Prison Grove
A Fan Fiction by Crowquill Symphony
Clear Glass shivered as the cold wind hit his body. He had no blankets, just the stone slab that lay beneath him, and the moonlight that shined in through the one window. He cast a hateful glare at the window as he curled up into a ball, but still the wind came, slipping through the iron bars and cutting through him. Somehow it always came, that horrendous gust of wind that tormented him; the end was coming for him, couldn’t he at least get some decent weather? With a sigh got up and went over to the window, standing on his hind legs and sticking his muzzle through the bars.
He sighed as he saw it, that simple green grass that was a cool, refreshing blue in the moonlight, and the tall trees that made it seem less like a prison yard and more like a park. He’d never been down there, oh no, he had been kept in solitary. Kept in solitary for a good twelve years. He shuddered again as the wind hit him once more. He finally went down to his stone slab and fought until he found sleep, and a dream. He was in the grove, but it wasn’t marred by the cold stone walls, or the intimidating watchtowers. It was pure, unsoiled, and he happily buried his face in the grass, tasting it and enjoying it.
He briefly thought he saw somepony else, but a second glance revealed nothing but a bush with tasty berries that he gladly nibbled on. The juice dribbled down his face and revitalized his weary body. He had the strength of a dragon, the power to take on any monster that dared to face his grove. He was a free stallion and willing to give anything to keep that freedom. A pair of shadowy figures began to approach, and he opened his mouth to let out a mighty roar.
What came out was instead a dry, raspy yawn. Clear Glass felt a strand of drool hanging off of his mouth, and he sighed. He’d be lucky to see the grove once, and odds were that one time would be on the way to his own grave. They’d be there any minute, he just knew it, and the guards would come and drag him away. Regardless, he pulled himself upright, groaning as stiff limbs cracked and popped from the cold and stillness he often endured. He glanced at the mirror and saw his mane, matted and filthy, and his once pristine coat stained with the grime of a convicted stallion.
Just perfect. The sunlight poured through the bars and warmed the room, allowing him to slowly stand up. It was always the worst after he woke up, he mused, and he slowly but surely was able to canter slowly around the room. He went to the bars again, peeking out at the sun. It hurt to stare at, but he did so anyways, at least for a moment. The light shined on him, and he wondered if he had redeemed his soul yet. The knock finally came and he turned, his hooves clicking as he approached the door. He knocked once in response and it opened up, revealing a pair of guards in grey armor with black plumes in their hats.
Clear Glass chuckled. “Look at the two of you all dressed up, ready to take me away. Well, I won’t resist. Let’s go colts.” They turned and waved for him to follow, which he did. Past the thick iron door was the main prison, including the general population. The other stallions jeered and threatened him, but he ignored it; it wouldn’t matter in the end. He smiled and walked with his head tall, though he did slow down when he reached the stairs down.
He saw more guards, and the local minister, an old bespectacled stallion with a bald, wrinkly head. The stallion carried a tome of prayers, but Clear Glass waved it off. “I’ve made my peace friend. Save the souls who’ll be released; I’ll lie in the bed I’ve made, thank you very much.” The old stallion backed off, and the guards moved to escort Glass outside. Another iron door swung open slowly, and he was in the sunlight, amongst the green grass and the shining trees. Freedom. He had dreamt about it, and now the wind was a gentle breeze caressing him, the sun returning life to a tired body. This was it, the last day on the mortal coil. He trotted along with the guards, the grass soft beneath his hooves and the air clean and crisp.
They reached the other side of the courtyard quickly and Glass found himself in a simple room, a few guards present, as well as one with the violet armor reserved exclusively for the captains of the guard. Clear Glass gave him a quick courteous nod before trotting to the bench with harnesses made to prevent the intended victim from thrashing. The execution would be quick and far from painless, but he had accepted that as well. As he prepared to lie down, however, the captain’s hoof stopped him.
“We found the real criminal.”
In an instant the weight of the world hit Clear Glass. His bones became stiff, his muscles weak. His mane felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and that his tail did as well. A young mare was trotted in, her bright coat shining in the light and her mane bouncing with every step. Clear Glass shook his head in disbelief. “You were set up, blackmailed. She confessed to everything.” The other guards looked confused, but Clear Glass looked horrified. “You’re free, Mr. Glass.”
No. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t understand it. Who was this mare? Did they really think she could’ve done what he did? He stopped as his memories rushed around him. Did he do what he was said to have done? This wasn’t right; he had served the time, and even if he hadn’t done the crime, hadn’t the price already been paid? “No…”
“Guards, please escort Mr. Glass from the prison,” the captain said, but he paused and turned to the mare. “Unless you have some last words for the stallion you framed.”
She was silent for a moment before turning to Clear Glass and smiling brightly. “You deserve this Clear Glass. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.” The stallion tried to say something, tried to respond, but no words came out. She was a young mare, and he was an old mule of a stallion. It didn’t feel right, it wasn’t right. “No…”
The guards gripped him in a field of magic and carried him from the room as the mare was strapped down and the Captain began to cast his spell. He heard the slightest hints of a scream as the door slammed shut. The cold gusts of wind cut him to the bone, and the grass seemed dry and cracked beneath his hooves. He was escorted across the grove again, taken to a room with a doctor and another guard, the warden.
The warden pulled out and emptied an envelope onto his desk. “The personal effects of Clear Glass,” the warden murmured, and then he began to list the items that had fallen out. “One bag of bits with currency numbering in at thirty bits, one hoof stitched travelling cloak, identification papers, and a picture of several ponies.”
Clear Glass gathered the belongings, but they seemed foreign and unfamiliar. He even has some trouble draping the cloak around him and pocketing the smaller objects. He started away, the guards alongside him. He passed through the grove once more, but this time it seemed colder, more hostile. This was wrong; even the trees had lost their luster, and he noticed an abundance of dead leaves at their bases and irregular branches jutting out at strange angles. Had he really mistaken this for paradise?
He crossed the yard one final time and glanced back over his shoulder. From the courtyard he could see the window of his cell, and he briefly desired to return. But a quick nudge from the guards turned his attention forward, past a wooden gate that opened up before him. There were more stone walls, but at the same time there was grass. Greener grass than in the prison yard, as green as he had dreamed of the prison yard being.
He set an aching hoof on the grass and felt it fold beneath him, felt the soft, cushiony soil beneath. He leaned down and took a nibble as the gate closed behind him. As he sat there confused he went through his belongings. The identification papers gave no surprises, stating that he was Clear Glass, born close to forty years past, and the bag of bits was the same, just an unsurprising sack of golden coins. But the picture was different. He was in it, younger and happier, with a few other ponies and a young couple carrying a foal and having a little unicorn by their hooves. He ignored them, focusing on the ones surrounding him.
A beautiful mare, no older than he was. A pair of stallions, grown enough to have jobs of their own but young enough to have been his sons. And then there was the other mare. She was young, younger than the stallions, and she had a wide smile on her face, and a bouncy looking mane complementing her shining coat. He could remember that mare. He remembered her from the prison. He remembered holding her as a filly.
He remembered her standing over him, spattered in red, glaring at him.
An hour later a young colt would pass through the field in front of the Equestrian Southern Penitentiary, ignoring his parent’s every word as he strolled through the pleasant field. He stopped only briefly when he heard a grown stallion crying. He looked over and saw the stallion curled up, his dirty mane and coat barely obscured by a tattered cloak. The colt stared for a little while before wandering away and wondering what could possibly make a stallion cry so hard.
~*~*~*~
