Chapter 11
There was a strange ominous mood while Screwloose walked to work. She felt eyes staring at her. An odd sense of paranoia gnawed at her brain. She felt uncomfortable and worried. As she trotted down the road, she saw angry faces. Confused faces. Occasionally, she saw a friendly face, and that made everything bearable.
She turned the corner, walking through the open air market, her hooves clattering on the cobblestones, walking past a carrot cart. A strange stallion glared at her from behind a stall selling tomatoes, his eyes narrowed, his ears folded back.
Screwloose did her best to ignore it all.
“Keep your head high Screwloose!” A voice shouted. Screwloose turned and saw a mare she thought she might have recognised from the concert. She smiled warmly, thankful for the support. It wasn’t all bad.
At least ponies weren’t throwing things.
Fleagle was still at her home, he had slept on the couch downstairs the night before. There had been some rather close moments, a few really hot moments, and more than a little heavy petting, which had left both of them quite breathless, but both of them had agreed that there was no need to rush anything. So Fleagle had slept on the couch, Mint Jewelup kissing him goodnight after covering him with a blanket.
Screwloose turned another corner, leaving the open air market, walking down the lane to work, trying to find her smile again. She was afraid… She admitted that in her own mind. But she had friends now, and they would see her through. This was just a little rough patch. Nothing to worry about.
She pushed her way through the door to Sofas and Quills, trotted through the showroom, and went to the backroom to clock in.
“Screwloose?” Davenport called.
“Yes Mr. Davenport?” Screwloose replied.
“Don’t bother clocking in.” Davenport answered.
“Why…” said Screwloose, confused, “I am on the schedule for today.”
“Screwloose, this is very difficult for me, but I cannot have you working here any longer. I have to look out for my own interests. And I’ve heard some very disturbing things about you from yesterday.” He emerged from his tiny office room. “So please, do not clock in, and I must ask you to leave.”
“But why?” Screwloose said, now in shock. “I’m good at my job. You’ve never once had reason to complain about me. I was getting a bonus.” Her head sagged. “I was getting a bonus…”
“Just go please, don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Davenport said in a cold flat monotone.
Screwloose turned and stumbled out of the backroom. She nearly tripped over her own hooves as she made her way through the showroom. She crashed into the doorframe on her way out, staggering through the door and into the street.
Now she didn’t have a way to pay rent.
It was an odd thought, but it was the first one through her addled mind. She felt a pang of worry, and then dismissed it. Mint would see her through. She knew that, and didn’t doubt it for a second. She stumbled down the street, other ponies staring at her, she could feel their eyes boring holes into her, through her skin, through her flesh, deep inside of her being. Paranoia flared. Which one of these ponies had went and spoke to Davenport? Somepony did.
The skin on her belly went cold and there was a painful tightness down near her nipples, down near her groin. A tight ball of fear began to form, twisting her insides. Her dock clenched, nearly pulling her tail between her hind cheeks. A few stray hairs were pulled in, and she could feel them, a painful stinging tug as they were pulled between her moving cheeks as she walked.
She could feel her face ticking, and was suddenly very self conscious. What must she look like right now, her face contorting, her tail twitching, her buttocks flexing, trying to be rid of trapped hairs?
Every pony must be having quite a laugh at her she supposed. She was the object of public ridicule now. Everypony knew. She could almost hear the laughter in her ears.
She didn’t know how long she had walked through the town, but she found herself standing at the door of Dr. Hornwinkle’s office. She was supposed to be here after work, hours from now. Only she didn’t have work. Nope. No work today. Or tomorrow. Maybe no more work at all now that she was the town laughingstock. Screwloose ground her teeth together, fear knotting her insides.
She pushed open the door and sat down in the waiting room. This was as good of a place as any to have a breakdown.
Screwloose sat, staring at Dr. Hornwinkle. So far, this had not been pleasant. He was angry, his tone hurtful. Their initial exchange had stung. She had told him she had lost her job, and he had already known.
“I’ve been hearing some troubling things about you.” Dr. Hornwinkle said, scowling. “Back to barking in public I see. Barking inside of Sugarcube Corner.”
“A lot of ponies barked in there, there was a joke.” Screwloose protested. “Everypony was barking.”
“Terrorising the public. Having inappropriate relations with another species. Threatening another pony with harm.” Dr. Hornwinkle glared at her. “The list goes on and on!”
