Why Ponies Shouldn't Talk

Rain… I hate the rain. The pitter-patter of droplets sounds like white noise which I find annoying. I’m cold and wet and not in a very good mood. Growing up I loved the rain. Jumping from puddle to puddle was the highlight of my day walking home from elementary school. The neighborhood kids always said, “Watch out, here comes Mark,” because I always splashed water in their face. Now, I’m nearly twenty and the desire to jump in puddles has dwindled away. Twenty… and I’m still walking home from school. Working on an Associate’s Degree at the nearby community college has been my focus since high school. But even that goal is dwindling away. I have no desire for anything anymore.

The rain lets up a bit as I enter the yard to the house my parents left me before they retired to their native country. It’s a small house, encircled with a green iron fence my father put up himself. The yard has a decent green pasture with a single oak tree at the far end. Directly opposite of the tree and beyond a concrete walkway that leads to the front door is a garden filled with a variety of wildflowers I never bother to prune. It’s quiet around here, always quiet.

When did my life change so much? I had all these plans, all these dreams, but the passion for those dreams just isn’t there anymore. My life is all just motion now, simple push and pull, every day, all day.

There is one thing that helps keep me going through my mundane existence. Before my best friend moved away to New York, he told me to watch this show, this stupid little show. He said I wouldn’t regret it, so I gave it a shot. At first I thought to myself, This isn’t for me. Candy-colored horses? This is for little girls. But, before I knew it, I watched another episode, then another and another. Soon I burnt through an entire season. Why did I keep watching it? I think it’s because it reminds me of a time when I actually had passion. Seeing Twilight Sparkle go through her adventures with such vigor, it made me wish I had her drive.

Today, after three seasons, my friend was right. I don’t regret it. It’s still my favorite show. Though I don’t feel the same way about it as before, it still brings a little joy to my heart every time those “candied-colored horses” grace my eyes. There were many times I wished they were real. But life drags on, and even that dream died away. Currently, season four is being worked on. The cool down time between seasons is always so depressing for me. I could always watch re-runs, but it isn’t the same as watching a brand new episode.

The rain picks up speed again. I need to get inside before this storm gets any worse. I pull out my house keys and reach for the door. As the locking mechanism turns, a crackling noise buzzes in my ears. I hear a faint whirring sound. A sudden explosion overhead makes me jolt my head in that direction. The resulting shock wave violently shakes the windows and knocks me down. My ears ring loudly, drowning out the rest of the world. A wormhole opens up over my front yard, or at least what looks like a wormhole. It’s ill-shaped and looks like it could collapse in on itself at any moment.

The wormhole fluctuates wildly. Like a bullet, a London police box shoots out from the wormhole. The sudden appearance of the mass shakes up the portal and it shrinks away. On the side of the box, a swirling body of energy similar to jelly is attached to it. They crash on my lawn. A weird explosion, sounding like someone hitting the side of an empty oil drum, echoes off into the distance. Pieces of the police box scatter across my lawn. From the debris rises the mass of swirling energy accompanied by two floating eyes. It has the rough shape of a man, but in place of its right hand is a wicked-looking blade with jagged edges made of the same energy as the entity.

It takes a step towards me. The grass under its feet shrivels up and fades away. It steps on the walkway and the concrete begins to crack and disintegrate. This thing is aging everything it touches! It raises its bladed hand to strike me. I put up my arms to defend myself, even though I know it won’t really help. I expect the blade to hit me at any moment, but it never comes. I peek through the divide between my arms. The monster is frozen in place. It twitches in and out of existence, gradually fading away. I glance around at the aftermath.

Various machine parts surround a crater in the middle of my yard. What a mess. I get up and walk to the center of the crash site. There are circuit boards of all shapes and sizes. Some gears over there, a tangled clutter of wires over here, a pony lying unconscious on the grass there… wait… A PONY?!

I blink twice to make sure I’m not hallucinating. No, it can’t be. My mind has to be playing tricks on me, but no matter how many times I look away and back, the pony is still there. I know this pony too. Her yellow mane delicately lies across her face. Her light gray body gently stirs as she breaths. On her flank are the iconic bubbles she is known for. It’s Derpy.

What do I do? Have I finally gone crazy? Has my dull life finally driven me to madness? There’s a fictional pony character on my lawn. She can’t be real, can she? I bend down over her and touch her cheek with my finger. It feels warm and smooth. She is real.

A machine sparks to life behind me. It’s a curious looking thing, circular in shape with various lights around it. The lights glow and cast a hologram over the machine. In the hologram stands Dr. Whooves.

