Chapters 1 Where it first began...
A small paperback journal lies in front of me, filled with some most wretched and horrendous events I've had to survive through. The ink somewhere is smudged with water, blobs and specks of it reminding some crazy cheetah hide.
What it all begun with? Nothing. Just a plain ol' day at the open, me pickin' some herbs and plants for yet another project, and then... Sometime, refreshing the happened in my memory, I still can't make out if what I've seen and sensed was just a prolonged intoxication with some sidekick of the reactions – or was it really true?..
If so, I'm so fucked.
April, 14th
Today I'm going to pick some fresh specimen of lily-of-the-valley. I need berries, and I need stems to complete the extraction so that the convallatoxin might be purified for usage.
Knowing the exact place to pick the best specimen, I am moving right on.
There it is – them hiding, but I see 'em – small white bell-like flowers, red ripe berries. I wonder what caused them to ripe so early – usually it is until May they won't even appear.
Who cares. Testing the concentration of juice, I feel it tingle my fingertips, which means it is more then enough. Good.
Picking took little time, so, with a bag full of plants, I've took off, lighting a cigarette and wiping the blade of my cutter, already premising the result – pure form of glycosides, purified and filtered for further use.
Said means done, usually – so, crushing the green mass into a fine pulp, I've loaded a percolation battery.
The technical process, refined through times and times of repeating, ran smoothly – until there was something unpredicted. The reactor column I've patched up not so long ago through some dubious origin, yet practical schematics, seemed to have a problem with the sealing of refinery gas vents – and, when I've loaded the extraction for a further purification and distillation with aether, the gas began sipping through the splits in vents. Even though I was wearing a gas mask, the concentration soon grew enough to apply an intoxication.
The first faint smell under the gas mask said me nothing – it was a normal side effect when it comes to rectification of the biomass. But when my head started spinning around – I've tried to shake it off, thinking that the oxygen from the filter was not quite enough, so I'd soon have to change the filters and go get some air.
It was too late, though. My avarice for a pure formula – and I simply cannot take it another way – forced me to control the falling of the last drop of the extraction and recycling of the remnants.
Only then, with my vision going all blurry, I've stumbled out of the lab, choking in the gas mask, ripping it off my head and tugging at the collar of both the chem suit and my shirt, trying to get more air.
The soil rushed towards me and hit me hard in the face, making everything just jet black.
No idea how long I've been blacked out – but the awakening was much unpleasant.
First I've heard was a strange clopping sound, as if a horse of sort was trotting near me. Then – some faint blubbering, almost incoherent – must be the drawbacks of intoxication. Lifting a head and trying to open eyes, I've grumbled and, with an exerting effort, succeeded in doing so – and was met with a cold, taut jet of water, presumably from the gardening hose.
All the symptoms of weakness were instantly washed away – I've jumped, hissing and chortling, spitting away the water and trying to wiggle away from the evil liquid, that seemed to be everywhere. The only good thing was that it actually cleansed my glasses from whatever mess was sticking to them, so I could see clearly again. What I've seen startled me, making me freeze in my tracks.
The hose, now limp and weak, dripping the water, looking so innocent now, was held by a small equine creature – as tall as my waist, big eyes, pale orange coat. The first reaction was to protect myself – and I've landed onto all four, swayed my back and hissed loudly, baring my teeth, intentionally bulging my shoulder blades up to form some kind of a hunch – to look visually bigger.
The reaction was that I've never expected. I've been expecting a neigh, rearing and a fore hooves flailing at me – but all I've got was a feminine scream and a hightailed gallop away from me, still screaming wildly in fear.
Well, at least the first of the threats was diminished, and I've moved to the nearby cover – the fence – to take a look around. Luckily the place I've found myself at – which looked terribly like some cottage in the farmland – was not far from some kind of a park zone, or a forest edge – whatever it was, but there were trees and it was promising me some cover.
Jumping over the fence, I've kept a low profile and crawled over to the forest, keeping my head low in the high grass and freezing every time I've heard a noise.
Maybe a hundred yards away I've finally reached the trees, dashing right into the shade, trying to find cover. My head was still misted, and the overcoming weakness was seeping treacherously into my limbs. I've ran as long as I could, jumping over the bushes and trenches, stumbling at the stumps and dodging the trees, until all the strength was just drained from me – like a water from the tub, when you pull the plug. I've fallen onto the soft fungus – and fell dead asleep momentarily.
When I've woken up again, it was dark already. Knowing that under the tree crones it is always dusky, especially when the forest is as dense as this one, I've tried climbing a tree – with little success. The chem suit boots just didn't caught that friction with the slippery smooth bark, enough to let me move on, so I've had to disrobe myself. The chill and humidity hit me hard, so I've had to unroll the sleeves.
