Post-traumatic stress disorder – most often instigated after experiencing severe or intense psychological or emotional trauma, William recited the textbook definition over and over again in his head as he walked. His feet stumbled over the ground, and he couldn’t find the energy to lift them properly. Even if he could have, he was still too distracted to bother.

Because your father was a monster.

That is not how you show affection to somepony!

Ever seen a sunrise before, Squirt?

I DIDN’T WANT FOALS!

There’s a good boy.

William trudged wordlessly, his mind caught in a furious whirlwind. He felt… emptier, somehow. It was as if his heart were on the verge of twinging in pain, but he was simply too blank and barren to feel it. Perhaps a more accurate description would be that he was left feeling shocked, and hollow… and strangely cold.

It was such a stark contrast to the warm, sunny atmosphere around him as he plodded through the cheery bog. It just seemed so unfair, how happy and bright the world seemed when he felt so miserable.

I just want you to know that I love you, William.

Only my closest friends call me Scoots.

I didn’t want a son! I didn’t ASK for this!

You remind me so much of your father.

William stalked over the dirt for what felt like hours, eventually stumbling across a familiar weeping willow. It was the same one that he and Scootaloo had rested at previously, the cool shade presenting itself so openly for him.

He scowled bitterly at it, a hard lump beginning to form in his chest for reasons unknown. William kicked a rock at the tree, watching it bounce uselessly off of its rough bark. He stared out over the shimmering bog for a while, letting the sound of insects and wildlife fill his ears until the noise was nearly drowning out his thoughts. He honestly wished that they would, but his mind simply would not let him rest.

Once more, William found himself pacing down the empty path through the bog.

He collected a handful of rocks and stones along the way, slowly filling his hands with them to distract himself. Something, anything to take his mind off of previous thoughts. Thoughts so solid that they almost hurt him.

William paused in the middle of the path after a while, water creeping up the embankment on one side. He chucked a single rock out over the bog, attempting to make it skip; however, it only sank immediately instead of flying across the water. Much like his endeavors to distract himself, in some aspects.

Without warning, William began laughing hysterically.

His high pitched laughter filled the air, but it was an empty, dead laughter. High and cold, hollow and sharp. Still, his laughter rang out, muffled slightly as it was by the sheer emptiness of the bog.

“Shakespeare!” he cackled manically, clenching the stones in his fists so tightly that it made his fingers ache. “I’m living in a Shakespearean play! Come on, then!” he said a bit more loudly, turning his attention completely to the bog and holding his arms out to his sides.

“What are you waiting for?” he raised his voice a little more to no answer, flinging a rock hard and watching it promptly sink into the murky water. “Come on, then – where’s the comedic relief? Stick to the play’s structure, where’s the comedic relief?” William was shouting by this point, hurtling stone after stone into the bog, each one making a larger splash than the last as he chucked them harder and harder.

“What’s taking so long?!” William yelled angrily, his eyes beginning to sting painfully. “Draw the curtains – just let the show end already!” the plinking and plunking of rocks plunging into the water seemed so pitifully weak compared to just how hard he was throwing them, which only spurred him to throw them harder, until his hands and arms were burning.

“Come on!” he shouted until his voice began to go hoarse, throwing rock after rock after rock. “Is this just some kind of cruel joke? Is it supposed to be funny? Is it funny? Is it funny to you, God? Is it fucking funny?!” William screamed, pebbles slipping from his fingers and crashing to the ground just before his knees did, his voice cracking and giving out as he fell. He choked back the simpering cry, his raw red hands clenching and unclenching empty air.

“God,” William breathed shakily, the desolation of the bog his only reply. “Mother Mary, Jesus, Discord. Somebody. Somepony. Please. Please. Please.”

William was used to loneliness. He was used to having his cries go unheard, to low expectations as he was looked over time and again. This, however… it was just too much to bear. He honestly had no idea why it hurt him so deeply, why it made his shoulders shake that no one would answer him, why it ached so badly, why he felt so painfully alone.

“What was she like? Do you know?” William inquired curiously, his feet kicking off the edge of the wooden seat as the tired woman poured herself another cup of steaming brew.

“I’m afraid I don’t really know,” Sister Francis shook her head slowly, curls of red hair waving back and forth as she did so. “That was about four or five years before my time here. Sister Clarence might know…” she left her sentence hanging.

“Clarence is a vicious, wicked old biddy.”

“William!” Francis scolded him sharply, but bit back a small grin. It WAS true – the matron did usually make life miserable for everyone around, whether deliberately or not. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I’m sorry, Sister Francis,” he hung his head remorsefully.

“Sure you are,” she nodded without a hint of conviction, offering him a small cup of coffee. It was much earlier than anyone else arose, and he got it so rarely; but he took it nonetheless, the little plastic cup warming his fingers pleasantly as he sipped at it.

“Aren’t there any records?” William pried again, desperate for some information. Anything.

Sister Francis sighed for the umpteenth time, a sliver of pity rising for the boy.

“For the last time, Will,” Francis shook her head, eyeing the aged clock on the wall. “I don’t know anything more about your mother or father than I do half of the other children here.”

He didn’t hang his head this time. Instead, William only stared at her with his sharp, knowing gaze. It disturbed her slightly, like his eyes didn’t match his body.

“I promise to ask Cranky about it,” she insisted quietly, patting him on the head. “Would that make you feel better?”

“Not particularly,” William admitted. “I asked her before.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Sister Clarence told me that I was the demon spawn of a clam and a very lonely penguin.”

Francis stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to cover what sounded suspiciously like giggling, but managed to disguise it as a mysteriously powerful sneezing fit.

