Author's Notes:

This is not a happy story. It's me, venting. I had a blast of sad yesterday, and this is what spawned from it. Join me in my misery.

Life can be crappy sometimes. Your dog dies. You just got fired. Your girlfriend breaks up with you, and dates one of your friends.

Or it can be a stack of little things. You stubbed your toe. You forgot to do the back of the test. You have a nasty cough.

When I have a crappy day, I fight back. I make it worse for everyone else. They need to share in my misery, you know?

Well now I have no one to share it with, here in this dungeon.

It was a shitty month leading up to the grand finale. That girlfriend thing I mentioned? That was in the first week. Everything I listed happened to me in that month. And more. So much more.

I deserved it, after all.

So I went out drinkinpg. I drank. I drank a lot.

I don’t drink, but I did that night.

I passed out, or something. Somewhere in that night I got shitfaced and whammo bammo I wake up the next morning with a killer headache and in the middle of a desolate castle. Which was in a forest. I really didn’t care, although I should have.

I went back to sleep and woke up later, feeling a little bit better. I was still in the ruins. I was too tired to care, although the lion scorpion hybrid that was watching me from the bushes gave me a scare when I saw it. And when it saw that I saw it, it pounced, and flew- I mean literally flew, through the air in a perfect arc to land on me.

I was too tired of life, so I let my body go limp, and I fell to the ground. It landed on me and stung me. And bit me. Fuck, did it hurt. But it didn’t hurt for long.

The pain faded, and along with it went everything else.

But it wasn’t over. No, it couldn’t be. The universe just HAD to fuck me over one more time. Had to fuck me enough that I’d fuck myself up. Again.

I woke up again, in a hospital bed. Beeping monitors and the works. Leaning over me was this... thing. Looked like a pony if a pony was an anime girl. She was white, with red hair.

She yelled something, but I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t hear because everything HURT. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. Or I just couldn’t hear it. More... ponies came running. I was flailing my arms, my legs, my head, everything hurt. The ponies tried to hold me down. They succeeded, and there was a white flash, and I was out like a light.

I woke up again, and the pain was gone. I was also strapped to the bed. I looked to my side and could see the white pony thing looking at a heart monitor. She saw me looking, and looked at me and smiled.

It was cute. It was wholesome.

I hated it. I hated it with every fiber of my being, because I did not deserve happiness. Because I wanted to wallow in my pit of shit. So, I horked up a lookie and spat it at her. And I immediately regretted it. The look on her face. I’ll never forget it as the wad hit the floor. The smile fell, and I felt like shit. Just how I deserved to feel.

She never smiled at me again, and man that made me feel even worse, but I deserved it. I deserve every second of crap I get.

Here in this cell I get food three times daily. Once a week a pony comes in to try to talk to me. Or communicate. I scream at them until they leave. I don’t want help. I don’t deserve help.

I was awake at the hospital for about a week. All of the goddamn pony alien things were sweet as candy to me, and I, in return, was uncooperative. I growled and snarled and yelled. I bit. It was just something about the fact that they accepted me. Or, at least tried to. I wouldn’t let them.

On the fifth day of my stay, a dragon thing showed up. It looked like a patchwork quilt of animals, honestly. It was acting all stealthy like- like it shouldn’t be there. Hell, it might’ve been a hallucination. But it did say something to me. I could understand it, which is why I thought it was a hallucination.

“You could try cooperating, you know.” it had whispered at me. I flipped it off, and it replied “Suit yourself.” and left through the window. Maybe it was real. I really don’t care.

On the seventh day I tried it. I let the pony things run their tests without fighting them in the morning, and sometime later they unstrapped me. They gave me a plate with food on it- vegetables and stuff as opposed to the straw I had to suck on for the six days prior. I got utensils as well.

The ponies, they smiled at me. They were glad I was working with them. I got pats and nods and other such affirmations and... and I hated it all. I didn’t understand. They were so trusting. Too trusting. I didn’t deserve it.

Why? Why don’t I deserve it? Because my life is my own little personal hell. Why did my girlfriend break up with me? She told me it was because allI used her for was someone to complain to. And it was true. I didn’t deserve her. I was fired because I would just sit on my phone at my job, not actually working.

I cause a lot of my own misery, and for that, I should suffer.

Right? RIGHT?

It was the evening of the seventh day. The nurse pony had just walked by my room with a cart of medical tools. A quick glint of light was all I needed to pick out the scalpel.

I wasn’t tied down any more. My door was open. It would be so easy to run out, grab the scalpel, and...

But that would be cowardly. It would end my suffering. And I don’t get to do that. I don’t deserve the end.

That night I left the hospital. It was loud. There was screaming. Some guard pony things came. They had wings.

I don’t know.

They tried to stop me and I hit them. I hit them hard. I broke wings. I remember the sharp “crack” as I snapped one. It haunts me.

Some ponies I threw. I just... picked them up and threw them.

I don’t know.

This big white horse thing with wings and a horn stopped me. She just kinda grabbed me and held me up in the air with magic or some shit. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free. Something knocked me out.

WhenI came to, I was in this cell. I’ve been here a week and a half already.

Every day they come and try to get me to cooperate. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. I usually don’t.

They gave me this journal yesterday. I think the first few pages was their language or something. I couldn’t read it.

I also got a feather pen thing. It’s how I’ve been writing this.

Maybe I should just rip the journal in half. Maybe.

But now that I’ve written in it, I can’t. Too late. Oh well.

Today I’m not going to listen. I need to feel worse. I should feel worse. I deserve it.

When I’ve suffered enough, I’ll be done. I’ll behave.

Not today. Not for a long time.