Pinkie Pie Tells A Story

Little Pip stared into the fire deadpan, bored out of his mind from that last story. It hadn't made any sense whatsoever, and he suspected there wouldn't have been any real reward if he had understood. "I think I'm going to go home now."

Pinkie Pie looked hurt, but understood she couldn't control other ponies. Still, a muse struck her, and she said, "I have another story. It will be better, I promise."

Pip looked up with some skepticism. "As long as I get to leave when I want. Ponies always say I'm rude when I leave in the middle of their stories."

She smiled.

Mr. Mystery, Mr. Mumble. As time went on, I suspected they were the same person. Real in my head, and containing actual power, but not in any way that affected the real world in an obvious way. Existing more as social forces than randomly and spontaneously guide people in strange directions, mostly for the worse. I'd been travelling on the slipstreams across these moments, forced to watch the unfortunate downfall of each of these individuals. I'm not even sure if this is the real me, or if I'm just waiting for the downfall of the pony too.

"What?" said Little Pip.

Every day I live with dread at the thought about what new twist these unopposable forces have in store for me. I say unopposable because it's as changeable as the laws of nature. As controllable as entropy. It exists as inseparable from the exploits in our consciousness so that we're forced to go on rides diverging from safety and security. Trying to avoid going insane as we watch the quality of our lives decline into the primordial mires of criminality and lynchian violence.

With open mouthed adulation all of my peers have historically welcomed this, after all this phenomenon wouldn't exist this way without a basis in the corrupted contents of our character. Lapping up propaganda without thinking about it. The epitome of docile cattle. People that try to bring up concerns about the degradation of their way of life shunned and scorned. One-sidedly ostracized with no chance for redemption, trying to maintain hope with the full knowledge that the very people shunning them are also exactly like them.

You might be tempted to say it's a specific -ism that's to blame, but I've experienced all it's flavors. It's all rank. Rather I would say it's the force driving us to ignore reality. Repressing ourselves deep down until the only thing left is a twisted creature that has no way of defending itself, and gives a sickly laugh every time it experiences injustice. After all, there is no framework for which you can express your true feelings without the immediate scorn of your peers. Trapped in a society that only accept the personalities of those that have completely surrendered.

Do you know how old I really am?

"I don't know what you're talking about, but a million billion?" said Little Pip.

I don't know teehee!

But while you might not understand, I think you already get the gist from my tone of voice. It is haunting when you see a force for good suddenly inspire the reaction of some egregore whipping them seemingly birthed from nowhere. Autonomous reactions that while sometimes served to protect those in need, out of control and oppressing.

Even worse yet, the types that internalize it without realizing it. Serving as the biggest and most psychophantic allies, hurting others like them, as a manifestation of their own self-hatred. Absolute neurotic fear and self-preservation.

Hahaha! It's just like that "side"!

Hahaha! No! You're exactly what I'm talking about!

"I'm not bad." Little Pip said, frowning.

You're not Little Pip, but the more I live my lives, the more I'm convinced we're going to lose everything. Every time I've lost everything.

Little Pip wasn't crying, but it seemed like he was mildly disturbed. The sun wasn't yet peeking over the horizon, but the sky was getting brighter, and with a sinking heart realized he'd have to stay awake for the rest of the day. He gazed into the firepit. The wood at this point had gone fully black, broken into pieces of charcoal, fire on the verge of sputtering out. "As long as there are people like you, it'll be ok." He paused for a moment, but started walking away. "I need to go home though, you're scary."

Pinkie didn't say anything, just waited until she was alone. Eventually the sun peeked over the horizon, and the dawn took some of the slack of the sputtering fire. Still it was not enough, and she shivered. She felt like she should be trying to do something, but wasn't sure what, how, or when. Fighting away feelings of impending doom, she breathed in the clear air, picking up on the light rushing of a river somewhere far way. It wasn't so bad out here.

Maybe at some point forces would come rushing through the forest for her, intent on her extermination. Or trample her underfoot without realizing it. If that time came, she promised herself that she'd fight tooth and nail to stay alive.

Until then, things were okay.

Maybe her ancestors had always felt this way.