Chapter 1: Day 1
I wonder what the sound of the trees is like?
For some reason, when the books mention the trees, they speak of rustling and whisperings as if the tall spindly branches have something to say to each other. When I read, I face an interesting dilemma. To imagine something vividly, I must close my eyes. To move forward and read the writing, I must open them. A curious paradox, don’t you think?
Sometimes these musings sustain me in the long hours of confinement. In the beginning I had taken to pacing from one side of the room to the other. I stopped because it made me feel more trapped. Likeanimals in cages, not that I’ve seen one, and I don’t think I’ve even read about them, but I imagine they would know perfectly what I feel.
Is not the whole world contained in this claustrophobic room? Where the boundaries are only twelve-step in any direction? Should I not be happy with what I have? Food, water, shelter… light entertainment. Everything basic that anypony would aspire for. What more do I need?
I’ve heard somewhere that hope is a dangerous thing. I never understood that expression. Not then, not even now. Perhaps I will in the future. As days go by, I cling onto hope more strongly with every passing moment. It seems important because they mentioned it in the letters.
Yes, the letters.
I live for the moment that the metal slot screeches open and the faint rustle of the envelope sliding across the concrete floor reaches my ears. It is music in this dull place. The only light that makes its way through here comes from a small window. The window is sealed. There are no gaps in this place except for a thin slit on the ceiling too high to reach with my hooves. Sometimes, I feel a cool air blow through. Does it come from the outside?
I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.
My whole world is composed of the letters, the small gifts that sometimes accompany them, and the clock mounted on the wall.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound is loud in this awful silence. The clock dominates the soundscape in waves.Sometimes it is so loud it is all I can do but press my hooves tightly against my ears and wish it away. Sometimes it fades into the meaningless drone of the blank walls. The only other sounds are the sounds I make myself. Sometimes I talk. I speak out in this room but the echo of my voice seems deafening and even worse, lonely. I stopped talking after the first day.
But the letters are different, yes the letters. They invoke something visceral in me. They fill my mind with voices that are not my own, and it feels like I’m on the edge of knowing something, understanding something greater. Something just outside my reach. I don’t know how best to express this, except to show you. So I will, if you’re reading this. Please, please don’t look away.
Don’t blink.
Please read what I write.
I so desperately want you to see this.
—————
The first day that I can remember… let’s see. I had woken up on a soft silky mattress with a feeling of freshness and vitality that I’d never experienced before. It was strange, you see, because my next thought was, what had I experienced before? When I thought about it, and cast my mind back, I couldn’t remember anything. There was a gaping chasm where I expected something to be.
Not that I had forgotten everything, mind you. I remember I was going to school… I took a test… and then… nothing.
The sheer gaps in my memory made me frightened. Nervously, I recited facts and figures that I could remember to myself.
“I have a mother and father,” I stated. “Their names are Twilight Velvet and Night Light. I have a brother. His name is Shining Armor. He is married to…”
There it was again. Another blank.
I hesitated then continued more slowly.
“The atomic mass of hydrogen is 1.008. Hydrogen is composed of a proton and an electron. When magical energy is applied, the atom… the atom… hydrogen will…”
I trailed off yet again. There was that feeling again. The horrible feeling that I should know more and yet, there was nothing I could do to bring it out.
I sat in my bed for the longest time, feeling like a lamb in an empty field. It occurred to me that I did not recognise this room. I did not recognise anything.
I started falling back on myself, concentrating on what was familiar. My hooves were familiar to me. They felt solid and tough as they always have. My mane was familiar to me. I still felt the strands of my mane shift and stir on my head and neck. Some of my muscles relaxed as I recounted each of my physical attributes. My tail was still there. It swished around nonchalantly.
Everything about me was familiar and accounted for, but I still felt something was missing. Something, something, what was it? Uneasiness shuddered through my frame. I feel as if I should know where I was. That I should recognise the greyness of the floor, the whiteness of the walls and the dull textures on the ceiling.
Nothing, though, struck me as being right.
Wrong, wrong wrong!
My belly growled at me. I almost panicked, but it was simply my stomach making itself known to me that I desperately needed food. I sighed in relief. I wasn’t dying from some strange disease. I just needed some sustenance. No problem, this place should have a kitchen, why was I cooped up in this room anyway? I concentrated on the door, then smacked face-first into it.
“Oww,” I groaned, rubbing my sore muzzle with a hoof. “What?”
For some reason I expected the door to open readily. My hooves shot to my horn. No… it was still there. I could still perform magic.
I did a mental double-take.
Magic! I remember, I had something to do with magic!
I was giddy. I remembered something. Magic, magic, magic.
