BLACKOUT

I make my way to the cellar, taking care to make sure I'm not seen. Its late, past midnight, so nopony else should be out. Satisfied that I haven't been spotted, I reach down and unlock the hatch.

The first thing I notice is a wave of putrid air hitting my face, followed by the pure, ineffable darkness emanating from the cellar. All is as it should be, so I continue down and lock the hatch behind me. Nopony can know. If they knew, they would try to send me away, tell me I was wrong, or sick. But I'm not, I'm just protecting what I love.

I reach the bottom of the staircase, then pull a candle and some matches out of my saddlebag. The light illuminates the area around me. It is grimy, filthy. The air is uncomfortably warm and humid. It stinks of sweat, waste, and blood. Of death. It’s oppressive and strong. I can taste it. I pull out a bottle of cider from my bag: their cider. It's as nasty as I remember. It always is, but it washes away the taste of the place. It’s my fifth one. I drink it because it gets me drunk. I forget my restrictions when I’m drunk, so it helps.

He's in the middle of the room, right where I left him. This one is chained by the neck to the ceiling. He has to stand, otherwise he can't breathe. I keep him like this until his legs give in, and he starts to choke. I wait until he passes out before I let him down. After he regains consciousness, I drag him back up to start again. This one has been here for three weeks now. The other one left two weeks ago. I brought them both in at the same time. I caught them as they left. It was easy enough, since they were together. They’re always together. The hard part was getting them back here before they woke up.

This one looks at me as I pace around him. His eyes are dull and lifeless. His coat is matted with dirt, his red and white mane greasy and unkempt. I can see his ribs through his skin. He is covered in bruises. His cutie mark has been branded over. It was too similar to mine, so it disgusted me.

I have broken him. I can feel him pleading, his pathetic gaze never breaking away from my face. He can't talk, his mouth is taped. I don't think he would talk, even if he could. His breaths are ragged and loud. It is obviously taking him effort to use his lungs.

I trot over to him and pull myself up on his side. He chokes from the extra weight on his back, which forces his throat into the restraints. I use him to boost myself up and hang the candle up onto the chain that keeps him in place.

He lets out a muffled yelp when the hot wax drips down onto his face. He handles it better than the other one, but it could be that he is more used to it. The other one never could take as much as him, that's why he left first.

He cries again. This makes me angry. I tape his mouth to keep him quiet. I kick him and call him a dog. I like insulting him. I like hurting him. It puts him in his place. He knows I'm in charge. The other one could never accept the situation. He was always putting up a fight. I had to make his punishments more severe. I think this one learned from the other one’s mistakes. He is a smart pony. Smarter than most, but he used it in the wrong way. It’s my job to fix that. The other was too far gone, too rooted in his old ways to change. I couldn't break his will like I could with this one. But it just goes to show how wrong he was that he is not here now, while this one is.

I bring water from my saddlebag and hold it in front of him. I make him beg. I could have brought cider. It would have been more ironic, but I won’t waste it on the likes of him. I make him know he is dirt. I tell him he's nothing. I'm shouting at him now. His replies are muffled by the tape. I rip the tape off, and he screams from the sudden pain. It makes me smile. I'm in control. He keeps quiet after that. He's learned his place.

I lift the bottle to his mouth, and he drinks it greedily. I've not given him water in three days. I try to give him as little as possible, just enough to survive. This means he has too little energy to fight back, and it means there is less waste. I use thirst as another tool in my inventory. I let him drink for a few seconds, then pull the bottle away.

"P-lease...more..." he whimpers.

His ragged voice is like a hammer blow to my skull. I have taught him. I have made sure he knows. I'm now seething with anger. I drop the bottle and turn to face him while screaming. He grimaces and tries to back away, but his restraints prevent him from moving very much.

I turn and deliver a solid buck to this one's left hind leg. I’m good at bucking. I pride myself on it. I hear the bone snap. It’s a sickening crunch. I enjoy the sound. I can see the end of the broken half of bone piercing his skin. He attempts to scream, but all he can do is choke. His leg isn't taking any of his weight, which causes the restraints to suffocate him.

I trot around before him. His face is losing color, and his eyes are bulging. I can see the chain cutting into his flesh.

"DON'T TALK UNTIL YOU'RE SPOKEN TO!"

I spit the words into his face. He doesn't reply. He simply continues gasping and clawing at the chain with his front hooves. It makes me laugh. I grab one of his forelegs and spin him around. His broken leg drags on the ground. I turn him so he has to face the decaying, bloated pile of flesh on the other side of the room. The other one: his brother. I do it to make it clear to him that he isn't going anywhere that he'll soon be joining his brother. They always were inseparable anyway. Twins usually are.

I tighten the chain around his neck and lower him to the ground. He is too weak to stand. He lies down on the floor like the animal he is. I kick some dirt into his face. It’s a combination of dust, his own refuse, and his brother's remains. He doesn't respond. He just continues wheezing, now blue from the lack of air. It contrasts nicely with his mane and moustache.

I use him again to boost myself up and get the candle. I’m careful to avoid the pool of blood that he made. I give him one last glance before I go. A bloodied, broken mess lies before me, the remains of the one who knew him best next to him, his cream coat stained with his own gore. There is nothing left for me to do. He'll soon be dead.

I've won.

I trot back up the stairs and exit the chamber. I blow the candle out and lock the hatch back up, for good this time. I keep my hat low over my face, just in case anypony might spot me, although I’m almost certain there’s nopony else out here. I head back to the farmhouse unseen.

I've won.

Author's Note

"We've got opportunity in this very community..."

As the title suggests, this is a guest chapter which was written by the magnificent Nic-Fit ~~as a part of our now combined plan to dominate the entire world through ridiculously bleak stories~~ as a result of a story suggestion he made, to which I kindly replied "go do it yourself!"

I have to say I'm pleased with the results, and I hope all of you are, too...

Notes by Nic-Fit:

Oddly enough, written while listening to Black Flag.

Okay, I was listening to Swans as well…

And drinking. But only at the end of writing it.