Have you ever hated yourself? No, not in a suicidal way; I meant more like despising your own guts for every mistake ever done, or inconvenience brought by life. Quite an interesting feeling. You cannot punish an object of your hatred without some necessary self-harm. It will probably end in some ripped out hair, since other ways are just a bit too painful... and there would be some blood left to clean up. We don't want that to happen, do we?
Is that the reason I'm here?
***
A red dot. Despite its miserable size it pierced the retina with sharp, irritating light. That's all I was able to see, or feel, back then. A visible source of energy burning through the surface of my brain, slowly but obstinately. Having a purpose.
At some point I had to get up. I didn't. Well, not right away. I tried to cover my eyes with the pillow at first, but I couldn't do that. It just did not feel right. All that dot could do was make my existence slightly more miserable. That was its purpose. I couldn't take that away from it.
I got up on my hooves some time later. The motion made me feel a bit dizzy, thanks to my medication. I was being a good patient today so I'd taken most of my pills, except for the green ones. Those make me sleep well. I like to sleep. I just don't like things colored green.
The dot was a part of a TV set situated on a wooden shelf in the right corner of the room. I decided to cover it up with a photo frame I kept on my cupboard. It contained a photo of a mare, who smiled naturally as though she didn't even know the picture was being taken. She was probably three, maybe four years younger than me. Light beige coat and a carmine and coral mane. She looked really cute. I didn't know her, of course. It was just a placeholder, the very same piece of paper stuck behind the glass since the frame was bought. I'd like to know if she was paid for the use of her image. In that case, I'd probably be happy as well.
Using a levitation spell I lifted it from the cupboard, but I was a little bit weakened and so was my magic. It fell from my magical grasp not once but twice, throwing shattered glass across the floor, but finally the frame was able to protect me from the red source of pain.The light still shone at somepony's face. The mare on the picture was still smiling. I sat back on the bed. Everything there could be happy. I think they were. I think I even smiled as well.
***
That night was beautiful.
Luna's Moon surrounded by billions of stars, mildly illuminating the forest. Trees wreathed in a delicate fog that lay low amid the undergrowth. The calm surface of the small lake, reflecting the breathtaking scene. The desperate screams of a young mare imprisoned behind a thin wall of steel.
Isolation ward was not empty. It didn't bother me, though. It's actually quite easy to get used to. Once in a while, a pony would even be joined in this song by a forest inhabitant of some kind. A wolf, usually. It was a rather interesting dialogue, at least for the most part. Patients usually had a better set of arguments, since they represented a thinking kind. At some point.
I didn't know the patient. I'm not sure if I'd ever had the pleasure to meet her. I didn't care. She had a nice voice. It was like a beautiful music. I wanted her to keep screaming. She was a song for the sleepless.
`Made me think about my stay here. How long has it been? I was signed up for three months. I could have been here for a week now, I could be free tomorrow, or a day after. I'd lost count. All the days looked alike. Maybe it even is the same day. It's hard to tell. Everything here just blends into one "past".
"Sanatorium for the Psychologically Exasperated", it was called, and I personally allowed them to take me. I came down here. I signed the papers. I paid for it. I didn't have to, since the princesses themselves wanted to cover the costs, but I couldn't take money from my friends, them included. It would just feel wrong. Especially if they'd seen what it is like in here. All they wanted of me was to become myself again. To regain my strength. To fight depression, get some professional help with that. They'd tried to do the right thing, and I wanted to make them happy. This is where it left me. I am, in fact, imprisoned. And I was the one who put me in here.
***
I'd been sitting on the side of my bed for 21 hours now. Exhausted, thirsty, eyes dry and sore. Every blink felt like a punishment. I stopped doing that altogether. According to the broken mirror on the wall, my eyes had turned disgustingly red. All I needed was some rest.
Clock said 02:21. Only 2 hours had passed since I got up. I did not believe that. Maybe I didn't entirely trust myself at this point, but I would not believe what a piece of cheap plastic showed me.