“Who decides what is appropriate?!” Screwloose shouted. “You told me to find a date and I did!”
“This is not socially acceptable.” Dr. Hornwinkle said, making a dismissive gesture with his hoof. “You are relapsing into old behaviours. After all this progress, you are falling back into inappropriate behaviours and relapsing into sickness.”
“No I am not.” Screwloose said. “My behaviour is fine by dog standards.”
“Do you know how sick you sound?” Dr. Hornwinkle said angrily. “You are a pony! A pony! And you will live by pony standards, do you understand?”
“At least I am not a judgmental ass.” Screwloose said, feeling the first hints of anger bubbling up inside.
“You leave me no choice.” Dr. Hornwinkle said.
“What do you mean?” Screwloose demanded.
There was a click as the door opened and two ponies entered the room. Dr. Hornwinkle’s lips pursed together. “I am sorry, but you left me with no other choice.”
“No.” Said Screwloose. “Whatever is about to happen, I will not allow it. I have rights.”
“Soon, all of this trouble will be behind you and we will have your mind smoothed out again. You’re not well Screwloose, but we can fix you.” Dr. Hornwinkle said.
Screwloose was suddenly pushed to the floor, the two ponies now on top of her, pushing her down, pinning her limbs. She cried and kicked, struggling to break free.
“You can’t fix me, I’m not broken!” Screwloose screamed. She felt a hot stabbing sensation in her hindquarters.
“We can fix you, we’ve done it before.” Dr. Hornwinkle said.
“What do you mean you’ve done it before?” Screwloose said, feeling her muscles beginning to go lax.
“We’ve fixed you before Screwloose. Relax. Don’t worry. When this is all over, this won’t even be an unpleasant memory. All of this will be gone, and you’ll be on the road to wellness again.” Dr. Hornwinkle said.
Screwloose came to a horrifying realisation. “What have you done to me?” She said, her breathing now laboured with two ponies pressing down on her and the tranquiliser coursing through her body. “This is why I can’t remember anything before the asylum. You monster!”
Dr. Hornwinkle sighed sadly.
“Even if I can’t remember, my friends will. You can’t keep me locked away forever. My friends will keep my memories.” Screwloose said, still trying to kick.
“Then I suppose we shall have to relocate you again, just like the last time.” Dr. Hornwinkle said.
Screwloose fell silent, reeling from the revelation of what had just been said.
“You have a troubled history Screwloose. You keep relapsing. Failing to follow your treatment plan. You become defiant. You’re sick and you just don’t know what is best for you. Thankfully, I’m still confident that we can fix you at some point. The alternative is permanent incarceration in an asylum.”
Screwloose struggled and kicked feebly, still trying to fight.
“This proves my point Screwloose. Even now, you continue to struggle and fight. Your defiance is just one of many symptoms we hope to cure you of.” Dr. Hornwinkle said. “We can’t fix your cutie mark. It seems you were destined for madness. But there are those of us that still feel that somehow, we can hold back the tide. We’ve never had a case like you before. You have no idea how important this study has been, trying to find a cure.”
“I’m not sick.” Screwloose said, her tongue feeling thick and alien in her mouth. It was dry, leathery. Her eyelids felt heavy. “I was happy. Why would you take that away from me?”
Her head fell to the floor with a thump and she saw stars. They flooded her vision. The voices in the room became distorted, weird, ominous. She felt something in her mind disconnect, and she went drifting off into the stars, free to roam the universe within her head.
Screwloose awoke in a strangely familiar padded room. She was wearing a straightjacket, which also felt oddly familiar and maybe even a little comforting. Her hind legs were hobbled together. She struggled, trying to flail her body around.
She took a deep breath and screamed. She screamed again. And then again. She screamed until her voice was raspy. There was a click from the door and it opened. She struggled, kicking and tossing herself about, and a heavy body settled on top of her. There was another stinging stab in her backside.
Soon, the stars returned and she was free to roam the universe again.
When Screwloose awoke next, she was being strapped down to a bed. Heavy restraints bound her legs in place. A nurse was shaving the sides of her head, just below her ears, cutting away her blue pelt and leaving behind flushed pink skin. She could feel the scrape of the razor and held still out of fear of what may happen.
“What are you doing?” She muttered, her mouth dry and full of cotton.
