Mistaken Charity and Malevolence

Prologue

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Well. Looks like this is the end of the line for me. The charity cannot be given now, I'm in prison yet again just like my first love, 72. He's been long gone and only those bits and pieces of the mnemonic time we spent together was way back when, but -- no. Those accursed ponies could never understand the charity I had sought to bestow to the poor. How dare they imprison me like this! Yet I -- SLAM! The loud slam of the door suddenly jerked me out of my train of thought. I remembered again I was sitting in the so-called "black room" that SEA (that is the Supernatural Enforcement Agency) officer put me in. Why would he need to put me here? Oh, I could see why now. That was no SEA officer I had predicted it would be, rather, it was some pony. A burly and stocky pony at that, dressed top to bottom in a stylish suit. I would have stood up to "properly escort" the stallion out the room but the anti-magic restraints and horn clip kept me from arising. I could faintly make him out, as I could tell he was intimidated by my presence even with me shackled down on the iron seat. He just cleared his throat then took a seat there across the table, still frightened at the notorious drug lord that I am. Some few moments pass as I lean forward staring perpetually into his trembling brown eyes. And suddenly, the door opens yet again. The room is overcome with a tidal wave of blinding light; so much light, even I had to close my eyes and look away. The door closed on its rusty squeaky hinges, piercing my ears with the sound of nails scratching long and slow on an old chalkboard. Another pony strolled into the black room with of all things...a camera. That's when I had realized, this is an interview?!

The two ponies across the room flinched at my sudden yanking and shaking the chair in vain attempts to try to break free, to tear off the restraints and burst out this room. But nothing happened, the restraints were too strong! The ponies backed up to the corners of the room now, pupils shrunken and faces of great shock plastered upon them. I gave up the fighting.

I hung my head low, next slipping out some words. "Fuck me..." The newsponies only grunted "Uhm" back to me and took position again. The stallion took his seat again and the other one hoisted headphones on his ears as he prepped the camera.

Still shaky and anxious, the newspony fumbles the words, "A-ah, Dusty Sunday, yes?"

"Who the fuck else, Sherlock?"

The newspony's pallor whitens somewhat. He hesitates before continuing, "Uh we at New Collar News Broadcasting will conduct an interview with you, Ms. Sunday, I uh.." Plainly this must be some new anchor, because I in all my days never seen such a pony be so intimidated just by being with me.

"Come on, just spew the questions so I can get this hellhole you call a black room," I impatiently hollered. "I don't have the patience for you slimebags." The startled newspony and his cameraman just looked to each other, nodding quick and proceeding to questions quickly. I expected to hear questions that needed a long answer, and if I wanted to nail those I'd have to pry my most ancient memories down to the last piece. I noticed him sweating while shuffling around papers which prompted me to sigh deeply at his impotence. That in turn just made him fiddle with his mane in anxiety, but eventually he managed to pull himself together as the cameraman with his imaginary bag of popcorn watched on. Making believe at looking at my watch and flicking my ashy gray mane out my eye and tapping my beige hoof on the chair's arm sure rushed the stallion to get himself together.

The newspony cleared his throat ready to give the first question: "Tell us in detail, what was your childhood like, including home, family, and personality?"

It appears that my hypothesis was right; I'll be spending a long time here and spending a long time recalling this interview.