My Little Artificial Companion: An Interactive Story

Fuck it…I really need to clean this place up, especially for someone, or should I say somepony like Rarity. Even some random teenager from off the streets would probably say this place is pretty filthy. Rarity might have a heart attack at even the sight of it.

I can’t help but chuckle. This will be the first time I’ve literally cleaned the place since I moved in. That was over a year ago. My mother had actually helped me the first time around. A housewarming gift, she called it. She also left the supplies, expecting me to actually use them. I guess I will be now. Thanks mom.

I head to the kitchen and check under the sink to see what sort of supplies she actually stocked me up with. I gaze down at the many brightly colored bottles, and clear bottles with chemicals just as bright inside. Most of these practically foreign liquids mean nothing to me. I’ve only ever used a few, and rarely at that. All I know is that I have a vacuum, broom, and mop in the closet; and some of these other chemicals are sure to help with everything else that needs to be cleaned.

First things first though, I need to get the laundry started. I head upstairs to the comforting confides of my bedroom, and immediately feel the exhaustion from a full day at work kick in. “Not yet, bed, not yet.” I say, shaking a finger at the tangled sheets and comforter upon it. “First you need a bath.” Yes, I talk to inanimate objects sometimes, that’s not too crazy, right? Pshh, if anything, me telling someone I have a pony living in my house that I talk to is going to make me sound crazy. Oh, it’ll be great. No one will ever know my little secret, get it? Fuck…I’m tired.

I attempt to shrug off the sudden exhaustion along with the strange bout of silliness as I tear anything washable away from the bed, nearly forgetting the pillow cases in the process. I pile all of it atop the already mountainous pile of clothes at my feet. I ball it up, well as close to a ball shape I can get it, and hobble my way down the stairs to the washer and drier, tucked away in closet in the kitchen.

I go through the almost ritualistic but simple process of stuffing the clothes and bed sheets inside the machine, then picking up the socks and underwear that fall to the floor. I then put them in as well. With some pushing, everything somehow manages to fit in the washer. Let’s just hope it’s actually able to spin around. I pour some soap over the multicolored clump of fabric, close the lid with a metallic pang, and set the cycle to “Heavy” before starting it.

As I hear the water begin to pour out over the clothes in the machine, I begin to remember that there’s actually a certain way you have to clean a house. You do the floors last because whatever you end up cleaning above that, may make a bigger mess on it. That makes sense. Then there’s something about starting from the top and working your way to the bottom; or is it starting at the bottom and working your way up? What difference does that make though…or does it even make any difference?

Then isn’t there something about doing bathrooms first…or is it bathrooms last? Why does cleaning a damn house have to be so damn complicated anyways? Fuck it, I’m doing the kitchen first, mainly due to the fact that it’s where all the supplies are.

It takes nearly an hour to read the instructions on the back of each bottle of chemicals to discover exactly what it’s used for. If only I’d started cleaning house at a younger age, or at least helped my mother when I lived with her, then I’d know exactly what I was doing.

As I begin to wipe away the stains on the countertop, the grime in the sink, clean the tub to a polished shine, and mop the floors, I feel as though this is more than just cleaning a house. It actually feels good, satisfying, exciting.

As I move on to dusting off the furniture and giving anything wooden a nice polish, the feeling remains. As I vacuum the rugs and the carpeted floor of my bedroom, the feeling is still there. As I give the floor a thorough sweeping and then mop it, the feeling is there, growing stronger.

I feel emptier and emptier the more I clean, but not in a bad way. It feels great, actually. Instead of a growling hunger inside me sort of emptiness, it’s like emptying the contents of a box into the trash and then returning the now, much lighter box to its original location. It’s like a large weight’s been lifted off of me.

Suddenly, it hits me. I nearly drop the mop in my hands as the discovery bursts to the forefront of my mind. I’m not just getting rid of the mess in my house, I’m getting rid of the mess in my life. From this point on, things will be different. I will have a pony in my life, a real pony. I can finally be happy. I’ll start over happy, and keep it that way. My life, the way I live, will change for the better because of Rarity. I can just sense it. It’s already making me joyful along with being completely filled with hope. I can’t help but grin and hum like a very happy idiot as I return to sliding the wet tangled mess of a mop back and forth across the already soaked floor, but having a bit of trouble with a certain few smudges. Yep, I have no clue what I’m doing, but its working…sort of.