“I’m sure that she’s just being her cranky old self, Will,” Sister Francis said softly, patting him on the head.

“She picks on me,” he frowned. “I can tell. She deliberately picks me out because I question her authority.”

“Well, don’t question her authority,” Sister Francis tittered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You should be thanking God above that she takes so much out of her time to give to the orphans instead of questioning her.”

“There is no God.”

William reeled from the sudden backhand, his cheek stinging painfully from the slap. The hot coffee burned him as he spilled it on himself, and he dropped the cup to the floor with a loud splat.

“Out,” Francis angrily handed him a handful of paper towels. “I want thirty Hail Marys, and the next time you’re getting your mouth washed out with soap. Understood?”

“… Yes, Sister Francis.”

“There’s a good boy.”

The only way William could properly describe how he felt was ‘painfully cold’.

It was as if a hard lump had forcibly formed in his chest where his heart used to be. It was a tense, chilling bulge that radiated a sickness, a tightness and icy anger and bitterness that spread into his throat and made his stomach turn.

It was preferable to being miserable.

It had taken William a long time to pull himself together, but he had done it; all on his own, as he always had. He stomped angrily along, his feet leaving small imprints in the dirt as he backtracked and wandered at random. He didn’t need anyone else, anyway. The only thing other people were even good for was a momentary distraction before he could lose himself in his books again.

It was this same hateful, acrimonious tautness in him that clouded his mind the entire way. He didn’t even bother fighting it anymore, because it had to be better than thinking so clearly of precisely what Rainbow Dash had gone through. It wasn’t long before the bog began turning into multiple creeks, which in turn led him back toward Ponyville’s only small lake.

Monster.

Maybe he was a monster. Maybe it was because he was different, that he was always left alone. It couldn’t have been a mere coincidence that he had been sent outside; chances were that she just couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

William felt the spiteful, angry sick feeling clawing at his chest again, and he viciously kicked a small shrub alongside the road. It was a tough little thing, though; it simply bended with his kick, flopping easily back to its previous position. He angrily kicked it again, to absolutely no avail.

He then coldly ignored the shrub after that, swearing under his breath that it just wasn’t worth his time.

With his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, William slogged along the empty road, dreading his return to Ponyville. A part of him wanted to go back to the bog where he and Scootaloo had been before, the same dim hope that she would be there this time rising again. He knew she wouldn’t, though, and it was a silly thought. It was silly to be feeling desperate for her company. Silly. Childish.

William was entrenched in these kinds of unhappy, joyless thoughts when he at last spotted another sign of life. He had expected other ponies to be along the banks of Ponyville Lake – it was a popular little spot, with several trees hanging cozily over the sandy bank and casting long, arching shadows over the cool water.

Sitting rather forlornly on an ivory colored bench facing the water was none other than his dreaded foe, Diamond Tiara.

Mildly surprised, he almost turned around and marched in another direction; to be honest, he didn’t feel at all up to facing down the filly. She didn’t seem to even notice him, however. Her white and violet mane was surprisingly bedraggled instead of its usual neatly brushed self, and the closer he drew the more he noticed that she was sniveling dejectedly. Her shoulders were slumped, and as a sliver of curiosity grew large enough to pull him closer, he spotted a pair of robin’s egg blue framed glasses in her hooves.

She sat completely alone, staring out over the lake as the morning sun shone over it with quiet little ripples, nary another soul in sight.

She didn’t even flinch when William wordlessly sat down beside her, hands clasped neatly in his lap.

Diamond Tiara said nothing for the longest time, merely sniffling miserably. It was obvious that she had been crying, as her eyes were red and blotchy.

“… Good morning, Miss Tiara,” William said quietly, not looking at her. Instead, his eyes were trained on the same spot in the lake that hers were, where the wind toyed with the water and made it rise up in little waves periodically. “You appear to be rather… despondent, if I may say.”

His voice was bland and empty, and showed as little emotion as his face did.

“Yeah.” The filly replied simply, her voice coming out in a croak, turning the glasses over in her hooves without looking at them. “It’s… it’s been a rough couple of days.”

“I believe that I may share that sentiment,” William said softly after a couple of moments had passed. The happy chirruping of birds from an overhanging tree by the lake noisily interrupted, as if they could cheer the whole area simply by singing for them. He refused to feel anything at all for the filly, regardless of how wretched she might have seemed. It couldn’t be anything at all compared to what he was feeling.

Diamond Tiara said nothing, only staring out blankly over the lake and continuously fiddling with the glasses, turning them over and over. She was very careful with them, like she was holding something precious. The closer William stole looks at them, the more quickly he realized that they looked unsettlingly familiar.

“Silver’s gone.” Diamond Tiara whispered eventually, ceasing her movements.

William felt his heart pound suddenly in his throat, his mind going unexpectedly, yet blissfully blank.

“… They said it was food poisoning,” Diamond said after what felt like forever, neither of them daring to move. “But she was all alone when they found her. Silver – Silver is gone. Silver Spoon is gone.”

Diamond Tiara’s face was flushed, but she didn’t let out a single sob. No noise escaped her lips whatsoever as the tears rolled down her cheeks, one after another as they came at last in full force.

William considered himself stronger than he had been years before, able to adequately handle whatever was placed before him with a cool head. If not, he was left feeling weak and incapable. Helpless.

William felt much like this at that moment, powerless before the wheels of fate themselves.

He hated feeling helpless just about more than anything.

In that moment, however, William was almost quite certain that he hated seeing the filly crying without a sound much, much more.

And so, even though he felt just as helpless as she did, William did the only thing that he could.

He held her close in his arms, and William cried just as hard as she did.

Author's Notes:

Mad World - Gary Jules