>Every now and then, a few bubbles will pop up on the surface of the water.
>The temperature is slowly getting where ti needs to be.
>In the meantime, chopping of the veggies is being tended to.
>There isn’t much to this, it’s just a simple pasta recipe found in the library.
>Something like this is fitting for lonely ponies like yourself, though.
>Can’t help but sigh solemnly at that thought.
>It’s just another night all alone, like you always are.
>For whatever reason, fate decided that this was a deserving punishment for you.
>Must be because you were an awful pony in the previous life.
>That’s further worsened by the fact you are horrible in this current life.
>Pushing others away through your lies, doing those horrible acts to yourself, it’s no wonder.
>There is nothing normal about you in the slightest; your ugly coat, your disgusting blue mane and tail, or even your cutie mark.
>Just a stupid, lonely, ugly mare that-
“Ow!”
>The knife drops from your grasp with a clatter, and you withdraw your hoof in a flash.
>Blood slowly trickles out of the fresh wound as you look at it.
>Wonderful job, freak, you cut yourself, again.
>It’s as not as if you didn’t deserve it, the price had to be paid eventually.
>After all, you’re pathetic, Paper Cut.
>You let out a hiss between clenched teeth while running water over your injured hoof.
>Cleaning these wounds up has become second nature, borderline the same as breathing and walking.
>Next time you’re cutting veggies, actually pay attention.
>Because otherwise the next cut could be far worse.
>Doubt you have the guts to end it all, but maybe you’d end up the hospital.
>That would just make you an attention whore, wouldn’t it?
>Ignoring that thought, you bandage up your hoof and return to cooking.
>At least the veggies are taken care off, just need to saute them until they’re tender.
>This is so simple that even an idiot like you could do it.
>Mom always used to say that you had low self-esteem.

>Dad said it was because you wanted attention.
>Both participated in screaming matches seemingly everyday.
>Despite mom’s constant reassurance that things would work out, dad was right in the end.
>You have to pause a moment to tend to the building pressure behind your eyes.
>Don’t cry, crying never solved anything.
>Find it hard to not give in when the pain inside wages war on a daily basis.
>Perhaps if there were some pony else in your life, this plague would be easier to bear.
>Such a stupid silly idea, shouldn’t be giving yourself hope.
>It never ends well if you do, it’s always dashed apart ruthlessly at some point.
>Usually with disastrous results.
>A quick glance over the pot shows the water in a gentle boil, so you add the noodles to it.
>Now comes the fun part; splitting your attention between cooking and fighting with yourself.
>Never cooked something like this before, so it’s kind of exciting in a way.
>It certainly smells good, that’s for sure.
>The light of the matchstick inside glows bright enough to curl the corners of your mouth upwards.
“I just have to hold out, that’s all.”
>Holding out, is that what you call this?
“No, I-”
>Don’t be foolish, you could /never/ hold out for anything.
“Yes I have.”
>Oh really, then why has no stallion even given you the time of day, hmm?
“That’s different.”
>Different, different how? You’re ‘supposedly’ holding out for a stallion to sweep you off your hooves.
“I-I-”
>It’s the truth, that’s what it is.
>Fighting against it is the most pathetic thing one could do, especially you.
>Your bottom lip quivers as you try to fight against breaking down.
>The urge is so strong, so persistent.
>You squeeze your eyes shut, and breath in deeply, then release slowly.
>Have to do it a few times before having any semblance of control.
>Took a long time to be able to do just this small feat.
>Other ponies are so lucky to not have to struggle like this.

>They get to have happiness, friends, family; an actual sense of belonging.
>Then there’s you, sorrow hidden away behind a mask of lies.
>Life has always been this way, no matter what you do.
>Shouldn’t dwell on this, focus on cooking.
>The veggies are tender enough for the sauce and seasonings, to which you add them in.
>Mom taught you a great deal about cooking, she was so insightful.
>It felt like she somehow knew everything in the world, with all of the answers to every question you had.
>Things weren’t always great, especially when she was left alone to raise, but you two made the most of it.
>Dad is… well, rather not give him another thought.
>Learned that the pain inside isn’t as bad when you don’t dwell on the past.
>Experience taught you that much.
>Unfortunately, it came at the price of horrific scars that adorn your entire being.
>Never have heard or read of some pony anywhere near as bad as you before.
>Suppose it’s like how cutie marks are wholly unique to each and every pony.
>Makes some sense when you think about it.
>Though if there are any ponies remotely like yourself, they must have either died or hide way.
>Then again, they could just not exist at all.
>Any option is unpleasant.
>Shaking your head, you focus on the skillet in front of you.
>Rather not have your food burn because you were being so careless.
>Good timing too, it’s just started to boil.
>You turn the heat down to a simmer, and cover it.
>The noodles themselves are nearly finished, so you devote your attention to them.
>This would be a whole lot easier if you were a unicorn.
>Nothing can be done about that, you are – and always will be – a useless earth pony.
>Certainly feel useless most of the time, especially since you lack any of the typical feats they possess.
>Don’t have any great strength, pretty weak overall.
>Don’t have any stamina, so running is out of the question.
>Nor do you have any ties to the earth itself.

