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>Your eyes stare into the mirror above the sink, as you brace yourself for what you’re about to do.
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>Your rainbow mane is ruffled.
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>Your cyan coat has traces of snot and dried up tries.
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>But worse of all.
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>Your left wing is limp against your body.
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>Forced to flex, as it hangs lifelessly from it's socket.
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>No matter how long you stare at it, it doesn't make the task at hand any easier.
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>You fill your lungs with air, and hold it in.
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>Grabbing your wing between your hooves, you push with all your might.
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>A loud pop echos around the room, and the breath you held comes rushing out as a scream.
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>Fresh tears stream down your face.
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>The pain that followed such an act was beyond describable, but at least you can somewhat feel your wing now.
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>You are thankful that flyer school had taught you how to mend a broken wing in the field.
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>Your breath comes out ragged, your body is trembling, and vision is a word your mind can barely comprehend.
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>What feels like hours is actually mere moments.
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>You slowly open the cabinet, and reach for some bandages
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>Tentatively wrapping your limp appendage.
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>All you can do is hope that’s all it will need to heal properly.
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>Even if it heals you could never forget the sound it made when it was pulled from its socket.
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>That disgustingly loud pop that you are sure only your ears could hear.
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>The experience was made worst when the paralyzing pain that surged through your body afterwards.
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>All you could do was cradle yourself till the pain subsides, and that took hours before it even numbed a little bit.
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>Your mind started going over the past events, and the more you thought of it, the more you thought you deserved it.
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>Anon had every right to break your wing, to remind you not to make him angry.
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>You shouldn’t have dropped that plate while making dinner.
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>You shouldn’t have yelled back when he called you a clumsy, useless cunt.
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>Today at work made you forget your place.
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>A co-worker bailed making you stay far longer than you would like.
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>You were still agitated when you returned home, and you needed to vent
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>Fury consumed your thoughts.
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>Maybe some cloud glue on their route next time will show them.
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>You should of paid attention to how hot the plate was.
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>But you didn't.
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>The pain from holding a hot plate in your hooves caused you to drop it.
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>Spilling Anon's food all over the floor.
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>Anon looks up from his newspaper.
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>And the first thing he does is to insult you.
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>You were in no mood for that, so you insult him right back.
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>That caused him to raise from his seat, while he shouted more insults towards you.
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>Not backing down, you continued to shout back.
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>Apparently Anon had enough, as he started to walk towards you.
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>His hands balled into fists.
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>There was so many things you could have done in that instance.
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>But you weren't thinking straight, as you press your back against the oven, shouting at him for getting closer to you.
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>You waited to late to move out of the way.
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>Anon rushed you down, and maneuvered his body on top of yours.
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>His hands wrapped tightly against your wing, and then.
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>You shake your head, but it doesn't stop the sounds, nor the quick jolt of pain that runs through your wing.
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>Anon left you afterwards.
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>Saying that he was going to cool off somewhere.
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>Raising you head to look in the mirror.
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>Looking worse than when you walked in somehow.
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>You need to clean up.
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>You need to fix Anon a proper dinner.
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>You need to apologize to him, and beg for forgiveness.
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>Anon is a wonderful husband.
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>He provides for you, takes care of you, and even makes enough money so you don’t have to work full time anymore.
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>So long as you don’t make him mad your marriage was nothing but sunshine and rainbows.
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>With you wing fully wrapped in bandage, you give it a gentle flex, relived to see it moved slightly.
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>Now all you need to do is come up with lie that would appease your friends.
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>Hopefully they buy it just one more time.
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