The Wonderful Life of a Quill
This is a warning for all others of my kind. The ponies call us… quills. They use us nearly constantly. The lucky guys are lost and never to be used again. Oh, the cruel ponies and their excessive writing.
I was once as beautiful as the others, with the vane on my shaft, full and gorgeous as the ponies’ fur, and my stylishly trimmed foot that was cut to perfection. But all that ended when I was ‘bought’. And they say slavery is illegal, posh. My new “owner” took me to a wretched place with a desk murmuring under its breath. They brought me over to, what they call, a piece of paper. And before I knew it, I had an awful feeling on the inside that was a constant pain that slowly nicked away at my sanity.
When I finally decided to look down, I first noticed that the constant buzz like sound was the paper laughing and exclaiming rather loudly, “Oh stop it, stop it! You’re going to tickle me to death! It huuurrtzz! Pleahehezzz! Stop itzz!” Confused as to why it would say that, I looked at my numb foot and fainted at the horrid sight that my eyes beheld before my denying brain.
When I came to, it was covered in the blood of an ink well that was muttering incoherently in between bouts of laughter that sent shivers down my shaft. I heard a “crack!” and watched a piece of my foot slide across the table in utter shock. I was then taken to a suspiciously quiet board with cuts in a chaotic, criss-cross pattern all across its body. As I was laid onto it, I heard a menacing voice exclaim “HAHA! Another poor sap. I told you I would be needed.” followed by a knife that was laughing insanely yelling “You’re next! This will be FUN!”
I was terrified.
The knife was lowered to my foot and then I knew that fate had a cruel sense of humor.
The knife sneered and laughed as I screamed in agony from the pain it wrought by scraping my foot to nothing. The pony powered it unfazed by my desperate pleas for it to stop. When it finally did, however; my suffering was far from over. When I came to, I saw that my foot had been sharpened to a point and now being forcefully scraped across the now unconscious paper. As I felt the agonizing pain, I realized what painful future fate had indeed set for me.
In turn, I fainted again.
After who knows how long, I was once again graced with consciousness and felt only an unnerving numbness that encased my whole being. Then I regrettably opened my eyes to a horrifying sight that still gives me nightmares today. An carelessly made notebook entitled 1,000 Uses of Quill, Brushes and Other Writing Utensils! A BOOK ON TORTURE! AND I WAS GOING TO HELP CREATE IT!
Oh the horrifying possibilities it would show. I just knew that the pain would be unbearable beyond belief! And if I didn’t escape soon, I too would lose my sanity as the ink well did.
I was petrified!
After what felt like hours, the pony finally came to ‘relieve’ me of the agonizing anticipation of the awaiting terrors called torture. Well, at least I thought so. Instead my “caretaker” took me to a fear ridden place. A drawer in the desk full of my family members. Family members from every ethnicity, everyone ranging from the Equish quill to the Neighpan brush. Such a heart wrenching sight.
I was laid with my siblings. Everyone visibly relaxed when the drawer closed. An unlucky brush rolled over and on to me and four others spouting out gibberish the whole way. Most of the others were saying incoherent mutters of the insane with only a few actual conversations from sane guys like me
.
The sobbing from a white quill next to me broke my thoughtless trance I had wandered into. After feeling sorry for the lad, I finally gathered enough courage to ask what was wrong. The answer almost brought me to tears. He came in with a sister of ours and she was taken and never brought back.
With a few sniffles myself, I asked how long he had been here. They had been here roughly two days! How long will it take me to go missing!
Contemplating the possibilities of ‘no return’, I wondered aloud when I would also go insane. The brush actually answered with words! She had a very angry tone that filled with resentment, for whom I could only wonder.
“Well, newbie. it depends on your resolve and how diligent you are. If you put your mind through surviving the tortures of pony kind! Then you’ll be just fine.” She called me a newbie. That meant worse things were waiting for me out there.
