From the recovered journal of an unknown inmate….
Last Entry
Date Unknown
Today they moved me to my final containment spot.
Now I sit here with my hooves bound to rusted shackles, already rubbing upon the hairless patches of my skin. It aches everytime I move. The pain always shot deep into my cold legs, making tears run down my face from the unbearable agony. It felt horrible to move and left me to constantly question myself over why I did it.
There wasn’t a particular reason or anything in this room that encouraged me to move. My best guess was just so I could keep my legs from falling asleep. Yeah, I guess that just might be it. I think? Maybe?
...
You know what? Screw it… I don’t know, and right now I couldn’t care less.
There’s a single, illuminated light bulb hanging down from the cell they’re keeping me in, giving me the only source of light I’ll have for a long while. It made me see the concrete walls they kept me in. The only way out of here was through the cell doors they locked shut. I banged on them a few times earlier, receiving a wonderful dosage of electricity that surged throughout my bruised and beaten body.
Now I just sit here, cursing and screaming at myself over the thoughts that raced past me at a million miles an hour. WHY AM I HERE? Why do I deserve this? Why am I not worthy of someone savin’ me from this torture? Is it really my fault in the first place? Is this place justifiable to grind out the weak? Am I not actually considered a part of the strong?
My friends, fellow pegasi, and even some of my own family have died in this horrible place, leaving my own mental state bent to the point of unspeakable insanity. At least writing those troubles down in this journal has kept me from lashing out upon others. Also, I have been shocked, beaten, clubbed, and whipped, causing scars, cuts, and bruises to remain upon my coat and skin. The last time I looked in a mirror, I wasn’t even able to recognize my physical self anymore.
Does going through all that make me strong? I am still here, barely alive, but still able to breathe, think, and remain conscious to what is going on around me. Or is fact that I have been deemed weak mean I am a part of the weak regardless? Thus, I am a perfect fuel for sacrifice?
“The weak must always be sacrificed.”
If you ask me, that quote is extremely wrong. I am sure, no matter how much they hide it within their filthy lies, that the villainous workers, the strong pegasi of this institute, are too scared of their own creation. Meanwhile, some victims of The Machine, as we called it, constantly accepted their inevitable fate.
I can call recall some intimates training themselves, mentally preparing for what was to eventually come so it doesn’t surprize them at all. We dubbed it as “Resiliency Training.” After some went through that process, they usually braced for the end with a bit of serenity. They knew The Machine was their unfortunate destiny, and no pony I personally meet could deny that after going through our steps to resiliency.
It also opened our eyes to the current reality of our world, making us question the truth about the leadership of this organization we are trapped in. Were they actually wise leaders? Or just charlatans with money, power, and wicked ideas? Was their rise only build upon the beliefs of others while they continued to hide the true nature of themselves? Thus, it makes them seem like the perfect idol or image of a society they don’t actually reflect?
Were they actually the right choice to even be a leader in the first place?
I can’t be the judge of that, no one can to be honest. However, I think I can speak a few words about the owner of this place. Rainbow Dash was her name, though I have only seen her once.
It was during a welcoming orientation, a meeting between the new arrivals, her, and a couple of administrative members. It was meant to immediately break our desperate wills to escape, making us submit ourselves to the reality of where we were and what was going to eventually happen to us. A few tried to resist, but were soon met by the iron hooves of the faculty.
After they vigorously shocked the inmates to a point past their own mersey, the rebellious ponies were carried off into another section of the facility. I don’t know where they exactly went, but I assume most of them are dead by now. That just left a few of us left to gaze upon the cyan pony herself, who seemed to look down upon her subjects like we were her mice and she was the piper.
She even informed us that anything she said, goes. Was that mare really the commander, the leader, and the dictator of us? I mean, she claimed to have all the power, yet I really doubt that.
From where I stood, it seemed liked her position was all for show. She was just meant to be the face of the corporation. Never once did I never feel like she actually worked with her fellow employees or dared to even take a step around her own place. Her white lab coat alone proved that, remaining pristine and clean of the blood her company shed every single day. Did she actually stand there and believe in her own words? Or was she just a puppet to her supporters? Was the figure I saw that day a genuine pony that lead her subjects by the flute she played? Or was she also among us as mice and afraid of her own power being pulled back to show how empty it, along with herself, was?
I don’t know, I really don’t know anymore. Maybe this obsession about her power and this place as a whole has finally gotten to me. I mean, it’s all just in my mind? Right? I don’t know, I don’t really know. As I sit here waiting for them to finally come and take me to my final resting place, maybe I should finally do what the guards have been telling me all along. I should just “Get back in line” with everyone else and act mute to the whole situation since it would do a lot better for me.
A moment had passed by and I think I hear them coming for me now. So here I go. It seems like it’s time for me to finally submit to what they wanted me to do since I arrived here. The doors are opening now and my fellow inmates are leaving, so I must go with them to the final chamber and meet the “Pegasus Device.” If anybody reads this, please just do me a favor and understand my messages written down in this last entry. That is all I want at this final moment… or for a guard to find this at least. Now, I must truly go.
It’s time for me to “Feed The Machine.”
Author's Note
Dear Readers,
I want to say thank you for taking a moment to read this story and I hope it sorta gets you to think about the world we currently live in. As for the comments, please keep them civil or otherwise I will not be afraid to delete them if needed. As for grammar, if you see any sort of mistake, please PM the corrections to me than talk about them in the comments.
Thank you guys every much,
