Late afternoon tends to be one of the best times to be in a downtown, at least if one has difficulties being around people. Workers have already long since had their lunch breaks, but places are still open. In fact, many eateries offer discounts to people who grace their doors during the tedious three hours between meal periods, which is an absolute godsend for poor high school students.
Sunset Shimmer was, at least officially, one of those poor students. Indeed, she was worse off than most, due to being, in many respects, literally alone in the universe. She had her friends now, sure, but most if not all of them had families to help with their questionable finances. Sunset’s parents were back in Equestria, and they would not have provided any assistance even if she could have asked because she had parted with them on extraordinarily poor terms. So she had to be a tad more resourceful. For years, she had taken various odd jobs around town to make her ends meet, but this was the time of year that that work dried up.
A girl with free time but little money is a very bored girl.
She looked up at the sky, a shaft of bright blue flanked and hemmed in by the various nondescript buildings, looking for all intents and purposes like an inverse river. Clouds did not appear anywhere within her sight, though she wished they had, since at least that would break the monotony. Or rain. She decided to pretend it was raining, quickly opening the umbrella she did not have, avoiding the puddles that did not exist on her way to find some sustenance, which she hoped would be real, because she was legitimately hungry.
To her left, across the busy, bone-dry street, sat the answer to her pressing hunger problem: a small restaurant, barely noticeable amidst the others, called “Big Beulah’s Burrito Barn”. A hand-painted sign on the door helpfully advertised both a student discount and an early bird special. That was all the incentive Sunset needed to grace the establishment with her famished presence. Reaching into her sock, because she possessed neither purse nor pockets, she pulled out a few tatty banknotes. Yeah, that would probably be enough to eat.
As she made her way across the street, nowhere near any sort of crosswalk, a car came within about a foot of colliding with her and creating a Sunset pancake. Instead, its wheel rolled through a perfectly dry depression, splashing her clothes with nonexistent dirty water. Sunset shook her fist at the car and maybe at its driver, lamenting the imperceptible layer of dust covering her short skirt which she decided to assume was a massive mud stain, before losing interest and entering the shop.
At the back of the public area was a counter where a large middle-aged woman – Big Beulah herself – waited to take Sunset’s order. A weedy man standing next to her who may or may not have been Mister Big Beulah was talking on an old corded telephone, no doubt transcribing a call-in order. Sunset had a cell phone but no service due to neglecting to pay her bill for the past several months. Thus, she slowly made her way to the counter, tiptoeing past over a dozen other tables, all full of CHS students who were, for once, too engrossed in themselves to bother giving her their death glares. Sunset tried to ignore them and concentrate on reading the menu, helpfully posted above the counter in large print.
Sunset ordered ice water because it was free. As for the main course, there were so many possibilities to choose from – they had this burrito and that burrito and the other burrito – okay, so the possibilities weren’t exactly endless, but it was still more variety than her usual diet of whatever vegetables the store was planning to throw out plus some rice. She decided to try a veggie burrito on a spinach tortilla. Big Beulah gleefully barked the order at the schlub to her left preparing the food.
It took a couple minutes to throw all the veg, rice, beans, and sauce into the tortilla, but soon enough Sunset found herself in possession of a cheap black plastic basket on which sat a redundantly foil-wrapped wrap. Upon hearing the total cost, a look of panic briefly flashed across Sunset’s face – she had forgotten about the tax. Luckily for everyone, especially her, a quick fishing through her other sock – prompting Beulah to roll her eyes impatiently – produced just enough money to avoid embarrassment. Satisfied, Big Beulah handed Sunset her receipt before stomping off to either take another order or yell at the little man next to her.
Sunset scanned the room, hoping to find an isolated table. In an ideal world, there would be several, all next to windows so she could street-watch and ignore everything inside. Unfortunately, the Burrito Barn is in an older building where the only publicly accessible windows are in the front. Those tables were all taken by members of CHS’s various cliques, all of whom would be justifiably unhappy to see her. As if fate itself was aware of this, Sunset found one table along a far wall, ill-lit and seemingly neglected, a single chair sitting forlornly, anticipating an occupant that would likely never come – though a second chair was propped up against the wall a few feet away, perhaps rejected from the reject table. Perfect. Quietly as possible, she walked to the table and sat her stuff down. She was prepared to eat, but instead, without anyone to keep her occupied, her mind began to wander.
