The Equestrian Dream

It's a cold call to enemy soil.

"You have... four-hundred... six new messages."

"Hi, this is Fluttershy. I can't answer the phone right now. Leave a message after the tone."

Beep.

Click.

"Press 7 to era-"

"Message four-hundred... five."

"Hi, this is Fluttershy. I can't answer the phone right now. Leave a message after the tone."

Beep.

Click.

"Press 7 to era-"

"Message three-hundred... twenty... five."

"Hi, this is Fluttershy. I can't answer the phone right now. Leave a message after the tone."

Beep.

Click.

"Do you have any idea who's doing this?" the royal guard asked.

"I'm not sure, but I... I suspect it might be my ex-boyfriend, Andy," whispered Fluttershy. "Look, I really need my answering machine clear. Can you guys just give me... a restraining order?"

"Sorry, it doesn't work that way. We'll help you file one, though. Try to block the number in the meantime."

Fluttershy leaves her cottage. She goes over to Sugarcube Corner to see Pinkie Pie. She goes to Sweet Apple Acres to see Applejack. She goes over to the Carousel Boutique to see Rarity. Like clockwork, the phone rings with her absent, hundreds of times. It rings until the recording machine is full.

She already blocked their number.

Misadventure. Adventure. Work. Play. She comes home to a blinking answering machine.

She blocked their number again.

The cottage is silent. Absolutely empty. No needy animals occupy the house.

She blocked their number again.

Every night becomes the same routine. She waits by the answering machine, hours spent erasing the new messages. The sick and destitute might have called. The helpless and hurt. It's time wasted. She needs to waste it.

She calls the phone company. They block their number.

She comes home to the flashing light.

This is next week.

Night time. She sits by the machine. The click becomes Pavlovian. She hits seven. It's message 243. There's a click. She hits seven. It's message 242. There's a click. She hits seven. It's message 241. There's a click. She hits seven. It's message 240. She's about to hit seven.

"Aye, it's Zecora on the phone.

This bird I have has broke it's bone.

I'll send it off in your care,

so it may once again feel fair."

It's message 239. There's a click. She hits seven.

The bird is here. A beautiful albatross with a broken wing. Fluttershy carries it, putting it lightly on one of the beds.

"You look tired," says Twilight Sparkle, "Maybe you should get more sleep."

"I... I can't. The calls keep happening. I need to answer them."

Twilight begins to panic.

"They're still happening?! I'm really worried."

"W- Why?"

"It's... It's so creepy. I would hate for anybody to harm you. Just stay safe."

Fluttershy comes home to a blinking light.

Fluttershy comes home to an empty house.

She looks around in horror. She was only out for five minutes. She looks under the bed. She looks in the drawer. She looks in the cupboard.

The albatross is missing.

"What?! Where is it," she gasps. Using all her might, she shouts, "Hello?!"

I pick up the payphone. I dial her number.

The phone rings behind her. She gallops up to it quickly.

"Hello?! Hello?!"

The bird's in the back.

I hang up. Click.

She hits seven.

She shakes her mane, refocusing. She exits through the back door.

The albatross is there, spread out in full view.

"Oh my god..." Fluttershy neighs.

It's a sign. It guides you. It'll show you what's coming next, I say. With my cross-bow, I shot the albatross, I say.

"What?!" escapes Fluttershy's horrified lips.

Life-in-Death.

It was the car on the road that everypony swerved to avoid. They thought I was driving drunk.

I stop by a Sinbale in Manehatten. I go up to the attendant. Give me 10 bits on 2. And one of those pony pot pies.

"That'll be 11 bits."

I've already defiled it.

There wasn't anything anypony could do. There isn't anything anypony knows.

I stop by the Whorlmart and grab a shovel. I should have grabbed a hacksaw. Hindsight is 20/20.

Is it normal to tip the sad-eyed pony in the tollbooth? Brighten up her starless night?

She hooves the change back to me and says, "No thank you, darling. I'm all right."

I'm miles away. She's miles away. I'm tired, so let's stop for a second. Alright, babe?

It's a shady motel, but that's okay. I don't have many bits left. I pay the clerk for a room for the night. My hand is on the doorknob.

"Yo, sapien bitch. Why don't you 'sap' en these nuts, homo?"

The two ponies laugh hysterically. Come with me, I have something to show you.

The sun is up. Rise and shine. I turn in the key to the clerk. The trunk is a bit stained, but I can probably buff that out. I know it'll buff right out.

We're going far, far away. I hope you're having a fun time. I hope you all are having a fun time. I know I am. The countryside is so beautiful and pure. If you look back, you can see smog rising over the city. Disgusting.

The wind laps my face kindly. It blows my hair back, like her hoof used to do. I remember the times when I touched her fur the few times it didn't crawl. I think I'm starting to tear up, I laugh.

How is it? How's the drive? Isn't it lovely?

We're closing in on the destination. It's miles and miles away. The destination extends further than the countryside. It almost looks infinite.

There wasn't anything anypony could do. There isn't anything anypony who knows. There isn't anything anypony can do. Japanese ponies drive with their families in tow. Right into a wave of mutilation. We're speeding down this lifeless beach. We're about to hit a jump. Isn't this exciting? We're about to land.

The impact whips my head back and forth and I pass out.