Then a thought occurred to me.
What’s magic?
The uplifting feeling quickly brought me down to the ground. I concentrated hard. Magic, magic, magic. What was so important about that? I had a vague idea that it somehow connected to my horn, but I didn’t know what it was.
I slammed a hoof on the door.
“Hey!” I yelled. “I need some help in here!”
A sound issued close to my left, startling me and making me flare my wings.
“Yes?” The voice sounded strained. Were they tired? There were muffled exclamations in the background before the sound cut off. Were there other ponies there?
I peered closer at the grating I had not noticed was recessed into the wall. It was so small and inconspicuous. I must have missed it the first time I glanced around the room.
“I would like the door to open, please,” I asked the mysterious voice at the other end. She could help me. I just had to be polite, right?
“Can’t do that,” a different voice replied shortly and the intercom shut off with a click.
“What do you mean you can’t do that? Hello? Hello?!” I yelled at the grating in the wall. “Are you still there?!”
Desperately I knocked the intercom with my hoof.
“Hey! Please? I want to know what’s going on. Please! Anything! Why am I here? Why can’t I leave? Did I do something wrong? Why can’t I remember some things? What is magic? Please!” I slammed my hoof on the door once again. “Please…” this time it came as little more than a whisper.
–––––
The voice on the intercom never answered again. I had beaten my hooves on the door and the intercom until my fetlocks felt sore. Afterwards, I retreated to my bed and sat there looking at my hooves.
Tock. Tock. Tock.
The noise of the clock was getting on my nerves. The sound felt deeper and somehow more hollow than before. It was mocking me with its dispassionate march. Before it was quiet, barely noticeable. But here… in this silence, in the confines of this room, it just got louder and louder. I knew it shouldn’t bother me, I knew I should let it go, but the fact that the intercom hadn’t replied left me feeling more and more isolated with each passing moment. I drew myself into a tight ball and squeezed my eyes shut. I hated this. I hated this place.
The clock clicked solidly. It was barely past noon.
Eventually, I shook myself out of the fugue I sunk into.
No! I thought to myself. I am… I am… somepony that doesn’t sit around and mope. I should do something constructive. Yes. Constructive and productive.
That sparked something within me. I resolved to keep that spark as long as possible. I wouldn’t let my need for company break me, I could be solitary. I could sit here alone. I can figure out why I’m here. Why I have gaps in my memories. I can work it out all by myself…
With a careful eye, I rescanned the room. The walls and ceiling was white, standing in stark contrast to the floor. When I looked closer I noticed it was a shade of cream, not pure white. I briefly noted that off white was a preferred colour for interior design so as not to be too harsh on the eyes. I then wondered where I had gotten that tidbit of information.
In a book, I thought. My eyes widened. A book!
I remember. Books. Something about me was related to books. I don’t remember much, just that I read a lot of them as a filly.
Books… I read books on almost every topic. Science, history, philosophy, culture, geography, mathematics, fiction ranging from science-fiction to crime, adventure to fantasy. Literature, I remember being in love with literature… There was something at the edge of my mind. Tantalising, just out of reach.
A creaking sound filled the chamber. Metal screeched upon metal.
My head whipped around and I spotted a tucked away slot in the door that issued forth an envelope.
A letter? I thought to myself. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Why a letter? Why here? Why now?
I pushed all those queries to the back of my mind. The slot screeched closed before I could spot the pony on the other side.
“Hello?!” I yelled at the door again. “Come back!” I couldn’t even hear the retreating hoof steps of the pony on the other side. “Don’t… leave…”
How scornful you must be to note that I have given up my resolution to stay alone so quickly. The silence is maddening. I can’t stand it. I–
I noted the envelope was unmarked, blank save for very sharp typography with the words, ‘Important: Read Immediately’.
I stared at the envelope. I don’t know why but I suddenly felt nervous. What did it contain? What could it contain? With trembling hooves I extracted the contents and brought it up to my face.
Dear Subject 00–9-248,
I know you have many questions. Questions that you want answered. Why you are here. Why you can’t remember certain things. It is with deep regret that I cannot inform you of the memories you are missing, or why. I can only offer you reassurances.
Know that you are not alone.
Know that what you are doing is for a greater purpose.
Know that you are safe here.
Know that, above all, we are doing the right thing.
Regards,
M
Twilight glanced at the clock.
It was getting late.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Author's Note
Somewhat influenced by Presentable Liberty.
Another story filled with promises.
Next Chapter: Letters are made to communicate between two conscious people. I wonder what happens if you can't tell if they're real?
As always, my rumbling readers, thanks for reading!