>All you have is the ability to fold paper into various shapes, that’s all.
>Again, useless.
>Turning off the heat, you drain the noodles and wait for the sauce to finish.
>Not like you’re in any rush, nowhere near close to starving.
>Although it’s true you’re not fat, you’re not skinny either, nor are you average.
>Just a gross in-between body shape.
>Your eyes drift to your bandaged hoof, then slowly from there, to the other scars that mark your body.
>There’s been so many made over the years.
>Some of which have faded away, some are nigh invisible to the naked eye.
>The rest however… find it difficult to make up excuses if any pony ever asks about them.
>Sure, the smaller ones are easily waved off as an accidental paper cut.
>The larger ones, though, those can’t be easily explained away.
>As a result, ponies talk about your scars behind your back.
>It’s not a paranoia either, because you’ve quite literally heard them, even if they think they’re out of earshot.
>That too, is apart of your miserable existence, just another thing to accept.
>A stray tear crawls down your cheek.
“N-no, not yet… come on.”
>You sigh deeply, and attempt to breath calmly.
>Gotta keep it together, at least for a little longer.
>There will be plenty of time later for the pain, but right now, you need to stay in control.
>Breathing in/out, it takes some effort, but you manage to concentrate just enough.
>The sauce is finished, and you start putting together a plate.
>Upon completion, a small genuine smile flickers to life on your face.
“I made this, and actually… it looks good.”
>You say a silent prayer to the diarchy just like mom used to do, and start to eat.
>Surprisingly, the food is just as good as it looks.
>Certainly no chef, but these little surprises are a wonder to have.
>Would’ve been nice if cooking was your talent, but life isn’t fair, that much is clear.
>Nothing more is said as you eat in silence for a time, with loneliness as your company.

>It’s always been here, as a friend/tormentor of sorts.
>Grown to accept it for it is.
>You manage to eat a couple plate’s worth of food before feeling full.
“Not half bad, Paper, not half bad at all.”
>A rare giggle escapes from your mouth, though you follow it up with shaking your head afterwords.
“I maybe have managed this, but I can’t let it go to my head, least it give me silly thoughts.”
>You utter a low sigh, and put away the leftovers.
>From there, you retreat to the living room.
>There isn’t much to do this evening, nothing important anyways.
>Could always read a book.
>If that doesn’t work out, then making some origami certainly will.
>Just prefer getting lost in a fantasy for the time being.
>You pick out a particular book you started sometime ago, and find where you left off.
>The plot is fairly simple, yet, surprising at times.
>It’s about a young mare who leaves her small village to the big city to become famous.
>She has to work hard to find her way in the world, with her struggles being somewhat relatable.
>Although she doesn’t do the ‘habit’ that you do, she’s still fairly lonely.
>Her job as a waitress is seemingly empty, much like your attempts to teach at the school part-time, as well as trying – and failing – to sell your origami at the market.
>As you go continue to read, something starts to crack inside.
>It’s similar to the sound of rocks crumbling away.
>Vision grows misty the more time that passes.
>You attempt to blink or wipe it away, so desperate to resist the coming storm.
>In the end however, a cry of agony is whimpered out.
>The book tumbles from your grasp to the floor with a thud, and finally, sobbing mess is what you turn into.
>Every word said behind your back, and to your face; the ever present beast of misery that consumes your being, and the failures of your life assaults you relentlessly.
>The wailing of a mess of a pony echoes throughout the small home, occasionally accompanied by screams.

“It-it’s unfair! Why… why d-do I have to *sob* suffer like this?! WHY?!”
>Like every time before, the things you call your insides are hollowed out little by little.
>But after everything today, you are still a pathetic excuse for a pony.
>Never, ever, forget that, Paper Cut.
>As your pain dies down, you curl up into a ball on the couch.
>Small shaky breathes, sometimes hiccups too, are released.
>Without a second thought, you squeeze your bandaged hoof.
>Pain is the reward for such action, and forces you to clench your teeth with a sharp hiss.
“I deserve this… I de-deserve this… I deserve… this…”
>Tears dry away over the course of the scene, yet the want to release more remains strong.
>It’s further worsened by the darkening bandage as it’s squeezed.
>Before it turns too red, you finally relent with a minor sigh of relief.
>As it all dies down, so too do you.
>For a time, you lay here on the couch, feeling less of a mare then you did before.
>Autopilot takes hold as you limp off to the medicine cabinet to change out the bandage.
>Despite having gone through this, you’re still here, still alive, still suffering.
>But tomorrow, next week, next month, on and on, it will continue like much this.
>Never ending, ever.