The Chronicle of Equestria: Miseriae

The most recognizable feature of the buildings of Ponyville was that they were so bright. Even amongst the gloom that pervaded the air as ponies passed with their heads low, I could see light pouring from the houses. As I looked in, I could clearly and blatantly see the scenes that were going on inside. I walked through the dark streets and sampled the events that transpired indoors.

I looked into one home and saw that the condition of this house was not unlike mine: a small room just large enough to live in. There was a full sized family in the center of the home: a father and mother and their adolescent fillies. They were all colored bright hues of blue and purple. Each had a cutie mark that was somehow related to masonry.  Both girls were nuzzling into their parents’ manes; weeping soft tears that rolled down their cheeks and dampened their coats. They occasionally sobbed and let out little cries. While my heart cracked for them, it broke when I saw the faces of their surrogate parents. They did not look sad, but were at a loss. Tears came to my eyes as I saw that they could provide no comfort for their children. They simply did not know what to do. I wept for them as I realized that they bore the burdens of their children as well as their own.

I looked into another dwelling and I saw yet another distressing scene. I saw two old mares, each nearing the end of their lives; both about the age of seventy. They sat at their table staring down at the wood. I could see in their eyes a look of desolation. There was nothing left in them but a bestial instinct that would wake them the next morning after sleep and drive them like puppets to do whatever purposeless work that they did. I had seen these faces before. These were the faces of the last fledgling veterans of a war that had swept the country and killed all of their friends and family. This was the look of defeat.

As I walked through the streets, seeing the same type of scenes over and over, I began to recognize the inaction that was there. The roads were as quiet as a ghost town, and the people inside were as still as statues. There was no breeze in the air. Everything was as quiet and as still as the grave. My walking pace slowed from the usual quick half-run to a sluggish crawl. I realized I was dragging my feet across the pavement and I felt as though time itself were slowing down to a halt. The world was stopping in its tracks to mourn for its loss. It seemed that Charlotte’s reign was immutable. I passed by yet another dreary scene and my head drooped. I wished to see no more than the ground now.

After spending far too long in this repetitious, miserable observation, something started to bother me. Having walked a bit into the town, I came near a large bakery at an intersection and something seemed odd.  What was that? Wait, was that sound? Was that laughter? I raised my head and saw shadows dancing in the light from the bakery. I could now hear clearly the sound of high pitched laughter coming from it. This was certainly uncharacteristic of this night. Wishing to see what was the source of this disturbance in the silence, I went to the window and peered in.

As I looked into the window, I saw the most amusing sight I had ever watched while in this realm. There was a sole mare sitting at one of the tables of the bakery with two figures made out of clay. She looked to be about twenty. Her coat was colored a light pink, and her mane was a darker shade of pink. She was talking to herself and moving around the clay figures as the though she were acting out a show with an unmistakable look of glee on her face. Every so often, she would let out a joyous laugh that one could hear from the outside. A minute or two later, she looked up and saw me. After gazing on me for only a second, she jumped out of her seat and let out a gasp of excitement. With the most exhilarating motion, she gestured for me to come inside. Out of curiosity, I went to the door and opened it.

At my entering, the ecstatic pony let out a torrent of words in a high pitched voice. “Hi Michael! It’s so great to finally meet you. How do you like Ponyville? It’s great isn’t it? My name’s Pinkie Pie. Welcome to Sugarcube Corner. Wow you’re taller up close. Come on in and sit down.”

It was a lot to take in at one moment. I sat down in one of the chairs near the door and looked at her. She was eagerly awaiting my response, so I decided to oblige her.  “It is very good to meet you as well Miss Pinkie. Ponyville is a charming place.  May I ask you how you already know my name?”

She responded with a laugh and saying, “Oh, I know every pony in Ponyville, and it’s not exactly easy for you to blend in with how you look. I’m so glad that I finally get to see you for real though. But anyway, would you like to buy some sweets?”

“A clever pony as well,” I thought. “Very well then, Miss Pinkie, I will accept your change of subject to matters of business. May I ask for the prices of your goods?” I made the assumption that because monetary currency was probably foreign to a slave race, there would be some kind of bartering system.

With a smile, she gestured to a menu that was on the left side of the bakery. From the frilly décor of the outside, I pretty much anticipated the items that were sold: cupcakes, cake, candy canes, lollipops, etc. This was predictable. Yet what was surprising was the currency by which the delights were priced: one hour for two of any kind of candy, two hours for any kind of baked good. Not understanding, I asked my hostess, “Pray tell Miss Pinkie, what does your menu mean by ‘hours?’”

Surprised, she cheerfully answered, “What, you don’t know? For every hour that you work at night for Sugarcube Corner, I’ll give you credit for some treats.”

A bit uneasy I replied, “Ah, well, Miss Pinkie, I am afraid that I cannot take you up on your offer. Unfortunately I have no skill or knowledge in the area of food preparation.”

