Confinement

by flamevulture17

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Lyra, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5097

Lyra thinks about her past mistakes in isolation.

When you've been alone for so long, you start to think. I don't see the world as I used to.

Published 2013-08-02 19:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-02 19:00:02 UTC

What Remains

Sometimes I forget what day it is.

…

Hmm... I can't remember. I guess it doesn't matter anyway.

I wake to the sound of my own heartbeat, its rhythm banging a steady beat on my eardrums. It's not loud, no, but I can hear the noiseless pulses drumming with the symphony of my soul. While I am no longer asleep, I lie on my back for what seems like several minutes with my eyes closed. I am afraid to open them, even when I know what is looming just above me.

I take a long refreshing breath and slowly expel the gasses through my lips for the room to consume. The chill returns, my spine tingling all over. I expected it to happen. It's does so every time I swallow the frozen air I am so very familiar with.

After waiting for the chill to dissipate, I open my eyes.

For a few seconds, they stay open, staring at nothing but an intense white light. When my mind realizes what's going on, I blink in rapid succession to reduce the sting that accumulates on the surface of my golden eyes to reduce the sharp rays that pierce my vision.

Once my eyes adjust, the ceiling becomes clear. It is white. I roll my head left. White. I roll my head left. White again. There is also a rectangular shape scratched into the blank void. A door.

Where am I? What am I doing? How did I get here?

Questions pop up in my mind. They never seem to go away, even when I know the answers. At least, I think I know the answer. I did once, but I forgot. They'll come back to me, they usually do. The most frequent of these questions is; how long have been here?

A deep, faint thud and distant echo of clopping hooves of a marble floor causes me to angle my head right towards the sound, my gaze returning to the door to my right. The sounds continue for a few more minutes until silence takes over once again.

The memories of my location return, but slowly. The entire room is a paper white color—to the extent that white is even considered a color—just as it has been since the first day trapped in here. The light from earlier, those were rays of luminous sunlight hovering directly above me, beaming through the tiny window of the room. I know it is a window from the gray band of shadow from the vertical frame that holds the glass intact.

My head centers on the pillow again.

For what feels like an hour, I breathe. It's all I can do. My sense of time has many flaws.

While my complexion droops, I think.

However, the challenge is finding the will to compose my thoughts. The only thing I have to keep the life existing within me from slipping away is to fight for what's left of my decaying spirit. Everything else around me seems to stare down at me, all the while my fur loses its once brilliant aquamarine color, assimilating with the room's colorless odor.

I sit up to stretch. The poorly constructed bed squeaks under my shift in weight to the center. The single diaphanous sheet that covered the lower half of my body slowly slips off as I close my eyes. I remain motionless for a minutes or so. I don't count the seconds. I just guess.

With thoughts drying up my disposition, it is no mystery why my muscles feel stiff. I place my hooves on the edge of the bed frame and rotate my body perpendicular to the dense mattress I sit on. With my hind legs dangling over the bed and my tail squished under me, I lean forward and let gravity do the rest. I touch down on all four hooves with a light thud. The concrete floor isn't that much different than my bed.

My eyes close again. I don't feel the need to open them. I've done this so many times, I didn't need to think about the act. I know they layout of the room like the back of my hoof. It's feels like second nature to me. I am used to it.

I stand there for a while. I don't know why. I don't know how long. My thoughts fight for survival, fading in and out of existence like virtual particles within the time it takes me to open my eyes.

I see this pallid sight every morning when I get out of bed, only there is something extra. This time a dark gray band of my shadow cuts across the floor.

That's new.

Recalling the sunlight shining inside the room from above, I assume it to be an afternoon sun. Late afternoon, according to the angle. Behind the only glass window that separated the outside world from my solipsistic box. Usually there is no shadow at all, for my daily routine have me waking shortly after sunrise when the sun's rays do not reach the inside of the room after laying in the small bed for hours, thinking.

This day is different. I don't know why, but I can the feel the warmth of Celestia's sun bear down on my fur. It's as if the star is trying to tell me something, but I know that's not true. Stars cannot talk. They don't feel, only float.

For a moment, I, too, feel the illusion of floating in midair, no longer bound to the cold ground beneath my hooves anymore. There is no frame of reference, everything is the same. All I can see is white.

Normally, when the sun comes up, I listen for laughter behind these white walls. When the sun goes down, I hope that the silence shows me mercy. It's a routine I've come to accept. It's been so long, I forgot what the color blue looks like. I want to see it. I want touch it. To me, the sky acts a beacon of promise that waits for its children embrace it.

