Matthew blinked away the sleepiness in his eyes, his head heavy with drowsiness from the long night of constantly interrupted sleep. The night before, he had been up late thinking and researching on his phone. With his meager budget, what could he make? What could he wear? What could he be?
Then he found the answer he was looking for. It was so simple yet so perfect. While scrolling through rows and rows of pictures taken of cosplayers looking for ideas, he came across what he was looking for.
One of the pictures was that of an individual, completely blue from head to toe, except for a small bushel of thick, orange hair planted on top of his head. The cosplayer had a huge smile on his face and was standing next to another person wearing a labcoat and a white, spiky wig.
Matthew could easily find what he needed at the stores in town, and he was sure he could find stuff to improvise to make the costume if what he needed was too expensive.
He forgot his drowsiness and jumped out of bed. Today, he would make his costume for DragonCon!
o|o
A successful hunt! Three plastic bags flew through the air and landed on the bed with shwish as Matthew went to his parents room to look for the one thing he needed to complete his project. He pulled open his mother’s closet and felt around on the top shelf above all the dresses and clothes. Something smooth with rounded corners pressed against his fingers. He grabbed it and pulled, revealing a see-through, compartmentalized plastic box--his mother’s sewing kit.
He tugged it out from the closet and ran back up the stairs to his room. Snatching the first bag, he pulled out a blue body suit he’d gotten at the Halloween store in the next town over that was open all year round. The second bag had a kien of orange wool and blue face paint.
Matthew flipped the lock and opened the clear box. Inside he saw just what he needed. A needle and thread. It just so happened that one of the spools was orange. He was ready to make his costume. He pulled out the phone and looked at the picture of the cosplayer again.
Mr. Meeseeks.
Look at him.
The loud, nasally-voiced, cheerful Mr. Meeseeks. He lived to serve others, quite literally, because once he did what he was asked to do, he stopped existing. “They’re fine with it,” said a character on the show. Depressing, actually, given the nature of the show that he was in: Rick and Morty.
He smiled. “And awaaaaay we go!”
And then he belched. Just like Rick did on the show that Mr. Meeseeks was a part of. He felt his lunch come back up and instantly regretted burping.
“Oooooh… No more Taco Bell… starting next week.”
o|o
“Meow!”
“Shut up, Socks!” Matthew scratched his butt as he threw the covers off, got out of bed, and shuffled along the carpeted floor. He had learned from experience not to take big steps in the dark because his printer-slash-scanner was close to his bed, close enough that he’d whacked his pinkie toe on it multiple times while getting up to feed his cat.
The soft glow of half of the kitchen lights weren’t too much for his sleepy eyes. There was a very nice “half-setting” the kitchen lights had that Matthew’s parents had taken advantage of for their late night munchies. Particularly his father, always up at midnight for a bowl of Cheerios. It was a pain in the ass to have new games, since if he got invested and played late into the night, his father would either see the glow of his monitor from down the hall or hear him moving then come and yell. Now the light was convenient to Matthew as well since his nineteen-year-old cat Socks began to have the same cravings as his father, only much worse.
The old cat would scream to high heaven until someone came to feed him; and this wasn’t a once-a-night deal, it was once every two hours. Getting up and feeding the cat almost became automatic, but it still left Matthew feeling tired in the morning.
He was greeted with a chirp by the black cat with white feet. Damnit, he couldn’t stay mad at that face. Matthew grabbed the can of wet cat food he set the evening of. He pulled it open and gagged as the waft of “chunky chicken goodness” hit him.
“Wheew! This explains why your poop stinks so much.”
Socks mewed.
Matthew scooped out a glob of meat paste, plopped it on a small dish, and placed it before Socks. The cat dove in. Matthew watched as Socks inhaled his food. Matthew bent down on one knee and scratched the cat behind the ear.
“Socks, you really piss me off, you pinhead. At least when you’re dead I’ll get some sleep.”
The cat hacked as a semi-chewed chunk went down the wrong hole.
o|o
He was there, DragonCon!
Socks may have kept him up, but damnit, the adrenaline running through Matthew’s veins shot him out of bed as soon as the alarm blared at five. He was never too tired to hang out with his best buddies Adam and Blake. Going on a car trip with them was going to be a blast!
And it was, well mostly. That ass Adam insisted on playing “punch buggy” through the whole drive. Matthew only got one punch in for Adam’s dozen. It got really bad since Matthew drove the last third of the trip and had to keep his hands on the wheel when navigating through Atlanta’s excruciating traffic, but he still made it intact - bruises and all.
The con was worth the drive (and the bruises). His first big con ever, and he got to share it with his friends (even if they were dicks at times).
Adam, the scrangly guy that he was, had dressed up as Nathan Drake, a muscle-bound Indiana Jones kind of character from a video game, except without a whip, a hat, or any annoying Asian kids. Matthew had to contain his laughter because it looked like Nathan Drake had just come out of a coma and suffered a severe case of muscle atrophy.
