Journal of a Regular Pony

I despise him, that smug stallion. How could he delight in this cursed world we live in? I tell him this, more than he needs to hear, but it is only so that he can finally understand my point, is that not why he said to start a journal? Why can he not see that? Why can he not see that our oppressing “protector” is nothing but an impostor! A foolish guise to  try and delude us into worshiping her! Oh, but the common people will tell you that she is a benevolent and loving ruler! That she does what is best for Equestria.

Lies!

She watches over us like some kind of overbearing mother! Do you want proof, dear reader? I will give you proof!

She favors that student, that “Twilight Sparkle”. Oh how I despise the name! I curse it every day that I wake and every night I sleep. How can we claim her as a loving ruler if she favors one pony over the entire populace?! Oh, but she only choose that one unicorn because of her significant magical ability. Yes, and I am merely just a pony to be left in the wayside! Do you not possess some sort of magic of your own? Then how is it that our benevolent ruler can overlook you in favor of some other mare? And by the sun, she is so young! Clearly she has only taken her for sexual needs.

Oh, I’m sorry, are you offended by that?

We can find even more proof that our ruler is just a mad queen on a throne of lies. Why, do you think, she banished her own sister to the moon? Oh, but her sister was insane and would have killed her! You say this, reader, but have you ever thought that there could be other ways? Why not simply send her to another land? Why not use the new found Elements of Harmony to restore her sister? Is that not what her Faithful Student did? She has done it before on Discord; why can she not do it on her own sister?

The hour grows increasingly late - it is time for the mistress of the night to rule for her time - and tomorrow will be nothing more than another day. Another day under her tainted eye.

I woke this morning to find that my journal had been left open throughout the night. No doubt that her spies have probably discovered it and will come crashing through the window in an attempt on my life.

The shower was as cold as always. It did nothing to calm my fervent thoughts. Now would be the time for work, as dictated by the wonderful sunlight blasting through the window. My kitchen is arranged, dear reader, like an altar to the stove. On the left, if you were to face the window, stands a sort of pantry. It is rarely ever stocked with actual food, most days it houses only oatmeal. Perhaps that will be my breakfast. On the right, if you face the same way as before, rests a counter that lies under a cupboard. The cupboard holds what plates and glasses I have, which amounts to hardly anything at all. I wouldn't be surprised if spiders made their homes in my kitchen, in fact, some already do. A small family resides in the small crevice in between the counter and the floor. I have meant to get that fixed, but that would require another pony.

Finally, in the center of the pantry and the counter, resides the glorious shrine to my stove. It is powered by a form of magic, don’t ask what kind, and has been faithfully serving me for so many years now. And of course a window plants itself just above the stove. That window is my wonderful portrait to the grand castle where she lies. That insufferable princess of all of us. A single flower stands just outside that window, settled on a windowsill so as not to be within my actual house. I hate bees, you see, and it would be disastrous to have the dreadful stingers flying around my house. That single white flower has been mine for some time now. It has sat at that one spot, watered everyday by both rain and can, and slowly built up strength. Now it is half wilted, most of its petals are gone, and I suspect it will die soon.

I turn my head up, once again, and view that sacred place of my hate. I know she is there now, mocking me, making me ever the fool! I will find her weakness, know this, and I will make her cower before me!

I walk out of my house, finding the streets covered with ponies of all kinds, and trudge to my job. It isn't such a bad thing, my job. I find some form of comfort in menial work; it really takes my mind into a fortress of numbness that allows those dreaded thoughts to flee to the back of my mind. Or at least my consciousness.

By this point I have reached the side gate, it is always so heavily guarded, and quickly shuffle my hooves into my coat pocket. The guard glances at my card before letting me through. He practically knows me by sight, I have been working here so long. The lockers are housed in a rather petite building just outside of the inner walls. I greet the few co-workers worth my time and quickly dress in the uniform of Royal Handystallion.

Perhaps that’s why I detest her so much, I work around her palace everyday. They do say that familiarity breeds contempt, after all.

But that is the saying of a fool, after all, my life will continue to go on. That temptress will still live in her bastion, her fortress, her jail. And I will laugh at that until I cannot breathe.

The hedges are just as unruly today, they never want to keep their leaves in check. I guess that is why I am here, to make sure those leaves stay cut and the branches don't grow out too far. Ironic how the one who wishes to be free cuts the hedges that want to grow. But that is the job of the Royal Handy pony and I am nothing if not diligent in my work.

My clippers come to a stop at the window just outside the royal chamber. She's holding day-court right now, the clerk seems unusually flustered by the amount of ponies waiting for an audience. Perhaps today is special? Why do I care, time merely flows by me, it is nothing more than clocks ticking in my bedroom. How I despise those clocks!

