The Chronicle of Equestria: Miseriae

It was after this long period of observation that my imprisonment was drawing to a close. Having nothing better to do, I was roaming Equestria in spirit; wasting away time.  It was a partly cloudy day. I stopped for a moment to recline in a grassy area on the outskirts of Ponyville and looked up at the blue sky. The sun had drifted behind the aerial city of Cloudsdale for a while and a shadow was cast over me. With just the right amount of light I was enjoying the solitary peace of the day.

There was no scampering about of animals or the frolicking of ponies that I was so used to seeing in the recent years there. There was the solitude that I was accustomed to, and the peaceful silence that I knew so well. Being alone for such a long time is a curse at first that only becomes worse as time drags on. But eventually the world becomes your companion, and even the faintest forms of life become your conversers. You become more aware of even the slightest changes in the environment, hearing the quietest sounds and seeing the faintest rays of light.

Then, suddenly, I felt the presence of a strong spirit … no, a goddess. The incredible amount of energy that flowed through the empyreal air led me to confirm the identity of the presence that I felt. It was the Fate of the Future, Skuld. I quickly widened my scope of vision; frantically trying to find the purpose for which she decided to come to this world. Yet I could find nothing. I yelled for her boldly, “Where are you Skuld? Show yourself and reveal the purpose for your presence.”

And then I heard it: that childish voice which accompanied the mighty deity of the coming time. She asked with a laugh, “Are you so conceited that you assume that anything of value in the universe will happen below you?” Upon hearing this, I understood why my search was fruitless. I had flown high up and gazed down upon the world when that which I sought was happening in the air. I looked upward.

And lo, I was smote by what I saw. There was a young pegasus that was flying at a great speed through the air. She was colored a light blue but her mane and tale shone with the brilliance of the rainbow. The filly was quickly picking up velocity by the second and I could tell that she was approaching the speed of sound. Though, she could not seem to reach past that point. Flying over her head were two mighty angels. On the right of the speeding foal was Success and on her left was Failure. And the two spirits were exchanging fierce blows with each other using spear and shield; attempting to determine who would influence the one that they hovered over. And I saw Skuld, in her shining halo in the sky, holding a pair of golden scales: the Scales of Fate. And I saw her point the scales between the two angels and depress the right scale. She had made a choice and then she disappeared.

It was then that something monumental happened. The angel of Success with a mighty thrust pierced the great bronze shield of Failure and penetrated her chest; deporting her to the realm of Hel. At that moment, the rainbow-tailed flyer broke the barrier of sound and an enormous shockwave erupted from the epicenter that was the fate-favored speeder. Yet this shockwave was unlike anything I had ever before seen. It took the likeness of a vast rainbow that quickly spread over all of the realm. And in the triumphant boomer’s wake, there was also rainbow that trailed behind her. All of Equestria must have seen and heard the colossal occurrence.

I stood aghast with my mouth agape at the wonders that I had seen. Never had I witnessed anything so wondrous as what this princess of rapidity had accomplished. She was so young; no older than eight years of age, and yet, in all my time in that realm, I had never observed such a wonder. But despite these handicaps, she had prevailed. I could see that ponies from all over were flocking to admire the splendor of her glorious achievement.

When the shock of the moment subsided, a thought began to gnaw at my mind. As amazing as a spectacle as that was to see, like the master chess player, it was unlike Skuld to make one move and accomplish only one action, especially if it was only for aesthetic purposes. She must have accomplished something more with that decision. Again I looked all over the realm for something of extraordinary demeanor. Yet I could find nothing. To my knowledge, nothing else of worth happened on that day.

Another eleven years passed when nothing irregular ensued. After this time period I was finally released from prison. I had planned to tell of how, but I can see that story is not so welcome here. Let it suffice to say that immortality is an amusing concept when paired with a poorly organized correctional system.

So being released, the authorities sent me to Ponyville to work on a farm, because the agricultural district needed more workers, or so they said. And I found myself finally coming to the place that I had only seen for centuries. Knowledge and experience are two different concepts that have light years of distance between them. For centuries I had watched the oppression that now I was to take part in. I braced myself as I approached the fields. I expected that I would find its inhabitants plowing the fields with the glummest of faces.

Yet, in spite of every predisposition, I found that this was not exactly the case. Plowing the fields was a bright red male pony. As the overseers put me to work and gave me a cord attached to a plow, I attempted to strike up a conversation. Though he was not a mute, the only responses that I was able to extract from him were direct affirmative and negative answers. The conversation went something like this:

“Hello, good sir. I believe that I will be assisting you in labor from now on.”

The pony responded with an elongated, “Yup.” A silence ensued.

“Although I am quite physically different from your average pony, I assure you that I am very agreeable and I hope you will not be deterred by my unorthodox form.”