His buddy Blake, on the other hand, had dressed up as the Engineer from the first-person shooter “Team Fortress 2.” He had a red shirt with yellow patches with red wrenches sewed into his sleeves, dishwasher gloves on his hands, a white cowboy hat, and black jeans held up by suspenders.
Matthew couldn’t help but feel horrible that his friend’s costumes were lacking in one way or another; not because they didn’t try or looked silly, but because in comparison he looked good. His thin body type matched his character, and his costume was practically perfect. His face paint matched the blue of the body suit, and the orange tuft of “hair” was poofy and perfect. Although he couldn’t do the voice without getting a major headache. He’d reserve that for the people who deserved it, and those people were girls who would share his sense of humor.
The sights they saw as they cut through the massive crowds continued to amaze them. Booths displaying fantastic works of fantasy art, a room for speaking with celebri-- holy cow, look at that ass!
Adam laughed and smacked Matthew on the back. “Guys, guys, look over there!”
Matthew and Blake turned around from ogling a sexy girl and looked at where Adam was pointing.
There was a booth that was nothing but a table with a single sign against a purple cloth divider. The black sign had a picture of the male and female figures, the kind you usually see on public bathroom doors, except they had antennas coming out of their heads. In white, bold text, the letters “SSD” were visible; below it in smaller letters was the full name: “Sci-Fi Speed Dating.”
Adam kept pointing and laughing.
“Huh, I never considered coming to a con to meet women,” said Matthew. Well, I did, but never thought other people would be so open about it.
Blake stepped forward with a smile. “Hey, hey guys. I don’t think we should go, it’s one letter off from ‘STD.’”
Matthew looked at Blake as he laughed at his own stupid joke. “Damn you’re stupid, Blake.”
He looked again at the sign. You know what? We came all this way. It would be nice to at least talk to some hot girls while we’re here. Who knows? Might get lucky.
“Let’s do it.”
Blake and Adam’s laughs died down a bit. Adam looked at Matthew. “You serious?”
“Hell yeah, I’m serious. Let’s do it.”
Blake threw up his hands. “What?! Speed dating is stupid. Only desperate people do it.”
"Hey, that means you actually have a chance to score.”
Adam threw both arms around his stomach as he laughed. Blake flinched in pain, but the upturned corners of his mouth showed that he knew it was a friendly jab. “Ooooh. Okay, you bastard. Let’s do it. But, let’s see who can get the most numbers.”
“You’re on.”
o|o
Damn, that lady was hanging out all over the place. The speed dating booth lady was dressed up as Captain America, at least from the waist up; nothing was covering her buttcheeks. It was like a piece of floss caught between two Christmas hams.
Well, a glance at that alone was worth the twenty bucks it had cost to get an admission ticket. The event still didn’t start for another hour, so the three amigos killed some time looking at booths. Matthew really hoped Captain Buttcheeks would be there.
As Matthew perused the aisles, among getting his picture taken with others and doing impressions to those who were interested, Matthew saw lots of My Little Pony stuff. A lot. Cosplayers, art, shirts, even blankets. One of the very few secrets that he kept from his friends was that he was a fan. He didn’t own any of the official merchandise, but he watched every episode when it aired and read all the fan comics on the internet. All these MLP trinkets being dangled in front of his face made him want to tear out his wallet.
But what would his friends say? He didn’t want anyone to find out he liked ponies. Maybe if he found something small that he liked, he could hide it among other things he bought. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a booth a short distance away with tiny ponies, crocheted into existence with yarn and styrofoam balls. They were so little and cute, Matthew almost made unmanly sounds. He had to have one.
Adam and Blake were distracted at comic vendor, so he took advantage of this and slipped through the crowds to the booth. At the booth was a man with black hair in a weird, patched-together mishmash of clothes. His jacket was two different shades of yellow, the shirt underneath was brown, and his pants were red. It was so bizarre, but… “Hey! You’re Discord!”
The man smiled and rubbed his white, neatly trimmed beard. “You got me.”
Ha! It was a bizarre, yet uniquely non-half-assed take on the character. Or was it really a half-assed attempt, and he was just reading too much into it? Either way, it was a welcomed change than the dozens of stupid Deadpools walking around.
“Interested in my ponies? I made them myself.”
Matthew would have loved to stay and chat with the man about how cool his little crochet ponies were, but he needed to get one and get out before his friends saw. “They’re great, uh…” He inspected the ponies scattered about the table. The six-inch figures made of wool were so adorable, they must be soft to the touch. He just wanted to pick one up and rub it all over his cheeks. In a manly way.
‘Cuz he was a man.
A ladies man. Yeah.
Matthew pointed at a pink pony. “I’ll take that one!”
The man smiled. “Good choice.” The man handed Matthew a small Pinkie figure. Her smile was oh-so-cheerful that Matthew felt the joy seep from the figure through his hand.
“Thank you, how much?”
The man tilted his head down and grinned, baring his teeth. “No charge.”
“Huh?” And in a poof, Matthew was gone.