Out there, the world exists for all. In here, I am removed. Subtracted from the equation, taken from the light. Each and every moment is, and always will be, an experience to be shared. It is a relic, a peaceful and chaotic unit working in unison which sit on a cradle of balance, even when ponies don't realize at the time. You might see it a different way than I do, but sometimes the mind can make the simple act of thinking a difficult task and it becomes—many times over—one's worst enemy.

When you have no one to come and save you from the dark, you start to realize the inevitable end to our feeble journeys. With no one but yourself to turn to, you think about things, remember things, hope for things. And then, just as you look up, nothing at all, as if all coherence pours out the back of your head, draining your mind of who you are. You become a hollow shell. A dry skeleton. A dreamless frame cracking away into dust.

But under all the melancholy, there is meaning. You can't see it. You can't hear it. But it's there, and you can feel it. From cradle to grave, purpose takes many forms.

Now that I know what my purpose is, I know where to find it. Better yet, I know where it is.

I begin to pace around, not like there is anything better I can do.

My methods for reminiscence are not always sublime—in fact most are pitiful—but they do the job. With something in mind, I think some more.

In fact, I have a story to tell.

I might as well start from the beginning. Or is it the end? I don't really think it matters. Might as well start from the top.

The thirteenth spark.

I'm not crazy. I know I'm not. If only anypony could see it through my eyes, maybe they'd give me another chance. I've always wanted to discover something that would help ponies understand that what I know is to shatter the minds of everypony in Equestria. That did not work out so well as you know. My family has long since abandoned me, and what little friends I have are starting to disappear from my mind one by one by one. I have long forgotten their voices, their smiles, their love. I thought it would last.

I was wrong.

The twelfth hour.

I was charged with secretly preforming forbidden magic, destruction of private property—apparently Vinyl was more upset about the amplifier than I thought, and aggravated assaulted on members of the Royal Guard. The worst part of the proceeding was that I was refused contact with any of my friends, Bon-bon especially. They didn't let me speak to her or hug her one last time. I wasn't even able to defend myself with a lawyer or hear anypony who knew me testify. The trial was quick, the hearings biased, and verdict unfair. I was denied the ability to use magic for the rest of my life when my horn was snapped off. I've never felt pain as agonizing as that before. I was then kept behind bars for a few days before being sent to a maximum security prison. After a month, I was labeled clinically insane and unstable. Then I was transferred here. A psychiatric ward in Stalliongrad. Why Stalliongrad? It is said to be the most secluded place in Equestria. Farther away from anything that anything can get while within national borders. I begin my true sentence.

I've been here ever since.

The eleventh fault.

Months go by, my work was almost done. After so many experiments formulating my own time spell, after hours upon weeks of weaving the perfect spell with every ounce of magic, after the strangest wedding I've ever been to, complete with an invasion, zombies, explosions, fire and brimstone, giant bugs raining from the sky, insane battl— well... you get the idea. I was ready to try my final version of my intricate time spell when two royal guards came crashing through our door and forced me to give up my illegally obtained scrolls from the Royal Archives. What I did next I will regret for as long as I live. I attacked them, nearly inflicting them with fatal wounds. I was outmatched in every way, but something snapped that day that I dare not explain how, because I am no quite sure myself. I couldn't control it. It felt like the demons of Tartarus had possessed my soul and forced me to devour on the Guards' flesh and bone. Of course, there were no real demons, just me. Just when things couldn't get worse, Bon-bon returned home and walking in on us. What she witnessed was an absolute shock, my hooves being pinned to the floor with blood on my face and a broken tooth. I couldn't bare to look at the sweet Earth pony in the eyes. My closest friend, my life's warmth. The Guards arrested me and took me to a temporary holding cell while I awaited my unjust punishment for my regretful actions. All my work had been confiscated and personal belongings destroyed. My lyre was sold to a collector in Manenattan. That really broke my heart, but not nearly as much as seeing Bon-bon cry. My life disintegrated around me, and I was forced to watch.

My sanity had snapped.

The tenth crossroad.

