He could punch a wall right now. Send his arm straight through it, and splatter plaster everywhere. Rip out the wood, tear at the wires, and gnaw the steel supports away. He’d take every last bit of the dirty tan walls and mash them into dust, then sweep that dust into a deep hole, and cover it up. Maybe he’d throw the horrid green tile floor down there with it. In fact, throw the whole deal down there: the lumpy cot, the smelly green sofa, and especially the television that was ten years out of date. He’d take all of it, and toss it out the tiny window. He’d find a way to make it fit, even if he had to tear it apart. See what this boredom was making him do? It was making him sit here, thinking of ways he could take the room apart and throw it out the window, into the sea below. It’s not like there was much to remove, anyways.
The boredom was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Stare at a flickering computer screen for twelve hours a day, watch the tiny number in the corner of the screen go down in value and then back up, but make sure it doesn’t go too far in either amount too fast. That was his day.
No, that was his life.
The griffon wanted to feel useful, to feel that his parents were of proud him, despite the many failures he’d churned out. He wanted them to feel pride and joy when they beheld the pudgy griffon in their eyes, to have them be able to say “Our boy helps keep this place running.”
But he expected to be able to do that in a way that wasn’t boring. The griffon would sign up for anything, no matter how dangerous, no matter how long it would take. While they sure got the long part right, they forgot the excitement and thrill.
The bird pony sighed and hopped down from his makeshift seat on the windowsill, the loud hum of the fan on the computer demanding he end his staring at the rough ocean and return to his duty. Regrettably, he forced his unwilling body to move back to a place it could be “productive,” two stubby, ill-kept talons scratching and scuffing the hideous bile-coloured tile with each step. He was headed back to that awful computer to monitor trillions of numbers changing slightly every second. Grabbing onto the backing of the grimy swivel chair he had to reside in most of the day, he gave it a quick spin and hopped in as it slowed down, perfectly timed so that when the chair came to a halt, he’d be facing the screen. When you spend five weeks doing work like this, you pick up little tricks.
A few sharp, overgrown talons clutched onto a green aluminum can resting on the tiny wooden desk and sat back, paying attention only to the two things that actually mattered: the total number, and the number of items that’s changed since last the system checked the list. Just make sure nothing funny happens with those two numbers, and he was fine. “So easy that a mentally handicapped, cross-eyed cavemare could do it!” his supervisors told him. Boy, were they right.
Luckily, he only had fifteen more minutes of this, as 12:00 AM was very near. After that, he could lie back in his stiff cot and “enjoy” a good night’s sleep. Sleep’s sweet embrace would have to be set aside, however, as he had work to do, and that work required fuel. Putting his hind paws up against the side of the desk, he pushed away and whistled while his chair wheeled into the kitchen. This wasn’t exactly a difficult feat, even with his stubby, weak legs, as the kitchen was only ten steps away.
When the wheels of the chair turned no more, the lazy griffon found himself among a stove, a refrigerator, and a sink full of dirty dishes. Wasn’t much, but hey, the appliances didn’t explode when he used them, so he didn’t have the right to complain. That didn’t stop him from doing it often.
The fridge was dirty and ugly, also quite out of date. A keypad on the front controlled the lock as well as provided a means for the supplier to check how much credit he has. The idea irritated him, they already stuck him in this room for days on end, and now they’re making him pay for food? The griffon muttered in discontent as he punched his number into the old, clicky panel, a few beeps and it opened. A can of soda, a bowl of lettuce, and a burger plopped down the chute, fresh from the restaurant. It wasn’t gourmet, but it’s what his salary dictated he could afford daily. The wrapping on the food crinkled under his talons and a swift kick sealed the stupid door shut.
Tossing his head back, the bird pony enjoyed his swig of the syrupy liquid, it was practically the only thing that kept him going throughout all this same-old same-old at this point. He flipped his powerful tail, sending the office chair rolling into the beaten up desk, and took his time in reaching the computer. The numbers would still be there in a few seconds. They’d still be there for a few minutes.
He daydreamed as he walked back to the computer chair, reminiscing about his first day on the job. Heck, he didn’t have much else to do. The first thought that came to mind was a lab colt yelling at him for spilling cola on a control panel.
