I live in a hole that goes a long, long, long way down into the dark. I am surrounded by walls of stone and dirt that squeeze my legs and scrape my face and hold me in place and sometimes press on my ribs so hard I can't breathe. Above the hole, I can see the sky where I flew once, but I haven't been able to fly for a long, long, long time.
I live in a hole goes a long, long, long way into the dark, but I'm not falling. Falling would be scary because if I was falling, I'd think about the bottom and the dark at the bottom and the end, but when I'm wedged like this between walls of stone and dirt with nowhere to go, I don’t have to think about that. Every day I slide a bit further toward the dark a long, long, long way down at the bottom of the hole. Some days, I can make a game of it, scraping my teeth through the stone and dirt and watching that mark fade out of sight as I slide down, down, down a little at a time. Other days, my teeth cannot reach the walls because my neck is twisted around by the stone that walls and wedges me in tight.
I live in a hole that goes a long, long, long way down into the dark, and I eat dirt and rocks from the walls of the hole and drink water that trickles along the sides of the hole and I can look up at the little bit of sky above or down at the darkness so far away and wonder if I'll ever get there and sometimes dirt falls down from the edge of my hole and gets in my eyes and my eyes water because I can't get the dirt out of my eyes any other way.
I'm not upset about being in a hole. This surprises most ponies, and they used to try "rescuing" me with their ropes and lights and harnesses and bright yellow rain jackets and stupid magic. I bit and scratched at them and cursed at them and rubbed dirt in their eyes when they did that. Sometimes they'd still manage to pull me out, but I always escaped and ran right back to this hole.
It is uncomfortable to live in a hole. Sometimes my wings are pinned to my sides or shoved all the way forward into my face. Sometimes my leg bones twist and twist like they might break as all my weight shifts and pulls on a single little hoof lodged against the rock walls. Sometimes dirt falls down from the edge of the hole and gets in my eyes and my eyes water because I can't get the dirt out of my eyes any other way. It hurts down here, but I’m used to it now and I can’t do anything about it anyway. I don't want to do anything about it.
I live in a hole that goes a long, long, long way down into the dark, and I am becoming something that can only live in a hole. The last time some ponies pulled me out of this hole, my guts felt like they were going to fall out with no solid walls pressing against my stomach and the sky was horrifyingly big and filled with too many things and the horizons were too far away and filled with too many things and my legs were too weak and stretched out to stand. I could tell that even they regretted pulling me out of the hole as they looked at my pale skin and warped limbs and ugly, ugly body. I had to crawl out at night, keeping my eyes focused on the ground to avoid the horizon and slithering like a snake until I reached the safety of my hole.
The first time I fell in the hole was an accident. I made a stupid mistake and I fell in a hole that went a long, long, long way down into the dark and got stuck and I was so scared and the walls seemed to be closing in and I cried because I thought I'd never get out but other ponies came and helped me, and there were so many ponies! More than I'd ever seen in my life, and all of them paid attention to me and helped me out even though I wasn’t pretty because I was covered and dirt and had snot all over my muzzle. One pony even called me brave! I was brave for falling in a hole!
Even then, I knew that pony was a moron. A pony who falls in a hole is just unlucky or stupid, that's not brave, and what was so brave about anything after I'd fallen in the hole? I was stuck in a hole. Not being in a hole wasn't an option after I'd fallen in the hole. A lot of ponies were stupid that way, but they were nice to me.
Then it got boring again. Days passed and everyone forgot about me again, even though after leaving the hole I was doing things again and wasn't that braver? If being stuck in a hole is brave, then why isn't it brave to get out of bed in the morning? Or to go to school?
So, I decided to be brave again because it was so much easier than not being brave. I jumped in the hole this time. I even held my hoof over my nose like I was jumping into a lake, but I was jumping into a hole instead. That leg ended up broken and jammed all the way back behind my head. It hurt down there, but I got used to it and I couldn't do anything about it anyway.
That was when realized how much I liked being in my hole. When my lungs weren't being crushed by the walls of rock and dirt, I could shout up at the sky. I could shout at night and scare the cows so their milk curdled and shout during the day and curse at travelers.
Eventually, ponies came back to get me out of my hole again, although not as many and there was a sarcastic edge to rescuing me. No pony called me brave, but wasn't it braver this time? I'd chosen to be in the hole this time, how was it brave when it was an accident and not brave when it was on purpose?
Not that anypony knew it was on purpose.
I didn't tell anypony it was on purpose.
I'm not stupid. I'm just a pony who chooses to live a hole. But if I told somepony that I wanted to live in a hole, they'd think I was crazy and lock me up and then I couldn't live in a hole.
And they'd pity me.
No one pities me in my hole. Even when my tail is caught on a root and my whole weight pulls at the hairs until they come out. Even when the once bouncy curls of my mane have become sticky with mud. Even when I my right foreleg became warped and bowed and my skin became transparent and I became so ugly no one could ever look at me again outside of my hole. Even when the dirt falls down from the edge of the hole and gets in my eyes and my eyes water because I can't get the dirt out of my eyes any other way.
The next time I returned to my hole, a few ponies tried to get me out again, but I bit and scratched at them and cursed at them and rubbed dirt in their eyes until they quit trying. Sometimes my parents used to come, and they’d sit at the top of the hole and try to talk to me, but I’d pretend the walls were pressing in against my chest and I couldn’t speak.
I live in a hole that goes a long, long, long way down into the dark and I eat dirt and rocks from the walls of the hole and drink water that trickles along the sides of the hole, but when my parents used to visit my hole, they’d bring food, but they were so stupid. My father would always bring soup and attempt to pour it down the hole and into my mouth. I would shout for him to stop, and he would say I should open wide and shakily pour a ladle full of hot broth onto my face from over a hundred feet up. My mother used to lower cookies into my hole, and I’d eat them, but they were too rich and made my stomach hurt and my eyes water. They haven’t come in a long time. No one has fed me in a long time. I can’t eat the surface food anymore, I just eat dirt and rocks like a worm. I'm becoming something that can live in a hole, that can only live in a hole, because I live in a hole.
I will always live in this hole.
There aren't any options here.
I don’t want any options.
My mother hasn’t come to my hole in a long, long, long time. Travelers and cows don’t even pass by my hole anymore for me to shout at, and no one comes to rescue my anymore.
It was hard to make everypony give up on me. To make them leave me alone in this hole.
The hole I live goes a long, long, long way down into the dark. I slide a bit further into the dark every day.
I'm glad everypony finally gave up on me.
The hole I live in goes a long, long, long way down into the dark, and that is good. No one will ever get me out of my hole, and that is good. I am becoming something that can only live in a hole, and that is good, because I don't ever want to leave my hole.
I'm trapped in a hole that goes a long, long, long way down into the dark, but if you try to find me down here, I will bite and scratch at you and curse at you and rub dirt in your eyes until you give up on me too.