I had one more idea in mind. It may have been my most elaborate yet. However, I was under house arrest for a year, but this simply couldn't wait. One day, while the frantic efforts to make Ponyville the safest town in Equestria due to a paranoid Twilight Sparkle preaching the prophecy of some cataclysmic disaster. She also organized the townsponies to complete certain tasks from the mundane to the imperative to the downright ridiculous. Again? Geez, can that pony give it a rest? Her contributions to Winter Wrap Up were very much appreciated, but give somepony else a chance. Anyways, my “guards” were quite distracted with the “disaster proofing” fiasco that I was able to slip past then from my house and travel to Canterlot by train. The Royal Archives. The Starswirl the Bearded wing. The prestigious collection of the famous unicorn's legacy. The spell I was looking for was a time traveling spell. Yup, my latest plan. To actually go back to the glorious era of human civilization. Unfortunately, I came up short. No spell to take me back ten thousand years forever, just a measly scroll that allows for temporary travel for no further than a week back in time. It had no use to me. I was actually surprised to find that Twilight was looking for the same spell when she walked in as I was leaving. That mare is everywhere.

So, I decided to create my own spell.

The ninth stretch.

I'm not known for my exquisite expertise in music with my lyre. No. My notable entries come from my attempt to develop plans to reach for the stars. I had first thought of figuring a way to travel between solar systems, but that was next to impossible. Even Princess Celestia isn't capable of interstellar flight, so what chance do I have. Next was an impulse to communicate with them from some means of long distance transmissions of magic to reach other world outside our own. It used an amplifier from a DJ pony named Vinyl Scratch to increase the output for my experiments to send a message to beyond out atmosphere and into the dark void of space. I was discouraged by Twilight Sparkle that my chances of receiving a return signal was astronomically low, if not impossible. She also told me to reduce the power flow of the amplifier to safe levels. I should have listened. The amplifier exploded. Fortunately no pony was hurt, except for my pride. I was detained for a month for destruction of private property. I made it up the Vinyl and bought her the newest amplifier on the market.

It wasn't over.

The eight leg.

Over the course of several months, I began my search. The evidence was right in front of us all along. It can be seen in our infrastructure, in our history books, in our language, and in ourselves. Ponies who knew me thought of me as an amateur enthusiast, chasing ghosts and praising monsters. To me, they were gods. Their achievements, their culture, and especially, their anatomy. Phantoms lost to time. An ancient fantasy older than ponies. A species lacking in magic. I find this thought profound. The ability to get so far with nothing but their minds, their hands, and each other. I would always remedy the dream of experiencing what it was like then. To live among them and to share knowledge. I wonder if they liked music. There was only one way to find out.

I had a plan.

The seventh wonder.

My discovery of intelligent, bipedal creatures depicted in the mythology book captured my attention right away. These beings, these “humans”, were known to live with such great technology long ago and were capable of so much. The societies they've constructed, the machines they've built, the ideas they've conjured. I was saddened upon reading their apparent fate. They did not die, no. They flourished, despite their many conflicts, but with limited resources and expansion over centuries, they reached a breaking point. They created immense vessels under their collective power and set off to find a new world to call their own. Nopony knows quite where they went, but among the first sentient equines of the era who lived among them over ten thousands years ago, it they were told they just be within reach. The humans left clues, a trail of bread crumbs in their wake, so that one day they could return to their once glorious home. As time went on, pony history began to twist and coil around humans as nothing but a story to recite from generation to generation, and soon, humans became myth. Belief in their true existence is regarded as lunacy.

I believed.

The sixth sense.

There is one day that is regard as my highest point, the tip of the iceberg, the turning point. The day I discovered the one thing that brought light to my life, more than Bon-bon. I found a strange book. A book of long forgotten, yet very real. I discovered it in the deepest section of the main library at Fillydelphia while touring for concert with other classical ponies, one of them being Octavia. It was the last day were visiting the city. It was a simple and quick decision. I needed time to clear my head. When I found the book, I brushed it off as some old mare's tale like Twilight with her prophecies of Nightmare Moon. Little did I know, this was to be my prophecy. I checked the book out, but the librarian let me keep it. Even she didn't know where it came from. So, I brought it home with me.

To uncover its secrets.

The fifth chance.

Several weeks living in Ponyville and life has gone smoothly, aside from a gryphon bully, dragon smoke, and paraspites. Oh Celestia, the paraspirtes. Fortunately for me, I was out town that day. I went to audition for a part in the Hearth's Warming Eve play. I wanted to honor the important national event with my depiction of Clover the Clever. She remains one of my favorite figures of Equestrian history. Sadly, the part was given to Twilight Sparkle. It seems like that purple mare is everywhere. It wasn't until after the pageant that I found out she and her five friends were personally chosen by Princess Celestia. My worth nearly shattered that day. I watched the play instead. It was a pristine performance. Even better, Bon-bon was there. After it concluded, I decided to visit my parents in the inner city, only to find that they had gone to Manehattan for the holidays. When the day was just below the line of complete despondency, I returned to Ponyville.

