Author's Note

This chapter has almost no plot. It's only purpose is to foreshadow events of the future. I apologize if you grew bored or if you didn't read through it completely because you didn't like the way I wrote or something. I also really want critique so when you are done reading, let me know if something stood out to you in a negative way.. Please? I also apologize for my grammar.

Foreshadowing

For today, I am a horseshoe. Why, you may ask. Because horseshoes get thrown about. Just like I have for most of my life. Only, who am I? For I, your dutiful narrarrator am the non compos mentis blue equine of P.M.I (Ponyville Mental Institution).

It reached back in my throat and let out guttural bark; to me it was the Lay of the Firmaments, to others it was just a sound spat from the mad. One of the guard ponies let me know to ‘shut up’ by knocking into me as he led me to my room. I responded usually with, “Egads! If you don’t care for mac and cheese then be quiet.” but today, I felt an unnatural feeling in my gut that made me be quiet. I don’t know why I say the things I do, I just know I do. It felt like there was a thing inside of my throat that made me do these things, but I like these things so it is ok. I call it Monsieur Savvy, why, you may ask. Because Monsieur Savvy told me to. The trip to my residence was short and forgettable somehow. Inside of my room, I sat and poured over the thoughts of my past that were written inside of a journal.

Such as, “The cruel and obtuse world will never understand the Way of the Mad. Impervious; they are abominations to intelligence and acumen,” and, “Stupidity is the opiate that consumes what you love,” The scribbles I had wrote, I stared at for hours. They were literal scribbles. Only I could understand them and the meaning behind them. It was a strange and spiritual idea that I had formulated a while ago. That thought made Monsieur Savvy bellow. The sound resonated and bounced across the white walls of my room. T’was an odd sound; an odd music that made the aether melancholy, but why was it melancholy? Am I melancholy? If so, why? Do I crave to extend my extremities beyond the whitewashed walls of the facility? The monotony had surely gotten to Monsieur Savvy and I: Wake up, go to breakfast, go to room, go to lunch, go to room, go to therapy, go to room, go to dinner, go to room, go to bed, sleep and then wake up day in and day out. I was depressed about it. It was a terribly repetitive way to live and it hurt. I did in fact want to break the cycle, but how? Monsieur Savvy told me to run up against the door, see if that will work. It didn’t. It only resulted in my thoughts being fuzzed and a headache. I lay sprawled out on the floor for a few moments until the nurses came and put me into the pad room and gave me vitamins.

I didn’t like the vitamins; they dull my thoughts and put Monsieur Savvy to sleep. I really disliked when Savvy was asleep, for he was my entertainment. You see, the hardest thing to unlock is randomness, and that is exactly what Monsieur did. He provided me with things to do. For example when a sense of lassitude would overcome me, he would make a grumbling noise that tickled the top of my mouth. I trusted Monsieur and I’m pretty sure he trusted me. I did not care that he was domiciled within my throat; he was still a friend, and an only friend at that. I could never get along with any of the other patients. I may be insane, and I recognize that; but they are insane and senile and that is much worse. For it is an arduous task to handle 90 year olds losing their marbles all around you about simple things. Few people at this institution that I have met are intelligent. I have met Al Coltone, Edgar Allan Pony, etc. Al was malicious; he actually resided within the padded room next to mine. I called out (of my own will) to him.

“Oi! Coltone!”

“Your voice is a ticking too much, it could bother one,” His voice was riddled with a Manehattean accent and through the padded walls it sounded muffled. He was about as off as I am.

“I do apoligi *hiccup* ze” Monsieur had opened his metaphorical eyes for just one moment, and then passed out again. “Goodbye,”

“Adieu, darling,” I blushed. For you see, I…uhh, loved Al. He didn’t share the same feelings though. Now about Edgar Allen Pony, his was a sad story. He had lived here for the last few years of his life. He wrote many stories and poems during his life, most of them relatively dark. He had lost most of his loved ones to a deadly disease, and they had taken a toll on his mentality. One day the nurses found him lying prone in a pool of vomit inside of his bedchamber. Nopony knows what happened to him. Anyway…
I sat in that padded room and tried to think. I could feel the medicine taking affect in my frontal lobe and cerebral cortex. I wriggled inside of the straitjacket I was forced into. It was quite an uncomfortable position; I can give you that. My frontal lobe felt less…Alive. I took a moment to cogitate. My frontal lobe is the center of almost all behavior. The vitamins were to make my behavior…calmer. After a few hours of monotonously tapping my cranium against the soft padded walls of the chamber for no reason in particular, the entropic seed planted within my esophagus started awakening. First a growling sound, then the beauteous barking noise I had fallen in love with. I let Savvy go about his business. He threw forth and I ejaculated a cacophony of grumbling noises, imprecations, barking noises and bunkum.

“Shiihihihihihit! Ruff RUFF! RUFF! Celestia-damn these pubescent mangos!” T’was a glorious vibration throughout my throat that continued for a few minutes until my mouth got sore and Savvy proceeded to stop. I lay there until I felt myself getting drowsier and drowsier until I fell asleep.