The Dwindling Sanity of Terry Smith
The ground was cool, hard. My head ached, ached as it always did. Another headache would happen soon, that I was sure of. I pushed myself from the grey concrete and gathered my surroundings. I wasn’t sure where I was, but it felt like New York. Tall, towering buildings kept me believing that.
“Where the fuck am I?” I asked myself. I didn’t know. Every time I ‘woke up’ it was something new. Something bizarre. The doctors told me I walked in my sleep. Something was off from normal New York; there was no screaming, stench, or the sound of traffic. It felt wrong to me.
It wasn’t New York if you didn’t have the screaming of the other people. Telling you you were useless, an imbecile, worthless. It had become a part of my life. The part when people told me the truths of my life. The stench of New York was gone. Of filth and crime welling up until you couldn’t stand it anymore, but you had to. This was the only city for people like me; losers and outcasts, the dredges of humanity.
Only the smell of the trash that lined the dumpsters felt like home. I got onto my feet and looked towards the end of the alley. Bright light filtered down from above and in front. It hurt my eyes, my head. Light wasn’t my friend, but then again, who was? I started to walk towards the street, find my way back home. The buildings didn’t look familiar; clearly I must be in a different borough. I heard the sound of people talking.
Talking made me mad. It was useless. Why did people insist on talking? The only things they ever said were truths. Truths hurt. A lie is something that protects; truth tears into you; gutting you open to the world around. When my caretakers talked, they told truths at me. They never told truths to each other. ‘Your hair is nice today,’ one would say. Of course it wasn’t nice. It never was.
I stepped into the sunlight at the end of the alley, finally breaching the cool darkness for the bright street. I grimaced as the light blinded me. I heard a few gasps.
“What are you looking at?” I snapped. My eyes started to adjust. Strange creatures milled about, keeping a distance from me. There was always a distance between others and I. It kept me… clean. They were horses, small and pastel. That didn’t deter me, I knew what this was.
“Oh, I see how it is. This is another goddamn dream,” I said. A few horses backed away. One took a step forward.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Was I okay? Of course I was okay. I hadn’t awoken in an alley after all, and I didn’t have to trudge back to my ‘home’. They would ask me where I was. They would want to know about me. What could they know? Nothing. They treated me like child, that’s what they saw me as.
“What do you think?” I sneered. She furrowed her brow.
“Fine,” she said and left in a huff. I wish others were as easy to dissuade as her. All I have to do is wait to wake up. I started to walk down the street. The ponies made a path for me. Where they fearful of me? I looked into their eyes, but saw nothing. Curse my brain, tempting me. IT gave me a hint of respect, but didn’t justify. A pony in uniform followed me, he had a badge on. Police are trouble, she told me, and they would want to know where the injuries came from. I started to walk faster, but he adjusted his trot. I turned to him.
“Why are you following me?” I asked. “What do you want from me!?”
“Well, you’re not a pony. I’m not sure what to do here,” he said. He had said nothing, no one ever did. Words meant nothing, it was so vague! He stated the obvious.
“Well, figure it out,” I said. I turned and started to run down the street. He kept pace with me, but was falling back. When I had my head turned to face him, I felt my foot clip something. I tumbled forward to the ground. A dark pony was snickering at me as he pulled his hoof back in. I got back up.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He should have answered me. Showed some decency. I walked closer to him.
“Oops,” he said. I grabbed his neck and lifted him up. He started to struggle, but his limbs were too short to touch me.
“Who. Do. You. Think. You. Are?” I asked. I pressed my thumbs hard to his throat. His breath came in labored gasps. Ponies started to scream. There was fear in his eyes. That felt good. Fear was respect. My father lived by that creed. He had been good at getting respect from my mom and I. I felt strong hooves beat into my back, knocking me forward. The pony I grasped wasn’t struggling anymore. Limbs twitched here and there as my hands were wrenched away from his body. He had closed his eyes, there wasn’t fear anymore. More police ponies had shown up. I felt manacle close onto my wrists.
