Live A Life, or Forge It

Now, I've told you about two anedoctes, now we shall pass to others...

What, you will leave if you I tell you ? You don't dare...

Oh, right

Oh, well, as you wish.

I will tell you about why there was a filly in my room, when I was attacked.

That filly, her name Bernarda, wasn't, like I was, a pony since the birth, but once she was a human.

This is her story...

It was the week after the fifth birthday of Venicio, and, in the Apple family, few things have changed since the arrival of Venicio: Applebloom now attended to a Professional Traning School for Artisans in another town, and, since said town was twenty kilometers apart from her house, she wasn't often at home, to Applejack's dismay; Granny smith decided to take part of the money and go “in a far” city: no one had news from her since she left; and Venicio started to do corvees in the farm for make him useful.

For everything else, the life in the farm was pretty much the same: Applejack kept growing the small field of wheat with ability, and to produce food made from apples; Big Machintosh kept his strict regime of harvester and work of the past years; the  paths on the border were still visited by cursed painters and poets... to a distracted observer, the farm seemed not changed from some years before.

This kind of life, without too much hitches and full of sweat, was driving Venicio mad: first of all, he didn't liked too much the manual work, especially if said main work  required to cover an area  around  six kilometers, up and down, left and right, because, over to be very tiring, it seemed more like a cruel joke, than an actual work: picking up the fallen apples, and put them in the container of compost IN THE OPPOSITE PART OF THE FIELD ?

The other, irregular, works that Venicio did , were of small repaving of the path and the house; small hydraulics; carpentry; and so on.

Said works were a bit more welcomed by Venicio, since they required a bit of ingenuity for begin done with very little materials, and the fact that were surely less tiring than running back and forth picking apples, and so, the theoretical colt always awaited with impatience the brokering of a tube; the collapse of part of the barn; or a mess-up of the irrigation system.

But that day wasn't his lucky day: no such things happened, and so Venicio was forced into going around the fields for pick up the apples fallen out the buckets, and put them in the fertilizer tank near the barn.

While Venicio was doing so in the north east part of the fields, the running colt saw under a tree a little, colorful profile, that seemed moving in search of something.

Venicio remembered what happened his first day: he was found under a tree, without anything telling about what was going on.

Venicio approached carefully to the outline...

Well, since I don't remember much of it, I will let talk the directed involved.

Bernarda, it's your turn for tell...

I don't know how to explain it.

I was in the old library of my family,  drawing the planimetry of an hypothetical “self-sufficent house” near a lake, calculating the cost of the land reclamation; of the materials; of the manpower and everything in-between, and even creating a 3-D computer-generated render of the building, if it was going to be created.

Naturally, since it was just a project for the university, it was unlikely that said house was going to be created.

Sometimes, between a drawing of the draining and purification system for the water, and the calculation about how it was going to cost do to such a thing, I paused from my calculations, and looked at out the window overlooking on the nearby square of my town, and saw my peers sitting on the steps of the cathedral, smoking and talking to each other; walking around with the others; or just taking some fresh air.

All of that disturbed, and yet fascinated me.

I was always closed in personality, and always tried to avoid the contact with other people, not because I hated them, or something, but because I always felt like a burden to the others; the element that ruined a party; over all, ill-suited for stay with others.

Maybe it was because my parents never let me out from my ivory tower until I was 6, for then throwing me in the figurative sea full of sharks without any help once I hit the age for legally start attending school.

Then, all went downhill a long time: my lolliness and incapability of understanding others, translated in a fanatical devotion to authorities and rules, was seen by my peers like an attempt of showing that I was better of them for my culture and money, even if I wasn't behaving like this on purpose, really thinking that I was better than the others (rather, I felt them more lucky than me): I was only doing what I thought right.

And so they mocked me, calling me “Missie Shining Shoes” and “Mind poured in the pocket” for the five years of Grade School; “Wooden Coch” in the Middle School, and, for the Biennio, “Dumb Bitch”.

And they didn't stopped to mocking, nor they did it only at school either: I've lost countless bike wheels and pieces of food, for their fault.

And yet I didn't reported such things: my parents taught me to never fight back. Never.

And so I beared that torture for years, leaving me even more fragile in mind.

Only when I finally saw that the source of my miserable life at school and out of it was my bipolar sight of life, I, Bernarda Garuglieri, finally archived the peace with the rest of the world, thanks to a little group of people more than willing to teach me how the social world was built, and how access it.

I've stored that information, and tried to apply them, but my shyness and weakness still forbade me from fully enjoy the advantages of having friends.

And so my only company; over to my very few friends, the only ones capable of not let me feeling a like a drunk mosquito; were the book and the study: since I was four years old, I always read.

Again, that was due that fact that I was basically blocked in my house with very few moments of contact with the external world

That passion kept going until the adulthood, and here I was: I was doing this project with zeal and attention, without anyone trying to interrupt me from working.

Anyone... but not anything.

In fact, while I was calculating the cost of placing an electric generator fueled by the organic trash, I heard a strong screech from my feet: when I heard it, I jumped of scare and tremble, before calming down, and deciding of checking what caused the noise.

