Title:           The Way Part 6
Author:          ElephantInTheRoom
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/BDJ7aW8G
First Edit:      Monday 18th of January 2016 07:47:12 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Sunday 31st of January 2016 08:45:37 PM CDT

>You're being carried, hoisted over a shoulder, your head and limbs bobbing up and down along with the gait of your captor.
>Your fore and rear legs are tied together respectively. Your wings ache, they twitch painfully as you attempt to adjust them.
>You had been so close, your freedom had been just a sprint away.
>You may have even had the chance to fly.
>Could you have?
>But then she came.
>There are already tears rolling down your cheeks as you weep audibly.
>She was supposed to be your friend. She was supposed to care about you. You could have escaped together.
>All of her kindness, her comforting words, the kiss you shared.
>She had tricked you. She wasn't helping you, she wasn't supporting the others in the pen.
>She was breaking you down, convincing you to give in. She wanted to be sold into slavery. She wanted all of you to want the same.
>And now you've been caught.
>You doubt they're going to afford you another chance like that again.
>The man carrying you stops. You open your eyes to find yourself in a small, dirt-floored room, the walls lined with half-sized cupboard doors.
>Another man carries blue eyes, entering after you. She gazes at you with a sad, pleading look, like some kind of hurt puppy.
>You look away in disgust.
>You're lowered to the ground as the man carrying you opens the cupboard door. Inside is a crawlspace, just long and wide enough for you to fit in with a little room left over, but with a ceiling too low for you to stand.
>There's a foul smell emanating from the cupboard and your eyes fall on a hole dug into the far corner.
>That's meant to be your bathroom.
>There are no windows, just concrete walls, a dirt floor, and the thick wooden door.
>You don't remember ever being claustrophobic, but idea of being locked in such a small, terrible place is causing your heart to race.
>Jim is there, standing above you as you're lifted into the tiny cupboard. You lock eyes on him.
 
>They can't do this, they can't trap you in here. How long do they plan to keep you in the dark, all alone?
“Wait, wait! Please! You can't... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run. P-please, I'll be good.”
>Jim sighs, he sounds slightly irritated but resigned.
>”Ya 'dint mean ta run' huh? Ah suppose that's why me'n mah boys just spent all afternoon clean'n up after yer little escapade?”
>You wince, you can already tell this is practically a foregone conclusion.
>”Now, ah understand, there's always one er two of yah per batch. Unfortunately we can't just go an' sell yah with the rest, most customers dun want ta buy ponies that'd probably run the first chance they git.”
>Your heart sinks.
>”An after that little display, ah honestly have no idea what to do about you two. Ah'll give ya some time ta think, then ah hope ya both'll be ready.”
>He nods to the man beside him and the heavy door swings shut, creaking all the way. You hear it latch and lock.
>It's pitch black in your little cell. The ground is cold and uncomfortable and your legs are still bound.
>Unable to hold back any longer and you let out a sorrowful howl, a little puddle already forming beneath your face and nose.
>That's it then, it's over.
>If you had done what they said, if you hadn't tried to run, maybe you could have had a nice place waiting for you.
>Perhaps you could have even been happy, somehow.
>Maybe there was someone out there who had just wanted a sweet little pony to come home to, to love and to adore, like a cherished pet.
>Would that have been so bad?
>But that's all gone now. You're trapped here, in this cold, dark pit. And who would even buy you, knowing you'd probably despise them in return, that you'd only ever think of escape?
>And blue eyes? She would have been happy too.
>But you took that away, from both of you.
>You're already losing track of time. The hours pass, marked only by the occasional sniffle or whine as you slowly sob yourself to sleep.
 
