Two days. What Sunset wouldn’t give for one of Celestia’s droll lectures on the ability for pony spirit to persevere now, instead of the monotony of watching the dregs of society be dragged in, sometimes bleeding, broken into submission by paperwork, and then put in little cages.
Sunset had heard the phrase “let off early on good behavior”, and she was determined to be the one it applied to. But it was hard, so very hard. For one thing, she was a genius. She knew it, and normally, so did everypony around her. But these cops refused to believe her. She could have said that the sun rises in the east, and they would point in that very direction and call it west, just to spite her. At least, that’s how she felt.
She learned that the people in uniforms were not the ones to fear, not really. It was when the police walked away, and she was stuck with fellow “civvies”, that she was most likely to be hit or kicked. Always by the older ones, the ones who used “teen” as a curse word.
The first night, she’d been pulled off her cot by her feet, hitting her head on the concrete, as a fellow inmate screamed something about “red hair dye and blood on your hands.”
Every time, the cops would look away, or punish her for “snitching”. It was worse than the orphanage.
But the second day brought with it, ironically on the rising of the sun, some good news.
“It’s too expensive to keep you here, Alice,” Angles said as he kicked the bars of the cell and put his hands on his hips. “Since I found you, I’m responsible for dropping you off at your foster home.”
Celestia. They had foster homes. Sunset had been lucky, had been taken in by Celestia before she got old enough, but she had heard the stories.
Foster homes brought out the worst in pony parents, pony parents who considered the new arrivals as something much closer to slaves than actual children. Sunset had never heard of a filly or colt actually enjoying being a foster child. Maybe the happy endings were out in the country. But they weren’t in Canterlot. And they weren’t here, in this human city named Chicago.
“Oh, that was a dirty look you just gave me,” Angles sneered. “Won’t make this any easier, Darlin’. It’s your time to go. This, or real jail. I trust you don’t want real jail, do ya? Too soft.”
Sunset blanched. ‘Wait, this isn’t real jail?’
“That’s what I thought,” he said as another cop opened the bars, and Angles gestured towards the back door.
At least Sunset had clothes now, a nondescript grey and blue hand-me-down blouse and skirt that barely fit her, with shoes that she didn’t trust at a faster pace than a jog.
As she had been doing in all of her interactions with the cops, she stood passively, slightly hunched over with a blank expression, letting them do whatever they wanted with her.
In this case, that was taking her back out to a squad car and locking her in the back. The city hadn’t changed much in two days, but in the sunlight at least she could see weeds growing in cracks in the pavement, bright spots of green and then trees planted on the sides of the roads, in small patches of dirt surrounded by pavement.
But before too long, the trees spread and they were driving through more residential areas, the color of red brick taking the place of concrete.
The cruiser stopped in front of a particularly large building. Angles got Sunset out, leading her, thankfully without force or handcuffs, up to the front door where he knocked and waited impatiently.
“Coming!” a young voice called; a moment later the door opened to reveal a kid a couple years younger than Sunset.
“Is the madam home?” Angles asked, his tone bored.
“Yes, Officer Paulson,” the kid said softly. “I’ll get her.”
They waited, door open, as the kid left. The inside of the building was stripped down, empty, like a home set up for sale without any adornments or personality.
The Madam marched into view with the clicking of sharp heels, and stood towering over Sunset, looking the officer in the eye.
“Name?” she barked, her voice grating and rough like gravel concentrated into pure malice.
“She’s Alice Shiner,” Angles said, never stirring from his relaxed pose, as though the Madam didn’t pose any threat to him at all. “Have a good day, Madam.”
Then he turned and left, as the Madam turned her gaze on Sunset.
“Alice Shiner,” she said, softer but with no less cruelty. “You are welcome in my home, but on provision. You must not be useless. You must not do drugs, or drink. You must not be stupid. You must not commit Sin, or I will wipe my hands of you, and send you off to the Asylum.”
She reached out and grabbed Sunset’s shoulder, pulling her inside and slamming the door behind her, before leaning down to speak into Sunset’s ear.
“If you find you cannot obey these laws, then you will find that the Asylum treats your kind much more cruelly than I. Rather than God, they use sharp tools to fix you.”
As she spoke, she pressed a finger against the side of Sunset’s head, as she started to shake slightly.
