Diary of a Young Griff

by Isuvyw

XVI: Entries 59 to 62

2^nd of Midsummermonth

Gravel has a really small jewel. Like, really really small. So small that I’m wondering if he is suffering the small jewel condition. You know what I mean.

How do I know? Well, he didn’t lock the toilet door for some reason, and I walked in not knowing somegriff was in there. He got surprised, of course. Well, that and really red cheeks, redder than the fire in the furnace.

He has it really “lithe” you know, except without the “gracefulness” that is included in the definition of “lithe.” It’s more compatible to a worm, actually. Poor him, I wonder if he is just trying to act masculine just to cover up his “smallness.”

Why am I talking about him so derogatorily?

WELL BECAUSE HE WROTE TO YOU ABOUT ALL HIS [REDACTED] WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!!!

He would do it anyway, because he’s that kind of griff.

At least it gives me the chance to talk nwil about him – something I will definitely enjoy. It seems insult and injury are his food. And I have plenty to serve him.

Sven is recovering from his injuries, but he says that he still hurts a lot. He’s grown a lot ever since he came. I feel quite proud of him.

The egg is doing fine so far, sitting in the nest. I cover the whole thing with a pile of hay during the day while I’m working, so as to hide it from somepony. I’m sure you know who it is.

Sometimes, I wish I could see Gryphonia again. I just long for it. No, “long” is not the right word. I can’t describe how it feels like. My heart becomes painful and yet happy at the same time when I think about my home. It’s a strange feeling. I doubt any word in Equestrian would suffice.

Everytime I think about home, I feel free. Free from this bitter life. Free from this oppressive past. Free to make my way through this dark future. It feels a little bit “surreal,” which I still don’t fully understand. It feels like floating in nothing. Kinda hard to explain.

I wish I could eat this food called “noodles,” which is a food that kirins eat with soup. Sounds lovely, and even looks lovely. The writer of the kirin book must’ve gotten a good artist, because the pictures look fantastic. Just add in some meat and it will be ambrosia.

Ok, enough corw. I’m tired and I need to get back to sitting on my egg. Goodnight Eabha. You don’t know how much value you have to me.

***

3^rd of Midsummermonth

Another pony got thrown in here, a filly. About Sven’s age, I guess, and quite scared as well. That was yesterday. She was quite distraught, and unable to comprehend anything for a good while, at least until we had dinner. She calmed down that time thankfully, and introduced herself as Pastel.

She is light yellow in color, and has curly bluish hair, as blue as the sky. She looks so adorable! As adorable as Sven was when he was younger. Both of them already have some rapport together. I wonder if Sven will like her more than the egg.

Nonetheless, I still feel a little bit sorry for her. At least she had it better before, because she said she was doing the dusting job in the palace. Something must’ve happened of course, but she hasn’t said anything about it. I can only guess it was miss Hawkrose.

Our sleeping room is getting a bit tight. Sven and Pastel have to now share a bed, while Gravel sleeps on mine. I have been sleeping in the nest, sitting on my precious little egg. The nest takes up quite some space, though. We can’t help it anyway because our room is so small.

By the way, we have been hearing loud noises, especially hammering and drilling. I wonder what the palace is building now?

***

4^th of Midsummermonth

I’ve noticed that not much hot water has been used lately. I’m a little scared by this. It’s so strange. The reason why the boiler room exists – why we exist down here – is to give hot water. So obviously the palace should be using LOTS of it. Why they are now not is strange, and scary.

Also, I have to mention that the pipes are falling way too frequently. Poor Pastel got slapped by one today, thankfully it was only a slap. Gravel missed two by the edge of his feathers, though I would wish for at least one to hit him. I’m supposed to report this issue to miss Hawkrose, but after everything that has happened, will she even bother?

Actually, I’ve reported it a few times to her previously, at least more than twice. Well, she obviously didn’t do anything about it. I’m upset. I am so upset about this [REDACTED] issue that I would love to bash her head in with one of those pipes.