“Preparing you for electroconvulsive therapy.” A voice replied. “A few rounds of this and a little magic, and we’ll have your mind all fixed up and good as new.”
“I don’t want to forget everything. There are those I love.” Screwloose said, struggling to talk. “My friends.”
“Don’t you worry. All those troubling memories will soon be gone. You won't even miss them. We promise. Do you miss the ponies you knew before? Can you even remember?” The voice said.
Screwloose fell silent, no longer seeing the point in struggling. It would be all over soon, and she resigned herself to her fate. None of this would matter. How many times had this happened before? She had no memory of this ever happening, and yet she had a feeling that she was no stranger to what was about to take place.
She felt something heavy being placed around her head, two electrodes pressing into the shaved flesh under her ears. A rubber guard was placed into her mouth. There was a hum that came from somewhere.
One by one, she thought about them, her friends, treasuring their memories before they were snatched away. The hum began to grow in intensity.
There was a sudden sense of pressure on both sides of her head, a crushing feeling just under each ear. Her body tensed, her back arching up and away from the bed, her legs tugging against the restraints.
And then the pressure was gone. Screwloose gasped, struggling to breathe. Her chest felt tight. The machinery began to build in intensity again.
Again the crushing pressure thudded against her skull. Her whole body tensed, her back arched, her legs strained against the straps, a white hot coal appearing inside of her mind, just behind her eyes. It burned its way through the core of her brain. Her bowels and her bladder clenched and let go, the salty urine causing the electricity to sting her groin painfully, burning.
Finally, the crushing feeling eased off and Screwloose could smell burning hair. She gasped, her barrel heaving and hitching. The machines began to hum again.
Screwloose took refuge among the stars when the crushing pressure was applied once again. She felt something in her mind just let go and she was set adrift, floating away, no longer feeling anything at all, lost in a peaceful void. Her last thought before the total disconnect was of Mint Jewelup, and she could have swore she heard her friend telling her to hang on.
It was too late. She had let go.
Screwloose snapped awake, hearing a clattering crash and the strange rumble of crumbling concrete. She blinked groggily, her heavily medicated mind refusing to work, her body not moving, she struggled to make out what was going on. Something was coming in her window, the bars gone.
She giggled faintly. She needed more medication. She wasn’t well. Now things were coming in the window.
She heard a strange voice, but could not make out the words. There was a strange black stallion standing over her. She could not see his features. She heard a familiar voice. A strangely familiar voice. But once again, she couldn’t actually make out the words.
“Hold on Screwloose!” The voice said.
All Screwloose heard was a distorted mumble that echoed in her head. She felt two strong legs lifting her up from the floor, wrapping around her barrel.
She was filthy, and the caked mess caused her to stick to the floor. She felt her pelt being torn away as she was pulled free, a faint stinging feeling in her hindquarters that seemed a million miles away, way way back there, a sensation she could barely feel. Her legs felt a thousand miles long. Her hooves felt hollow and full of searing hot air.
She heard angry shouting from somewhere.
She was in the air now, drifting away, perhaps for the last time. A part of her mind hoped it would be. She could feel the cold wind stinging her damp backside, tearing through her clotted tail. Her head thudded painfully, and there was a heartbeat just behind her eyes.
“Come on Thunderlane, we gotta go!” A voice said.
All Screwloose heard was the rushing of wind and a distorted echo in between her ears.
“She’s dead weight Parasol. She’s all limp. Help me, get a leg through a strap or something! Why do earth ponies have to be so solid? It was easier to rip the bars from her window!”
Screwloose drifted back into the comforting void, welcoming the darkness, her last conscious thought was the tickling sensation of the breeze tearing through her mane.
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Yowza!
Well this would be an interessting chapter if screwloose really lost maybe even only parts of her memories. I would like to see her friends to help her with her memories, but i let it be a suprise for me
The creepiest thing about this chapter is that until very recently this was a common practice, as was the old ice - pick lobotomy.
What.....A.....Dick,That Docter Is An Ice Cold SOB
really sucked that happened to her, sad that this happens more often then people know..
I'm not a doctor, but in my book that is known as malpractice. You can kiss that therapy liscence goodbye Hornwinkle.
Delusional dissociation syndrome
extreme narcississm
bi-polar disorder
sociopathic tendencies
Yeah that doctor needs to be in a straight-jacket.
Hell, dude is a textbook definition of a monster.