>You are Fluttershy.
>And you have to-
>You bury your face in the pale beside you and release the floodgates.
>You wretch into the bucket, trying to do so quietly…not to wake Anonymous.
>Your insides are on fire; you have to poop and throw up.
>Your nose is running profusely and you feel like there’s ice pumping through your veins.
>You want to cry and scream while pulling your hair out.
>But Anonymous is next to you…
>Hunger is setting in. You haven’t eaten in a few days.
>You sit on the bed and try to rise to your hooves.
>Everything is so wobbly, the room is spinning a million miles per second.
>Before you know it, you plop back onto your mattress.
O-oh my…
>You hold your pounding head.
>Maybe Anonymous can think of something. He got all of those things…surely one of them can help.
>But…he’s asleep. You just couldn’t wake him up.
>The guilt would be too much. He’s been acting friendly lately.
>Well, ever since he found you strung out of flowers.
>This is what you wanted after all, isn’t it?
>Well…yes, but...Anonymous seems to be doing it because of guilt.
>You feel torn between yourself. You’re hurting Anonymous, but you like that he’s caring.
>But this isn’t the way to get attention.
>Thinking about this now is too much for you right now.
>You lie back down in your bed and drift off to sleep…remembering how you got here.
>It was after you took your first lick of the white plant juice…
>You woke up the next morning…or, in the afternoon.
>You were confused as to why you slept so long. You must have just been really tired.
>When it was time to get out of bed, you noticed your legs were a little wobbly.
>You gave Angel his food, only after spilling it everywhere.
>Lately you noticed you’ve been a little clumsy…
>You really didn’t feel like going outside today.
>Or the next day.
>Or even the day after that.
>You just sort of lay around…wanting to feel like you did a few nights ago: special. At peace. Warm.
>Happy.
>Angel finally goes outside to search for food.
>Normally you’d care, but depression is hanging over you like a dark cloud.
>You look at him in the back yard out of the window.
>He’s prodding at the dead flower you stomped a few nights ago.
>You run outside,
Angel! Leave that alone!
>You block his reach and tap him with your hoof.
>Well…you meant to at least.
>Angel’s frail body flies across the garden and lands on the ground in a cloud of dust.
>The guilt is overwhelming.
>With a bawl, you rush over to him.
A-Angel?
>He’s unresponsive.
>His leg is twitching.
>you hang your head and cry silently.
Momma’s sorry…
>You walk back inside to the kitchen and pull open the drawer by the sink containing the silverware.
>The drawer is thrust open, and the large knife used to carve pumpkins on Nightmare Night slides to the front.
Well…
>No. You can’t do that.
>you sigh heavily to put your mind at ease.
I’ll just…do it really fast. I-It won’t hurt.
>Your hoof grips the handle and you bring the metal up to your wrist.
>The metal shows your reflection. Your eyes are red from crying and your lips are trembling.
Anonymous…
>You want him here. You want him to hold you.
>To stop you.
>The knife’s edge is placed on your wrist, right against your veins.
>You could do it. You could die right now and nobody would even know.
>Or care.
>You…you can’t. Not yet.
>You drop the knife on the floor, its point sticks into the hardwood flooring nearly missing your hoof.
O-oh…
>You look out the window again. Angel has run off…you don’t expect him to come back anytime soon.
>Might as well continue this.
>You walk over to the flowers again, looking at the one you destroyed.
>Maybe now they will destroy you.
>There are eight more in the ground.
>That should be enough to have some fun before you decide to vacate this world.
>You ripped the flowers from the earth and went inside.
>You promptly threw the bulbs into a bowl and crushed them.
>Opium latex filled the bowl.
>Last time it only took a little bit to make you sleepy…
M-maybe more will be better…
>You dip a spoon into the mash and scoop some up.
>You hold it to your lips.
>Do you really want this? To feel numb?
>Or is the pain of being alone in reality more painful?
N-no…there’s nobody here for me.
>You gulp down the bitter mixture, stifling your gags.
>You let out a cough; it’s very sticky and dry.
>The room spins. You feel your limbs lose focus as you plummet to the floor.
>You never feel the tiles connect with your face…you seem to fall endlessly for minutes.
>You didn’t even take the whole dosage…this will be enough to forget for now.
>Forget all about Anonymous.