//------------------------------// // Chapter 45: Go Ahead, I'm Listening // Story: The Private Scrapbook // by Cadabra //------------------------------// Chapter 45: Go Ahead, I'm Listening Early one evenin' I was makin' the rounds I took a shot of whiskey and I got took down Made a good run but was slow to trot They overtook me on the streets of Canterlot. Prairie Tune's latest single was all the rage on the radio, and was topping the charts for its ninth week in a row. While most mares would be happy with their brother's success, Smithy closed her eyes in shame as her brother sang about how she got herself arrested on the guard pony's portable radio. When I was arrested I was dressed in black They put me on a train and they took me back I had no friends for to go my bail They slapped my dried up carcass in the Canterlot jail. The guard on duty was particularly fond of that lyric. He slapped on Smithy's bars as he walked past her cell, getting a small thrill hearing her groan with aggravation. He knew she couldn't do anything from where the psychiatrists had strapped her down to prevent her from hurting herself. Into the court room my trial made progress Where I was handled by the royal princess The verdict read in the worst decree I hollered 'Sweet Celestia have mercy on me!' It had been nine weeks since Smithy was found guilty of libel, a sentence she hadn't even been arrested for in the first place. Her trial was a joke, nothing more than a manipulated attempt to pin her down for a crime she hadn't committed. She knew exactly why she was behind bars, and it killed her to know that she was powerless to stop it. All she had ever tried to do was be fair and just with the zebras whose lives had been ruined by slavery, and now her life was ruined for trying to do the right thing. Smithy could not believe that she had lost the trial to Senator Carpet Bag, or that Crab Apple had been stupid enough to get himself arrested at the same time during the trial. With both of them behind bars their zebras were now helpless. She had hoped they could fend for themselves and outrun the law, but from where she was at she would never know. She imagined what a price they would get on the market considering the prestige surrounding the trial of their masters. She cried bitter tears night after night knowing that all the work she’d done for the past five years had all been for nothing. Kizzy may never know what freedom was, and it was all her fault. Celestia smiled as he picked up her pen Ninety nine years in the Foalsom den Ninety nine years underneath that ground I can't forget the day I drank that whiskey down Come on you ponies and listen unto me Lay off that whiskey or you'll end up like Smithy! That last line was the worst for her, because she knew how ponies liked to justify things. While the song was about her trial, she'd read in the newspaper brought to her cell that the Prohibitionists used it as an anthem for their cause and her jail sentence as reason for their demands. Everything that she had worked so hard for had all been for nothing. She would go down in history as a villain when all she ever wanted was justice and freedom. Smithy began to cry to herself as the song ended, knowing it would go unnoticed and uncared about by anypony in Foalsom Prison. She knew none of them actually cared a bit about what all she was going through, or what her family was going through. She was just another number in a cell to them. Smithy felt a handkerchief wiping her eyes, which didn't surprise her. She looked up to see the prison psychiatrist, Dr. Crane, was there for her regular psychiatric evaluation. Having been put on suicide watch, she was subjected to regular visits by this pompous excuse for a mental health professional. At the very least, she was looking forward to being sedated again at the end of the session for acting out like she regularly did. Dr. Crane took the handkerchief away with the use of his unicorn magic. "So, same as how I left you?" he said as he levitated a clip board and quill. "You have a way of getting teary eyed, Granny Smith. Which trigger set you off this time? Something a guard said? Smells? Music?" Smithy hated how he would treat her like nothing more than a common criminal instead of listening to her problems, but what else could she expect from Foalsom Prison. She cringed as he tried to evaluate her reasons for crying instead of just listening. "Music, doc," she replied with a hiccuping sob. "Mah brother's single is all wrong and it drives me up the wall." Dr. Crane smiled professionally as he scribbled down Smithy's response. "Now, Granny Smith, you remember those breathing exercises we went over?" he said, watching Smithy roll her eyes at him. "Next time you get too excitable, you need to step back and breath, remember? Like this." Smithy watched Dr. Crane do the absurd breathing exercises, wondering if he even realized how laughable he looked. If she even did something like that in the shower, she could just see herself being shived in the back by a fellow inmate just for looking so ridiculous. "Ain't workin' on me," she said stubbornly. Dr. Crane clicked his tongue like a disappointed parent as he wrote more on his clipboard. "That's because you aren't trying them," he replied as he used his quill to poke Smithy in the ribs. "Something as simple as a catchy song on the radio shouldn't be enough to set you off. It's not healthy." Smithy spat at the doctor for his insults. "Ya wanna talk 'bout healthy!" she screamed, making Dr. Crane back away. "Not knowin' where mah daughter is ain't healthy! Not hearin' from mah son and mama ain't healthy! Not knowin' whats goin' on with mah partner ain't healthy! Not knowin' what's goin' on with mah property ain't healthy! I'm stuck in here with no contact with anypony I care 'bout, and it's makin' me go bonkers, and that ain't healthy! Ya don't need no fancy schoolin' to know all that!" Dr. Crane used his magic to hold Smithy down. "Breath now, in and out," he said in a vain attempt to ease Smithy's hysterical crying. "You'll hyperventilate if you don't calm down. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Smithy let out a blood curdling scream that echoed through the prison. "I'm hurtin' alright!" she shouted, spit flying out of her mouth due to the force of her voice. "This here's all mah fault! I done put mah kin in danger fer nothin', and now I don't even know if they're safe! So don't ya dare go tellin' me I'm gonna get hurt!" Once again, talking to the mare had failed. Fearing for himself and his patient, Dr. Crane magically lifted a syringe full of sedative drugs. "I hate having to do this to you every time I come here," he said as he held the needle in front of Smithy for her to see. Smithy rolled on her side as best she could in her restraints, sticking her rump up in preparation for the shot of sedative. "Stick it!" she said with a vindictive growl. "It's the only good thing I got goin' fer me. Maybe one day y'll gimme too much and all our problems'll be done with." Dr. Crane levitated the needle away from his overly eager patient. "Interesting," he said as he scribbled more on the clipboard. "Patient is showing signs of asthenic personality disorder, and of chemical dependency." Smithy writhed about in her restraints as the sedative needle was put away. "What are ya waitin' fer!" she wailed. "T'ain't like I'm gonna be cooperative! Stick me already and get it over with!" Dr. Crane had the guard open the cell door before using his magic to put a tight muzzle over Smithy’s mouth. "We will continue this session at a later time when you have learned to calm yourself down," he explained, using his magic to tighten the straps on Smithy's restraints to keep her from bashing herself against the wall. "Until then, remember your breathing exercises. I'll be back when you are ready to talk. Until then just remember, I'm listening."