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Thirty

You jam your finger into the hole, pushing it as far in as you can. “C’mon!” you mutter to yourself as you wiggle it around, hoping that your brony powers will be enough to unlock the magic door.

It doesn’t work. You scowl and try to pull your finger out. It won’t budge. You yank harder, but it seems to be stuck tight; you must have wedged it in pretty hard. Placing both feet against the door, you strain as hard as you can, but your finger remains trapped.

“Uh.. help?” you call out nervously, looking about. The chamber is empty. From the dust that is settled on the floor, it seems that this chamber isn’t used often at all, perhaps only for ceremonial occasions once a year.

“Help? Help! HELP!” You cry louder and louder, for any pony to come to your rescue.

By the time a cleaner comes by two months later, it is too late.


BAD END

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