Mistake

I sat in a jail cell, after a harsh conviction at the court room a week ago. I have no more pills for anything, and my problems just keep getting worse and worse. My anger is boiling inside like a volcano, only to be enveloped by a torrential rain of depression. My wounds have all since healed, but the wounds of my mind have yet to be healed. My life is no better than it was, and I have desperately tried to escape it in this very cell. Everything that was thought to be a threat to my own self has been taken from me. All that remains is an uncomfortable bed.

A whole month has passed now, and 30 % of my original body weight has deteriorated. I refuse to eat the slop that they give me. It is fowl and I don't enjoy it at all. My meals consist of a biscuit every 3 hours. I also have received some mail from Pinkie. It wasn't enjoyable, even though it was meant to cheer me up. I don't know why Pinkie is so insistent on me becoming happier, I don't want anything but my anger and sorrow. My conscience occupies me now, the voice that was never there before. I considered it a friend, hell I even named it. His name is Tom, and Tom is a persistent asshole.

Twilight came to see me today, it wasn't a very nice conversation. It turns out that my doings had cause her to get her nose done. I recall the incident each day before I go to bed, and wonder why Twilight didn't do anything to stop me. One of the most powerful unicorns in the world, as she didn't kill me. Why must I be put through this waiting game of death?

6 months, I'm practically a skeleton. The guards have been force-feeding me the cardboard tasting goo. I have gotten over my anger, but my sadness remains. I have moved from 7 different cells, mostly from 'good attitude'. My attitude has been all but good. I have also stopped talking to The Princess. She still is angered at me, and now I don't blame her. Pinkie stopped sending her happy-boxes, I would respond that I am getting better, but The Princess doesn't let me send any mail. I'm starting to feel like a shadow in an empty shell.

One year, and I'm still a skeleton. The Princess has been getting quite harsh these past few days. I don't know what's gotten into her. It's like... she's corrupt. I've written down many a notes to my past-friends outside. It's the only thing keeping me from not dying inside. I have written countless stories, and the ones I've finished have disappeared every time I go to sleep. In their absence, is a whole new stack of paper and a quill. I find that my writing is unleashed through how I feel, and most of them are depressing.

Today, I found that my latest book disappeared, but with no paper. I have completely run out of paper, and my ink has been long since dry. Tomorrow, I speak to The Princess.

The conversation was... interesting to say the least. As it turns out, my books were sold to a printing company, but only two of them went through. This cheered me up a small bit, but I was still locked up. The Princess notified me that my parole started in a week. This was great news to me, for having a 13 year sentence. If I were anywhere else, I would've still been rotting away.