I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'm brilliant. I can tell you the exact height and humidity where different varieties of clouds form, or the precise temperature at which snow starts turning into hailstones. I'm smart… but nopony will ever give me a job. Nopony will ever love me. They never see the real me, the real Sara Bubbles. All they see are the eyes, those damn eyes that have plagued me my entire life.

The kids at school never let me forget my peculiarities. All those little nicknames they came up for me, "Ditzy Doo", "Retard Bubbles", and of course, "Derpy Hooves". I can't escape that name. Everywhere I went, ponies would call me "Derpy". I'd always tell them that my name is Sara. Nopony ever listened to me.

Along with the names, there were the beatings. Every week, these two colts would corner me in the hallways, or near the edge of a cloud, and try to beat the retard out of me. I couldn't really fight back, I just had to take it. After they left, I'd pick myself out of the blood and crap on the floor, and stumble away. Other times… I didn't quite walk away. Throughout all of grade school, I ended up in emergency room exactly eleven times. The bullies were punished a few times… but no one really has sympathy for the retard. Nopony honestly cares about whether the freak can breathe properly, or walk without limping. She's just a nuisance, a stain upon your household, or school, or town. I think that's what Dad thought of me. I… I know he loved me. Even when he got drunk… even when he hit me. Whenever I got a test back that was just short of being perfect, he'd wave it in my face as proof that I was defective, then burn it. When that moving truck hit him… isn't it terrible that I was happy when he died?

I graduated valedictorian… nopony remembers that. After graduation, I couldn't get a job, not in Cloudsdale. Nopony wants to hire a mare that looks like she'd get lost inside her own bedroom. So, I had to leave. I went to Trottingham, Fillydelphia, hell, even to the streets of Manehattan. That's where I found her. She was this little homeless unicorn filly, getting beaten up by this gang of colts. She reminded me of myself so much. I drove away the bullies and asked her where her parents were. Turns out they'd died a few months ago. So I adopted her. Got the papers and everything. Her name is Lilia, and she became my daughter. It's funny… here I was, barely twenty, unemployed. I had never had a coltfriend, I mean, who would want to date the freak? But yet I have a daughter, a beautiful, beautiful daughter. A daughter who doesn't care what I look like, who doesn't care what people say about me, a daughter who loves me for who I am. I want to protect her from the world that made me what I am today. I want her to grow up happy and loved. I want her to have the life I never had.

I got a job in a little town far from where I grew up. They needed a mailpony, and didn't care what she looked like. Sure, it wasn't exactly the mentally gratifying work I'd envisioned for myself in high school, but it was something. I was always polite, friendly, and willing to provide an open-mind and a shoulder to cry on if need be. Lilia started going to the local school, meeting some of the other girls. She got really good at baking homemade muffins. Life was good… until the doctor told me the news.

It's common knowledge that your mental state is inexorably linked to your physical health. That's why when you get sick, or overwork yourself, you start to go slightly insane. However, it's less commonly known that the relationship also works in reverse. Your physical health relies on your mental well-being, which is why the life-expectancy of those really-messed up ponies, you know, the serial killers and rapists, is so low. Their bones and tissue just starts to deteriorate, until they finally die. When I learned about it in biology, it was all purely theoretical. I never thought that it would apply to- … well, considering my chronic depression and anger, coupled with a lifetime of physical abuse, it's a miracle that I haven't died yet. Given my current rate of decline, I probably only have a few more months to live.

I told Lilia the truth. Since the day I first met her, I swore that I would never lie to her. I would always be honest, even when it hurts. She reacted the way you'd expect. I held her close as she cried. She's still so young, only fourteen. I arranged for her to live with a few of my coworkers, Lyra and Bon-Bon, until she graduates. They're nice ponies. I just hope Lilia is ready for the world out there. I did my best to prepare her. I won't be here when she grows up, when she starts a family of her own. I wish I could be there for her… I just want here to be a good pony. I know she will be when the time comes.

I took some of money I've saved and took Lilia on a vacation. She always wanted to visit the Canterlot, city of magic. We toured the Royal Palace, marveled at the art of Andy Marehol, and just spent time exploring the city. I wanted us to share some happy memories before I die. Lilia's sleeping in our hotel room. Is it irresponsible parenting that I'm here, at this bar, while my daughter is sleeping not two block away? I'm not even sure why I'm here, after she fell asleep, I was just kind of drawn here. I just walked in through the door, and ordered a drink, nothing too strong. The memories of Dad's drunken rages are just too powerful for me to ever touch hard liqueur.

I don't regret my life. I'm twenty-five, and I have a daughter that loves me. Still, I can't help but think of what I might've been. I had the talent. I could have been a scientist, or a scholar, or just a teacher. I think I would've liked that. A teacher, someone the colts and fillies under my care would look up to and respect. I could have gone to university… but with my… freakish appearance, I didn't interview well. I could have done so much more... I was smart, friendly, polite.

Why couldn't anypony see that?