Then, the Madam let go and stood up, stepping in front of her.
“I am Lily Marton Isle. You will refer to me only as The Madam. Charles will assign you your duties.”
Then she just walked away into the house, leaving Sunset alone.
As she waited for this Charles individual to arrive, Sunset reflected that this was indeed a very strange world that she was stuck in. She was threatened with being sent to an asylum, when “asylum” was supposed to be a term for a safe sanctuary from attack. She was told not to drink, but she was fairly certain that members of this species would die without liquid nourishment. And this was yet the latest reference to an unnamed god that was supposedly in charge of this world, but she had yet to see Him make a public appearance.
Now not being stupid and not sinning—Sunset was sure she could do those. Unless these people had insane definitions of “intelligence” and “sinning”.
‘They absolutely have insane definitions of “intelligence” and “sinning”’, she realized.
Charles walked in a moment later.
He was an older boy, judging by this species’ social standards, just under the age of adulthood. He wore blue jeans and a button up shirt, his dark skin and tightly curled hair contrasting with most of the other humans Sunset had met so far. Clearly there were humans with colored pigmentation, even if it wasn’t as varied or common as ponies.
But most striking was how tired the boy looked.
“Hey,” he said, softly and as gently as anyone had spoken to Sunset in this world. “The Madam’s already talked to you, I’m Charles. I… kind of keep everyone on task around here.”
He guided Sunset through the rooms to what looked like a kitchen, and gestured for her to sit down in a little booth, across from a wall that had a massive schedule with names on one side and dates on the top, with little slips of colored paper tucked in the squares next to the names.
“We do a lot of work here,” Charles said wearily. “No matter how old, no matter how young. We do chores. You’re old enough, you’ll be able to do a lot of different ones. It’s good, kids get worn out from doing the same ones all the time. But if you don’t do enough chores, you get put on the reprimand list. If you stay on that list for a whole week, then you have your bedroom privileges revoked, and you sleep in the garden shed.”
He looked down at the table with the blank stare of someone who was tired of giving this speech to kids.
“Breakfast is from six in the morning till six ten. You can’t be late, everything extra gets taken to the church. Lunch is at noon, but lasts an hour, so if you’re a little late it’s fine. Dinner is at sunset, and if you’re in the shed, you only get bread for dinner. Do you have any allergies?”
Sunset looked at Charles calmly, but not submissively. “No allergies,” she said, in a soft, unthreatening voice. “And thank you for the instruction. I will do all that is required of me.” She looked over at the task list. “Now, what chores are available to me?”
Charles didn’t look up at the list, they were ingrained in him, and he recited them easily.
“Sweeping the rugs and carpets, mopping the tile, dusting all of the furniture, doing the laundry, doing the dishes, folding and putting laundry away, reading aloud from the Bible during lunch, shining Madam’s shoes, and picking up groceries. Though you’ll have to wait a week of completing chores successfully before you are allowed to do the last one,” he clarified.
Sunset felt a brief moment of vertigo, dizziness washing over her as the overwhelming presence of this washed-out dreary and empty home loomed around her.
“I suppose I can start with doing laundry, and see what happens,” she said finally, picking up the one activity most likely to be performed alone. She wanted as much time as possible to think about everything she had seen so far, and to formulate her plans for her next move.
Because at some point, she was going to fight back. She just didn’t know enough yet to come up with a way of fighting back that would actually accomplish anything.
“Good.”
Charles stood, hesitating for a moment as he put a hand to his lower back, wincing in pain before nodding for Sunset to follow him as he took her on a tour of the massive house.
There were three levels and a basement; the top level had no ceiling, and a loft had been made out of the former attic, to fit more children’s beds. At the foot of each bed was a basket, where the children were allowed to put their dirty clothes, and from all together she filled one basket before the end of the tour.
She was also shown the simple straw-stuffed mattress that she would be sleeping on.
The entire time, Charles spoke with a level, tired tone, holding his back occasionally and stifling a few yawns, until finally he guided her to the laundry room, a brick basement room with one barred window that let in the light and allowed a thin view of the backyard, and two large machines.
Once Charles showed her how to use them, and helped her load the washing machine, he left her alone to wait until it was time to dry the laundry, as he had other children to check in on, although throughout Sunset’s tour she hadn’t seen any. They must have been busy doing chores or something.