I found out that the source of the noise was a pulsing blue light from under the table: the sight left me bewilded, since I wasn't aware of the existence of such a thing in the world...

I was going to leave the room for a while, and just doing my work somewhere else, when I accidentally put my right foot in: as soon I put a tiny part of it, I felt an unknown force sucking me in the light, causing me to gulp, and scream with every inch of air my lungs:

“HELP ! HELP ! MARIA ! BARBARA ! SOMEBODY !”

But no one came in, and, slowly, my lower half of the body was sucked in.

I could not stand it anymore, and let me suck in, hoping that I wasn't going to be killed, and to come back home in time for the project.

But, when I entered in, it was clear that it was unlikely to return back home in a short time: around me, a tunnel of light circled, and, sometimes, a picture of a colored horse appeared in front of me, for then get atomized.

The sight left me confuse, and I was even more confused when, finally, the tunnel stopped: I saw that I was under an apple tree, in the middle of a field of other trees.

Everything seemed so colorful, compared to where I lived until then: it was a spectacular sight, the sight that many people told me that you could see from the hills of Monte Sensavino in Tuscany, or near the Kilimangiaro in Tanzania.

I was so bewilded by the sight, that I didn't noticed that my body changed: in place of the hands and  feet, I had something resembling the actual hooves of the horses, but softer, and, somehow, foldable.

Then I looked at the rest of my body, only to see that I was, actually, an horse.

And not of a color with that the horses usually have: I was mint green, with a black spot over my “belly”.

I was even more disturbed: until few moments before, I was a human girl creating a planimetry for a house for an university project, and now I was a small horse sitting down an apple tree, in a place that seemed like a cartoon.

And so I started to think about how to come back: the light was gone; I had no idea about where I was, and I was turned into a horse, so I could not ask for information.

Or not ?

As soon I started to think about how come back home, I heard a far sing from deep in the fields: the song was familiar to me: it was the song “House Credibility” by the singer Caparezza, with some modifications in the text:

“Era una vita dura quella vita di casa,

con

la caga della tazza che si intasava,

con

Il fratello che si incazza,

entrava

con il coltello e colpiva il tuo braccio.

Quando

il forno si sfasava

la fuga di gas faceva

tabula rasa,

La sorella prendeva la termocoperta

e ti lasciava congelare

stai all'erta, è Striscia

di Gaza.

Que pasa? non è l'hotel Plaza

ma

l'hotel da bomba a Mombasa.

Scoppia

la rissa, e il muro di cartongesso

collassava per le botte,

Ante usate come armi

e chi colpiva per ultimo

cantava "New York"

meglio di Liza.

Cade la televisione

di merda

Vedi la morte in faccia

Io

sono un duro perché vivevo nella casa,

perché

sono ancora vivo nella casa

e se parlo

di sesso e violenza

non è fantascienza,

quella tipo della NASA.

Sono un duro

perché vivevo nella casa

e sono ancora

vivo nella casa.

Non ho più problemi,

stare in questa fattoria

mi piace

come il formaggio

ed il latte.

House credibility,

è

inutile non mi debiliti

ho house credibility,

house credibility.

Candeggine e detersivi,

irritanti e corrosivi,

veleni nocivi

usati per terminare la concorrenza

all' eredità

petti che colpivi

sì, ma poi eran vivi,

e tu

diventi pazzo e ridi come Beavies.

Prendi

coltelli da serial killer,

elmo, scudo

ma tu non sei Achille.

Cadi dalle scale

se ti scagliano giù.

Era meglio

abitare nel Colosseo.

Crepe sulla volta

per le capocciate date

di volta in volta,

il tetto non protegge più

più di un pezzo di plastica

Col piede di

porco va giù la porta,

ti entrano in camera

e ti staccano la corrente

Metti sulla

soglia dei pasdaran

se coltivi la foglia

del rastaman

per tirare avanti

e sta attento alla doccia

è rimasta

aperta e qua pare l'Aquafan.

Io

sono un duro perché vivevo nella casa..

La

violenza si consuma a casa mia,

quanta

gente che digiuna a casa mia.

Te lo

ripeto come fossi un cacatua,

ho toccato

il fondo come l'ancora giù dalla prua.

C'è

chi non muore chissà come,

prendono la corrente,

non come il salmone

e rimangono in piedi.

Scivolano per un

flacone di sapone

finché non gli si

propone un sermone.”

I could tell that who was singing it wasn't very happy in living in his home, since he was talking about how in house was common to punch every person that obstacled somebody's objectives.

Since I heard the voice going near, I thought to find in front of me a young farmer; a groom or something.

No.

The singer was a little  gray horse with a red mane, carrying a basket full of apples.

As soon he saw me, he went towards me....

When I met for the first time Bernarda, I was surprised by the sight: the situation seemed a lot similar to the one where I was found years ago, when I was a 7-month old foal, with a strong desire of coming back home for get some revenge.

But, right then, how I could knew who I had in front of me ?

She could have been a true foal.

