.
>Fuck this gay earth.
 
 
>You thought about your life as you swallowed the first pill.
>You had been 18 when "it" happened, and before that had been mostly unremarkable.
>You had few friends, mostly because anyone you got close to was put off by your intense emotions.  Instead, you had many acquaintances that seemed to enjoy your "I don't care" attitude and unrustleable jimmies.
>You'd been with your high school sweetheart for two years before she dumped your crippled ass in the hospital bed.  At least the damn shrink had juicy shit to write on her notepads.
>Half done.
>The store you'd come to own was a flower shop.  Your mother had a thing for growing plants, and you'd learned to grow before first grade.
>You'd been teased about being a flower boy, but the same people ran back to your growing talents with special plants they wanted in high school.
>When everyone else died, you turned the store from an unremarkable piece of shit into a smashing success.  Despite being a crippled fuck you'd increased profits 40% in one year.  
>With no idea what to do with the money, no girlfriend, nothing, you spent most of it on improving the business itself and paying the ladies you hired well.
>The money more than kept them smiling, smiles were good for business.
>You had to let them go, though.  The shop wasn't going to reopen this season.
>Fuck this gay earth.
 
 
>Gulp.  Last one.  You had taken enough pills to kill half a dozen horses.
>This was the big power play of your life.
>You'd really only fallen into the flower shop business.  It wasn't challenging, people liked flowers if you presented the right ones at the right time.
>You looked at the white lily resting in a vase near you.  Your specialty.
>It was a damn pain in the ass to grow and make it look right, but people loved that shit.
>You could feel the painkillers begin their work on your body after about ten minutes.
>It was a familiar sensation: you dulled around the edges, feeling numb.
>All the body's normal aches evaporated.
>You blinked your eyes, they sharpened.
>The pain in your leg registered, but you were only aware of the pain being there.  
>It didn't hurt at all.
>Breathing became a bit shallower.
>Fingers slipped a bit on the counter.
>It was close now.
>You sit on the tiled floor, the nausea had started.
>The giddiness of the pills set in, and you smiled brightly.
>The smile convinced everyone you were happy all the time.
>You were just stoned.
>You weren't happy.
>It was just make believe.
>Your entire life was about seeing people buy something that would die in a short while, be thrown away, and forgotten.
>The metaphor never eluded you.
>You had no family.
>No friends.
>Your co-workers had moved on to new jobs.
>No one would be hurt by your passing.
>And that was your moment of power.  
>Cancer wouldn't take that from you too.  
>You were finally in control of the most important aspect of your life.
>Its end.
>You felt tired.
>You'll just sleep for a little while.
>You grabbed Titan, hugging it close.
>Just a little while...
>Just a little...
>Just...
 
 
>Sunshine.
>Cold.
>THUM.
>Birds.
>A soft breeze.
>THUMTHUM.
>Wildflowers.
>Grass.
>THUMTHUM, THUMTHUM.
>Your eyes bolt open.
"No..."
>A lance of pain screams up your leg, causing you to grimace.
>Your old friend.
>Stirring, you try to move.
>More pain.
>Looking around, the bathroom is a mess.  Sunshine floods through the torn blinds.
>Everything is strewn around you on the floor.
>Groaning and picking yourself up, you grab your cane and haul yourself painfully to your feet.
>The mirror is smashed.
>Weird, you didn't normally rage out after taking...
>...your pills.
"No... no."
>This wasn't right.  You checked the toilet, the tiled floor.  No vomit.
>This was more than double what you'd taken the last time you tried.
>No assholes had saved you from death this time.
>Frantic, you swing open the door.
>A grassy field filled with wildflowers spreads out where your upstairs hallway should be.
>Vicodin doesn't cause vivid hallucinations in your experience.
>You turn around, stepping over the cracked tiled floor to the window.
>The glass is broken, the same field flows beyond and ends in a forest.
"No... no... no."