The washing machine hummed next to her, emanating warmth.
And for a moment, Sunset could be calm. No prisoners harassing her, no banging on the walls. Until a young girl rounded the corner and froze on seeing her.
The girl was very pale white, with freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her brilliant green eyes were wide, frozen, wondering if she was about to get in trouble. But Sunset fixated on her hair. Brilliant vivid red hair, as bright as Sunset’s mane had been before she entered the portal.
Sunset blinked, her mouth agape. Is she another Equestrian? she asked herself. “Hi, I’m, um, Alice,” she said. She raised one closed hand and brought it down before her, as if she was awkwardly pawing at the ground with a forehoof. “I’m new here.”
“Christ,” the girl said quickly, slipping inside, back against the door. “New lass ought not be a wee clipe, ought not to tell on me, aye?” she said hopefully, slumping to the floor. “Madam’s got it out for me. Name’s Sam.”
“Oh, I won’t tell anyone,” Sunset replied. She looked around for someplace better to sit than the floor, but there were no chairs. If she hopped up on the washing machine she would at least be in eye contact with the girl Sam, so she tried that, but the machine suddenly went wild, bouncing up and down and side to side, throwing Sunset off. She only just kept herself from falling down.
Sam laughed.
Sunset grinned, rubbing a sore hip. “Never thought I’d be bucked by a washing machine,” she remarked.
“‘Bucked’... like it,” Sam chuckled as she put her arms on her knees and leaned her chin onto them. “Mite unco, eh…. Strange, ye? Like it though. When’d ye get chained te the Madam? Gotta be taday?”
‘Not an Equestrian,’ thought Sunset. ‘I’ve seen every kind of creature and heard every kind of pony accent in Celestia’s court, and I’ve never heard anything like this!’ “Oh yeah, it was today. Guess I’ll have to count the days until I’m old enough to walk out of here.”
The girl grimaced, shaking her head and making her tangle of fiery hair bounce as she did, before looking away.
“Ain’t so quick, eye?” she sighed. “Might be none get outta here, Charles even, nice ‘nuff, but stuck too.”
Sunset looked her desperately in the eye, hoping that she was joking. “Well...maybe I’ll figure something out.”
‘“Maybe”?’ her inner self scolded. ‘You’re Sunset Shimmer! You’ll have this whole planet eating out of your hoof in a week!’
‘Shush, you.’ Sunset looked over at a clock mounted on the wall. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, but I think it’s coming up to dinner, and we both know it’s a bad idea to be late to that.”
“Eye, shit,” the girl scrambled to her feet, slipping a bit on the partly detached soles of her shoes before getting the door open and jogging up the stairs.
That left Sunset alone for a bit as the washing machine rattled to a stop, with a final clunk and the draining of water. She sighed. ‘Get in trouble for not taking care of the clothes, or get in trouble for being late for dinner? Well I don’t know about Madam, but I would sure be more upset about soggy clothes than whether one less kid shows up for supper.’ So she set to work transferring the clothes from the washer into the dryer.
It took several minutes, but everyone was still sitting down at the table when she got to the top of the stairs. She thought for a moment she’d made it in time until The Madam’s gaze locked onto her, and her displeasure became evident.
“Stand there, Alice,” The Madam said, a sneer in her tone as she said it.
Everyone paused, some halfway in their seats, and stared. She was the new girl. New people were unpredictable.
All those fearful nervous faces, and then Charles and the Madam. Charles was flat, neutral, as dead as an expression could be. The Madam was full of scorn and pity and disgust.
‘Alright,’ thought Sunset, ‘I can play this game.’ She stopped and stood, her eyes on the ground.
“Excellent, now that everyone is here, let us say Grace. Charles?”
They all bowed their heads, and Charles spoke in neutral tones, quickly, as though he was reading from a particularly boring script.
“Oh Lord, we thank You for this meal, and the company that we share it with. We thank You for the blood of Your only Son, for the service of The Madam, and for the protection You give us within these walls, Amen.”
As one, every child echoed the final word.
“Amen.”
“A men,” said Sunset, a half-second later than the others. With an effort, she kept in the smirk.