A Changeling.

Or another human...

Considered that the Eternal Toddler seemed prone to place human in Equestria, I assumed hat sh was a human: I put down my basket, and went towards her, saying:

“Who are you ?”

At my question, she squeaked, and curled in a ball of fur.

She seemed scared. A lot.

I went near her, muzzled, and said, this time with a lower tone for not scare her again, and in italian:

“Who are you, filly ? Where are you from ? Please, don't be scared by me”, then i I started to stroke her mane, in attempt to get her relaxed.

It worked quite well.

She slowly put out her head, and said uncertain and trembling:

“My name is Bernarda. I don't know how I got there, apart from a blue light... please, don't hurt me”

I laughed:

“Why should do it ? You didn't anything wrong. Now, explain to me: before coming here, you were a pony, or a human ?”

“I was a human. I was a young woman”

“Mmm.. ok, I can host you for a while in my house, not far from here: even if my adoptive “mother” have some economic problems, I think she can still support another member for two weeks, before getting under supplied”

Bernarda put a hoof under her chin, then said, still a bit unsure:

“But I heard you before singing about serious sibling fight in your house... but thanks anyway. I hope you don't mind it”

I giggled again:

“Well, I'm already glad to have found another human begin turned into a foal or filly. Plus, I was singing about my past: if you want to know more, then hop on my back, and I will tell everything”

The theoretical filly nodded, and hopped on my back, where I put again the basket of bad apples.

Then I started to move again, this time towards the barn, for put down the picked apples and show the “living trophy” found in the fields.

Meanwhile I walked, I told all my story to Bernarda.

When I finally free myself from my load of rotten apples, and could enter in my  house, I put down Bernarda, and said to wait me in the entrance, while I was going to take some food.

I put down the mint filly, and moved towards the kitchen on the left: once in, I took one of the chairs, climbed it, and started to look for something to give her:

Integral bread ? Nope, doesen't taste good, as pony.

Hay ? Generally it was cooked, and I had no time to do such a thing.

Apples ? Better no, since she will puke them out her ears in the future days.

White Bread ? OK, but too simple, better add something like... goat cheese and mushroom ham !

And so I took a slice of bread; a small pot of goat cheese, and some slices of mushroom ham, then I took a knife, and cut all along the slice of bread; I took a lump of goat cheese and spreaded it on the bread, and, finally put the ham in.

After crating this, I put eveyrthing back in place, trying to disguise what I did, and returned to my guest.

My entrance in the hall was welcomed by a disgusting smell, so awful to almost drop the food that I prepared for Bernarda.

Then I rembered in what body she wa in.

A 7-month foal...

Yes: she soiled herself, and she seemed extremely embarassed for it: she was basically repeating:

“I didn't mean, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to...”

Cursing my luck, I put down the food, took a shovel and a bucket, and started to put the shit in the bucket, while I told Bernarda that was ok, since she had the body of a foal, and said to her of taking some toilet paper in the storage closet in the kitchen for clean herself up.

I wanted to kill myself for the embarassament.

While I knew that I was an horse, I hoped that, since there was an equine civilization there, that they had bathrooms, and that I wasn't too little for having control of my bowles.

Guess what: I was.

And all happened suddenly: a moment before, I was singing silent praises to Venicio, and the moment after, the floor under me was full of excrements.

My excrements.

At that point, I blushed hard, and went in tilt: and now ?

What to do ?

Clean this up ? No, I can't with my bare hooves

Await for Venicio ? He might kick me out if he find out that I dirtied the flood of his house.

Every situation seemed a lose-lose, and so, I started to weep silenty towards my unluck.

When Venicio finally returned, he reacted with a “bleargh”, and told me that it was ok, since I was a little filly.

Well, that doesen't made the situation any less embrassing anyway.

Then he said that I should go in the starge room in the kitchen for take some toiletpaper, and clean me up.

I obeyed, since I haed to go around with my bottom covered in feces.

I walked slowly on the left, until I saw something resembling a fridge, and many shelves: no doubt, the kitchen.

I entered in the room, and looked for a door different from the one where I entered... but I found nothing !

I tried to open what seemed a door, but it was a drawer full of pots.

Then I tired another one: it was the flap of the starage of wood fo the oven.

Finally, I found the door between the sink and the fridge... and I realized with horror that the grip was too hight to be reached by normal mean.

I thought of taking a chair, move it near the door, and open it, and so I did... before seeing, with my maximum horror, that I could not move it, no matter how much force I put in moving it, be pullign i with th  mout; push it with the front hooves; or charing it with my full body: nothing mvoed that damn chair.

But I ketp trying, and trying, and trying, until I heard footsteps.

Or, better, hoofsteps.

I saw in front of me an orange pony with freclkes, her face with an angered frown.

I frozed in fear.

I was going to get kciked out.

I was going to get kicked out.

Oh God

Oh God.

I started to cry, and beg for mercy.

The orange pony just nuzzled me, and said in a soft voice:

“Don't worry, Bernarda: accident happens. Now go upstairs, so you can get cleaned up”