I will burn down this prison, release every inmate, and watch as Gabby Gavel and her insufferable crew of witless guards gawk at the carnage that tears though this pitiful prison. There are only so many times one of them can grope my ass before I finally snap and shove something unpleasant up their ass, and no, I don’t mean that in a sexual or pleasurable way. And I vehemently refuse to tell Matter Horn or any of those idiotic Power Ponies about it, either. I don’t care how many times she or her other cronies tr walk in here to visit me and tell me, “I could be a hero” or some other nonsense about how, “they’re here for me.”
I will not give them even an ounce of pleasure by bending to their will. They ruined everything for me, and I’ll be damned if I ever accept their help. I don’t need them, I don’t need anyone or any creature in this infuriating world. I only needed one creature and she’s gone now because of the Power Ponies.
Speaking of those unbearable mares, I believe the first time I saw them was also my first night in Equestria, though it was only in passing as I skimmed through the channels later that night. For the first thirty minutes of watching the news channel, I was under the impression that it was a tv show about strange looking humans reporting news in a fantasy world. But when I saw mares and stallions on the other channels who had horns, wings, and used the same language as the ponies from the news channel, my world was turned upside-down.
It wasn’t long after that that I came to a few other realizations. The scant moments from several comedies and the words used by the newscast painted a world that mirrored Earth from the 1950’s, but in reverse. Men, or stallions as they were called, were treated as a lower class and were relegated to props used to boost ratings with short shorts and tight-fitting shirts. Another thing I came to realize was that the world was filled with creatures who acted as superheroes, actual living superheroes in capes and tights.
Some of them felt like parodies of the heroes that filled my childhood. Instead of there being a man from a dead planet who could leap tall buildings and outrace locomotives, an amazon-like woman with nearly white skin floated above a crowd. The massive wings that slowly flapped in the air took my breath away, as if I was looking at an actual angel. She had a long horn and a flowing mane of rainbows that wafted behind her, almost like it was acting in place of a cape that should have hung on her shoulders.
Day Breaker was the first hero I had seen on the news, and I found myself slowly becoming obsessed with her and the other heroes who came on. A mare who looked like Batman called Nightmare Moon, a web slinging maiden called, funnily enough, Spider Mare, it was far too surreal. I was on another world, one full of aliens that had their own superheroes.
Goddamnit, how did I not notice Timber or Glory Hole talking about “mare this” and “colt that” the day before? Was it simply that I was too tired to notice, or perhaps I was too panicked to focus on that, at the time, insignificant detail. The fact of the matter was that I wasn’t anywhere near my home.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I mourned the world I lost, shedding tears into the toilet as I adopted a pose that Gloriosa likely held when she was making love to her own porcelain throne. That was far too sexual for my taste. Of course, I felt sick as well. I had just found out that I was on an alien planet full of super beings who could, and likely would, plant me on a direction table if they found out I wasn’t from this world.
Despite what Matter Horn and the others claim, I doubt that they would have helped me if they knew I was an alien. I have seen racism and sexism on this world, and I have been disgusted by these false humans time and time again. If they treated ponies differently for their race or gender, then I could only imagine how they would react to an alien hiding among them. I imagined hundreds of dreadful scenarios where my innards filled jars stacked neatly on pristine shelves. I imagined feeling the missing cavities inside of me, a hollow feeling growing in my stomach as if they were actually vanishing from my body.
A quick return to the toilet quelled those fears with a distraction as I sobbed into it. Though I didn’t have many friends or family back on Earth, what I lacked in quantity was made up for with quality. They were people I would happily die for, friends who were practically my family, and family who meant more than anything in the world to me. And they were all gone.
Even now, after mourning them for so long, I still fight the urge to cry whenever I think of them in a passing thought. Even before I was placed in this cell, I was a prisoner of this world, kept away from the people who actually made my life matter. The only things on this strange world that were mine were the literal clothes on my back and the memories that filled my head, and I spent most of the night crying as I mourned my greatest loss.
When I was finally able to leave the scant comfort of the bathroom and drag myself back to the tv, I turned it off and walked outside to get some fresh air.
As I stared at the gleaming night sky, looking at the alien constellations in the vain hope of finding some normalcy in my life, I thought of the last time I was able to see the night sky. It was a camping trip with my parents, my aunt, and my cousin. I wished the stars above me were the same ones we pointed at all those years ago.