This is Earth, right? Or wherever we're from.
Well, I've always been this way. It can’t be all that different.
Stairs won't end. I've turned more corners than I can count. Bumped my flank on the wall from being so tired. Leaving stains behind.
It hurts. It always hurts.
…It's wet.
That’s the strangest part, but I'm used to it after 20 or so years.
I don't know much. I think that I'm very simple. I don't need my mind clouded by so much than a few vague, wandering thoughts at once. I want it to stop – I don't want want to think about anything. I'm not ready to die, but… if I can just find a place to rest in here for just a little bit, I can pull myself together.
I can see very little. I stopped seeing the ceiling as soon as it left my memory. I only see the stairs because I keep walking on them. The last door I saw was either yesterday, much longer than that.
I've started to feel something following me. I won't be losing it anytime soon.
There are sounds here. Loud winds, with metal clanking against metal. There aren’t any hoofsteps, but there's something else here. I don't care. Whatever it is, I want it gone. I want quiet.
I dread the thought of another pony being here. Nopony should have to be here.
"...hey. Is anypony there?"
||||||| ||||| || ||||, ||||||: "||||||| |||||"
Got it.
Whatever. I'm just trying to find somewhere to sleep. I can't be bothered, even if it is somepony. Was somepony.
I have to stop thinking – it’s causing too much to change.
I need to lay down. I'm so tired. Haven't eaten in a while. I'm thirsty. My mark is dripping.
There's nothing here but you, somehow.
"||||||"
Thought so. Never could trust a word that came out of your m////////////////////|///////|/||||||///and now I'm stuck withhhhh////||||||||||for who knows how long. Nothing but you.
I talk to you. I ask you if I'm even fit to continue. I ask you If I mean anything. I ask you If what you say is true, if it’s a lie, if your intentions are truly that sinister. And you always know just what to say. I never want to hear it. I can’t get away – it's impossible. You have connections that I’ve lost. You have connections that I want, but that I’ll never get. I imagine only Celestia knows what kind of shit you’ve said about me.
I'm tired. I’m tirelessly angry. I cannot stand you. I need to keep you away from the people I love.
It’s wet. It’s always wet, red and bright. It smells like shit. Tastes like shit. It’s everywhere, and it’s all your fault. What do I have to do to be rid of you? Who do I talk to? You’re so much more fit for this world than I am, but...
I'm seeing things. There's shapes forming in my vision. Some form of hallucination? A figment of my own frustration? I hadn't taken care of my body for who knows how long before I found myself here. The only shapes I strain myself to see in this darkness are the disembodied broaches that those six wear. The Princess and her friends.
The apple of everypony's eye. The sign of true saviors, absent now. Heroes more powerful than any mere disavowed citizen of that unlucky town. Ponies that have the power to actually make a difference.
A blight.
"|||| /// ||||| || ||||||?"
I dread the thought.
Some absent force is deciding my fate. It guided me here, making my presence something that I decided for myself. There's no one else to blame but me, really. I put myself here with nothing. There's enough nothing here to satisfy a dying dreamer!
Well, as somepony who is neither dying nor dreaming, I could do without it.
Everything fleeting except that shimmering amulet. It's wet. Alluring and repulsing. A roaring blight. Enough to turn anypony dock over fetlocks for power.
…
…it's changing.
Maybe it’s had enough. Maybe I'm changing. I… I don't want this place to change. I don't want myself to change. I don’t need power. I don’t want power. Let me stay here longer. Let me just have a second! It's taking shape – I could feel it from the start. It plucked me\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\but I don't want it////||||||||||pick somepony\\\\\\\\\//|||||||/?///////else\\\\\\\\\
It's wet.
It goes on. It went on. Dripping. Vacant halls and walls of pictureless void, wet floor, tough air, miserable sounds.
Seeping.
The unavoidable sound drowns out the once hopeful hoofsteps.
Leaking.
It hasn't ended.
Bleeding.
I’m no longer hungry.
Aching.
I can no longer hear you.
Pulsing.
There’s nothing. No needless wants or ideas. I do have thoughts, mostly vivid memories. Some regrets, some cherished imagery.
Slowing.
I think of my friends.
Easing.
I think of my brother.
Closing.
I think of my partner.
Drying.
I'll hold onto them forever. If I can walk here endlessly and think about them, that doesn't seem too bad.
Dry.
The cacophony of bad, a fleeting feeling.
It's going.
Everything’s gone.