Bridges

"Tell me a little about her."

The room is wide and spacious. The light flickers madly beneath the ceiling. Flies waltz about the room madly, colliding with each other in mid-air. Diplomas hang around the wall. There's a desk, behind which the doctor is sitting, and a chair. Vinyl Scratch is sitting on the chair. It's not an armchair, by no means cosy, like in a real psychiatrist's office, but it does its job.

"Who is Octavia? Well, she's my marefriend, easy as that. She loves me and I love her."

"What does she look like?"

The quill scribbles across the paper with an ear-shattering screech. The parchment is too old and dry, but it hasn't been renewed for years.

"She's a beautiful grey mare, a long charcoal mane, a pink bow tie."

"Describe your victim, please."

Vinyl's eyes start running around. Where am I? What am I doing here? How, how the HELL did I end up oh celestia it cant be that again here i was thinking i was done with it and now im not done what will she think wait who is she i havent seen her or have i what the hell even is this building i dont remember being taken here at all and why does she stand up no not the needle im scared of needles needles are the worst thing no no no ple

Vinyl Scratch relaxed, the haze in her mind fleeing away. Her mind is young, and bright, and cheerful again. She talks.

"She was a young grey filly. Charcoal mane. Very beautiful."

"Did she wear any clothing?

"Yes, a pink bow tie."

The doctor carries on with the scribbling, but Vinyl's eyes are fixed firmly on the syringe. She wants more. She needs more.

"Can I have more?"

The doctor sighs and places down the quill, rubbing her temples.

"Vinyl, this is not heroin. It is merely metodone. I'm using it to keep you sane enough to tell us about your victim. You have been here for years, but, due to your hallucinations, you haven't told us anything yet."

Vinyl blinks. The doctor says very funny things. Hallucinations? There can't be hallucinations.

"Octavia is not a hallucination."

"She is. Vinyl, you are in prison. You got here five years ago, when you were sixteen, for raping a filly, and murdering her and your father."

"I don't remember it."

"This is because your heroin addiction has placed you in a world of hallucination. On a constant basis. You are always dreaming. But that will end."

Vinyl's ears perk up. She doesn't want Octavia to end.

""We have caught the other convicts who have supplied you with the drug. All of them. Harpo, Beauty, Neon. You will begin your treatment. You won't be addicted anymore."

Vinyl rubs her chin.

"I don't want treatment. I want to go back to Tavi."

Scribble scribble scribble.

"Is that what you call her? Tavi?"

"Yes."

Vinyl suddenly brightens up. She realises everything. In a swift motion, she leans in and grabs the syringe. The needle enters her vein and she laughs, the room vanishing, replaced by a stage.

"It was all an act, see."

An elaborate hoax.

And I'm the traitor.

And you're the audience.

And here are the actors. See, they're taking their bows.

And here's me, the playwright who's written an awful play.

Give them some flowers. They deserve it.

Down with the curtain!

The End.