His response was a likewise elongated “Nope.” Our distance increased as we were plowing in opposite directions. We were out of earshot for about six minutes.

I gave him my name when we neared one another again, and was answered with, “Big Macintosh’s the name.”

Most of our discourse went on like this for the next eight hours. I found that he was a practical stallion: simple in his reasoning, though by no means foolish. When I tested his skills at problem solving he seemed to be able to find the easiest way out of it.

“Big Macintosh,” I said as I neared him again. “Let us assume that there were two mares fighting over the ownership of a foal. One claimed that she was the true mother and the other claimed that she was the true mother and that the other mare stole the foal from her. How would you determine who was the true mother?” I hoped that he would give the same answer that King Solomon gave.

Yet he responded in a manner that surprised me. “Couldn’t they both just share the foal? Doesn’t everyone in the town have a responsibility for it?” Admittedly, this was a satisfying answer considering the collectivist nature of the society. It was a characterizing and pleasing answer in some ways. After this, I tested him with other questions of logic and he surprised me in other ways as well.

Despite his terseness, I found that my co-worker was not miserable in his situation and was very focused on his work. At the end of the day, when the sun had set, we were both exhausted as we walked to the block where we would spend the night. Yet the pony did not have the look of a slave.

Entering through the door, I immediately saw the poverty of the quarters. The entire house was a one room apartment twenty-six by twenty-six feet in area. The walls were made from grey unpolished stone, and the florescent lights above were only just bright enough to light the room. On the left side were three beds with grey, woolen sheets. In the back was a sink and a small hole that I perceived was the lavatory. On the right was a wooden table.

An orange colored mare with a blond mane enthusiastically greeted me a second after I had finished taking inventory. She shook my hand vigorously, clasping it with both hooves, and said, “Well, Howdy do Mr. Michael? My name’s Applejack it’s great to meet ya and I just wanted to thank ya for your help on the farm today. I know that you’re just gonna love it here. Did Big Macintosh there treat ya’ll good in the fields today?”

I was taken aback by the juxtaposition between my two housemates so it took me a moment to respond. “Reasonably well Miss Applejack. I believe we made fair progress.”

Moving along, she spoke again, “Well I hope y’all built up an appetite ‘cause the town guard are coming with dinner soon.”  I did not know what she had been doing that day, but the idea that she still had energy was amazing. Then again, I was more used to aerobic work that came in waves rather than the ongoing, strength-draining toil that I had done that day.

Applejack was correct. Not long after I had knelt down at the low table did the town guard bring us six pieces of bread and three cups of water. Dinner lasted about twenty minutes, with most of that time taken up by dialogue. Applejack and I exchanged pleasantries for a while. I told her of what is what like to spend time in a prison and she told me what life was like from her point of view. I had to be very careful to balance on the fine line between giving up my identity as an immortal and deceiving her. She happily and energetically told me about how she used her hind legs to shake apples from the trees in the orchard.

I then understood that my assumption was correct. Applejack did not feel as though she was no more than a slave to an overbearing totalitarian government because she did not know that there was anything more to life. Yet I did not ever speak of it to her. It was best that I not say anything about it. I fell into sleep as soon as I laid down that night. I did not dream as I usually did, but awoke the next morning to the sound of a rooster.

The next few days were full of more draining labor. Wake up at sunrise, work the fields with Big Macintosh who, although being very agreeable and practically sound, did not provide a great deal of conversation, drag myself home at sunset, eat dinner (which thankfully did change occasionally to provide nutrients), exchange a few words with Applejack (whose enthusiasm never did falter), fall asleep immediately, and repeat. I tried to count the days, but the days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, and the months into… I just stopped counting the days.

I had suffered torture before. It was no stranger. Yet this kind of treatment was different. It was oppression. Torture is a kind of pain that makes one desire nothing else than escape. Yet oppression is much slower. It is a sluggish slope down into meaninglessness. At first, I could not bear the fatigue, yet as my body adapted itself, I soon became numb to the pain. My world became focused on the rise and fall of the sun. As the sun rose, so would I, and as it fell, I would sleep. It was at this time that I realized that nothing other than my work mattered. My life was focused on raising the crop. And so it was for a long time.

In retrospect I ask myself why I did not just leave. I could have escaped at any time from when I was imprisoned. Although I did have to obey the laws of the world, I could break them in order to leave to another realm. I could have at any time gone back to Osiris where I would have been welcomed as a king. I would sit on the imperial throne in the east and awake to the next war to fight or dark god to vanquish. I could have gone back to the world of heroes at any time, yet I did not. I suppose I stayed because I believed Hope was still there somewhere.

