To think is to die.
This thought came to me in a minute, during an hour filled with boring, mindless work, a single hour of a day filled with tedium. Three such days have passed and still I ponder on this fact of life. I think every minute of every hour of every day how I am a dead stallion walking.
Celestia is a tyrant. I see this now, clear as day. Nopony else can see the truth, nopony else knows. No. Everypony knows, but nopony knows. They all just follow blindly what they are ordered, herded as sheep, unquestioning simply following along. But of course, Celestia does her utmost to keep us this way. A bottle of gin a week, strong stuff guaranteed to knock you down. Cigarettes and cigars, for those who smoke them. Chocolate and other such things for those with a sweet tooth. All of this to keep us complacent.
All the other species on this Earth believe Equestria to be the privileged bunch. Ponies to have no worries, their ruler to be kind and all knowing. They are wrong. In truth, Equestria is a horrible, terrible place, but it takes a thoughtful mind to see this. Celestia keeps us complacent, keeps us happy, and in turn makes us blind to her obvious tyranny.
Of course, she calls herself Princess and not Queen, as if to give the illusion that she does not control all. But this is a lie. She has no council, no congress, no others to stop her from making decisions. There are simply puppets, puppets controlled by her. Always saying yes in response to her every word, never questioning her plans or ideas, forever believing that their Princess loved them above all else, and did all she could to make their lives better.
Celestia controls all in this country. Past, present, and future. Your life is not your own, but a belonging of the state. And nopony seems to care. They are all too blind to see, and of course those who do see, those who would disturb the harmony built by Celestia, well, they cease to exist.
They are not killed, they are not exiled, they do not disappear. They quite literally, cease to exist. And not just in the present, when someone disappears, they disappear from everything. They are no longer present, they were never born. Whole records are changed, entire books rewritten, photographs edited, portraits repainted, references in articles reprinted. All to make it so that ponies simply never were.
And of course, no thought is given when your neighbor is suddenly not there, for there is no way to prove they ever were in the first place, you are simply forced to accept this reality because there is no alternative. You can try all you like to convince others that, yes, old Mr. Plum has vanished. But this marks you, and the next day, people are questioning where that odd fellow has gone to. But of course, they soon forget all their questions, and they never think of it again.
And for this reason I know that I will die. Perhaps not now, maybe not for weeks, or even years. But an execution for myself is all but assured. Simply for these thoughts inside my head. I can try, will try, to hide what I know, what I've discovered. But I am certain I will slip up sometime, and then, they will take me.
It will probably be in the night, it's always in the night. The rough shake awake, the bark of an order into your ear, the blade upon your throat. Always in the night. I will not get a hearing, nor a trial, probably not even an execution or the chance to give a confession. I will just stop being.
I started a journal, that shall most probably be my downfall. It is not against Celestia's rules to keep a journal, rather, it is out of the ordinary. That is how I will die. It was a beautiful thing though, the journal, and buying it was almost involuntary. A beautiful marbled cover, and wondrous crème pages bound in leather composed the thing. It was these aspects that compelled me to obtain it.
Were it not for sale, I have no doubt I would have stolen it. Originally, I knew not what to do with it, upon coming across an aged feather quill, I decided to make it my journal. What to write though, that was the true problem. I believed that upon being ready, the writing would simply flow. And when it did, it would be wondrous.
The first pages were a mess, they started well enough, but as I wrote I omitted capitals, punctuation went next, and then even full stops were lost to me. I wrote on all sorts of things, things I simply needed to get off my chest, ideas for the future, truths of the present, documentation of all the alterations the crown had made to history.
Down with the Tyrant Celestia
That was scrawled, with careful, dedicated strokes, across the top of each single page. But whether it was there or not did not matter, for when the authorities found the journal, it would not make the slightest difference. No. Simply having written anything in this book, that is what would bring me down.
It seemed so simple to me, then, I would live. I knew I was dead, that was certain, but for as long as I could I would live. And I would not just live, no, I would do my very best to make a difference. Certainly anything I did would be forgotten in a few weeks, if not simply days, but that did not matter.
If I brought down the crown, or if I died in the gutter did not matter so long as I did something. So long as I did not just sit in my office, doing my boring job day to day, continuing on as an unquestioning pet. Anything I could do to cause change I would, while still staying alive, of course.
And perhaps, just maybe, one day Celestia would fall and the thinkers, the intelligent could take over once more. Very soon after I pounded that small sliver of hope from my mind. To have hope would be an even faster ticket to the grave. It would cause a change in my attitude, how I acted, it would give me away. No, to truly accomplish what I wished I would need to-
What a curious book, thought Twilight, and what a silly premise. Celestia never would and never had done anything such as this book said, it was simply rubbish, she concluded.
So, the young unicorn tossed the book away without a second thought, moving away from that section of the Canterlot archives. She left the book there, lying closed to gather dust in a dark and rarely visited corner of the archives, and as she walked away, she soon forgot all that she had read.
For why should she remember anything so silly as Celestia being a tyrant, and her altering history.
After all, it was just simple rubbish.
Right?