>Tap tap tap
>You're slowly brought back to consciousness, lifting your head out of the tiny puddle of mud that's formed beneath it.
>Tap tap...
>It's the far wall, the one facing the cupboard they put blue eyes in.
>You shudder.
>After everything she did to you...
>...what you did to her...
>She's still alone, just like you.
>You can't change anything else, where you are, what you are, what's going to happen to you.
>But there is something that you can change.
>You wiggle your body downward, moving inch by inch towards the wall.
>It's hard to get any traction with your limbs bound but after a minute or so you finally feel your rear hooves press against the wall.
>You pull in your rear legs, then push them out.
>Once, twice, three times. Each one a hard impact on the wall.
>There's a moment of silence.
>Tap tap tap
>You're both still there. Neither of you are alone anymore.
>Hours pass
>There's a creak from your door.
>You're struck by the first few beautiful rays of light that you've seen in ages...
>...just in time to yanked out of your prison by your forelegs.
>It's Jim, but it could be anyone for all you care. Fresh air is fresh air.
>Still bound, you're unceremoniously pulled up and lugged over his shoulder.
>It's a short trip through the hallways, but glancing through the occasional window you catch glimpses of a reddish orange darkening sky.
>It must have been a little over a day since your little escape attempt, the sun already threatening to set below the horizon.
>You're taken back to the shower room, brought in through a new and significantly reinforced door.
>The room is empty this time, still and quiet.
>You're laid down on the tiled floor.
>It's damp, it would seem that another batch of ponies had probably been washed here, maybe only a few hours ago.
>Even the cold, residual water feels good on your skin. You can already feel flecks of dirt and grime seeping off your body.
 
>You're given another bath, this one much less gentle and comfortable. Still, a bath is a bath, and you're just happy to be clean and in the open again.
>His job finished, Jim picks you up and carries you toward the door.
>It swings open before he can reach it, and you find yourself face to face with blue eyes, slung over the shoulder of the man who'd carried you off to your cell yesterday.
>You both lock eyes and she shoots you a hopeful, yet sullen smile.
>You respond with the best look of encouragement you can muster, a meager upturn of the corners of your mouth.
>The moment passes and you're carried on out of the room.
>Several minutes of walking find you out in the open air, headed straight towards another building.
>It's a two-story, rectangular building. In front hangs a gigantic sheet of what looks like plastic boat tarp. It's stretched out like a make-shift awning, covering an elevated platform and several rows of cheap, metal chairs.
>There are several floodlights positioned at the ends of the rows, all pointed up toward the stage.
>Behind the rows of chairs is a parking lot filled with several dozen assorted cars, trucks, and vans.
>This is it, isn't it? You're about to be sold.
>But not with the others.
>You can see them, not the same ones you came in with earlier, a completely different group.
>Some are walking, lead on leashes.
>Others are held, by hand or in carriers.
>All headed away from the stage, towards the parking lot.
>The cool, fresh air blows over your body. Your wings are sore, but while your bones and muscles sting the breeze feels exquisite as it flows across your feathers.
>You've started shaking, but it's not from the cold.
>What you have now, it's certainly not freedom, but at least you're still able to cling to the idea that you're still your own person... pony.
>In a little while you might not have that.
>If anyone even wants you anymore.
>You're not sure which thought bothers you more.
 
>You're able to cast a glance at the chairs before you're lead into the building.
>Most are empty, only a handful of people remain.
>You can't discern much about them at this distance save for the colors of some of their clothing.
>And then you're inside. It looks like the bottom floor of the building is all one room, a set of stairs at the far end.
>There are several tables set up across the room and an empty pen in the corner.
>It feels strangely empty, like a store past closing hours when all the customers and employees have gone home.
>Jim sets you down gently on your back atop one of the tables. Your head tilts to the side and you find yourself staring at a bridle, similar to the one you had when you'd been put on the truck.
>There was a difference though, this one had a little metal ring on the front of the bit.
>You jolt a little bit in surprise and fear, only to feel a strong hand on your chest, pinning you in place.
>”Now, here's what's gonna happen missy. Ah'm gonna untie ya, and yer gonna be on yer best behavior, else yer headed right back where ah took ya from fer as long as it takes ta learn yer place. That door is locked, an all the windows are barred, yer not going anywhere.”
>You gulp, then nod. You especially didn't like the sound of “as long as it takes”. You don't think you could last another hour in the awful dark place.
>Your bindings begin to come unfastened and it's a tremendous relief to be able to move them freely again.
>Before you can really appreciate your newfound freedom, however, there's the familiar sensation of fingers at the sides of your mouth, pressing it open.
>In goes the bit, the straps encircling your mouth and then being fastened around the back of your head.
>You're lifted to your feet and left to stand on the table. Jim is fiddling with something behind you, but you're afraid that he'd construe any effort you made to see what he was doing as an escape attempt.
 
