Entry One (of many it would seem).
My name is Silas. I am a young colt—but no more can be said of that anymore. I am a resident at the North Equestria Mental Institute (NEMI), with a severe case of Multiple Personality Disorder.
By order of my doctors I have been told that alongside the treatments I must write a journal of everything I can remember before I came here; even perhaps before I started having these problems. Hopefully if I write it down they can figure out why it came to me, of all ponies, and how I can get rid of him. I need to be rid of him. It’s super important. We can’t let him win.
So this will be my first Entry. But what can I remember about the beginning? I know stuff. I can remember stuff before Sombra, but it’s hard.
I definitely lived on a farm—that much I do know. Every morning I’d go down with my parents and help milk the cows. Then after all of our hard work we had a great breakfast of home-baked bread and home-made butter alongside a nice, refreshing cold glass of milk. We were happy; I’m sure of that. There was hardly ever a time when we didn’t smile. Even though I didn’t have many friends because we were so far away from the towns, I know I was happy.
There was nopony I loved more than my Father. He was great. I can still see his red, silky body and his brown mane. It had a flick at the front which I used to play with all of the time. It made Dad laugh. His laugh was beautiful—like a thousand tiny mice in the body of a large lion. If ever anypony heard him laugh they’d start laughing to, even if they didn’t understand the joke, which I hardly ever did being so young.
I loved my Mom too. She smelt sweet. Every morning she’d walk downstairs with an aroma of flowers flowing around her. I used to help her make perfume sometimes, out of the flowers in the meadow just near our farm. Great flowers of yellow and pink—a whole rainbow of colour right at our doorstop. And it all went towards making that gorgeous smell Mom had. I can’t remember a time were Mom wasn’t smiling in that old cottage.
The old cottage with the red walls and slated roof: our little palace out in the open where nopony could ever do us any harm. And we didn’t think that anypony would ever make us leave. It was our home forever; we belonged there as a family.
My room was simple. There was nothing fancy about it, but it didn’t matter. I often didn’t spend much time in there anyway. I much preferred to be out in the farm doing some work, or down in the kitchen helping with the food supplies. You can say what you like but I’d argue that there’s nothing as good as grabbing your big old stick, pushing it into a large wooden bucket of milk and churning away until, by some kind of earth pony magic, it transforms into large lumps of the smoothest butter you could ever taste. It didn’t even need any salt; it was perfect just the way it was.
Strange isn’t it? How everything I can remember about that old place is always remembered in a positive way. You’d think there’d be some negative parts right? Well, if there was I can’t picture them at all. Although I suppose if you compare it to other memories, that was the best time I’d ever had and so could never be thought of badly. I miss it—I miss those days.
The days before Sombra even showed up were all so wonderful I can’t even begin to explain. It was the farm that kept me going. I never did like staying still and doing nothing for a long amount of time. From half past five in the morning to six o’clock at night I was busy; running around like a mad hatter, as if the whole world depended on me to keep moving. I’m still like that now, only the Doctor’s don’t let me leave the Living Space most days. I can’t stand being locked up when I’ve always been so used to being outside in the fresh air. And when it comes to doing nothing I find it a horrible torture. It’s unfair that I’m no longer allowed to do things for myself, isn’t it? I hope so. Maybe they’ll let me do some more if I tell them that, though they probably would just leave me to do the same as usual.
What else do I remember about that time? There must be something. Oh yes, the cows.
There was this one cow I was closer to than anything. She was the leader of the pack: Maisy Moo (she named herself that. Not a clue why). She had a mass of fuzzy brown hair clinging to her forehead like a little brown rabbit peeping out of a magician’s top hat. Yes, and she could do magic tricks as well. Sometimes I’d go down and watch her in the field and she’d shout something really loudly to make the other cows jump and, hey presto, as soon as we all turned back to look at her, the large block of hay would have disappeared. That was some good magic, that. The other cows never looked as impressed, but I thought she was really talented.
Maisy used to love me coming down to see her every day. She taught me a lot about life and having fun, and in return I’d bring her some of the sweetest, freshest home-baked cupcakes you could ever find in those parts. Maisy was a plump cow, but she was sweet that way and just the way we liked her to be. Her milk was always the freshest and the best—she was always happy when I told her how brilliant it was, and happy to see me enjoying my drink. That’s why Maisy was so good.
But I don’t get it. If all I can remember back then was good why did this happen? Surely if I was happy nothing bad could happen to me right? I remember Petie saying to me once that he’d been okay before he moved in with his new Step-Father (who was actually his Uncle originally) and that’s when he’d started to feel his depression really kicking in. Maybe it was something later in my life then—maybe something after the farm had turned me into a monster. I don’t know—but I do miss that old farm.
I miss Maisy and Father and Mother. This hospital, despite how many ponies and other creatures are here, is lonely. You never get the freedom you had when growing up. Back on the farm I could sleep at night knowing I’d done a good job that day and that great days were to come. Here, I can’t sleep knowing that I’ve done nothing but sit around all of the time, and that tomorrow will be as boring and stupid as this one. There’s nothing for me here. Sometimes there’s fresh air but quite often there’s not. I just wish I could do something different you know?
Yes—I want the farm back. I want to go back to before Sombra. But that’s all I can remember.
Why is that all I can remember?