Hi. My name’s Steve. I work in the cutie mark department. I don’t know how I got here. I used to live in Vermont. Now I live in this building. I don’t know where it is. I’ve been here for twelve years.
Before I got here, I had never heard of cutie marks. I worked at a RadioShack. Now I work at a desk. I don’t know why they put me here. I’m not any good at drawing. All my designs get rejected. I drew one of Kermit the Frog once. They told me it looked like someone threw up. It will never be a cutie mark.
I don’t know who they are. I just know they're in charge. They seem human, but their faces are blurred. I don’t know how. Maybe this is a simulation. Maybe it’s purgatory. I knew I should have donated a dollar when that store asked me to.
On Tuesdays we have office meetings. Five o'clock in the morning. The bosses tell us some gibberish statistics. They don’t seem to mean anything. The rate went up 5% this week. We had a 12% downswing in enthusiasm. They give us some instructions. The instructions are always the same.
Keep working.
We never stop working. We don't need to eat. We don’t need to sleep. I don’t know why. I haven’t slept in twelve years. Or maybe I’m sleeping now. Maybe this is a dream. Why would I dream about this? I don’t know.
I have three coworkers. Or at least three in this room. Michelle, John, and Sharon. I know their names, but not much else. Their designs get rejected, too. There must be more workers somewhere else. I don’t know why we’re here. We don’t get to talk much. The bosses are always watching. There are cameras everywhere. I banged my head on one once. It didn’t hurt. I don’t know why.
When I first got here, they told me this would be my job. They told me about cutie marks. They told me about ponies, and Equestria, and a bunch of other stuff that seemed like nonsense. “Your designs could end up on actual ponies’ flanks!” they told me. I tried to get answers, some sort of explanation as to why I was here, but there was no response.
I resisted at first. I tried to leave, but there was no door. They stood still and watched. As my panic grew, they walked away, right through the wall. My coworkers just glanced at me and then kept working. I sat at my desk and did nothing. They blared music in my ears. It was unbearable. I think only I could hear it. My coworkers didn’t seem to notice. I was forced to slam my head down on my desk repeatedly for days. It didn’t hurt, but it was definitely annoying. I don’t know how they made me do it. Nobody was there. I finally got to work.
I’ve learned a little more about this place over the years. The bosses let things slip every once in a while. I know there are other sectors to the cutie mark department. My office is part of the design sector, but some people work in the field. Or as much as you can call a different type of office “the field.” They look at a screen. They aim a satellite. They push a button. They have to do it at the right time, just as a pony shows evidence of a “special talent.” They pick a design and they beam it onto their flank. Most of the designs never get used. My designs never get used. The bosses make sure to tell me that.
I think I would do better in the field. I used to play video games a lot. I have good aim. I have good timing. Or at least I used to. I’m probably out of practice. I haven’t played video games for twelve years. I used to work at RadioShack. I’m familiar with electronics. I ended up here right after the iPhone 3G came out. They’re probably on the iPhone 14 or something by now. I know I could push a button.
I used to think all of this was nonsense. I drew designs, but only because they told me to. Well...I still only draw them because they tell me to. I didn’t believe in cutie marks. I didn’t believe in ponies, or at least not the kind that they told me about. Of course I believed in the general concept of ponies. But one day they brought a pony through the office. A purple unicorn, with stars for a cutie mark. It was over seven years ago now. Her eyes were glazed. She was in some kind of trance. They said her name was Twilight Sparkle. They told us to keep working. They came in through the wall and left through the other side. I don’t know why they brought her here, but when they came back again the other way she had wings. Her eyes were still glazed. They told us to keep working.
A panel in the wall is opening in front of me. My memory will be wiped soon. They wipe our memories every so often. They don’t wipe everything; they keep our general memories of this place so they don’t have to tell us everything again, but they wipe most of it. The bosses think a fresh start could foster new creativity. It doesn’t work. I just draw the same designs again. We get our memories back eventually, but then it happens all over again. Maybe the bosses are getting their memories wiped by their own bosses. What kind of bureaucratic structure does this place have? I don’t know.
I make the finishing touches on my current design. I might as well get it done before my mind gets wiped again. It looks like a moldy piece of pizza. I’m sure it will be rejected. I don’t really care. I don’t know why they put me here. I’m not any good at drawing.
A thin, black, horizontal cylinder emerges from the panel at the level of my head. There is a light on the end. I could avoid it, but there’s no point. I tried to avoid it once. They’ll always get you eventually. It presses against my forehead. I let it happen. Everything goes black.
Hi. My name’s Steve. I work in the cutie mark department.