She giggled and said, “Oh that’s silly. Everybody can bake a cake. Ooh, I know. I can show you how!” And without leaving time for me to protest, she ushered me into the kitchen and promptly began to show me how to bake a cake with greatly animated vigor.

She was a very good teacher as it was difficult to lose focus with her unending train of sensational words. So within the hour I had learned a new skill. After showing me, she had me produce another cake for her in order to judge what I had gained. She was pleased apparently because she took one bite and appeared as though she was about to explode with pleasure.

It was at this point that I finally found the chance to ask her the question that had been biting at my tongue since I peered in the window. “Miss Pinkie, forgive me, but are you not distraught? Today was the harvest. Did not the authorities collect all of the fruit of your hard labor? Are you not encouraged to weep at this loss?”

I immediately regretted asking that question. I expected her to stop for a moment. Her head would drop ever so slightly and she would do her best to shrug off the pain of her forfeiture. Her blissful attitude would be brought down to Earth (so to speak).

Yet what I received in reply was not a leveling of jolliness. Rather, she spoke, as though she had answered that question many times, in a matter-of-a-fact voice. “Nope. I’m happy that my sweets got taken. Now they’re being eaten by everybody in Canterlot. And now that all of it got taken, I get to start all over again and see if I can’t make even better goodies.”

Something failed to click in my brain. It took a moment and a vacant stare for me to process what I had just heard. When I did, I could not believe my ears. “So you are working for the sake of work? Is that right?”

“Well, yeah. When you put it that way…” She glanced over at the clock. It was 4:30. “Oh, look at the time.” She said. “You better get to bed. You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”

Hearing this, I was shocked at how much time had gone by. I quickly jumped up and said, “By Lethe, so it is! Thank you for your kindness tonight Miss Pinkie. I shall perhaps see you soon, but I must take my leave now.” And I rushed back to my hovel to gain some rest before sunrise.

When the sun rose, I was indeed tired. All of my energy had run out. The first of the seven seals on my body that limited the power I could use loosened itself and gave me a portion of the power it sealed up: the energy I needed to move on through the day. I tied a black rag around it so that no one would notice the light it emitted. I was thankful though for it. I didn’t have to worry about exhaustion so much.

As I sawed through trees that day, only half of my soul was focused on the task at hand. Although, it was not so noticeable as it did not require much thought. I was pondering the events that had happened last night. This Pinkie Pie … just what was it that made her so elated on the saddest day of the year? I contemplated all the possible reasons, but in the end, I could only conclude one.

A light appeared in the darkness of the cave in which the ponies were chained. “Is it possible?” I asked myself. Was it possible that she understood one of the greatest secrets that had ever been revealed to mortals … one of the secrets to joy?

I thought back to the time that I was imprisoned in the torture chamber of my son, Lucius, who ruled over the known world at the time. I remembered the endless hours that I was stabbed repeatedly through the stomach and chest, only to have the wounds healed and reopened in minutes. It would not be long before I would break, sing like a bird to my interrogators, and be deported; leaving Osiris to rot in tyranny. I prayed desperately for seven days and nights for some kind of comfort, a savior, a deliverance from the pain, something to end the torment. And on the eighth day, I heard a small voice inside my soul. It was so faint, and yet it was as clear as the waters of the Caribbean on Earth.

It said, “It is revealed to you, Michael, son of Michael. From this day forth, you shall be one of the few to understand that which has been given to mortals but not understood. Neither do the immortals understand it.”

I had an epiphany then, but I could not describe what I realized. Inside of my soul was placed an unbreakable resoluteness, an impregnable wall that was my will. I was in the most immutable peace, yet I could say not why it was so. A day later, when the demons under Lucius’ command realized that I was not responding at all to their torture, they screamed, “How do you not feel the pain? Why do you not beg for mercy? What is the reason for your idiocy?”

It was at this time, that I remembered a poem that I had read in my library. It was written on Earth, but exported across the realms by an angel. I remembered that poem, and I finally was able to put to words the epiphany that had given me such strength. I answered them with that poem.

Remembering that bold statement from so long ago, I believed that this Pinkie Pie understood the meaning behind this poem even if she had not heard it. It means that no one is truly controlled by his environment; that unlike the common deterministic psychology which has so intensely been integrated into many cultures, people are not only a product of the events they have experienced or the environment that they have lived in. We choose how we will wake up each morning. Whether it be with a feeling of deep depression because there is no clear purpose in life, or whether we grab life by the horns and scream in its face that we will choose how we are affected by its trials and tribulations. And even though all that awaits mortals is death (or so many are inclined to believe), it is they who will choose how they will live until that day and how they will meet that end. The three Fates and the Almighty God do control everything that will occur, but it is we who decide how we will respond to the events that they cause.