>Your mane is pulled back and there's the odd sensation of something pressing against the sides of your head.
>You look to your left and see black.
>You look to your right, the same.
>You tilt your head down and to the side, moving a hoof up to try to move away whatever it is that's obstructing your vision.
>It earns you a swift slap on the flank from Jim.
>They're blinders. The kind that you use on a horse to keep them from getting spooked, to keep them from seeing what's around them.
>You just can't get away from it, they won't allow you even the tiniest bit of dignity.
>Your tail is being lifted.
>Uh oh, please no.
>What's he doing back there?
>There's the sound of tape tearing, then a pressure around the base of your tail.
>He's wrapping it up.
>He's wrapping it so it doesn't get in the way.
>So you can be put on stage, on display.
>Your face is hot and you're again accompanied by a sickening settling sensation in your stomach.
>His hands are around your rear fetlocks. He's fastening something in place on each of them, something thick and heavy, made of leather.
>They're cuffs, you can hear the jingling of a ring on each as he sets them in place.
>”One last piece ol' girl, then yer ready fer show.”
>He lifts your left leg, setting it several inches out from its normal resting position, then he does the same to your right.
>The thump of a heavy, metal object striking the table comes to your attention.
>One click, then two. A cumbersome weight holding your rear legs apart.
>You don't even have to try your legs to know they aren't closing back together.
>You don't even have to ask to know what Jim expects your selling point to be, not that you could anyway.
>To them, you're just defective merchandise.
>But they still have a place for you.
 
>You hear the door that you entered through opening.
>You turn to look but, because of the blinders, you can't quite catch sight of what's going on.
>There's a set of footsteps moving behind you and a soft thud. It's the sound of a pony being set down on a nearby table.
>Turning the other way you spot blue eyes. She's being dressed up just as you were, bridle, blinders and all.
>She's staring back at you, mimicking that same look of encouragement you offered her earlier. Her's though is wholehearted.
>Have you really forgiven her for what she did?
>Has she really forgiven you?
>She practically raped you, handed you back to these people on a silver platter.
>And you're worried if you're the one that's forgiven?
>But... this was inevitable, wasn't it?
>You had lost control of your life the moment you were taken, that night at your apartment.
>There hasn't been a moment since then that you haven't been unconscious, bound, or locked up, aside from that brief dash through the warehouse.
>She had accepted that. She wasn't breaking free, she wasn't getting away.
>She had understood that this was going to be her life from now on.
>You hadn't.
>And you'd ended up hurting the both of you because of it.
>She was just trying to get you to see what you'd been refusing to.
>You'll be happier like this, if you don't fight it.
>Jim's hand wrap around your belly and he lifts you up, carrying you below his shoulder and off of the table. Your rear legs hang limp, awkwardly spread apart by the bar between them.
>You don't struggle or protest as he hoists you forward, opening the door to the stage and carrying you outside.
>You can still have a good home.
>A good home where you're wanted.
>Light assaults your eyes, flooding onto the stage, obscuring the audience.
>There are four metal rings spread out on the wooden stage floor, all neatly lined up in a row. Each ring centered on a circular cutout of the stage.
>You'll have a home and an owner.
 
>Jim sets you down behind one of the rings, face forward to the crowd.
>He takes a small length of chain from his pocket, running it through the ring on the floor, then through the ring on the front of your bit.
>You'll have an owner who loves you, who will care for you.
>He pulls the chain taut, forcing you to crane your head forward, barely an inch of space between you and the ground. Your forelegs rest uncomfortably low, your flank sticking straight up in the air behind you.
>You'll be treasured, safe.
>You'll be happy.
>A tiny padlock is set in place on the chain, securing it.
>You look out towards the crowd seeing only a black haze. The lights to the sides burn your eyes.
>To your left blue eyes is being secured in place.
>You're okay with this.
>Maybe, just maybe, you'll even be sold together.
>The stage below you is moving, the platform you're standing on is rising.
>It lifts several inches above the rest of the stage.
>And then it begins to turn.
>The motion sets you off balance and reflexively you extend your wings.
>You're spinning, facing blue eyes. She's spinning as well.
>Suddenly your flank is facing the audience, exposed for all to see.
>You chew into your bit, your body heating up.
>There are noises from the crowd, words, numbers.
>You're brand new car, just off the factory lot. A piece of meat to be bought and sold.
>More numbers... Twenty, thirty, thirty-five...
>Another spin around.
>”Sixty? Do I hear sixty-five? Sixty-five! Going once... going twice...”
>That's it then? You're about to be sold, about to have an owner...
>”...and SOLD! The stunning yellow pony to the gentleman up front for sixty-five thousand! Collection will be behind the building, you may pick up your new pet at your leisure.”
>Yellow? But you're not yellow.
>You catch a glimpse of blue eyes. Her platform has stopped turning and has started its descent back to its original position. Tears of joy are streaming down her face.
 