***

I know it’s been a quite some time since I started the whole cleaning project, but I’m not exactly sure how long it took. As I pull my phone from my pocket to view the time, I take a minute to admire what I’ve done. Everything’s practically shining under the warm glow of the lights, or at least looks much brighter than it was previously. It’s sort of like one of those miraculous clean-up projects you see on TV. It’s definitely not the fanciest place in the world, but Rarity’s going to enjoy the way it looks. Completely spotless…or as spotless as I can get it.

I can feel my eyes practically bulge out of my head as I turn them down to my phone. Nine o’clock! That took nearly four fucking hours! Exhaustion suddenly strikes me again as I realize how long I’ve been at it, this time much worse than before. My legs feel weak, like they’re just going to suddenly collapse beneath me. “At least it’s done,” I say aloud and sigh contentedly. That contentedness suddenly turns into remembrance, and then the feeling of stupidity. The laundry, I forgot to put it in the drier.

I think my heart literally stops for a second as I return to the kitchen, broom and mop in one hand, the vacuum in the other dragging behind me, and see the tile floor covered with a thin, but very large pool of water. Islands of soap bubbles hang upon the small sea’s now stagnant surface. Well, at least that means no more water if it’s done, right?

I feel a sudden chill on my feet, and as I lift them they feel much heavier than normal, and much wetter. I turn my eyes hesitantly to the floor beneath…and yep, it isn’t just the kitchen. Slowly, the water is migrating out into the living room. Luckily for me, the floor’s wooden, and the only rug in the living room is in front of the couch. This is still going to take ages to soak up. I guess I’ll just get mopping…

Since my socks are already wet, might as well get the drier going; as long as none of the electrical shit’s in the water, that is. I peer behind the machine just to make sure, the lowest wire I can see is where it plugs into the wall, the water isn’t anywhere near that yet. I open up its door, along with the washer’s and go about shoving the large, soggy lump inside. Let’s hope this doesn’t mess up the drier too. Why don’t I just put the clothes in small sections at a time? Well, because that’s too tedious. I just want to press start and be done. Just as I did with the washer, I turn the knob to "Heavy" before starting.

As the machine kicks into gear, loudly at that, I return to my mop and head to the center of the kitchen. As I stick it down into the water, let it soak up to its max, and then squeegee it out into the sink, I can’t help but think of The Sims. For those of you that have played it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Anytime anything involving plumbing breaks, the floor starts to get covered with water, then you sit there and watch your Sim spend hours mopping up the mess. Well, that’s me at the moment, a Sim, and yes, I have a feeling this will take hours.

***

Finally the floor is nice and…damp, close enough. I pull out my phone again, it feels like ages since I’d checked it last, and even ages since the drier went off, for that matter. Eleven…shit. No way in hell I’m getting anything else done tonight. I haven’t even eaten anything for dinner yet, and I feel like I could fall asleep at any second…way too much work.

I pour a fairly large pile of pizza pockets onto a plate and throw them into the microwave. What? It’s quick, easy, and I’m starving. I burn my mouth and fingers as I shove the food into my face, barely giving myself any time to take a seat at the table.

After easily finishing off the pile, I guzzle down a glass of water to help cool the burn. I then wash both of the dishes, not wanting to leave any trace of a mess behind. I’ll just fold the clothes tomorrow morning when I get up. I’m feeling groggier and weaker by the second. Everything seems slightly blurry, and it gives off the sense that it’ll start spinning at any second.

I slowly climb my way up the stairs, and opt on not heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. They’ll be fine for one night. Besides, I can brush them nice and good in the morning. I flick on the light in my bedroom and blink at the naked mattress before me. “Damn it!” I whine.

I pace back and forth before the bed, consuming the rest of my energy as I decide on a plan. Considering the fact that I have no more…yep. I collapse onto the cool white surface of the mattress, pull a pillow up beneath my head and close my eyes. They quickly shoot back open as I remember to turn on my alarm and flick off the light. I groan and flick the light back on, then squint at its sudden harshness. My feet are freezing, and I know exactly why. I struggle to pull the quenched socks away from them. It’s as if the fabric turned into glue.

I throw them aside as I finally get them off, and hear a saturated smack as they make contact with the floor. I suddenly realize that I’d walked all across the floors with those socks. Eh, screw it. It’ll evaporate…and hopefully not leave any sort of stain behind. I reach over and turn off the light again. Almost as soon as my arm retreats from beneath the lampshade and to my side, I am lost in my dreams. This time they involve my survival on a strange soapy island in the middle of the sea, clothes floating around on its surface…and of course some more about Rarity, as well.