The man pulled at his beard and chuckled. None of the hundreds of people even noticed the blue man disappear, as if he had never existed. “Wait, why am I doing this again?” The man shrugged. “Whatever, it’s still fun.”
o|o
Wha- What happened? Where is everyone!?
Matthew picked himself up from a cold, unforgiving floor. The ground was a checkered pattern of two shades of purple that continued over the hills as far as the eye could see, houses made of wood and hay floated around in the air, and fish were in nearby trees. They looked like trout.
What the hell is going on?
“Sister, come hither! ‘Tis another creature of Discord’s creation!”
Matthew turned around and saw two familiar entities. Celestia and Luna!
“Oh, look there, it hath turned a pony into a plaything,” said Celestia.
Matthew looked in his hand; he still held the tiny crochet pony. “No, wait! I--”
A rainbow blasted Matthew, turning him to stone.
o|o
A crack. Stiffness. Release. Movement.
The shadow clouding Matthew’s mind lifted as his eyes opened, everything was dark, but streaks of light broke through the darkness, cracking it like fine china until patches of dark fell from place with stony clunks. Matthew, too, fell down and landed on the jagged pieces.
“Owie! That sure does smart,” he said. A loud nasally voice rang in his ears.
Matthew picked himself off of the floor, a feat of strength and endurance which he had never experienced before. Joints stiff and limbs wobbly, he fought to get himself off the uncomfortable bed of rocks he lay on. He tried to stand, but to no use. His legs gave out under him and he fell again, this time on grass.
“Oh, wowie, look at me, I don’t feel so good.”
He rubbed his forehead, but something wet and sticky smeared on him. He pulled back his hand and saw it was blue and leaking a thick, white substance. What the? Why am I blue? His arm was blue too. His torso, his legs and feet. Everything was blue!
There was a stinging pain in his palm, and he looked back at his hand. His blue hand. It was sliced, cut on a sharp rock, and the white fluid from earlier was oozing out of the wound. I’m bleeding? Why is this white? Why…
He tried to move his hand, wiggle his fingers, but instead the whole appendage that took up the place his fingers used to be moved as a single mass. The movement agitated the cut and made Matthew hiss.
What is going on?
He pulled his eyes away from his hand and surveyed the area around him. Everywhere he looked was green. Green grass, green hedges. Well, the only thing that wasn’t green was himself, the pedestal next to him, and the pile of jagged rocks that surrounded it.
Am I in a garden? What is this place?
Laughter came from around the corner. A multicolored serpent swam through the air, laughing. A blur of brown, yellow, and red. What was that? A dragon? Whatever it was, it passed by and disappeared around another corner on the opposite end of the path.
Too much stimulation. Matthew relaxed on the grass and let himself lie there. Where was he? What had happened? Revelations rose to his mind like small bubbles. Each one brought more despair than the last, as if he was drowning.
The con! The last thing he remembered was when he was at DragonCon with his friends. Adam. Blake. Were they looking for him? Could they find him? Did they even know where he was?
And Socks. Poor, poor, Socks. Would he ever be able to feed him again? Pet him on his bony back? Tell him he’s a pinhead? Hear his unpleasant melodic caterwauling?
Matthew’s eyes stung. He just wanted to curl up and die.
“Hey there!”
Matthew jerked at the voice. It was so close and directed at him. He lifted his head up and saw a pink pony. Pinkie Pie?
“Hey, why so blue? Did Discord trap you in here, too?”
Matthew fought to stand up again. “Oh wowie, you’re talking to me. I don’t know.”
Pinkie smiled and helped him up. “I’m looking for my friends. Or Discord. If I find Discord, I might be able to find my friends because he knows how to get out of this maze. Oh, and I’m Pinkie Pie. Nice to meet you!”
Her cheerfulness was contagious enough that Matthew almost completely forgot about his own problems. In fact, deep in the back of his mind, the desire to help Pinkie grew. It pushed him, like when he had the urge for coke or a pizza. It teased him, tantalized him. He would help this pony to the best of his abilities. Nothing would bring him greater satisfaction.
He opened his mouth and introduced himself as if he had done it before a thousand times. “Hi! I’m Mr. Meeseeks! Look at me!” Wait, what did I just say?
Pinkie giggled. “I am looking at you, that’s how I know you’re there. Can you help me?”
“Can do!” Mr. Meeseeks pointed the direction that the serpent went. “I saw a multicolor dragon take a right at that corner!”
“Alright! That’s where Discord went. Thank you, Mr. Meeseeks!” Pinkie bounced off down the aisle and turned the corner.
To say Mr. Meeseeks had felt this good before would be a lie. It was orgasmic, as if he had served a purpose, completed something of universal importance, that he had made a difference in the world and in someone’s life.
He welcomed the feeling as it spread through his body, and everything disappeared.
Pinkie poked her head around the corner. “Hey, Mr. Meeseeks, do you wanna-- Hey! He’s gone. I hope he didn’t get lost.”
Matthew was no more.