“Mel!” The unicorn’s face was contorted into a mask of pure hatred for the griffon’s bumbling ways. “This is the fifth time you’ve done this! Not this year, month, not even this week! The fifth time today! Today!” The rest was just a mishmash of other ponies yelling at him and ordering him to do grunt work around the office. Oh, how he envied them right now, stuck in their comfy little rooms while he was back in this place. It was like a prison.
When he emerged from his dream world, he found himself staring at an empty list. Well, he’d better get to monitoring. Monitor Boy, they called him. He mockingly giggled at the nickname, before something hit him like a lead brick to the groin. The list was empty.
Searching frantically up and down the list, Mel couldn’t find a single number. It shouldn’t be empty. If the list was empty, that meant bad things. Very, very bad things, things that were irreversible.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to recall the troubleshooting procedure, but every corner of his mind was screaming “It’s all over!” Mel held his head in his hooves, trying his hardest to silence the alarms and screaming, just so he could remember what he was supposed to do. He could recall bits and pieces, the unicorn’s words to him on his first day. Closing his eyes and repeating these words to himself aloud, he followed the directions he gave himself, albeit with shaky claws.
“Refresh the list by hitting the blue circle icon. Sometimes the list—“ he paused to tap a claw to his chin, digging through piles of old memories jammed into his cluttered head. “Something something out of date.”
He grasped the mouse and maneuvered the cursor to the blue circle in the top right, placing all his hopes in the click of the mouse. The whir of a hard drive filled the room, and Mel shut his eyes. This should work, he didn’t know what it did, but it should work. It had to work.
He could just imagine the unicorn walking in and standing over his shoulder, tearing into him with insults and lectures that he wouldn’t remember until it’s too late. The lecturing turned into yelling, and it seemed like there were four of them, all cooperating with the intent of making Mel feel like as much of a failure as he could. He held his head, slamming it against the table, wanting it all to stop. He wasn’t a failure, he’d fix this!
And as suddenly as the whirring stopped, so did the voices. Everything was calm. Lifting his head up just enough to see the screen, his heart sank again. There were only four numbers, and the circle icon was gone, meaning this list was the most current. Normally, that blue circle would be flickering on and off with the sheer speed of the list updating and going out of date, but it was greyed out, nothing was changing, thus no need to fetch a new list.
The room began to spin again, the weight of the situation landing on him like a tanker truck on a watermelon.
“You’re a failure!”
His employer’s words rang in his head as the world turned black.
A lifetime of pain condensed itself into one mere moment, and that moment repeated itself for what could only be described as eternity. She felt blood breaking new ground in fresh veins, brain becoming aware of its state, heart discovering rhythm, muscles twitching in newfound freedom. It was birth, and the mother was nowhere to be found.
When the filly opened her eyes, she saw no hospital staff. She saw no loving parents, no beeping machines, nothing but a warm blanket, a desk, four walls, and two doors. She knew what they were, seeing pictures of them in her head like in an encyclopedia. The screens and devices on the walls, however, were a touch foreign to her mind; they fit no description or definition she knew of.
Hunger and fatigue introduced themselves to her almost immediately after she sat up, speaking in their harsh tones and running their jagged claws along her body, urging her to get up and take care of herself before she withers away into nothing.
Getting out of the bed meant leaving security, stepping into a foreign land without knowledge of self or surrounding. This room, with its beige carpet, blue walls, and strange panels on the wall… was this room home? Prison? She wasn’t in much position to say. A few nervous missteps here and there, and she was headed out the bigger door of the two, muttering nonsense to herself and connecting little bits and pieces of her scattered mind to provide a stable platform for thought and reason.
Upon seeing the hallway, she wasn’t provided many answers. The walls were sterile grey and a black marble floor stretched on around the corners, a few tables standing every so often against the wall, holding a few odds and ends like tissues or some other little knick knack that she couldn’t quite place. Panels lined the walls, displaying various little nuggets of information. Setting her mind aside for just a moment, the filly trotted towards a screen that hung across the hall from her, scanning it for some answers.