Burrito. Such a strange word. Vegetables, legumes, and sauce, maybe some cheese, wrapped in a bunch of cooked flour. Why did I choose spinach over herb or tomato? Or corn. Problem with the corn ones is they’re so dry; last time I tried one I nearly choked.
All arranged in layers. At least at first. It’s not like an onion where you can peel it to see how each level is nicely separated. Burritos can have onions, but they are not like onions. Or tacos. Even though they arrange it in layers, when they wrap it, the components get all jumbled together. Plus you have to eat it at a perpendicular angle to how it was made, which only mixes it up even further. You masticate, adding bacteria laden saliva to crush it into an unrecognizable mushy pulp between your maxilla and mandible in order to force it down your gullet so it can be dissolved in acid down to its base components. By the end, no one really cares what it used to be. It only matters to keep you alive.
I guess I’m like that now. I’m the burrito. My layers are all mixed up. If I ever even had layers in the first place. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe Celestia was right when she said she was wrong and there wasn’t anything to me. After all, what do I do when I’m alone? I sit in my squatter’s den in the dark and eat a bucking burrito, or tool on that guitar I nicked right after I got here to improve my dexterity. I’m no different now from when I was Celestia’s student. Well, maybe I am, since I have friends now.
But are they my friends? What do they think? Do they actually care about me, or are they only being nice to me because Twilight told them to? Chew me up and spit me out, or digest me and send me out the other end. Ew.
They just love bringing up every single horrible thing I’ve done over the past three years. (and they don’t even know the half of it). “No offense.” Sure, and I’m the Queen of Prance. What would they do if I told them I do take offense? Because I do. Would they leave me to rot? Can’t say I’d blame them if they did; after all, I’m the one who ruined three years of their lives. Yet I still love being around them. I didn’t even know I could laugh before being with them.
But do they really care? Am I a pony, er, person to them? Or am I just another box on one of Twilight’s precious checklists? Just a simple pawn to somepony else’s destiny.
Did Twilight’s orbital-friendship-beam rewrite my brain? I didn’t used to be so afraid of people. No, I always was. Given the choice, I avoided others if at all possible. Being an alpha bitch was my method of overcompensation for my own insecurity. But like any role, if you live it for long enough, you become it. When the Empress is revealed to have no clothes, it certainly changes her perspective, rainbow-beam or no.
Great, now I’m imagining myself naked in front of the whole school again. Why do I always DO that? Why should I even care? I’m a pony; I rarely even wore clothes until I came here.
Pony. Some things never change. I never could get the hang of meat. I barely knew what meat was back in Equestria. Now they expect me to eat it. I’m sure this body could handle it, but my brain still tells me no. Cows in Equestria can talk. Back in Stalliongrad, I knew one named Clarise. She told me not to be so glum. Shame what the Gryphons did to her. I wonder if I would have been better off if they had gotten to me too. After all, Celestia rejected me. Everyone in Equestria rejected me. I have friends here. But I’ll never be like them. I’m just an Other. Even after so many years, I cannot bring myself to consume flesh. Some people still give me funny looks for not eating the stuff. Everyone eats meat except me. Well, those eco kids don’t eat meat either, but they’re a bunch of stuck-up prats it wasn’t even worth manipulating. Of course, I’m not technically a horse here; humanoids are omnivorous, so there really isn’t anything wrong with partaking in the flesh. But I can’t do it. I wonder what it tastes like. Regret. What would Celestia say if she knew? Why do I still care? She hasn’t been my teacher in so many years, but I still… Meat.
Whatever, I have food. This veggie burrito. All the rice, beans, cheese – should I be eating cheese? It comes from a cow but isn’t flesh. I don’t think eating it proves I’ve gone too native.
I miss Equestria. I hate Equestria. They don’t have burritos. Maybe they should? Ponies, regardless of race or class, are almost all useless philistines; they would never understand. But the humanoids are no better. In fact they might be worse.
Since so many ponies have counterparts in this world – except me for some reason – I wonder if I could ever be friends with Twilight’s friends like I am here. Eh, probably not, considering their first impression of me. Would it be worth it to try? Celestia would say yes, but then she was always on about that stuff. Also, she did throw me out. My luck I’ll just be attacked upon arrival and thrown in jail.
