FoE: Madness of one. Conspiracy of two.

Here we go again, the propaganda spewing out of the radio again like vomit from a new born filly. It was the Equestrian news network broadcasting the scripted lies to the masses. The mega-spells and stables seemed hot topic lately, a thousand years of peace and they throw it all away by fighting this stupid war. I'm sick to death from hearing about it. I bet all my bits that most ponies dont even know why we are fighting them. I would ask one but the reply I'll probably get will be 'because they is bad' or 'because the radio said they are evil'. Brainwashed idiots.

Don't any pony question anything? One minute we have a armory of spears and swords then suddenly we have gun's and other crazy ass techology. Where did this stuff come from? I mean come on, It took a pony almost a life time to invent the radio. Now there shitting out all this tech like a bad case of diarrhoea.

I fumbled a smoke from the pack and slouched into my old dirty couch in an oddly fashion. As I got comfyI let out a yawn then led my wing over the arm  rest that was full of cigarette burns. I not sure how long I've sat here, a week? Maybe two?

I look along the row of cider bottles along my window seal that kindly hid the dusty frames of photo’s of my military days and old friends. Did I drink that much yesterday? Or was it the day before? Buck me, I got a problem I thought to myself as I lit the cigarette of the lit candle that sat on the table next to me.

"And that’s the news folks." The presenter on the radio finished followed by the Equestrian news network theme tune, in which I hummed along to and wave my hooves around pretending to be one of those fancy fuckers at directs a orchestra.

A loud banging at my door interrupted my delusional musical bliss and caused me to drop my cigarette that rolled down my stomach and onto the carpet and burnt another hole.

"Mr Kirk, I had enough. I'm kicking you out!"A voice bellowed through my letterbox as I stretched out and kicked over a half empty bottle to put out the cigarette "You haven't paid me the rent and your stinking this place out!"

Every few weeks he comes round and says the same thing. Nothing ever happens, I do wonder now and again if the world is on a continual loop and I'm the only one conscious about it.

I watch the happy drones every day out side my window. Once Celestia's sun rises; they get up, go to work, have lunch in the cafe across from me, go home and repeat once Luna's moon sets. And they think they're free, dumb idiots.

Maybe The war is over and I'm the last pony alive and the zebras keep me living in a virtual world for a sick magical experiment. It's seem logical. Maybe I'm in some kind of magical virtural reality crafted up be the zebra's creepy magic.

"Don! I know your in there! you can retreat from your life forever." The landlord was still shouting through the letterbox "As I said, you got until tomorrow to pack up!"

Buck, he might me serious this time. Maybe being in a social experiment by the zebras might be true.

"What do you think George?" I lent over and asked my dying plant located across the room. In reply, the last leaf fell off on to the floor joining his fallen comrades. "Good advice..." I should've died with them.

I flicked open my pack of cigarettes to find only one left. A sudden dread came over me in the realisation of me having to go out side but I know I  wouldn't last long with out my dose of nicotine.

I rolled of my couch, and tripped over the bottle I knocked over earlier and knocking over a few more. The residue of old cider and backwash spilled onto the carpet, creating a larger stain.

I stumbled out of my living room and in to the hallway, I looked into the mirror on the wall and had a good look at my sorry state as I stretched my one wing.

I almost forgot I had a light brown coat, that's how much I've been paying attention to myself.  I stepped closer towards the mirror and looked into my blood shocked eyes.

"Look at you, your a failure of a pony.." My reflection commented, I fell back on my haunches In shock “Take a good bucking look at yourself.”

“No I’m not, I’m on a tactical retreat.” I answered back.

“Just do it Don!” My reflection pushed up against the glass. “Every pony has forgotten about you. They wouldn’t know.”

“SHUT UP!” I yelled at the mirror. Tears was streaming down my face as I sobbed.

“Your comrades are dead because of you!” The reflection smirked “You know what I’ll do it for you”

I looked on in horror as my reflection ducked out of sight and appeared again with a gun in his mouth. He looked straight into my eyes and lowered the muzzle of the gun to my chest and fired. I watched the blood splatter up the mirror and my reflection full back with a enormous smile on his face.

I snapped out of my hallucination and rubbed my chest looking for the bullet hole then looked back into the mirror my reflection was me again. I waved my hoof in the mirror to make sure, my reflection followed.

This was the fifth one this week. No amount of alcohol seem to drowned them out, and they seem to be getting worst. I’m starting to conspire against one’s self sanity.

I swept my tears away and headed to the kitchen to get my saddlebags. I need my cigarettes and probably help aswell, depends on which is the cheapest.