I believed Pinkie Pie understood this secret. This was the reason she was filled with so much delight. She understood that there was nothing her oppressors could ever do to her that would make her feel the dull pang of depression. Despite the hardest efforts of the mighty Charlotte, Pinkie would not kneel to her. Although I did not take the time to sit down and still my body and soul, I imagined that if I looked at her with the eyes of an empyrean spirit, I would see the angel of Success or one of his subordinates following behind him.

It only followed then that Pinkie Pie was willing to work as hard as she could. Because despite the fact that she could not reap the benefits of her toil, she knew that success is a journey and not an event. The road to victory has many stops, but until the end of the great race, only the unsuccessful stop to smell the roses for long.

With this realization, I too was empowered with the spirit of Endurance. For many days I worked diligently for the sake of work. At night I would go to Sugarcube Corner and earn myself a cup of tea and hear the random but happy rambling of my newfound friend. Each and every moment of my day was focused on returning to that bakery to hear from Pinkie and be in her company. For every day without fail, she would be in the same jovial mood.

I felt that she may be the light inside the dark cave. I had known her father, and her father’s father, and his father before him, but all of them followed the same pattern of hopeless indifference. Pinkie Pie though was something so new. I had never met anyone like her in this realm. I had thought about retracting one of my lamentations in the prison outside Canterlot: “What has been will be again; what has done will be done again.” I said to myself, “It may be that I was wrong. There is newness in this mare.” And for a while, all of the oppression under the sun was overshadowed by Pinkie in the night.

It came to pass that one night I was enjoying a well-earned cup of tea and listening to Pinkie Pie talk about the wonderful things that had happened that day. As always, she spoke in a quick, unending inundation of words. “… and then I saw Applejack coming and I was like [she let out an adorable gasp accompanied by her jumping in the air] because I hadn’t seen her in a while and I was really glad to see her. And so then I had this really great idea that we should throw a party…”

Yes, out of all the ponies in the enslaved land she was somehow the only one who ever had the supplies to throw parties, and a lot of them for that matter. Yet, unfortunately, she was rarely able to do so. There were many laws against congregation that prevented her from throwing parties. Yet every now and then a specific occasion came up that let her slip through the laws.

“…and I had to go to all the way to Stalliongrad to get some party stuff…”

“Stalliongrad?” I asked myself. “That’s quite a ways from Ponyville. I wonder how she managed to return in time.”

“And on the way there I saw this really fun-” She stopped mid-sentence and looked puzzled for a moment. She looked down at her stomach as though it were grumbling or something. I thought this odd because she had had dinner plus a piece of cake thirty minutes ago.

“Miss Pinkie, is there something the matter?” I asked with concern.

Suddenly a look of surprise crossed her face, followed by a humongous grin. “Oh no Michael, everything is better than fine.” She said very quickly. She sped towards the door to the kitchen (and the rest of the place) and called out. “I have to go do something. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her last sentence was muffled by the several walls between us.

I sighed and thought not much of it. I chuckled, “There is always something amusing going on with that pony.” I finished my tea and walked out of the shop; heading to bed.

The nights in Ponyville did not seem dark to me any longer. The streets were lit from the lights in the nearby houses. They were also quiet. No sound could be heard except for the occasional passing pony’s hooves. This was in stark contrast to the noisy day which was full of shouting and the sound of the machinery sawing through trees. The sun did not seem to give off much light under the canopy of the forest either. Yes, the nights were peaceful.

Walking out of the housing district, I strolled through that same clearing that I always admired for thinking. I looked up at the moon and gazed at it for a moment; appreciating the glowing orb that gave light in a sweeter way than the sun of this world. Staring more intently, I imagined that I was just able to make out a strange pattern of craters on the moon.

Yet I was not able to look for long. Unexpectedly, I felt a massive rush of empyreal energy brushed past me. It had to be immense because I would have not noticed it across the dimensions otherwise. It was not long before my eyes became wide like dinner plates. I was fairly sure of the substantial cataclysm that was about to occur, but I had to make sure. I fell to my knees. I had to reach the empyreal realm quickly and determine its source. Stilling my body, I began to focus on a single image, and in doing so, stilled my soul as well. My spirit was now free to roam; no longer having to spend its energies on controlling my soul and body. With my new eyes, I looked towards Ponyville: where the jolt had come from.

What I saw traumatized me. Only fifty meters away was another one of the Fates. Dressed in the finest blue robes and crowned with the longest, most stunning brown hair was Verdandi, the Fate of the Present. Her face, though pensive, was full of purpose. I knew that she was here to accomplish something monumental. Her eyes were reminiscent of the great northern sea on Earth, and she gazed in my direction.

My first reaction was to return to my body and flee as fast as I could. But before I could even traverse a nanometer in the present dimension, she was standing two meters in front of me. I was paralyzed with fear now.