If I’m in jail then I wouldn’t get burritos. Might not even get hay. Would a hay burrito taste any good? Can I even say that one way or the other since I’m not a horse right now? Sweet Celestia, what would those kids have thought to be in a world where ponies run everything? Being the insane general of a pony vanguard of teens who, mind control aside, would be totally unused to their new bodies, marching them to Canterlot to attack Celestia. Dear GOD that was a stupid plan! Sunset, you’re supposed to be smarter than that. Maybe I’ve been too long in this void and its idiocy has rubbed off on me. Or maybe I’ve been playing this teenager thing for so long past my actual teens that it’s rotted my brain.
Seriously, how could they not have noticed?
I know CHS administration is a confederacy of dunces, but even Flash, thick twit that he is, had a hunch about the truth, although he had to get curious about my personal items to even suspect.
Well, maybe it’s because keeping to my strict no-meat diet helps me maintain a youthful façade? Oh, I wish that were true, but it’s probably a crock. Like anyone, my looks are probably just down to luck, which will run out at some point.
Now I wonder. Do this world and Equestria have any sort of doublet system? If some pony dies in Equestria, will their counterpart here die too? Probably not. As far as I can tell, I have no double. She may be dead, or may never have existed to begin with. Guess that means I’m an anomaly here too, destined to never fit in. The more things change, right?
I should get a cat. No I shouldn’t. I don’t have enough money to feed myself most days; how could I possibly afford an animal? Maybe it would have kept me sane. Well, considering what I did to Flash’s ferret, probably not.
A burrito is just a transient thing. All food is. Made only to be destroyed. That being the case, does it really matter if any care is put into its creation? It’s just a source of fuel for the body. Why do we care about presentation? Even in Equestria they have restaurants, and we eat Celestia-damned roughage. I guess every intelligent creature gets bored of the usual and craves some variety, even if it’s just in the rearrangement of alfalfa and carrots on a plate.
Come to think of it, I guess these clothes sort of function like the tortilla. Leather flavour. Once a burrito is wrapped, if it’s made properly, you can’t see what’s inside until you bite into it. This jacket that somehow magically appeared on me when I stepped into this world – well, an earlier version of it at any rate; Sasha here is my third – seems to tell everyone that I’m someone to be avoided. But that ignores the savoury filling that is Sunset Shimmer. Actually, I think I’m just bitter. No one would find me even remotely palatable.
Maybe I should relearn how to drive a motorcycle; I think my license expired a few months ago. I don’t want a car. Why should I bother? I can walk everywhere.
Oh, that burrito’s been sitting there for awhile, I bet. It’s probably gone cold. Cold burritos are no good. They taste like failure. So does that mean I taste like a cold burrito? Or did I used to taste like a cold burrito and now maybe I don’t? Unless I still fail. But who decides if I fail or succeed? Is it my call? Celestia’s? My new “friends”? Hope it’s not Twilight; I’d rather my fate not be in her hooves again.
I had them put sauce on this, right? I think I did. If you leave a burrito for too long, the sauce seeps through the tortilla, partly dissolving it and making it a mess to eat.
Whatever. I might as well partake in the joyless act of eating this cold burrito, so I can get out of here and return to my pathetic almost literal hole in the wall. I— wait a minute. Where did my burrito go?
Sunset stared at her basket, now empty save for a few crumbs. She sat, blinking, her expression utterly blank as she attempted to process what was in front of her – or not in front of her, as the case was.
Slowly, she allowed her eyes to move up from the vacant tray, across the table, and then up, until they focused on the young-looking girl who had commandeered the lone chair and now sat opposite her. She sported a purple shirt, pale blue skin, two-tone blue hair, big magenta eyes, thick eyelashes, and a giant smile plastered on her face, which was also flecked with sauce and crumbs.
Sunset narrowed her eyelids. Sonata, for her part, cocked her head in apparent confusion, her disarming grin unwavering. Through the remaining bits of burrito she had yet to swallow, she formed her verbalized response.
“What?”
Author's Note
Welcome. This is the second story I've put up on FimFic. I decided after "Election", a very conventional work, I wanted to try something a little different: a stream-of-consciousness rant.
I hope you enjoyed reading it.
