The ticking seconds of silence between my words and hers drive me into a frenzy, my still body tingling with a need to do something. As a child plagued by constant movement, the lull of any action makes my muscles twitch and tail flick at my thighs— I'm even bothered by lack of insults flying through the air. As crazy as it sounds, I liked the banter passing between us (even if it was at an intensity beyond children), craving those mocking words directed at Mother and myself and my witty comments to shoot right back in retaliation.

What hits me is her words— "I understand." It's spoken without the venom that had coated her previous sentences, taking me aback. My eyes flutter momentarily (you could miss it if you weren't paying close attention), growing subtly as they settle upon the blue-grey ones of the unicorn. Oh. It feels like a powerful punch to the gut, to come face to face with someone who suffers the same fate I do— my eyes lower to the earth beneath her rather than her herself, fearing what I'd see hidden behind her intense gaze.

My stomach knots as I remember her recalling her father's feelings, how he wanted her dead. My ear flicks back, bubblegum settling on the healing scars crawling over her face— my own scars burn with sympathy, a strain in my muscles as I clench them and tremble ever so slightly in remembrance of the intensity of pain they brought. With each strike my skin split and bruises blossomed, racing down my sides over the span of an hour as Mother's relentless discipline continued. I want to apologize to her, to sympathize with her for her suffering (we are one in the same)— but I hold my tongue and let it pass, not in the mood for some bullshit heart to heart with a stranger.

"I'm gonna go."

My thoughts are drawn back when she speaks again, looking at the sooty child as her words frantically stumble from her lips— not hesitating to take up the feasting chick (who screams while hanging between her lips) and turn tail. I do not protest her making her leave, (for once in my life) do not speak as she turns away from me— leaving me to awkwardly stand alone among brittle and lifeless plants. She takes no time in getting away from me, eyes hovering over the deer's discarded carcass as her hoof steps get farther and farther away until there's none at all. Even after she's gone (at least I think, maybe she's still out there but she's so small she's dissipated into the blurry background) I stand my ground, looking up from the ground to where she had been standing minutes ago, wishing her well in handling her parents (yes, the ones that I insulted). I turn my back now, leaving behind the rotting deer and its foul scents, dragging behind me the outrageous idea of independence from Mother and her ideals.

"Talk."

kid