There was a picture of a lit city at night. The buildings had gorgeous windows, fine grey cement walls, and large glass structures at the top, in all strange shapes and sizes, cast a homely yellow glow. Was that home? She cocked her head at this question, thinking it through as her gaze darted around the image. There were ponies in the streets and on a few balconies, it must be home.
“P-p…” The voice halted for a moment, struggling to find the right word. “P-p-pr-pretty, i-i-i-i-s-s-isn’t it?”
A stuttering voice came from behind her, and she nearly fell over with fright. Two strong hooves caught her before she hit the ground, and when the klutz opened her eyes she found herself staring into the face of an extremely nervous stallion. His long spiky mane was as yellow as the sun, which combined with his orange coat gave him incandescence as warm the glow in the picture, though most of it was covered in a shiny grey jumpsuit broken down the middle by a blue stripe that clung to his form like a second skin. His shaky gaze darted from one part of the room to the next, before finally settling on her face.
The first thing he noticed was her expressive violet eyes, though currently conveying fear they calmed after judging him to be friendly.
“Ar-a-a-are y-you ok-k-k-k-ka-kay?” His stutter was almost crippling, he seemed to retract them as they broke through his mouth in fear they might hurt him or others in some way.
The shy filly nodded rapidly, as if trying to answer questions he wasn’t even asking. He let her down, jittery hooves clutching the ground for dear stability. Huffing to keep the anxiety at bay, the filly steadied her gaze at the black floor, she could see the reflection of the room as if it were water. Lights hung above, embedded in the arch-like ceiling and flickering once in a while. She could see herself, blue coat mostly covered in the same strange skintight garb the stallion was dressed in, her tail cropped short and her violet mane cut in a short bob that swished as she adjusted her head to different angles. She had no wings like the pony beside her, she was smaller too, younger even.
This reflection gave her addled mind no answers, only more questions. How had she not known what she looked like before? What were these suits? Who was she? A hoof on her shoulder snapped her out of this trance, a sympathetic look from her companion indicated he too was clueless. Silence was exchanged for a good while until rumbling stomachs were courageous enough to break it. Both giggled, for the moment the signal of hunger preferable to silence.
Their jovial laughter was cut short when the floor lit red, a marquee appearing on it. The ponies jumped back and stared with fearful eyes, though they soon found that scrolling text reading “cafeteria” was of no danger. Like some sort of omniscient being, the floor had sensed their needs. Both exchanged glances, the mare nodding slowly as she broke into a trot in the direction of the flowing words, her companion following close behind.
“S-so-so-s-s-o-so, do-d-do you have a n-name?”
She had to give this question a considerable amount of thought, but each dive into her mind only brought up the twenty minutes that she had experienced today. Should she have a name? How is she supposed to get one?
“No, I don’t have a name.” Was there something wrong with being nameless? Was she committing a sin? “Do you?”
The colt spent just as much time in bouncing the thought about his mind, and had similar difficulties in remembering any past experience. Yet he seemed to take little worry in being nameless, more fretting over his lack of knowledge of surrounding.
“N-n-n-o No, I-I don-do-d-d-o-don’t.” They had at this point decided silence was better than question, details would take a back seat until the more immediate problem was solved.
Down the seemingly endless hallway, the marquee eventually halted at a set of double doors, a sign hanging above them reading “cafeteria” in the same red flowing letters. The stallion took the lead in opening it, as if to shield the mare from anything that may lay inside.
The room was large, and had rows of tables much like any food court would. Several food items sat in trays under tubes, piling up and waiting to be taken. And taken they had been. In a table off to the corner, food had been amassed in a large quantity and tossed in a heap on top of one of the tables.
The colt looked to the mare in confusion, and she could only exchange the look and nod her head, a silent agreement signifying that yet again curiosity trumped hunger for the current moment.
The pile seemed to grow larger with each step, new food being tossed on top of the pile all the while. Burgers rolled out of their buns, French fries sticking out of mashed potato like spears on a battlefield and apple juice dripping down in waterfalls. The two explorers stood stunned at this monument to gluttony: it was truly a wonder of the world. Who could have built this?