A moment of annoyance at her timing flashed across The Madam’s face, before she began eating.
All of the children ate, while Sunset stood there, three feet away from her meal, still not commanded to sit.
She noticed Sam kept looking to her, concerned, but unable to do anything. She wasn’t sure if humans had a way to nonvocally convey the message “Don’t worry about me,” but that was what she was trying to do with her eyes.
One of the times Sam glanced up, she slipped with her spoon, a splash of soup spilling onto the white tablecloth.
"Jesus, Fuck," Sam hissed.
Judging by the reaction of those at the table, she might as well have declared her intention of killing them all, as some of the children gasped, others recoiled, or put hands over their mouths.
The Madam's chair clattered to the ground as she quickly stood, and took two steps over, hand coming up as quick as a spell being cast, striking Sam across the cheek and sending her to the tile floor with a heavy thud.
Silence fell across the room for a brief moment.
“Alice,” The Madam snapped.
“Yes, Madam?” Sunset was just as cowed as the others at that moment.
“Sit and eat, you will take Sam’s place doing dishes tonight,” The Madam said firmly, as she bent down and seized Sam’s arm, pulling her bodily to her feet as the child whimpered.
The red spot on her cheek shone with tears as The Madam dragged her out of the room and into the backyard, everyone assumed she was being taken to the garden shed.
Charles sighed softly, and resumed eating, the other children slowly following his lead.
Sunset looked down at the remains of Sam’s meal. She didn’t even remember sitting down. Her nerves were far too shaken to have any appetite. She looked around her, but everyone was shoving food into their mouths. ‘Am I going to get punished for not eating?! Is there anything there isn’t a punishment for?’ And so, for the first time in her life, Sunset had to figure out how to hide the peas under the mashed potatoes.
But time didn’t seem to drag out as long as she wanted, and The Madam didn’t return.
Instead, after a moment they were shaken by a scream, shrill and high and desperate, which faded into sobbing that was soon inaudible.
Some of the children put down their spoons, tears in their eyes. Others ate quicker, or even took food from those who were no longer eating.
This was too much for Sunset. “Isn’t anybody going to do something? She’s killing her!”
“Better her than us,” somebody muttered in reply.
The sound of wood striking flesh rang out, and another horrible scream reverberated through the halls of the Home.
Two of the children stood and ran from the table, but now all that were left were those too scared to move, or those desperate to eat, eat every scrap of food they could, before the coming storm robbed them of more.
One of them even took Sunset’s plate, and ate her mashed potato-peas before shoving it back in front of her.
They were all animals, she realized. This is what happened, when you abused animals. The basic Psychology classes at CSGU rose to the front of her mind. Fight or Flight, resource hoarding in preparation for scarcity.
Then another sound of impact, and a scream that ended sharply.
Every hand grabbing a fork, every teary eye, every panting breath in the room fell still.
They couldn’t move, or speak, they could only wait for another sound.
The rusty hinges of the garden gate opening, then slamming shut, were their only reward.
Then the clicking of pump-heels on tile, as The Madam returned, finally coming back to her position at the head of the table, and looming over them.
Sweat beaded on her brow, a manic fury in her eyes as she took them all in, observing them for signs of weakness to exploit as she dried her hands on a cloth napkin.
“Sam,” she started, her voice trembling from excitement, “has run away.”
She seemed to wait for someone to question her, daring them to doubt her.
“I shall call upon the police to find her,” she continued finally. “In the interim, you will all be sent to your rooms, no chores but dishwashing. Charles, see the children stay in their rooms.”
Then she turned, and walked out, as the children all scrambled to get up and run upstairs, trying to get to their beds as quickly as possible, until it was just Charles and Alice.
Charles stood slowly, and followed them like a guard dog herding chickens.
Sunset lay in her bed, her eyes open. She didn’t know what to think, and she didn’t particularly want to figure out what she was supposed to think.
Sam had run away—good for her. Except she obviously didn’t run away.
Sunset needed to get out of here. Tonight. She didn’t care if she was caught, just so long as she was thrown in jail instead of taken back here. She waited until it was 1 or 2 am by her internal clock, and then got up. She was dressed—she had gotten into her bed dressed, and as she suspected, the other kids were too traumatized to notice. She picked up her shoes and went to the door.
