I don’t suppose I need to detail every last performance I put on. That would be long and tedious. It should suffice to say that Trixie forced me to perform in much the same manner as the first time.
From what I understand, I do a show every two or three days, but I will reiterate: It’s very difficult to keep track of time without the sun as a reference.
I suppose it’s a good thing that I have an expansive repertoire, because my performances last a good half hour at a time. It’s needless to say that Trixie is not pleased if I repeat a piece two performances in a row.
Speaking of Trixie: I find her... inconsistent, and extremely contrary. Almost every performance leaves her in a good mood – an extremely bearable one at that - save for the one performance where I repeated Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ , which I had played at the one previous. That was apparently enough merit for a black-eye, which she of course fixed a few hours later.
The way she treats me is odd... frightening, in its spontaneity. She can be congratulating me – literally congratulating me – one minute, and then be striking me for a curt remark the next.
Anyway, if my internal clock hasn’t been completely screwed over by the lack of a day-night cycle, then I believe that it was about a week – long enough to do three shows – later that I got my second chance to escape.
I’ve already said that it didn’t exactly go well – and that it was my last chance to escape. Trixie implemented new ways to stop me from getting out after my first attempt, and I had no doubt that she would do so again if I failed a second time.
Really, this is all filler... just building up to a little while ago… when I snapped.
But in the long run, I might as well put this all down here. All for the record, I suppose.
Two Weeks Ago…
If I have any grasp on time at all anymore, then I’m fairly sure that I’ve been here for just over a week. Eight or nine days, probably.
Time is just another thing out of my reach in this cell. My internal clock can’t function properly like this – and my sleep patterns reflect that. I can fall asleep at any time, which is actually interesting. When Trixie isn’t around, I can do whatever I want – except that ‘whatever I want’ is limited to sleeping and playing the piano.
That’s what I’m doing now. I’m just sitting here, playing random octaves and chord progressions.
This could be my last chance to escape. I will need to be fast, accurate, and above all, I would need to surprise her. Like my first escape attempt, the plan itself is simple, and the real problem is still in the execution.
Trixie should be coming in soon. I haven’t had a drink in a… well, a while. Normally when I’m at this level of thirst is when she graces me with a bowl of water. It's like a whole new system of keeping track of time. The thirst clock.
I think Trixie’s using some other kind of magic on me, because I haven’t had a single piece of food since I was pulled through, and yet it has taken me an incredible amount of time to start feeling hungry.
That said, my stomach is now growling every few minutes, and all I can think about is when Trixie is going to actually feed me.
My body itself is looking markedly worse-for-wear. I can make out individual ribs. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that Trixie’s using some sort of spell to ‘mute’ my feelings of hunger. She’s probably building that up as leverage against me. I misbehave, she lets me feel just how much I'm starving, or something to that effect.
By now, nothing would surprise me.
But surely this can’t go on. She’ll have to feed me eventually… Or she might just wait until I starve to death, and then get another human.
Could she really be doing that? Just… running me into the ground, and then picking another human? What if she’s done that before?
It was that thought that made me decide to act. I have this plan of escape, and if I wait any longer, and Trixie doesn’t feed me, then I will be too weak to try.
All I need to do is to wait for that water.
I’ll need to get some rest – even a little, and when Trixie arrives, I’ll need to move fast.
With that in mind, I flop backwards, laying down on the thin layer of hay strewn across the floor, wrapping one hand around the leg of the piano stool. Trixie will be suspicious that I’m not on my mattress, but I doubt it will stop her from delivering the water.
The angle will be terrible, and I’m probably going to hurt myself, but it’s worth a shot.
The sound of the lock of the cage turning rouses me from my light sleep, snapping my eyes open.
I wait tensely, my back facing the cage door as it swings open. After that, Trixie will slide the water bowl into the cage, and lock the door again.
Each noise is crucial, for I need them to keep track of when to start. I can’t screw this up. If I do, Trixie won’t give me another chance – In fact, she’ll probably just barbecue my head again. The very thought of it nearly makes me shiver, which would alert Trixie to the fact that I’m not sleeping.
‘Wait…’ My mind screams the command at my body. ‘Wait… NOW!’
I roll over, bodily gripping the leg of the piano stool.
With a loud shout, I lift it off the ground, nearly dislocating my shoulder with the effort of lifting something so heavy from such a bad angle – and with one arm.
I release my grip, and the stool sales across the cage, and Trixie shouts, backing away from the door as her horn lights up.