The treetop, which appeared to be surprisingly high, shuffled and shook violently by the wind, trying to drop me, but I've clenched with the maximum of available limbs, snickering to myself 'There's only your dick left, but unfortunately, it's no tail, so it just won't roll around to hold ye'. Sniding at myself this way, I've quickly scanned the surroundings.
If one would look at the Sun – to the left, going down – means I'm looking westward. Therefore... southward are mountains... eastward is some kind of a small town, if presume the spire seen from here above the treetops as of some bell tower. The approximate distance was somewhat a mile and a half from my current location, so I wondered if I could survey around.
Though there was one problem. The forest. It was all around me, as far as the eye could reach, and what's more, I could hardly recall the way I've gotten here, while getting lost was completely not in my plans. My plan was to find out where am I, and to get the hell out of here.
But it was getting dark, I was cold and hungry, with nothing more but a lighter and an almost empty pack of cigarettes in my pockets. I reached for the bag, which usually held an 'emergency kit' – a number of useful tools for every occasion and a small medikit – that was usually safely fastened behind my back on a belt – and found none!
That was a sucker punch. Without the tools, I've been much more vulnerable, and the cuts and wounds, that I've not mentioned earlier due to the shock, have now seriously diminished my ability to protect myself and get safe. The only place I could've lost it was...
...all the way in the forest. So, with a flickering flame of the lighter, I've crawled all over the path, almost burying my nose into the ground, looking for it.
The nightfall was early, and almost impossible to tell from the dusk under the trees – it's just that the shadows had gone much darker. I've almost lost hope, and the sprained ankle was soring merciless – sometimes I've thought that I even hear the sound of bones grinding one against another, and a paroxysms of sheer pain almost made me black out.
At last! - a bit of luck – I've found my 'dressing case' - a small flat leather bag, little larger than an average tobacco pouch – but I've clenched at it as if it was a life-saving circle.
With him at hand, everything else was much easier. Lighting a cigarette, I've patched up a splint so that I could've at least walk without stopping for rest every now and again, kept making my way towards the spire I've seen – or at least, as I've thought. My chem suit, that I've rolled up and fastened behind the back, could become a sleeping bag in emergency, but I've hoped to find anything like the sound shelter for a night – maybe, a cellar or an attic somewhere on the outskirts of anything called 'town' – and at least, I've hoped that the equine aberration I've met first was no the denizen of the area.
The Moon was already halfway to the zenith, as I was crawling carefully across the dimly lit streets, behind the rear walls of a small houses, looking for something – trap door, window, even just a hole to squirm in and hide. Nothing met me eye, and when I was close to the decision of just finding a hole under the tree and sleep there, I've ran into something resembling a tree house – a great old oak, fancied with some round windows and a door – I could've easily get through it, if crouch a bit – like a hobbit's hole, but above the ground.
Having little trust to my luck, I've went all round the oak, finding a hatch, leading to what I presumed was a cellar. Pulling the ring, I've found out it was open – what a luck! Quickly jumping inside, I've closed the door behind me and felt my way through to the furthermost corner, where I've curled into a ball, using a chem suit instead of a pillow and fell soundly asleep.
2 All is for science!.. I guess?..
April, 16th.
From my own estimations, I've slept for two full days – seems like the exhaustion, complete with toxic shock to my system, had depleted the energy reserves pretty much. I was hungry, thirsty and felt depleted of energy – the feeling of dry eyes and tongue feeling like a woolen mitten told me unmistakably that the level of glucose in my blood ran low, so I've had to have something to eat soon, lest I wished to lay limp and weak, as a rug. Reaching for my trusty bag, I've produced some tablets of glucose and began chewing thoroughly, trying to get my salivary glands to produce something. It helped, and soon I've felt a surge of energy sipping into my limbs, so I actually could do something better than just lay around, weakly swaying hands and feet.
Still, I was thirsty, so I've began to inspect the surroundings. Though the cellar was dark, the adapted night vision helped me indicate a battery of bottles, all corked up and with some indicator papers stuck to the necks. Producing a lighter, I've tried to make out 'who is who' – with little success, though. The writing was nothing alien to me, but the language itself...
Okay, I thought, popping the first cork and starting my little experiment. Tearing off a small piece of bandage, I've rolled it open on the floor and dropped a blob of the liquid. Stage first: acid would burn it or corrode it. Nothing. Not a smell, not a hiss. Stage two. Olfactory test. No smell. Water? