Friendship is Volatile

Every soul makes their own set of superstitions throughout the course of their lives. Be it traditional ones, life experiences, or just issues with karma there isn't a damn human on the face of the earth without some kind of tweak that errs on the side of eccentric.

Locks had his own set of awkward little quirks, but one particularly dreadful tweak was always capable of pushing him on the side of paranoia. He could recall with vivid clarity every horrid incident that followed soon after the palm of his left hand became itchy. Odd little thing, just a scratch that needed some attention shouldn't warrant so much dread, but like most folks he was very uncompromising when it came to his superstitions.

It was a lovely day. The afternoon sky turned dark with a massive thunderstorm that washed over his city as he drove home. He always loved the rain, even if it made everyone look like someone had kicked their puppy it was something that soothed him. Well... at least when his left palm was going nuts with an insanely demanding itch. Itchy hand plus torrential rain plus shitty car plus retarded drivers still speeding by all added up to a bag full of fucking awful as he cruised along a good ten miles under the speed limit.

"Relax lefty. Fucking CHILL. Just a little ways home and we can deal with whatever awful thing is waiting for us there. Just CHILL THE FUCK OUT."

Talking to himself always helped when the nerves got bad, but it wouldn't save him from the cataclysmic amount of shit that occurred within the span of seconds. He was crossing over a long suspension bridge that still had a large section comprised of metal grates, and while crossing said bridge went off without a hitch thousands of times before his entire body went rigid when lady luck came at him with a swift kick to the balls.

A car went speeding by on his left, and in all honesty if he had not been involved with the following hell he would have laughed his ass off as lightning arced down from above and struck the car. Unfortunately the prick wasn't going fast enough when the car was struck, which made the driver panic and swerve into his own vehicle. After a feisty nut check from Luck she proceeded to river dance on his crotch as his car went veering against a weak section of the bridge railing and off into oblivion.

Another crack of lightning struck his car as his guts proceeded to overload his brain with "We're falling and we don't like it!" along with going near deaf and blind from the lightning. It felt like he had been falling for a long time, but then again it was a high bridge. With such a shitty way of dying and his left hand still furiously itching Locks' brain became stuck in a moment of derp.

Needless to say when his car did make an impact there wasn't any mental assessments taking place as the airbag deployed and jammed his glasses painfully into is face. When his mind figured out that it should start working again the first thoughts came in the form of relief.

He paid good money to buy the bendy and nearly impossible to break glasses so at least he wouldn't be blind. Next thought came as every asshole who ever made fun of his glasses straps that kept the things snugly on his head could go suck it because they were still on his face even as the bag slowly deflated and allowed him to rest against the steering wheel.

While his brain was still trying to figure out if it was the center of thought or his asshole. The smell of something burning prompted him to look up seeing small flames coiling from the edges of his car hood. Funny thing about the body, when imminent death was involved shit started moving real quick. He thrashed against the seat belt and mashed at the release button, but the damn thing wouldn't let him go. Still struggling against the belt his right hand shot into his pocket to fish out a knife, and after pulling the straps tight he slashed through them easily.

Lady Luck finished her dance and continued to torment him by stomping all over his hope as his car door decided it didn't feel like working anymore. Like a fresh inmate warding off brutal prison rape Locks stabbed at the window with his knife until it shattered. Punching out the remaining glass to keep from being impaled he yanked his legs up into the seat and lunged out of the window head first with his fists against the car door to propel him further.

It was nothing like the movies with men jumping and rolling out of burning cars with style and skill, he landed head first with his body flopping to the ground like a fish out of water. Since his body still didn't give a fuck about what was happening in his now jarred brain he simply rolled as fast as he could away from the death trap until he scrambled onto his feet and flat out ran away. Movies be damned... the explosion behind him felt like a kick in the back from a giant, followed by agonizing pain as something clipped his right shoulder and plowed him right back into the dirt.

Crawling back to his feet Locks looked at the merrily burning wreckage that should have been his grave with a slow smile spreading across his face.

"This was a triumph..."

Ooook... So maybe his brain was pretty fucking rattled but the little song played out just the same as his smile quickly grew into pure insanity. Things slowly began worming their way through his crazed joy as he made his way towards a bench that was beside.... a tree.... house..... thing. It looked like a kids dream come true from the outside until he noticed the library sign above it. Taking a seat and having a look around he pulled out his newly bought menthols and sighed. They were pretty smooshed, but thankfully none of them were broken and light one up.

The houses.... were cottages.... Cottages with thatched roofs and he was in a town of sorts... Thunderstorm, lightning, falling off bridge towards river below, and now sunshine farmville? Since he wasn't trying desperately not to die in a horrible way there was some kind of cock eyed shift in scenery or his bell had been rung in an extra hard way. The complete lack of people around bugged him the most though. Someone had to have heard a car exploding but where in the hell was everyone at.

People say you should take stressful events slowly, people like his friends and his boss would always chide him for taking too much on at one time. He liked being slightly overwhelmed when he could manage the stress as it made him feel alive, but nothing in his life could prepare him for the sounds of babbling and the stomping of hundreds running towards the burning wreck.

Small horses. Not just small like those little shetland ponies, but small with gigantic eyes, longer legs, and every bright neon color of a ravers paradise. Scores of the things came running (Galloping?) into the area from alleyways, off branching roads, and flying in from the fucking skies like a tiny pony invasion. Even with their freakish eyes and weird little muzzles he could somehow read their expressions as they stopped a good ways from the wreck and milled around nervously until he heard a woman cry out in shock.

"SWEET CELESTIA WHAT IS THAT THING?!"

Bad pony. Ponies don't talk, and they sure as hell don't come flying in wearing armor and holding various weapons in mouth and hooves. How in the FUCK do they hold things in their hooves?! By that time he was puffing away like a train at his cigarette, and snapping his head around as a purple flash appeared not five feet away followed by the form of a purple pony nearly gave him a heart attack. This pony had a horn, and after yelping and tumbling backwards from him the things eyes somehow got even bigger than they already were.

"...TH.. THE...Those are bad for you!"