Too little, Too late.
The stool collides with her face, producing a satisfying crunch as it knocks Trixie off her hooves and lands on top of her as she collapses.
Meanwhile, I propel myself across the cage floor, grabbing the door before it can close and using it as a prop to rise to my feet.
Trixie is lying on the ground, dazed from the impact, while I flee, running straight past her. I’m sorely tempted to stop and wreak my revenge on the mare for what she’s done, but everything I can think of would involve bringing her back to her senses with the pain, and then she would simply seize control of my mind again.
It’s infuriating. She’s right there, helpless, but trying to do anything would just get me recaptured.
With that in mind, I bolt for the door, ripping it open and making my way up the steps, taking them two-at-a-time.
There’s no lantern to stop me this time.
Now I’m backstage, headed out for the main area of the café. The first thing I notice is that lack of any light except for the one above the basement door. The windows aren’t letting any in either, which means it's either night time, or all this is the result of the rapture, and I'm about to get fucked over by demons - Which is still higher on my to-do list than getting recaptured by Trixie.
I run out into the main area of the café, which is filled with tables and stacked chairs. It seems like a nice little place. At a glance, you would never think that it was using a slave for its entertainment.
I wrap my hand around the knob of the front door and pull it open, before stepping out into the open.
“Yes!” I breathe out enthusiastically, savouring the taste of fresh air – something I haven’t been able to enjoy for some time... and I'll admit it, I was also pretty happy that there wasn't a squad of demons waiting outside the door to use me as a kebab. That not happening is a plus in any situation.
Unfortunately, I can’t stay to enjoy the sensation of freedom, as an enraged shout erupts from the innards of the Café, forcing me to take flight once again, sprinting through the streets.
This place isn’t Ponyville, Canterlot, Cloudsdale or Appaloosa. That much is clear. The architecture is totally different. I can tell that, even in this low lighting. Everything is constructed out of an ugly looking brick. Is this Manehattan, or Trottingham? It doesn’t look like it would be Las Pegasus.
The streets are slick. It must have rained recently, and considering how ‘heavy’ the air feels, it’s probably going to start raining again soon. I never thought I would see the day when I couldn’t wait to get caught in the rain.
Wow... the things we take for granted... from internet access to the 'privilege' of getting caught up in the mischievous doings of that nefarious troll called Nature.
Another shout echoes behind me, startling me as I sprint through the streets and causing me to slip on the wet cobblestones.
“Oh god, no!” I pant as I slide to a stop. My legs skinned and aching.
I scrabble back to my feet, and continue running, now limping from my fall.
This is bad. I can run, but Trixie can gallop. How did I not think of this before?! I either hide, or she catches me, and drags me back there - and she’ll probably beat me unmercifully in the process.
Suddenly my left leg falls out from underneath me, inexplicably sliding to the left and dropping me to the ground.
Well, inexplicably isn’t exactly the right word, because the magenta aura surrounding it probably had something to do with it.
My face slams into the stone cobbles, briefly stunning me.
‘No, no!’ My mind races as I scramble forwards. Was it really over this quick? I’d only been on the run for three minutes at the most! It couldn’t have been that short!
“I can’t go back there! I need…” Tears are streaming down my face. “I…”
A hoof plants itself in my back, cutting me off with its presence.
“Don’t worry. You aren't going back there.” Trixie’s voice whispers in my ear, before I’m flipped over by her magic.
She’s looking down at me, an angry cut and bruise combination marring her forehead, yet a shockingly calm – possibly even compassionate – look on her face.
“Do you want to know why?” She smiles, the benevolent expression distorted into a terrifying grin by the angle at which I view it.
I let out a small choked sound as she raises a hoof, still smiling like a sympathetic mother. For some reason, despite everything she’s done, this is the most terrifying trixie has ever been for me. She’s been hit in the head by a piano stool – thrown by me. No one should be smiling after that.
Using my choked whimper as a surrogate answer, Trixie lifts her hoof a little higher, and I realise that she is about to strike me.
“You aren’t going back there, because we are taking this show on the road.”
Before I can react, her hoof comes down, striking me on the side of the head.
I look up at her face, still smiling in that same caring manner as the hoof impact jars me to the core, before she raises the offending limb again.
“Sorry.” She says insincerely. “This wasn’t meant to take more than one try.”
“No…” I mumble weakly, raising one hand feebly in an attempt to ward-off what’s certainly coming next.
Her only answer is to bring the hoof back down.
The world is lost in darkness.