No, violence won’t solve it. Hawkrose won’t change unless she wants to. And I have a feeling that change is not in her mind at all.

Where is her conscience? Where is her heart?

Did she sell it? Throw it away? Flushed it down the toilet?

Isn’t it those two things that make a pony a pony?

Well [REDACTED] it. Or rather, she [REDACTED] it herself. And it’s certainly not my problem.

***

7^th of Midsummermonth

It’s so noisy. I have heard discordant sounds before, but this is becoming unbearable. The hammering, the drilling, and the shouts that I hear from the window – what are they even building? Another castle? What, is princess Celestia not satisfied with her dwelling? Or is she becoming too big for it, that she needs to make it bigger still?

I wonder why ponies speak of her so benevolently. If she is as they always praise her to be, then why am I here? Why, Eva?

I have heard, while I was still with the laundry ponies, about how kind and motherly she is. They spoke of her with so much benevolence that I thought she was a great ruler. But now, here I am, ended up in this dungeon, surrounded by fire and fear. Nopony stood for me when I was blamed for letting the cloths fly away. I pleaded with the headmare to let me speak to princess Celestia about this, but they wouldn’t let me. Nopony cared to plead the princess for me. Maybe they did, but she rejected them.

I am not very sure about her benevolence. I doubt it. She would know of the workings of her servants, I have no doubt about it. Surely she would have known of my plight.

Alas, Eva, here I am. In a dungeon. I call this boiler room a dungeon. If freedom is not present then it is a dungeon.

I want to go back. Back to the cold north. To the cold lakes with fish. To the warm hill-house. To my mother’s flytir. To my father’s arilja. Back to Snjorjord.

I am sick of this place, I am sick of miss Hawkrose, and I am sick of my life.

***

Sven needs some comforting. I understand how he feels, because I feel the same as well – the longing for my land. Indeed, my love for Gryphonia is deeper than the depths of the sea. It pains me.

Sometimes, I fear thinking about my home, because it brings so much hurt. Yet, when I think of it, I feel proud of myself. Proud that I am a griffon. Knowing that I love my land because I miss it. No doubt Sven feels the same. I do hope Gravel has the same. Otherwise, he is no true griff at heart.

***

It is night now, and everypony else is sleeping as I write this.

It’s strange to drop the confident image and be myself for once. My true self.

For a long time, I have always been confident, sure of myself, never doubting my decisions and my knowledge.

Of course, that all is gone now, actually. Whatever remains of it hides behind my confident mask, which is cracked and ready to break open. I might as well be the first to do so. If Matilda were the one, she would see how shameful I am.

I have slept with many before. No, I DID NOT do the abominable thing to her that night. It was a pony anyway who did it. No, it was because of me discovering that she went through such an ordeal that I look back on my own flings with mares with shame.

I called her a whore. One fit only for seduction. She should call me the same.

I was seduced before, many times, by the mares whom I worked with in the kitchen. I thought that a night or two would make me a stronger griff, not only in my own eyes, but also to the other ponies around me. Sure enough, other mares who heard of my flings were astounded, and wanted a night or two with me as well.

They don’t know how much guilt I had after bedding with them. I never wanted this. I only wanted to be stronger – to myself and to others. I thought I could make friends with those mares, because if they were, I could always remain strong, no matter what; they weren’t interested. I can only look back with shame, because I really became just a tool for the kitchen mares to enjoy themselves.

I tried to make up for my lost strength, my lost confidence, by bullying Matilda and Sven. Obviously, you know how that went. And now, I can only be annoying to her, and she to me, just to cover up my smoking remains. I hope I can move on. From my bad decisions.

I hope I could truly be friends with her.

fRoM yOuR gOoD fRiEnD Gravel, whose name is actually Gabriel, but was called Gravel due to mispronunciation of a few ponies.

Comments

[StarzGecko]

Poor Griffin and Ponies. Hopefully they’ll be able to all escape together someday.

[Neece]

All that drilling and hammering might just be rescue. I wonder what kind of demented experiment this was, in the end.