As the seasons changed, it was about time to bring in the harvest. The many weeks of farming were finally about to pay off. On the day that the reaping was to begin, I awoke robustly. The monotony of the world seemed to end on that morning. With a sickle I went gleefully through the fields cutting down the fully grown wheat, and Big Macintosh placed it into bails. I could not contain myself as I swung the tool. As I worked on, my spirit that was so accustomed to war fooled my soul into believing that it was again in the midst of battle; surrounded by legions of foes.

I was suddenly back in Osiris; being full of ecstasy. I was the mighty combatant of the north who struck endless seas of his adversaries down with his shining sword. I jumped about, soared in the air and swung the tool like I would my blade through the sinews of an unworthy enemy. I twirled and leaped with great joy as the scythe cut like butter through the grain. I began to fancy that this was the triumph that brought meaning to the endless tedium of the abysmal days for my housemates. What bubbly bliss I felt, bouncing through the bountiful boughs of barley; bludgeoning in beautiful battle the bumbling buffoons of Belial. The blight of the boundless day blew away as I banged on them blow and beating in my bacchanalian daydream. And lo, the dance was over before the sun had set. The harvest was complete. Coming back to reality, I stepped back to admire the splendor of my handiwork.

Yet my joy was short-lived. For after all the wheat was collected, the overseers quickly came and carted it away. When I realized what was happening; that the fruit all of my hard labor was being taken from me, I yelled and attempted to stop them. But of course they beat me senseless with rods and drove away my months of accomplishment in a few minutes. Again I would like to point out the brevity. It was over just like the snap of fingers.

Dinner tasted like sand that night. I sat at the table sulking, not even caring for my injuries. My purpose had been taken from me. I was not even surprised by how trivial the matter was in comparison to the losses I had before endured. It was a great loss because I had lost that for which I had so hardly toiled. Celestia had stolen months of my life from me. A mix of emotions chaotically battled for control of me: hatred, despair, frustration, pity, and utter pain.

My roommates seemed to be likewise affected. Applejack, who was usually full of life, was now staring at her oats glumly. Big Macintosh was slumped in his seat; not having swallowed the same bite that he had been chewing on for an hour. For a fraction of a minute, I was actually surprised that they were affected as much as I was by what had occurred . Both had likely seen their share of these troubles. They saw the collection of their goods long beforehand, and, unlike me, must have been guarded against it. But when I gave thought to it, I understood that no matter how much one became used to the harshness of this world, and no matter how surely one anticipated the coming day of the harvest, nothing could ever save one from the demoralizing sight of seeing a year’s worth of time taken away in a matter of moments. The gloom had pervaded the room, so I got up and went out of the apartment.

I found that a few other ponies were outside as well. Passing by window after window I glanced into the houses and found that a few were visiting friends. Yet not enough were out to break the restrictions on assembly. I thought and remembered that there was no rule that said that ponies had to go to sleep after dinner, and yet this was the first time that I had ever realized that we were not confined to the workplace and house. The night was then the time when the ponies socialized. I laughed bitterly as I understood that the guards allowed this because they already commanded the loyalty of their protectorates. There was a hole in the block that led to the outside. A guard was stationed outside.

As I walked out towards the more urban area of Ponyville he said to me, “Before you go on your way, you’re free to do what you want at night but when the sun rises you’ll go to work at the Everfree forest to chop down lumber. I’d get some sleep if I were you.”

I mumbled an incoherent response and continued on. Stopping at the edge of the town, I began to pace and speak to myself aloud. “I knew of the oppression that is taking place under the sun. I saw their agony, and yet I did not know it. So I lived among them. I walked a mile in their shoes and I thought it not so bad ‘til today. I did not feel the emptiness that they felt, nor did I taste the bitterness of their ceaseless toil; that when they have succeeded in their goals, when they have completed their long, hard task, the results are ripped from out of their hooves. But now I know the intensity of their agony.

“Yet I recognize also that there is also one torment that I did not suffer with them: the knowledge of a coming death. In a thousand years the dust will be gone from their bones, but I will remain. Their lives are like the blink of an eye to me. Life for them is so short, eighty years; or ninety if they are very lucky. And they do not realize that the light-producing fire in the cave is right behind them. This is the most painful realization.

“I hate this life because of the grievous work under the sun.

I hate these things for which I have toiled;

For they will be given to those who did not toil for them.

We live in darkness, frustration, affliction.

What does the worker gain from his toil?

As goods increase, so do those who consume them.

Of what benefit are goods, except to feast one’s eyes on them?

Nothing is taken from labor that can be carried by hoof.

I have carried the burden that has been placed upon them.

The only hope they have is to be happy with their toil itself.

Each one is a condemned criminal.

Only they do not know the date of their execution.

They all came from dust.

To dust all of them will return.

In the place of judgment and justice is wickedness.

Everything under the sun is meaningless.”

And uttering this lament I walked into the town.