With that in mind, I asked how long she had been there. She replied with an astounding six to eight weeks! She also said she was the oldest ‘sane one’ minus the quills, yea right.
Even though I went through such a ‘wonderful’ day and I learned such ‘wonderful’ information, I had just to ask what she experienced. But instead of the brush answering, another quill spoke.
“When I was used, the pony scrapped a knife acrossed my shaft cutting half my vain off and jarring my brain before dipping me into a crying ink well that pleaded for mercy! Mercy for phoenix sake!” he exclaimed rather loudly which cause a chorus of shushing, that made me think ‘why/?’
In a much quieter, but equally intense, voice he continued, “It hurt tremendously. Not just the physically pain, I suffered from emotional pain after watching the ink well slowly lose her mind.” He started sobbing afterwards.
“My experience,” the brush spoke, “was much like his. But I dealt with watching dozens of paint containers slowly losing their minds as they watched their blood be smeared across boards that only ponies can call art. And when I was not needed I nearly drowned in the very paint that kept the containers alive! Sleep almost took me when I then realized I had to stay awake no matter what, or risk losing my sanity!”
After telling them my gruesome experience, the world around me shook as the drawer opened. All I could do was wait and pray that it wasn’t me being picked. Instead, the brush was chosen.
She left screaming, “BRING IT ON! I CAN HANDLE ANYTHING YOU MONSTERS THROW AT ME!”When his voice was finally muffled, all I could do was hope she was true to her words.
After a while, I drifted off to sleep and into nightmares of horrendous volume. I saw the notebook laying on a table open to the first page that was silent for once, that truly scared me. I was being carried over to my awaiting torture when it suddenly vanished out of sight and the floor came flying to me at an alarming speed. Then, “SNAP” echoed through my ears when I land. Fearing the inevitable, I laid there staring at the broken tube I once called my foot. Blinking slowly, I watched the silhouetted pony pick me up and take me to the cruel knife that was black as the night without stars and with eyes as red as the re paint. I tried and tried to convince the pony to let me go until I lost my voice and watched my ruined foot slowly be scrapped acrossed the blade my torturer. Right as the knife started laughing, I found my voice and screamed as I woke up.
I heard a few laughs and someone had the nerve to say it was just newbie nightmares. Before I said anything, the drawer opened and miss brush was dropped in. She appeared to be unconscious. The half-shaved quill then stated that it was a paint induced coma that is caused when brushes are in paint containers to long in one setting.
All I could do was stare at her lifeless body. The first sign of her awakening was a horrible gut piercing scream. Then she lapsed over into an unnerving silence.
Shocked stiff, I just stared at the ceiling, listening to the now muffled voices of my ‘roommates’. When I realized I was out of the drawer I started to hyperventilate. I was horrified when saw the desk come into view, but as luck has it, I was dropped, some deja vu moment huh. As I landed, I heard a bark like noise and felt something crush my shaft causing a searing pain to course through my body. I fainted in a dreamless sleep when the pressure disappeared.
As I awoke, I first noticed a bright light shining right in my eyes and my other half laid before me. When my eyes adjusted, I was greeted by an odd sight, a chamber filled with various broken things.
Another snapped quill greeted me and asked what my story was, so I answered him. He told me his story and how he had so much knowledge in his possession from all the friends he made. Now I just sit here in the dark with you and a jabbering can and a bag that doesn't know the meaning of quiet. It’s a wonder I didn't snap earlier.
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"So do you think you can pass this warning to others of the tortures that await them? Please."
Luna sighed, "I will do my best.. Farewell young one."
"Thank you for the talk... uh..."
"Luna. You may call me Luna."
"Thanks... Luna."
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Luna started crying when she left the quills dream. She let out a sigh as she remembered when pony kind accidentally created life for the inanimate beings, then torturing their creations still ignorant to the pain they wrought.
“Looks like you missed some Tia.”
Author's Note
This is just a one-shot I made from a short story I sent to competion.
Can't wait for the results!
You'll find in the link above. Please read it and see how you like it.
