Banishment & Redemption: A Pony Tale

"... stop!"

Falling awake into a nightmare of my own design, I stumble forward, grasping for any leverage that I could use to pull myself back up and into this ungrateful reality of which I reside. A scream escapes me as a searing pain erupts from within. My wings, no longer a part of me, rest motionlessly by my side, detached, lost from its former grip, and yet still remaining within my reach. The feathers that once were mine now lie in a pool of my own crimson blood, forever destined to float rather than soar.

The leverage I sought was never found, at least not in a hopeful manner. Instead, I was forced to pull my crumbled body to its legs by sheer force of mindful will, which thankfully provided me with enough information about my current situation to know that I was within a large and seemingly endless room, concrete below, stars and broken metallic beams above. I also knew that I was, and am, truly, definitely, bucked.

But that's okay. My death should come of no surprise, for I am a mere monster after all. A devil, a demonic entity worth no saving nor joyful thought. And yet, just as before, I find myself seeking joy. Wishing for the pleasure of a life that's not my own. But as I've already said, that's okay. Nothing really matters in the end, anyway. Every single thing that you do, will end up being entirely meaningless by the time of death. Even those of you lucky enough to have a statue erected in your honour for doing some kind of a great deed, will only have that statue fall in time. Time, the killer of all things. Except for me, apparently. Time is not my enemy, for my very life is the enemy within. The demon. The sin. My existence itself.

Joy. Despair. Pleasure. Pain.

I suppose that's why I decided to do this to myself. To leave my path aside, and step away from my own insanity. Yet, somehow, I keep finding myself coming back. Like a foal returning to the scene of the crime. There's just something unique about seeing another pony suffer. About seeing them recline into the depths of their own minds. About seeing them fall apart, and attempting to pick up the pieces to a puzzle that is always one piece short of completion. Suffering has always been a part of who I am. Who I was. I'm nothing but a deranged shadow, except no light was responsible for casting me. Darkness fueled by more darkness, with no bliss in sight. An abomination.

And so I move. I crawl. I claw my way forward. There must be an end to all of this. There has to be a way out of this insanity. A beacon of light to wipe away the shadow of my existence. And yet, I find nothing. Nothing but even more darkness, and a trail of my own crimson blood left behind as proof that I was once alive. That I was here.

A howl. A piercing shriek. Another monster in the distance slowly chasing me from behind, following my blood as if it were its own unending path. I move myself as fast as my pain would allow, becoming lightheaded in the process, and still I push forward to eventually find an end to this concrete nightmare.

Just ten more painful steps and I find myself staring at the edge, almost as if the floor just decided to stop existing for no discernible reason. The choice of my death is now mine and mine alone to make. Jump, and fall to a relatively peaceful death thousands of feet below, or stay, and be ripped apart by whatever demon is chasing from behind. Two choices, both with the same result. Death. Peace. Darkness. Bliss.

The choice is obvious, wouldn't you agree?

"I just want the pain to..."