Demented: The Beginning

"Do you know why you are here?" the officer asked. It was a rhetorical question, of course. Everyone knows why I'm in a padded cell, awaiting death row. Naturally, I smile my pleasant smile— which once brought joy, but now strikes fear into the heart's of those who view it.

"I'm aware of the circumstances that lead me to this point. Asking such a question must mean you wish me to repeat my story."

"We are documenting this conversation to ensure you are as insane as we believe you to be," he said. His tone had a hint of severity. Maybe he is overworked, or maybe he is done talking with me. Either way, I'll retell the story of what lead me to this point. Keep in mind, however, that I'm of sound mind, no matter what they say.

It was a normal spring day, mid-afternoon. The sun shone like a golden ball of fire against a sky blue canvas. Life on Earth was relatively calm and quiet. Not a bird chirped, nor did a car honk. It was peaceful, so peaceful— in fact— one would mistake the serenity for a monastery.

While all was quiet, I stirred. I had a feeling deep down that something wasn't right. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling. It was then that I decided to go for a jaunt. It was nice. I waved hello to persons I crossed paths with, I walked with a bouncing stride, I paid for a kid's ice cream when they cried about not having one. Nothing was wrong then, so why did I still feel that burning feeling deep inside my soul? It wasn't long before I glanced at a television— for a neighbor had left their window open on this perfect day— that was airing a children's show. I've seen it before, and I've just forgotten about it.

The show depicted sentient, vibrant equines. My Diminutive Equine I think it's called. I might be wrong, I only glanced at it. I had this sudden urge to bow down every time this purple 'alicorn' appeared on camera, an urge to worship her. It was then that I realized I was believing a children's show to be reality. That the characters on-screen would jump out and we'd all be praising these beings as gods and goddesses. I thought I was crazy then. Ponies actually being godly beings that display their lives for entertainment? Preposterous!

Although, the more I thought about it, the more the idea became engraved in my mind. Yet, the idea scared me. Should anyone find out, I'll be branded a heretic. Perhaps if I conceal these concepts, they'd go away. I blocked them out, repressed them to the deepest chasms of my unconscious. Immediately, I raced home and barricaded myself in my room.

"No, no, no!" I shouted at myself. "They are not gods, they are images on a screen! It is wrong to worship any false gods! Remember the first commandment: 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' What would your father think if he were still among the living? He'd disown you, beat you."

Father was a very religious man. Catholicism was important to him. Any naysayers would feel his wrath. Hell hath no fury like my father. In fact, he and mother divorced over their religious differences. Mother believed in Judaism, proven by the fact that her grandparents had survived the worst punishment in human history. I needn't say it, for no one wants to talk about the millions of lives lost during that time.

"What is there to worry about?" a voice asks me as I'm contemplating the possible punishments. I look around the room, only to discover that I'm the only one present.

Trembling, I ask a question of my own, "Who said that?"

"I did," it replies. Every time it speaks I hear indiscernible whispers, yet one voice is clear among the confusion. It's loud, yet quiet. Deep in tone, yet soothes my nerves. "Don't worry about a thing. I promise they will protect you."

I realize what he's talking about. "They don't exist," I say.

"They do exist. You just need to look in the right place. I can help you. All you have to do is trust me." A simple task, yet complex at the same time. Trust a disembodied voice? One that is pressuring me into accepting the treacherous thoughts?

"What do you want? No one offers help without something in return." I expect it to say it wants me to do something nearly impossible, but it only chuckles at my question.

"The only thing I want is for you to be happy. The entrance to their world is closed at the moment. However, with your help I can open it." An enticing offer. This could satisfy my need to worship her, but it could also be a trick.

"I'll consider your offer, but only if you prove what you say is true." The voice didn't respond. I looked out of my window, and saw the moon shine. A sliver of silver shining through a cloudy sky. I hadn't realized how dark it had gotten. Nevertheless, I made my way downstairs.

And that was when I saw it. A pale blue portal in the middle of my living room. I was worried the in neighbors would catch sight of the spectacle— for I had maroon wallpaper. I hastened to shut the blinds, and in doing so I heard something crooning— humming a merry tone like a mother does with her child. I peered at the portal, and saw a sight most unusual.

An aquamarine unicorn was treating her ill friend, an Earth pony. Baffled, I reach outward-- expecting the portal to vanish. But it didn't. It remained as if undisturbed-- impervious to my touch. Nay, instead my hand phased through it. Nearly could I have caressed the mare on the top of her head. Nearly could I have brought her to me- bring her to my world and be made famous.

I withdrew my hand from the portal. Surely this was still but an illusion- a trick of the mind? Perhaps I'm slumbering in my chambers, and all this is false. Or maybe I've lost my senses- my wits. Maybe I've become insane. That would explain the voice and the gateway.

It was then that I heard a voice so somber, yet it still stirred wonder. Wonder of the choice I offered before. Now I wish to accept the gift it so gives, a gift for which I now implore.

"You have seen my power," it said, "that I've been granted. You wish I send you to the realm enchanted, for it'd be a place of joy and more."

"Yes," I say. "This I want, and nothing more. Give me the power, I beseech you. Know now I believe it true, the power which they bequeathed you, bequeathed power of gods unspoken- surely you are their token. May they understand my doubt initial, for I am naturally judicial."

The voice says nothing more. Perhaps our encounter's over, or maybe it's Passover- maybe our gods may be upon us, and we've followed thus. Know I am aware of my speaking, something I've been acutely tweaking- tweaking in preparation for the night's act of forgotten lore. A play in bleak December, clearly you must remember- remember the bird on the Night's Plutonian shore.

I decided to stop speaking that way. I have studied that aplenty, and it is this which why you resent me- resent my knowledge of unending... and I'm done. Sorry. I have the slightest idea how to rhyme, nor knowledge of old English. Let me continue to the day I passed through to the other world, where it all went down.