She sits on her throne, just as powerful as yesterday. Her manes flows to defy regular wind and I always have trouble keeping track of which way it chooses to face. Her body is so disgustingly graceful to me, a lithe form that holds remarkable control over all of its muscles. The throne seems barely able to contain her billowing radiance. I have trouble looking at her for more than just a few moments before my stomach knots up and I have to turn away. Why do I always turn away?

She is only the ruler of Equestria in name. Why, I can tell you she is is no different than any other pony I have ever known! If I had the chance to meet her I could show that she is just the same, her heart beats just like ours. Only the most delusional of ponies would hold her in high regard. I am sure of it!

It is midday now, the sun has settled halfway through the sky. Its rays beat down on my back as I work the outer rims of the castle grounds. The hedge walls this far out are the most unruly, it takes the most time to do them. I am fine with this, however, as it gives me more time to think. I suppose that some social interaction would be normal for a pony, but it avoid others at all costs. The very few ponies to be included in my world are my family, my professor, and my two greatest friends.

My family is nothing special, I am their second child out of three. The oldest, Tidy Feather, operates a cleaning business in Downtown Canterlot. The youngest, Majestic Harmony, is a club singer on the East End. Feather is a girl, though whatever feminine charms she had have been lost to three foals and twenty years of hard work. Harmony prefers to keep to himself, though he'll take the chance to boast about his singing career at any given chance. My parents are long dead, buried in the ground, and have been rotting for five years now.

Professor Emeritus of Equestrian Sexuality Studies at Goodwill Academy, Dr. Wise, mentored me throughout my studies. When all the other stuffed up professors at the school gave up on me, he was always willing to put up with my rants. "You're a good kid," he'd say. Thinking about him reminds me that I still have to stop there soon for our annual meeting. I drink coffee with him at his favorite coffeehouse on Mane and Ivy: The Dusty Traveler.

My two greatest friends are currently on their honeymoon. Whimsy and Nautical Blue both have known me for fifteen years. We met in the last year of getting my degree. I shared an apartment with them after college, before I acquired my current job and moved out. They should be back within a week.

But that is enough about my pitiful existence, after all, the real culprit behind my misery, the bane of all that I am, stands just now in her garden. That deplorable place, I trim the hedges everyday and what do I get in return? Money? That is such a transient thing, it never stays too long. Pride? From what, tearing apart the bushes that just want to grow towards the light? No, I get nothing but the disgust from watching her figure drink tea and eat cake. This is my daily routine.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I pause, my back turned to the monarch, and wait a moment to make sure that bug talked to me. “Sir?” It is true then, she wishes to say something to me, no doubt an order of some sort. My heart beats with fury as I turn around to face her. She is as “noble” today as she always is, her hair still floating on lies in lieu of wind. Her figure has never been lost on me, many lesser ponies would say she is “beautiful”, but they are just blind to how oppressive her height is.

“Yes, your highness?” I bow to the sun, so to speak, and wait for the inevitable.

“Would you like some tea?”

The audacity of such a request, of me no less, leaves me startled for some time. My head is to the ground still, with some sweat from the hot sun running down my neck, and my breathing is rapid from the exertion of keeping still. “I am afraid that I cannot do that, it would take from my job, your highness.”

“Oh the trimming can wait, I see you trim them everyday, please come have something to drink.”

I walk over to the table where she is at and seat myself across from her. She attempts to make small talk, but I don’t listen. Blabber continues to pour from her mouth, the only thing I can focus on are her perfectly manicured hooves. They shine in the sun, reflecting the world from their surface, my face is there, somewhat, though it is distorted by the curves. “Do you like my hooves?”

I snap back to her face, a gleam is in her eye, and manage to keep my rage to a minimum; how could she just ask something like that to a servant? “They are quite the sight, your highness.”

“Yes they are! I cure them by hand, you know, though the attendants always want to do that for me.” She continues to tell me about her servants wanting to do more than she wants them to do, something about “They want to impress me, I think,” but I just look around at the hedges. They still need to be trimmed, or at least the half that I have been suspended from doing for now. I need to take my leave, or else she will stop me from doing anything today.

“I apologize, you highness, but I must return to work.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn't realize that I was holding you for so long. You must think I am quite the complainer.”

Truly, I had barely listened to whatever she must have said, though it was all worthless. She most likely talked about the trivialities of royal life and how it is so bland and boring for her. Why not try to fix something, then, oh glorious ruler? “I thought nothing of it, your highness.”

“Well, you can go back to work. It’s a shame you didn't drink your tea, was it too strong?”

“I am more of a coffee drinker, your highness.” No, you fool, don’t tell her anything like that! Do you think she’ll care for that, and she’ll probably send her agents to poison your coffee now! Must you ruin everything you buffoon. Idiot!

“I’ll remember that, my little pony, take care.” Celestia went back to her stack of papers that must have arrived at the table while she rambled on. I turn to my work, my body furiously carving apart the loose branches of the hedges.