Author's Note
I not the most social person. In fact, I don't just talk to myself, I have long and thoughtful conversations with myself.
With little friends, I often spend my spare time thinking, a lot. I come to strange conclusions.
This story is a spawn from my destabilized head.
I don't expect this to make sense to half of you ponies reading it, but I got bored in another sleepless night.
I just typed whatever flowed around as fast as I could. I figured, "fuck it" at least one pony should like it, right?
In a mind for a moment
What if I told you, there’s actually no such thing as one pony. Well, there is just one pony’s body, but in that body are actually two ponies. Our second selves are devious fiends that reside in the back of our minds. Often, it is a life-saving friend, but sometimes it is a dangerous foe.
Imagine, if you will, a puppeteer and her marionette. The puppeteer will pull her strings and the puppet will respond, all they all would, powerless to defy their mistress’s will. Now let’s think of the puppet for a moment. Now try to imagine that that puppet is a puppeteer, controlling another, smaller marionette. To help you understand, I will now refer the first puppeteer as “the mistress”. Whom the mistress’s strings control is both marionette and another puppeteer. I will refer to it as “the marionette”. The third form I have mentioned, the marionette of the marionette, will be known as “the third”. Do you see it now, the mistress control the marionette with her strings, and the marionette controls the third with more strings. Remember that image.
Now, I have an important question for you. In terms of you and yourself, your body and mind, who do you think you are, the mistress, the marionette, or the third? Please, take a moment, and honestly answer that question before reading on. If the question makes no sense, please reread the former paragraph until so.
Don’t tell me your answer (for I cannot hear you), rather, let me guess. Do you think you are the mistress? If so, you are minded like the norm and most others. And like most others, you are deceived by your very self.
In truth, you are the marionette. Your body is the third, you nerves are the strings. And you might ask, “But who is the mistress if it is not I?” It is in fact you, but not you. Not the you that opened my journal and read my words. Not the you that sits and wonders about the things you have read. Not the you that sees or feels. No.
It is the second you. The you that lives closer to you than any pony ever could. You are a marionette of yourself, and I will tell you why.
The second you if often referred to as you subconscious, but I’d dislike the term, for most of you think you know what it is and have connected the word with false information. I only mention it now so as to help you understand what it is, but I ask of you to, for now, throw away all you know about it and open up for new, and likely conflicting, ideas about it. I ask of this because I wish not to pollute your thoughts. For now, let’s pretend that there is no subconscious, but rather than you and everypony in the world have a voice in you heads that sound just like you.
Yes, we are a marionettes, playthings of our second. While the strings that bid us are loose, they are there and tight is the bond. Your mistress cannot control your third, your body, but you control the body and she controls you.
Well, not entirely. Unlike your third, you are a marionette, but you are also a puppeteer. You are not lifeless, you have the power of influence on the third and may act without the guides of your mistress. The mistress is often quiet and subtle. She sees all you do, but acts very little. As mentioned before, the third is the body. The body is needed to retrieve food and keep both you and your mistress alive and well. You control the third, but under the mistress’s watchful sight.
But you are naive and always will be. I mean no insult to you in anyway. You are naïve not because you are that way, but because the outside makes you that way. Things happen always happen to the third and to you. You must can react to those things in indefinite ways, but sometimes, they’re beyond your mistress’s approval.
And this is when the mistress acts. Unfortunately, she cant control the third whom she depends one. However, she can control the being that controls it. She can control you. And because of this, she is only realized by so few ponies. Few ponies like me.
She cannot control the third. You’ve never had any part of you’re body made to move a certain way. She simply can’t do that. Instead, she influence you. The reason she is so elusive is because your never realize it. You think is your decision, but in reality its not.
How niave reader, you think to yourself: “Nonsense, I’ve always controlled by own decisions.” Yes, in a sense you have, but in a way you haven’t. This brings about another subject: addiction. No, no. I do not mean drugs and ruined lives. Please, as I hope you’ve done with the idea of the subconscious, I’d like to ask you to put aside the premade thoughts about the subject of addiction, and open yourself to new ideas.
You see, addiction is when the mistress wants something. There are a few things we are actually addicted to from birth. One of these things is food. Yes, we are addicted to food. In reality, few of us truly care about food, but it is by the mistress’s will do you seek out food constantly. I do know of a small test that may be done to prove this to you. You see, the body can survive eight weeks without food. I challenge you to simply go fives days without food.
Try it if you don’t believe me, but I already know the outcome. By the second day, or often even before hand, you’ll crave food you don’t actually need. You’ll be agitated, and food will never leave your mind. Those of you that have quit smoking will find it a very familiar experience. Its not that you’re starving, no, it’ll be much longer before the energy reserves in you body are empty. You body isn’t taking damage at all. If you think carefully about what you’re thinking, you’ll notice all the thoughts and ideas about eating. Part of you is determined to complete the challenge, but a larger part wants to eat. If you think very hard, you may notice some of those thoughts don’t seem to be yours.
So by the second day, you give up and eat food. You think it was you’re conscious decision to eat. You think the challenge is not worth you’re time, and eat. You don’t want to mess your figure now. You don’t want to damage yourself. You just had to get rid of the pain in your stomach. If it’s was your decision to give up, why are you reassuring yourself during the entire meal.
She does many things we never even notice. She’s what makes you eat. She’s what makes you drink. She’s your sex drive. She’s your fears. You are like a dog to her on a long leash. You may go where you please, but only so far.
She’s manipulating you. She’s deceiving you. I hope you know now what the mistress is, and what our minds truly are. I write all of this so that the reader may not only learn a thing or two about themselves, but also the hell I’ve been through.
To you, you’re mistress is like a caring mother, always looking out for you and determined to keep you well in a dangerous world. But mine, my mistress is… different.
She wants me to do things. Horrible things and I can’t stop her. I don’t want to hurt my friends, but she puts me in all this pain. She holds me, she’s so warm. I can’t help it. I do the things she asked for me, and I feel so well. I feel so great. It’s the best feeling in the world, I’m so happy.
Then I look at my hooves. There’s so much blood. I look sort through the memories of what I’ve done only a few years ago. Oh, Laura, why is this happening to me? Their faces, all of them, are still fresh in my mind.
The screams, the begging, their please, the tears. Did I… Did I really laugh at them. How could I feel this way? Why am I so happy? I have furniture made of bones, I have a dress made out cutie marks.
I just killed one of my friends. I cut away at her cutie marks and ripped them off. The blood is still fresh. They’re still on the table, just inches away from me, dripping and staining the floor. I cut her wings off, I pulled her organs out one by one. Why, why, why?
I just did what my mistress told me to do. She’s satisfied now, so for now I am my normal self. I don’t know how long it will last.
She won’t stop. I can’t fight her.
I won’t ask for forgiveness, but I hope somepony understands what’s happened to me.
I hope somepony will save me.
I hope somepony will just kill me.
I'm not who I used to be.
I am not Pinkie Pie anymore.