“Hello? Is this thing on? Ah, there we go. Hello Ditzy, if you’re watching this recorded message then the TARDIS is destroyed, you have no way of returning home, and I am dead. But fear not my dear, for I am here to help, metaphysically speaking. Let’s see here… Ah, it looks like you’re in the Inth dimension on a planet called Earth. It seems like Earth is in every dimension, but with infinitely possible dimension, I don’t see that as much of a surprise.

“Anyway, Earth is filled with creatures called humans. They aren’t very, how you say, advanced, but they are resourceful. This machine will print you out a schematic a novice engineer from that planet can read. I simplified it as much as I could. It details the design of a teleporter that will open a portal to your home back in Equestria. Simply find somepony, achem, excuse me, I’ve been around ponies so long their wordplay has grown on me, someone who can help you get home. Oh, and if you’re too upset about my departure, don’t be. Time has a funny way of working things out. Till we meet again, this is the Doctor signing off.”

The hologram machine shakes and spits out some schematics just like the Doctor said it would. I pick them up and look at Derpy. She hasn’t woken up. I go to her side once more. Derpy looks so distraught. Her eyes flicker behind her eyelids. I can’t leave her out here; no brony in the right mind will. Do I just pick her up though? I still can’t believe this is happening. It feels like a dream, and any interference on my part will cause it to fade away and, deep down, I really don’t want to wake up.

Dream or not, the rain is getting worse. We need to get inside. Hesitantly, I scoop her up in my arms. She is surprisingly light. Though she is a pegasus, so she has to be light in order to fly. She groans in discomfort. I freeze, afraid that she’ll wake up. I have no idea what I’ll do if she does wake up. What do I say? She can talk, but will I be able to when the time comes? All these questions, and yet no answers… I sigh.

I carry Derpy over the threshold of my doorway. Inside there’s a living room with two relatively new red linen couches each accompanied with two throw pillows. A rectangular wooden coffee table over a wool rug dominates the center of the room. On the rightmost wall hangs a flat screen TV with a DVR connected to it. I have to watch MLP somehow. Next to the TV is a hallway that leads to the bedrooms of the house, three in total.

I place Derpy on one of the couches. Her mane is a mess and she is completely wet. I’m not any better. I head to my room to change into something dry. Afterwards, I get a towel from the bathroom to dry Derpy. As I stroke her with the towel, I can feel her breath under my touch. This can’t be real, but it feels real. She feels real. I place the towel on the ground, and sit on the couch opposite of Derpy. She’s still unconscious, but at least she looks a bit more comfortable.

What do I know about Derpy? She’s only a background pony in the show. The best background pony there is in my opinion. She isn’t my favorite though. That honor goes to Pinkie Pie and her hyperactive antics. But Derpy is the one in my home, not Pinkie. I know Derpy really like muffins and that gives me an idea.

I head to my kitchen, which is right behind the living room, and start to make some muffins. I get out some eggs, butter, milk, and all the necessary ingredients for a batch of muffins. This will show Derpy, once she wakes up, that I mean her no harm. Plus, it’ll help me ease her into the situation at hand.

The first batch is done, so I start working on the second. As I turn to grab some eggs I left on the counter, Derpy walks into the kitchen looking like a lost child. She looks at me and I look at her. I am completely frozen. My mind is blank and my tongue dry. She looks so innocent waiting for some kind of response. I see the muffins I made out of the corner of my eye and take one. I try so hard to control my trembling hand as I offer her the muffin.

Derpy smiles--either at the gesture or my nervousness--and takes the muffin. Her hooves touch my hand which cause a shiver to run down my spine. She takes a single bite out of the muffin and puts it down. “This muffin’s terrible.”

I clear my throat. “I-I’m not much of a baker.”

She giggles. “Don’t be nervous. I don’t bite.” She winces, rubbing her temple with her left hoof.

“Are you okay?” I ask with concern.

“My head really hurts.”

“You should lie down then. Come on." I lead her to the living room. She takes the couch I placed her in before. Without considering what Derpy would say, I gently grab hold of her head to see what might be the problem. Her mane flows like water through my fingers as I inspect her head. Derpy flinches from my grasp when I touch a sensitive bump. “You hit your head.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out,” she says still in pain.

I head to the kitchen and return with a plastic zip lock bag filled with ice. Derpy is holding her head, trying to ease the pain. I grab her hoof and place the bag on her injury. Then I place her hoof on the bag. “Hold it there.” She nods.