[Scyphi]

Our sleeping room is getting a bit tight. Sven and Pastel have to now share a bed

Not that I don't trust Sven (particularly after he knows what happened to Matilda), and I feel Pastel is probably trustworthy too, but hopefully that's not an arrangement that causes problems later down the line.

It does kinda amuse me though that after Matilda made such a big deal about unisex showers being so lewd (even before what happened later) that she's apparently has no qualms about two creatures of the opposite genders sharing a bed like this. I mean, again, she trusts Sven probably even more than I do, but still...

By the way, we have been hearing loud noises, especially hammering and drilling. I wonder what the palace is building now?

Now that's interesting...I've had the thought once or twice that maybe the reason the boiler's been acting so squirrelly is because the castle is in the middle of phasing it out with something new, and Miss Hawkrose just hasn't seen it fit to alert her workers about it, because of course she wouldn't...but it hadn't seemed like it fit all of the facts as we knew them (or the thematic trends of the story), so I'd not really voiced it before now. But now, knowing that some kind of maintenance is happening...it's renewed my interest in this theory...

We'll see if I'm even on the right track. More likely, they're just digging to try and get at some underground pipes for some maintenance. Whatever it is, I'm quite confident it directly concerns the boiler's ongoing problem.

I’m supposed to report this issue to miss Hawkrose, but after everything that has happened, will she even bother?

Again, looping back to the boiler phasing out theory--if I'm right about that, then perhaps Hawkrose's recent behavior is because she sees the writing on the wall...perhaps for all of them...and knows there's not really anything to be done about it except continue going through the motions of their jobs until they can't anymore.

Where is her conscience? Where is her heart?

Did she sell it? Throw it away? Flushed it down the toilet?

Honestly, given the unforgiving nature of her job, she probably just grew to accept the abuse to the boiler workers as the norm and it no longer fazes her anymore, having become numb to it.

Not that I'm saying Hawkrose should be excused for the many terrible things she does, of course...but sometimes I do wonder if she's a victim to some degree in all of this too. Surely she didn't choose to have the job she does anymore than Matilda and the rest, seeing she seems to actively hate doing it...

Or is she becoming too big for it, that she needs to make it bigger still?

Well, she does really like her cake...

She would know of the workings of her servants, I have no doubt about it.

Well, I do. In fact, I have plenty of doubts about it. Take any era of history you like, but you routinely find there's a major disconnect in understanding of circumstances between the upper class and the lower class. Many upper class throughout history actually never realized just how terrible conditions could get for the lower class, either through their own ignorance, the matter getting downplayed to them by others who would know, or just simply never having the chance to see for themselves the environment the lower class existed in. And many who did understand, assumed the lower class always had a way out, some chance to escape it all if they really wanted, not realizing that wasn't actually an option, usually by design.

This, of course, is no guarantee that this is actually the case with Celestia (or others)...but it really wouldn't surprise me if it is one of the factors that's at play here.

fRoM yOuR gOoD fRiEnD Gravel, whose name is actually Gabriel, but was called Gravel due to mispronunciation of a few ponies.

Well, we'll just assume it was a mispronunciation and not intentional, if only for Gabriel's sake.

That said, nice to see him opening up a little. I was actually right to compare him with Trixie the previous chapter, because she has much the same problem that he does--both know they are actually very flawed creatures and have little confidence in their own capabilities, so they mask it by playing up their egos and deliberately make themselves out as overconfident as possible, so to hide the truth from others, and from themselves.

This means that while Trixie's life circumstances are still strikingly different from Gabriel's, obviously, the solution to the problem is still the same--all they really need is a good friend that can show some faith in them that they clearly lack for themselves.

[Truthseeker]

I wonder why ponies speak of her so benevolently. If she is as they always praise her to be, then why am I here? Why, Eva?

Been asking myself the same thing, bud. No matter how you look at it, Celestia is responsible for it. Her kingdom, her responsibility.

[Teraunce]

I was right about Gabriel/Gravel. Well, at least he's in good hands/hooves.