My mood brightened.

The fourth stage.

That same day, Nightmare Moon happened. Everypony was surprised by her entrance in place of the Princess. The lavender unicorn, Twilight Sparkle, told us who the black alicorn was in front of the crowd. We were all afraid at that moment. Afraid of what was going to happen to our precious day under the greed and hatred of Nightmare Moon. I don't quite recall any serious events that night—or was it morning?—other than the eternal night brought upon Equestria. Twilight Sparkle and her band of friends—whose names escape me now—defeated the Nightmare and freed Equesria of the darkness. Most surprisingly, Nightmare Moon was Princess Luna the whole time. The days that followed were a short and painless recovery of minor damages to property and some pony's lives, but I moved on with my life. I hoped to put my past behind me and find what it is I was looking for. One would assume I was scientist from the way I speak and words I use, but I am a musician at heart. I guess that's why my last name is Heartstrings. But science is just like music, there's always something new to be discovered. My lost parallel of interest.

A new hobby.

The third friend.

It didn't take long to move in, simply because I arrived with the single saddlebag on my back, my lyre, and the fur on my body. I was quite nice getting to know Bon-bon. We talked for hours until she had to leave to cater a party organized by the town's most enthusiastic pony, Pinkie Pie. It was quite nice living with another pony other than my parents. The rest of the day went by quickly. I was invited to Twilight's “Welcome to Ponyville” Party that night at the library. I wasn't originally intending to go, but I decided to anyway. I didn't want to upset such a happy mare. The party was actually pretty nice. I've never been to a party so packed with ponies from all over town. They were all strangers to me. It was the first time I felt alone in a crowded room. Did I mention the library was a giant tree? It looked bigger on the inside than on the outside. I guess disproportionate places have that effect. I met several new ponies; including an Earth pony named Octavia with an interest in classical music like myself, an Earth pony named Carrot Top who runs the carrot fields bordering a neighboring apple orchard called Sweet Apple Acres, and a gray pegasus who I thought was looking at me funny. It wasn't until I talked to the pegasus that her name was Derpy and her eyes were always like that. There were others, but too many meet on a personal level. I saw Bon-bon there, too. The moment I found her at the party, my party-going experience brightened. We spent the rest of the festivities together. We even walked to Town Hall together to watch the Princess raise the sun.

A new day.

The second thought.

The move was quick. I arrived at Ponyville Station on the tenth of October. How do I still know that? The answer eludes every time. It just so happened to be the day of the Summer Sun Celebration. Even more amazing, it was to be the thousandth year since the founding celebration. That year's location—coincidentally enough—was the town of Ponyville. I didn't find out until I was welcomed by a pink pony named Pinkie Pie. She nearly exploded when she found out I was new in town, but had been so busy with preparing a surprise party for another mare named Twilight Sparkle. I didn't know much of this Twilight Sparkle, only that she was hoofpicked by Princess Celestia herself to be her personal student. Pinkie was one of a few distractions keeping me from my initial focus. I needed to find a place rent. Buying a house was out of the question. After several run-ins with the hyperactive pink pony, I eventually found a suitable candidate for my place of residence from my visit at the real estate office. It was then when I met a pony named Bon-Bon. A candy making beige Earth pony with a purple and pink mane. The swirls of her delicate tail and the curve of her smile had sold it for me. I was welcomed with a short, friendly embrace and a contract.

The day only just begun.

The first step.

It was not long before the return of Nightmare Moon until I moved to the peaceful town of Ponyville. My life in Canterlot was good, but I wanted more. I wanted to go places when I was old enough. I have always had the love for adventure and mystery. The only way to do that was to move away in search of my lifelong passion. My love for music. That's exactly what I did when I turned sixteen. It was that age, that golden age of independence for ponies looking for a purpose is life. I am lucky to have found mine.

In Ponyville.

I stand tall for a moment.

It is hard to figure out which are the memories and which are the events that never happened. To discern fantasy from reality is to reveal an undying factor, a tangible truth that stands behind the gateway between both worlds.

My studies have taken me to new heights. The things I've done led me closer to my ultimate goal. I had it all. Well, maybe not all, but enough. Enough to satisfy even the most devoted of explorers seeking to understand the world in which they live. What I have done is what ponies may call, “junk science”.

I was appalled by every remark uttered to me.

Now, I take no offense from it anymore.

