Trench Of Sorrow
“Don't feel bad, I'm usually about to die.”
― Rick Riordan, The Battle of the Labyrinth
Getting up from his bedside, he started to pack his belongings. There was nothing more than a journal, a quill and other instruments of his personal use. The Sun had sunken now, and the moon was now aroused to the great news that it could see the dear ponies of Equestria. Along with the brilliantly light pearls that accompanied her, and thanks to those, ponies were able to admire the night even after the thousand year banishment of Princess Luna, of which mostly had forgotten.
The night was dreadful to him. Hours passed by like eternity, he could not even rest with peace in the mid-posture of the sun for his neighbor would not stop snoring. He had covered himself with multiple pillows, but his body rejected the need for sleep. He had a broken leg, for some quite reason. This was the first time ever in his life that he had to visit and stay at a hospital for about a week. Apart from that and the things sudden course of action taking past in the month, he had adapted the role of a news editor. Much to everyone's surprise, the stallion was never so much interested in news, and the instinct to take a job like that had just kicked into him.
He could still hear the owls for the barren tree outside. Clearly it was old, and nothing else departed in exception of the clear branches. Flexing his muscles to move the cramp from his feet, he let a vibrant flow of blood through them. Today was his departure of the hospital of Ponyville, which was great news for him, for he didn't actually like the idea of being lazy. He couldn't think of anything that would come out of being lazy and dull, but still, he had learned a-lot of things during the week. Much as to the stallion's surprised, with a light grey mane coming out of his forehead, added with a bit of a red tinge, he found his neighbor to his right to be quite graceful and a wonderful pony. He, just like that silly stallion he was himself, was interested in books. But perhaps not the books for a trending magazine, or the Secret To Cooking kind of books, but rather he would write and read at the same time. He said that he wanted to write things that just not are about some adventure a child can create with his mind, he wanted to write inspiring stuff full of awe that would make a pony want to keep on reading.
He appeared to be creative in the perspective of the stallion. No books more than six currently on his desk, conducted with the cleanness that he maintained the table, sat in the horizon with the half-filled glass of orange juice, his spectacles shining in the dim light of the lightbulb, with a false pair of eyelashes. Maybe the other pony of his name had a favor for fashion, he did seemed to be wearing a fez most of the time he was reading his books.
His favorite, he described with the light blue stallion, was a book called Metamorphosis, followed by a number of other classical books, some of which were pronounced Pride & Prejudice, Chicken Soup For The Soul, which he described to me of nothing more than a book that inspired him to write in the first place, but in the end, he told his neighbor that out of all the books that he had read in the land of Equestria, he found The Princess And Her New Dress to be funniest of all the tales he had heard in a long time.
The other pony who favored Literature would just not agree with Science for it was something that he didn't actually like. He didn't like naming things, he founded that nature was just perfect and merely thought of creating an imaginative world like that.
But the light blue stallion wouldn't stay a long time with the other one. It was time for him to departure, as the nurse said so that stood beside his table. He wanted to go and meet people from different lands and spread the facts of Science and other sources of knowledge, but which of his neighbor would not agree with the terms on, but enough about him. Back to flexing his muscles and straitening his legs, he landed the smooth marble floor of the room.
He waved goodbye to his neighbor and forged on to the exit of the building carrying the big and sound briefcase. He hurried and paced into the hall only to move himself to the elevator right at the end of the jolly giant room. Slowly, and without a sweat travelling on his face, he pressed the buttons with his hooves, but the elevator didn't work. Right above the set of buttons was a white sticker that read,"Out of order". With infuriated guts, he moved backwards in a horrible way, and twice he did the same thing over. Looking by his side, he saw a door that read "STA RS". The 'I' had been wiped from his place, and instead there was a microscopic level of mess of glue covered with a blackish-green style.
The door was seen in a teal color, with the hoof-handle attached to it's middle right side and was made of metal. It reminded him of his home. Back when he was just a filly, he got a teal robot from his aunt. Apart from looking like an ordinary toy, he had special features for lights and individual movements of the robot. But now was not the time, he had to meet somepony else. Waking up from his dream, and looked at the stairs to receive nothing by light. They were vacant and dark just as a desert for ponies who didn't live their for quite a long while. Sighing back to himself and looking the the abruptly rusted railing of the stairs, he began his movement with his briefcase inside his saddle bag. Trotting down and down, he hurriedly noticed that he was submitted to the third floor of the infrastructure, and it shouldn't have taken him so long.
"And they're not windows here. Great, just great. Out of all the worst things that happened to me today, this is the most annoying." He spoke such words as he was suited to shouting and complaining for imperfection.
There were no stars posing as sirens. Neither did the light of the moon stood by as his guardian. Round and round he went downstairs into the pitch darkness. Each thump of hoof echoing through the dark halls. If he only had a shining meteor in his possession, he would through them down just to see how far these concrete flats went down. But he had not, so he shouted,
"HELLO?!" He shouted, but he could only hear his voice in an echo chain.
No more. He decided to turn back immediately. It was too dark. He had not dealt with strangeness for a long time and did not know what to make of his, but his conscious knew better. There's a bit of madness in everyone, of-course. Turning back and look upwards, he did not see any light. And for a minute, he thought, he went a bit further deep than he had anticipated. Slowly placing his hooves on the stairs placidly, bothering himself over where to make his next step. Darkness was flowing as free as wind in the mysterious platform. Now his mind was muddled over the tangled thoughts of fear. Why wasn't there someone else here? Shouldn't he reach the bottom floor already? WHY was it so dark? Where was he? He decided that the first thing that he was going to do was shout at the counter until his throat was full of baked flesh. He trotted upwards, twice again, and thrice to his belief. Or was it four? Maybe six? Maybe none at all?
"IS THERE ANYBODY THERE?" He shouted again with so much frequency from his throat that he felt choking.
The whole of reality was getting smaller, and smaller. Pressure was exerted on the frail muscles of the lost lamb. He shouted again for a response. A slight response that he was just yearning for. Why was he doing that? They were just ordinary stairs, made of concrete, fitted together for public usage, set aside with railings for those who couldn't walk without support, were fit with lights. There weren't any lights. At-lest he didn't see any. Least he might have forgotten them? He didn't see any when he first looked from the top of the stairs. He did. He saw one flickering away with the lowest potential, enough to light just a flat of stairs.
Thinking away, he also noticed that he didn't even see the door for the second floor. The walls of the stairs were grey with thoughts of sadness. He trotted, and walked, moved his muscles, pulled them upwards to the next stair. The walls were still barren. Now he came upon a painting. It looked like.. a group of ponies... a total of 'six' that were just having a picnic in-front of what looked like the Everfree forest. There was something odd though, as he noticed. He saw that there were two violet, no, turquoise mixed color dots that were just above the bush. They seemed to be just a meter away from he cheerful ponies.
He could no longer bear something as horrible as this. He needed to escape. Wait, was that the sound of a door opening?...
Author's Note
Hiya, there! ^_^x
I hope you're doing fine. This is my first story (published), and I hope you enjoyed it. Criticism is much appreciated. :)