A creature with an empty tray in its mouth stepped out from behind the massive pile, eyes locked on the constantly replenishing buffet line. It was a bit smaller than either pony in the room, with black skin and two large red eyes. It was perforated around the legs and tail from what could be seen out of the silver skintight jumpsuit, two glossy wings poking out much like the stallion’s from two slits in the suit. Sharp fangs held the tray captive and tube-like ears twitched about like radar dishes, constantly on the watch.
Though a bit frightened by the sudden appearance of a new being, the filly was the first to break the ice.
“D-did you build that? That tower?”
The insectoid pony dropped the tray to the floor with a light clang and turned to the newcomers, glaring and holding its ground, unsure of whether or not this was a threat to her territory and possessions.
“Who are you!?” The voice was feminine, mixed a bit with a strange accent that sounded almost like a whistle. Her brow lowered in scrutiny as she scanned the colt and filly. “Why should I give you my food!?”
The mare recoiled a bit, her ears lowering in apology. The colt stood closer to her, possibly trying to add a little strength in numbers.
“Food is over there, go get it!” The bug pony pointed at the lines on the sides of the room: warm, delicious treats falling out of tubes and gently landing on conveyors that carried them to trays. The two quickly figured out the connection between the pile and the tubes, wasting no time in turning their attention towards the latter. The famished ponies had filled their trays to the brim as they moved down the line, hay fries, oats, apples, oranges, though they skipped over the meats (carnivorous habits weren’t a trait that was common in their kind.)
Sitting down at a table adjacent to the towering pillar of edibles, both ponies began shoveling whatever they had stacked on their plate into their maw. The food was sweet relief after the rather turbulent start of the day, though silently, the mare and the stallion acknowledged this feast in respect to new friendship and new life.
“So-so-s-so, what’s y-your favouri-rite?” The colt asked, trying to start some small talk.
Raising a hoof to her chin, the filly gave the question a little thought. Sure, the apples were delicious, and the grilled hay was excellent... She looked down, noticing that a huge chunk of her food was being shoveled off of her tray and onto another by a perforated hoof.
“H-hey! Give it back!” The filly shouted, gaining the attention of her thief. The black mare cocked a brow, not understanding why she was so upset.
“But you weren’t eating it. I need it for my tray.” Apparently there was a tray underneath that pile of food.
“But can’t you just get to the lines?”
“But you weren't eating it! And it’s closer!”
The two went back and forth like this for quite a while, the colt eventually deciding it was best to just give the earth mare his tray and be done with it. Satisfied, the bug pony carried the last bunch over to the tower and tossed it on, messily digging her face into it and swallowing greedy mouthfuls of the material down her gullet.
Sometimes, one must think. Think about what has been gained and lost, what sensations will be sacrificed to fading memory and which will become constant. Mel was in a thinking mood, the griffon pacing grooves in the iron floor of the off-shore platform. A long walkway connected it to the shore, a tunnel in the cliff side winding its way to an entrance at the top. The clicking of his talons and the churning brine beneath were the only sources of company in this eerily quiet world.
Dark clouds hung in the sky and chucked rain down upon him, a near constant downpour was common in this area this time of year, but even the routine of the weather felt twisted and mangled.
Alone. Alone was the word that rang in his head like a sickening bell, somehow audible even against the rough sea and roaring rain. He’d gone over the past few hours’ events in his mind, and there was only one conclusion: he was one of the few left. There were four numbers in that database, his own included. Looking down at his grey suit, he could see the number clearly printed in black across his breast. It filled his throat with bile to look at it, for it was partially the cause of his pain. That and the stupid collar. It was constantly beeping now, and the LED was flashing red.
Enraged, Mel clutched the infernal technology and tapped a few keys on the side of it, and it came loose. His mournful eyes darted over every inch of it, the chrome reflecting in its usual glitzy manner. How foolish could they have been, to trust their lives, the lives of their loved ones, their entire world, to this piece of junk? He’d break it if he could, but he lacked the strength. Solemnly walking to the ocean, his gaze met with the grey sea, churning like an angry monster.
With one more hate-filled look at the collar, he held his claw out and released his grip, watching in content as nature took revenge upon the contraption of foolish sin. Turning, he made his way back inside.
There was work to be done.