She spoke with a melodious voice that nonetheless inspired great fear. “Michael, fear me not. I have not come to make war against you myself. For I have no doubt that the Almighty God would come to your aid; sending legions of angels led by one of the seven to protect you. Neither be afraid of what I have come to do yet. I have already completed my task. In the town of Ponyville a lot was drawn, and I guided the drawer. The decision has been made.”

And she disappeared. Returning to my body, I gulped a deep breath and collapsed to all fours, exhaling. When I gained my composure somewhat, I returned to my bed and laid there until the sun rose with my eyes wide open. The first seal loosened soon after; giving me just enough energy to last through the day.

Despite my weariness about an apocalypse that may have occurred that day, generally, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The sun shone in its usual dim and oppressive fashion all throughout the daylight hours. There was not a cloud in the sky. We were making progress in collecting lumber so the canopy allowed for a constant view of the heavens. Because of the changing seasons, the days were becoming shorter. That meant less work. So I went home that day with at least an extra hour to burn.

As usual, I spent a short time conversing with Applejack; however, again, my main goal was to make my way to Ponyville and enjoy discourse with Pinkie Pie. So soon setting on my course, I soon was nearing Sugarcube Corner. No sooner had I opened the door to the bakery (which I assume was a bit like a café considering beverages are not made at bakeries) did I meet a very excited Pinkie; jumping up and down at my presence.

She almost squealed with glee as she spoke. “Oh my gosh, Michael, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you to get here since last night.”

I decided to humor her. “And exactly why are you so excited Miss Pinkie?”

“Because tonight is that night that you’re gonna help me make the most super, specialest, most tastiest treat ever!” She said continuing to bounce up and down and with her eyes bulging.

There was something very odd about this Pinkie Pie. She was always joyful, but this was far beyond joyful. In fact she was so jubilant that it almost seemed unnerving and unnatural, which was very odd. Usually, Pinkie’s mood was contagious, but this was a mood that made me feel awkward and out of place. I spoke trying to maintain my customary voice of manner.

“Ah, and what ‘treat’ is that Miss Pinkie?”

She giggled and answered with a high pitched voice. “Cupcakes!”

Now generally I did not bake anything other than cake. Cake was the first and only good that Pinkie Pie had taught me to make. Thus I could not understand why she wanted my help. “Hmm, Miss Pinkie, do you recall that my skills as a baker of indulgences other than cake are unrefined.”

Grinning from ear to ear, she responded, “Of course I do. But you really don’t need to know how to make them to help me.”

“Well,” I thought to myself, “She has indeed been a gracious host so far. I may as well practice the art of giving in the form of time for her. She deserves it for the charity she has shown me.” I spoke. “Very well then, I shall oblige you if you so desire my assistance.”

She shouted, “Yaaaay!” and rushed into the kitchen abruptly. She returned five seconds later with a cupcake in her hoof. It was topped with white icing and rainbow sprinkles.

I stared at what she had brought. “Why would I be helping her make cupcakes if she already had one or more?” I asked myself. Puzzled, I voiced my concern. “Ah, Miss Pinkie, why do you have—”

She cut me off and said, “Oh, this is just a sample to get you ready for the job.”

I had not had such a delight in a while so this was quite a temptation. This was not to mention that I did have a bit of a sweet tooth. “Well, if it pleases you.” I took the cupcake from her and bit into it.

There was an explosion of flavor in my mouth. For the longest time I had been eating nothing but the tasteless foods that provided nutrients necessary for survival. Hence, this taste was phenomenal: a maelstrom of the most exotic sweetness.

“Miss Pinkie,” I said, “This is extremely exquisite.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she happily said. I noticed that she was watching me intently, but I was too memorized by the sensation in my mouth to care. I finished the rest of the cupcake as slow as possible; cherishing the euphoric feeling. When I had finished, I licked my lips and said with a relish, “Well, shall we begin on our quest for more of these lovely extravagances?”

Oddly, she looked less jubilant than she was moments ago. A visage of confusion came upon her and she replied, “I think we should wait just a minute.”

“Why ever do you say that?” I asked baffled by her patience.

“Uuuhh, I just think that we should savor the moment.” She slowly said.

For a moment, I had the notion that she was stalling. Yet it was her enterprise. She made the rules. I said, “While I cannot understand with my present knowledge why you would wish to forego our mission, I shall nonetheless comply with your wishes as you are the commissioner herself.”

So we stood there for five minutes doing nothing but stare at each other. Yet after this time had passed, I started to feel a bit of drowsiness. Feeling this, I spoke to my companion, “Oh, I am sorry to inform you, Miss, that for some unexpected reason I am at the moment feeling a touch of sleepiness. I apologize for this and beg that you would forgive me if for some reason I may doze off during the course of—” Darkness had overtaken me at this point. I fell to the floor; completely losing consciousness.