I turned away and started to count silently, but I'm sure it was loud enough for the clock to hear me. Measuring every second I finally reached 3600. An entire hour. I took a single look at the clock face. 02:27. I didn't stop looking, just kept staring blankly at my enemy's smirking face.
I wanted to start crying, and the first time that night I got what I wanted. My body, now curled on the wooden floor, started to tremble. My eyes, now properly moisturized, stopped hurting. A short, muffled laugh escaped my lips. The clock was still looking at me. Why was it so cruel? I never commented on its relentless gaze aloud. If my silent thoughts had caused all of this, then thinking itself was not worth its price even if I was correct.
Right now I was way too tired to even try using logic. Way too tired to rest.
I wasn't strong enough to stand up, but I still tried to. After around three hours of struggling with the disobedient piece of meat connected to my brain, its legs suddenly collapsed. Head struck the floor. There was a loud sound of something cracking from near my horn. I did not hear it. I knew it was there. The same floor that had greeted me with its comfort earlier now provided pain. It was probably just a kind of revenge. I wasn't thankful enough at the time. I am deeply sorry for that.
Slowly my eyes closed. The clock did not show any emotion.
***
Where do you think the sterile smell comes from? Is there a purpose for it? Twilight could probably name everything it is created by, surely in a foreign language of some kind. Is it supposed to make the place feel professional? Give ponies hope that staff here is qualified enough to fix them? Maybe distract others, so they can't notice a small, pale hoof protruding from under a red piece of a white sheet?
I kept staring at it for some time. He was in the same room, as unmoving as me, but resting. I've been paralyzed, possibly drugged, and attached to my bed with a set of leather belts. My vision was half blocked by waves of a purple mess that used to be my mane. Forehead was bandaged, with horn sticking out. I could not see it, but it hurt. A lot. It was, for sure, still there.
When the night was starting to fall they took the colt away. The staff seemed to notice me as well, but never came close. They only pulled my heart monitor out of the socket. It became quite clear that they just wanted me to die. I was thankful anyway, since the beeping was starting to get noticeably loud. How could I even blame them for wanting me gone? I was just laying there, occupying and therefore wasting a perfectly usable bed. It was wrong. After some time, they left me with my guilt. I know it was all my fault. I should not be alive. I wouldn't be, but they'd taken away my ability to move... my ability to help them.
Nopony came after that. I was neither eating nor sleeping and there was nothing to excrete. I blinked once in a while. There was some sweat. I was just existing, staring blankly at the white wall in front of my eyes. Doing some thinking. Not much more. I already missed my companion, my friends from the past. I missed the mare from the picture with her beautiful carmine mane. I even missed that painful dot a bit. I missed the wooden floor from my room. I'm so sorry.
***
That was my life for the next two days. That was everything left of me - an obstacle, not only for the others, but for myself as well. And I physically was not able to help that. My body kept trying to save me, struggled to survive even a second longer. I never asked for it. I fought, begging it to finally give up. To let go. With tears gathering in my bloodshot eyes, veins pulsing painfully, I was fighting. A faint squeal could be heard for a minute or so. And after that there was nothing but a white unicorn's body with its eyes wide open.
I won.
They came for it a few hours later. A short stallion in a lab coat wrote down on a prepared piece of paper: "Patient #072. Death caused by extensive brain damage. 02:21 PM, Thursday, March the 6th." And that was it. In mere seconds he was gone. I'm not even sure what he looked like. Some of the staff stayed a little longer to stare at the mess on the bed in silence, including the earth pony who later transported the remains on his bare back. I should have helped him with that. I didn't. It would not redeem me anyway.
***
Four floors below, a blue unicorn stallion was cleaning a sturdy white table, the destination of remains during an autopsy. It was placed in a room which was quite unpleasant to look at, and also unbelievably cold. Yet despite those facts, the pony tried his best to get the job done properly. Cleaning every stain he could find – he found all of them. Focused on the art of keeping this place sterile – it shone blindingly in the bright, flickering light of the glow tubes.
It's good to know that somepony, even if it was just his day job, cared about my fate.
Sooner or later.