I kicked out in rage. I felt my shoe hit something, but they piled onto me, immobilizing me. Manacles latched onto my ankles. I screamed at them. They didn’t even try and show a little fear, just anger. A few picked up my squirming body over their backs and placed me on a cart. A pony placed his hoof near my head. I needed that feeling again, the feeling of power. That pony had feared me. I lunged at the hoof and bit into the soft flesh. As warm blood flowed into my mouth he screamed out. With his other hoof he smashed my jaw.
I reeled back, tearing the some flesh with me. My blood mixed with his. Another pony hit me in the eye. Swelling caused me to lose my sight in that eye. Another one kicked my ribs; I could hear a bone crack. The cart was moving now; each jostle sent me into a spasm of pain. All the officers kept watchful eyes on me. I could see a hint of wary in the way they looked at me. I could still see the pony gingerly holding his leg. Someone had wrapped a bandage around it. It was stained with blood. He glared at me, pure hatred in his eyes. I remembered the last time I’d seen a look like that.
It was October or maybe June, the months seemed to blend together. I was trying to sit still, for the reward, a night of restful sleep. Mother always said it would come if I could just sit still for two hours before bed. She told she would always know when I fidgeted, and somehow she did, because every night’s sleep included two or three ‘visits’. I wanted so badly to just have one night of rest, just one. I sat in the broom closet. Mother said it would be the easiest place for me to do it in. There was no light in the broom closet. I could feel things crawl around.
But one night, the living room door got kicked in. Father was screaming, and then mother, a third voice kicked in. He was pleading with father, as was mother. Father yelled louder and louder.
“Take the boy!” mother shouted. There was a loud bang, and then another. Only father was left to scream.
“Where are you, retard?” he shouted. I didn’t respond. I just wanted to sleep; you weren’t allowed to sleep in the closet.
He paced around the house, checking in all the rooms, but not the closet. Eventually the pacing stopped. One final bang ended the night. It took two days before anyone unlocked the closet.
The cart stopped. Ponies grabbed me and started to drag me inside the building. It was brightly lit. A few other ponies gave me looks of disgust having seen all the blood. The ponies tossed me in a cell and locked it. A pony sharing the cell gave me a strange look, contempt.
“What are you in for? He asked. I gave him a cold look. All the answer he should have needed. Yet he pressed on with his questions. “Well? Do I have to take it out of you?” He stood up and trotted over. His face was different.
“Listen you retard, what are you in for?” He asked slowly. His face looked like my father’s. It was cold, dark, raining. I arrived at home early. I had gotten a D in English. My father sat in His chair, reading and drinking, He was drinking earlier than usual.
“What did you just say, moron?” he asked. I winced instinctively. He caught it. “Are you scared? Good!” He stood up and grabbed his beer bottle and took a long drink. We sauntered over to me.
“Dad, I,” I started to say. He smashed the beer bottle across my face.
“Listen to me, faggot,” the prisoner roared. I was back in the cell. This dream was just like all the rest. I could never escape my father, never. He pushed into my chest with his forelegs. I felt the sting of the glass as if the bottle had just hit me again. I grabbed the pony’s forelegs and spread them to the side. I could hear them tear from the socket after only a little resistance.
“You can’t hurt me now, father,” I told the pony. He had fear in his eyes. “Do you fear me? Good!” I dropped his forelegs and grabbed his hind legs. They two snapped easily. These ponies were weak, like I had been. He screamed in pain. Officers came rushing. I swung the pony at the wall, his skull cracking ever so slightly. The guard was having trouble opening the door. I kept swinging, to and fro. Blood began to stick to the wall in splatters, and then it was like art. Splinters of his skull and smears of gray matters started to leave themselves with the blood. The door opened and the guards rushed me again. More manacles placed themselves on me. As they dragged me away, I saw fear in them. It felt clean.
They threw me into a padded room without taking off the shackles. The door and lock closed, leaving me alone in the dark. I felt my heart race; darkness was in here with me. Things crawled under my skin. I let out a low whine. I heard one of my caretakers outside.
“You need to toughen up, boy, seeing as you can’t get any smarter,” she said. She liked to test me like this. Test me against the darkness. I needed to concentrate, get out. I kept thinking about the manacles, I couldn’t do anything with them on. They were so tight, my wrists and ankles hurt. I imagined the tumblers sliding into position, the manacles falling off.