>This isn't right.
>No one should be that happy about being treated like a dog, at being sold like an object.
>Would you have felt the same as her if you'd both just be sold off together?
>A second ago you had been cruising along in fifth gear, right up until your brain shifted hard into reverse.
>You can feel the mental whiplash, it's like its liquifying what's left of your brain.
>You aren't a dog.
>You aren't a pet.
>You aren't even a... pegasus? Whatever the hell they turned you into.
>You want out.
>You bite hard into your bit, yanking your neck backwards, tugging as hard as you can against the chain.
>Your effort only earns you a sharp pain in your neck.
>Undeterred you try again, this time letting out a growl and flapping your wings, trying to get any sort of leverage that you can.
>The effort is excruciatingly painful, especially to your sore wings.
>There's a shocked gasp from the audience.
>”I-I'm sorry ladies and gentleman, like we cautioned, not all our ponies are... docile yet. This one seems to be a bit more of a... fixer upper? We'll start the bidding at ten thousand.”
>The announcer's voice is shaky, he sounds a bit stunned.
>There's silence from the audience.
>You flail and thrash, screaming into your bit.
>”Do I have ten? Any takers at ten?”
>They don't want you.
>You're going to be put back in that hole.
>Which option is honestly worse?
>And then you hear it, a flat, husky voice.
>”Ten.”
>The relief in the announcer's voice is palpable, though it still carries a very discernible air of shock, “We have ten! Going once, going twice... sold! The feisty pink pegasus to the gentleman in the back”.
>Even you can't shake a feeling of surprise.
>You cease your efforts, the chain clearly not willing to budge. You're out of breath and huffing loudly, the air in front of your face misty on the cool night's air.
>Your platform begins it's slow drop back to stage level.
 
>Jim walks into your field of view, setting down a large pet carrier. He begins unfastening your chain and lifting you up.
>You struggle, but he's simply too strong for you. Your flailing limbs only posing a minor inconvenience to him.
>He pushes your front half into the carrier. The bottom is lined with a soft towel and your face is pressed hard against it as he unbuckles the cuffs around your fetlocks.
>Finally you're free of the spreader, just in time to have your rump pushed hard, sending your entire body straight to the back.
>You quickly adjust yourself, turning around in the hopes of having a chance to rush back out, only to see the door swing shut and lock in your face.
>You bash vainly on the barred door with your hooves, still screaming into your bit.
>Jim simply ignores you, rising to his feet. The bottom of the carrier to shoots upward, moving along with him, pressing against your chest.
>You're being lifted up and carried off the stage.
>The walls sway as he walks, knocking you left and right.
>Off the stage and around the corner.
>A few moments later you're set down, the bottom of the carrier surging upward only to stop short, causing you to clumsily bob against the carrier's bars.
>You can't see much from the crate, especially not with your blinders still on.
>In the corner of your field of view, however, you can see Jim. He's facing you, shaking hands with another man.
>The other man is a bit short. From what you can tell he's standing almost a full head lower than Jim.  He's wearing a brown leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. His body is thin but his arms and legs seem to fill out his clothing well.
>Their business concluded, the man turns toward you. You can't quite see high enough to catch his face.
>There's a clattering above your head and you jolt upward again, the man lifting your crate almost as easily as Jim had.
>You're off, toted towards the parking lot.
>You roll to your side, tucking your legs in close to your body. You're exhausted and defeated, fresh tears streaming down your face.