Only to meet a pair of eyes in her gaze.
It was a young boy, his skin the same color or maybe darker than Charles’, but his eyes a rich gold, so full of fear and pain as he watched her.
He wasn’t going to speak, he wasn’t going to move, he just met her gaze, and watched her go.
She couldn’t take him with her, she was pretty sure this whole escape thing was a horrible plan. But she just knew if she stayed here another day she would do something much worse than wish that Jesus had lost His virginity. If that boy stayed… If she took him… There was no good answer here. So she shook her head, tears in her eyes, picked up a hair pin, and set to work on the door lock.
It sprung open so easily, that she wondered if the lock had ever stopped a determined escapee, and it revealed the hallway that led to the stairs, and then past those stairs to The Madam and Charles’ rooms.
But downstairs there was the flickering of a lantern, then the back door easing open, the light fading as it eased almost all the way closed.
Sunset stood there for a whole minute, wishing she could pivot her human ears around to be sure of where any stray noises were coming from. Finally she snuck over to the stairway, and stepped gingerly on the first step.
There was no squeak.
‘Well,’ she thought to herself, ‘that’s one thing in my favor.’
A soft laugh echoed through the cracked back door, followed by a male voice murmuring words she couldn’t make out.
Sunset stopped and weighed her options. Whoever was out there could come back at any time. Should she wait in the bedroom? She thought of that boy and his sad stare. No. But the basement could work.
Quickly she made her way down the stairs. She resisted the temptation to look out the windows to see what was going on, crouching down to be out of sight. She hugged the walls as she made her way around, and down the cold concrete steps into the laundry room.
“To be quite honest, if I could cull the Irish from this town to a one, we’d see civilization return in leaps and bounds,” The Madam’s voice came through the basement window, low to the ground and only a single layer of glass thick.
“Sure, but then where would I get my entertainment from? Here…” The male voice was familiar, very familiar, as the sound of a car door opening echoed in the small garden.
There were some temptations that were too much, even for a bright mare like Sunset Shimmer. So she edged over to the wall under the window and looked up. She didn’t see much of anything, so she climbed up on the washing machine. Slowly, she raised her head up so she could get a peek.
The scene was perfectly framed in the style of Frogonard by the garden flowers and trees, with the garden shed just behind the subjects to the right with the door open, yawning black.
To the left was a police cruiser with the trunk open, and then three subjects huddled around that open trunk.
One was The Madam in her nightclothes, one hand grasping the handle of a black plastic bag, the other holding aloft a flickering lantern that lit the scene in stark shadows.
The second was “Angles”, Officer Paulson in his uniform, both hands grabbing the heavy bag as he lifted it towards the trunk.
But the third subject of the scene, painted in stains on Sunset’s mind that would never fade in their vivid contrast, was the black plastic bag, from the top of which sprung bright orange curls of hair, tangled in the knot where the bag was tied shut.
And that third subject did not move, as it was heaved up and into the trunk of the police cruiser.
Sunset wanted to scream, to scream so loud that she’d wake up the sleeping God of this universe, so He could make everything right, punish the wicked and reward the innocent, and bring back poor Sam while He was at it, because gods were good at those kinds of things. But nothing came out of her open mouth.
With the realization that this was the universe that she would be spending the rest of her life in, Sunset Shimmer, the earnest little pony of Equestria, died. Ponies didn’t belong in a world so devoid of harmony.
But something had to be done.
So Alice the human took over. She looked around the room for objects she could scavenge. Perhaps sell on a street corner for money. She saw some copper pipes in a corner, and a discarded pillowcase with a hole in a corner. She hopped down from the washing machine, put on her shoes, tied the corner of the pillowcase to fix the hole problem, and stuffed the pipes inside. A dark cap went over her head.
Then, as she was gathering those things, she spotted on a shelf in the corner a toolbox.
Heavy, yes, but bound to be full of goodies, all painted dark green and durable.
She opened the box, transferred a rather sharp-looking screwdriver into her pocket, and closed it again. Then she walked up the stairs and out through the front door. Right into the street lights. She glared up at them, daring them to do something.
One of them went out.
Putting her free hand in her pocket, Alice sauntered away, away (hopefully) from the police station, the graveyard, or anywhere else where unwanted bodies were dumped at 2 am.