If you've ever been alone for an indefinite amount of time—for so long, in fact, that even time loses its meaning, you know how difficult it is to stay in control. To keep the ego from crumbling into a pit of debris, all you have to do is think. Don't feel, just think. Emotions are far more corrupting to the rational mind than you realize.

Emotion. I have yet to define what it really is and how it evolves. They run deep within us all, most ponies are not aware of it, because the churning of blood is not only a function of the body that we need to survive, but it fuels our very mood programed by nature itself.

Okay, maybe that definition makes no sense. Maybe it does. But I doubt there is a universal and infallible connotation attached. No principles, just repercussions.

If you've ever been alone for so long, you learn the order of decay that runs down like an hourglass. So, I will recap. I'll even make it analogous. It goes something like this:

Happiness is the first to go. Every sliver of euphoria and joy is shaved off until all that is left is your bare skin. Imagine all the fur of a pony stripped away, never to grow back without the sun.

Then, insecurity takes over courage, corrupting it and expelling it completely. The tiny imperfections of your skin rotting every inch of flesh as the warmth escapes slowly. Because your fur no longer is there to protect you, the exterior tissues burn and starts fading to black.

Next comes sorrow. If you thought the sadness would stick, you'd be very wrong. Lacking the ability to be sad is truly remarkable. I never thought it was possible, I was wrong in my own respect. It is the quickest of them all to slip away.

Last is fear.

But, the fear will refuse to disappear just like all the others. It is what remains. The final element of the self that, no matter how much as been lost, cannot be broken. It's like fear is not part of the whole, but the very backbone that holds it all together. Once all the pieces have fallen, fear is all that is left.

Of course, all of that's just metaphor. The reality of it is much worse. The grim truth is that it is there. I can't see it, but I know it's there.

I know negative emotions can be quite disheartening—overshadowed only by brief periods of cheer—but because they resonate with us for much longer, there is no doubt that it is embedded to our central core, staying with us till the very end. It is the foundation on which we are built.

You will find that every instance we try to overstep our bounds, unlock the chains, or swim up to breathe, the desire for freedom comes at a price.

I can only reprieve that fear long enough. I sit as stare at the wall, showing no emotion whatsoever. My eyes would twitch occasionally, but that's a small complaint. The wall seems brighter, maybe because the sun has dipped lower since my inception.

I clear my mind once more and think again with a clean slate. My eyes close. The darkness of dusk befalls the room, draining the value to a rich black.

When that silence passes through me, I try. I try to listen for a tune that may relinquish that cold dark that settles within and purge the shivers of an endless stream of strings that tug away at the hairs on my body.

Yet, I can't. It's too hard.

But still, I try.

I don't remember the last time I hugged another pony. To feel the warm embrace of a long awaited reunion of good friends is hope that is worth hanging on to. However, I am afraid I won't any friends left by the time I am cleared for release.

Those days of happiness, those days of woe, those days of comfort; all but remnants of a life that had meaning, only to end like this.

If to describe solitary confinement was a woeful experience, then you'd be right. To be trapped inside these four thick slabs and a roof is nothing short of torture. Nopony to talk to, nopony to hear my cries, and worst of all, nopony knows I'm gone.

I can't say for certain of my fate. It just seems so counterintuitive at this point. I cannot imagine what it would be like to watch the world go by like the very events themselves are orchestrated with undue perfection. I just so happens I no longer believe in fate.

My old beliefs are fading faster than my ability to adopt new ones. The day my last old belief dies is the day I will no longer be me. I will be unrecognizable, having traded myself for the reward of safety. I am in here, never to be reformed, but to be saved from myself.

But until that day, I will hold on as tight as I can.

So, I guess I'll just wait here a little while longer just to think some more. If anyone is listening, whether it be universe itself or an old friend, I just want you to know that you are not alone in being alone.

I don't weep. I don't laugh. I don't say a word.

I just wait. It's all I know how to do.

I hop back onto my block of a bed and lay down, pressing the contour of my head into the white pillow. I slither my way under the thin blanket. As the velvet material brushed against my soft fur, I roll side to side, searching for a more comfortable position. Once I am in my place, I stare at the ceiling. I want to rest my eyes and join with the dreamworld again, but I can't. Not right away. I just woke up.

I close my eyes and picturing the sun beating down on my fur, giving me strength. I imagine the energy flowing through me and lifting me into the air, enveloped in the arms of the shining cosmic light.

I hope.

I dream.

I breathe.

Sleep is all I need.

The humans will return.

They will save me.

They will save us.

…

I know it.

…

…

And yet, I still don't know what day it is.