They had respected me. Finally someone did. I had showed them my strength; I was stronger than any of them. The room echoed my screams, increasing the noise. It was causing my head to hurt, hurt like one of the migraines. The pain was rolling in, a hurricane force of pressure. I grabbed my head, it felt like it was splitting open. It was worse than anything I’d felt before. I screamed at my mother, my father, my caretakers, these ponies, and the manacles. I screamed for the injustice, for the truths I had been told. I felt the manacles loosen and fall off. I looked at them; the two pairs lay limply on the ground.
Something made the pain fall back, it was there but not important. Tentatively I imagined the manacles moving away from me. They started to drag themselves along the rough padding of the room. My heart raced, beating harder and harder in my chest. I looked at the door to the room. The lock unlatching and falling away, slowly. The door ripped itself from the frame with a loud crack. It hung in the air useless, I let it fall.
I had power now. Power made others fear, respect me. I was the one holding the bottle, they couldn’t match me. I felt a strange smile etch itself over my lips. I walked towards the doorway. A horrified mare stood in the hallway; she was in the midst of a scream. Something was wrong, she wasn’t scared enough. I lifted her up, her body unable to squirm under my control. The snap of her leg breaking was unmistakable. She was unable to scream, only her eyes moved. I snapped another bone. Officers came rushing behind me, alerted by the racket this mare was making. A wave of energy blew them back.
“Look what you did;” I told her, “This is your fault!” An envelope of force wrapped itself around her heart. I could feel the beating in my hand. Slowly but surely it stopped. Her breathing was rapid, panicked. She turned pale, her body twitching within the constraints. With a small ball of force, her heart burst open within her. As I dropped her, she writhed for just a second before death overtook her.
She had respected me so much, it was wondrous. She had known who was boss, it was me now. I turned back to the ponies who had foolishly tried to rush me. It was their last mistake. They had just gotten up after seeing their friend die. The look in their eyes was precious. I needed that look forever. Concentration took hold as I grabbed their eyes. They felt something wrong, something terrible, but it was far too late. With a sickening squish, five pairs of eyes started to float around me in a circle. The eyes looked at me, assuring me. The ponies screamed, reaching to their eye sockets.
The pain came back, harder than ever. It made my vision go grey. It was hard to tell the ground from the fresh blood. I reached into each of the ponies and snapped the spinal cord one by one. They were as good as dead now. One of the mares had had a pretty blue coat. It was just a few thoughts before it became into something more useful. A sleeveless vest on my torso. It felt warm from her body heat. I saw a splatter of blood hit it. Putting my hand to my face revealed I was bleeding profusely. I had so much more to do.
I ignored the blood, it would have to wait. The eyes looked at me expectantly, they needed more like them. They gave me the respect I deserved. The hallways became bloody swaths as I walked to the outside and became more creative. One stallion was turned inside out. His organs wiggled on the tiled floor, flopping about as he struggled with the reality of his situation. I cursed, I had forgotten the eyes. Twenty more joined the circle. They all approved of me, they all respected me. They knew the truth. I was important, I had worth now.
One mare had been particularly fun. She screamed for me to stop, I had left her mouth unbound. That riled me up good. I stood there, accepting her screams as music. Her tones floating like fine notes of a piano to my ear. She stopped screaming and started to sob. It wasn’t an enjoyable. I wrenched her neck backwards, snapping it. Her eyes were the first red ones to join me.
Finally, the doors to the outside world swung out. However, it wasn’t ponies that lined the street. In the center of the street stood my father, sitting in His chair. He was drinking, it wasn’t even noon yet.
“What they fuck do you think you’re doing, fucker?” he asked. The pain returned in full force. My arms hung limply by my side. The eyes fell to the floor with plops. Father got up and walked towards me.
“Are you afraid?” he asked. “DO YOU RESPECT ME?”
“No,” I whimpered. His bottle smashed against my face. Glass shards flying to the floor, hitting like rain drops.
“You will,” he muttered.
“What is he doing in there?” asked an officer pony. Two ponies stood outside the padded cell for the mentally unstable ponies. It wasn’t a pony this cell held today. Screams of pain and terror emanated from the cell, not even close to muffled by the padding.
“He hasn’t stopped since we put him in there,” said the doctor. “We might have to put him down.”
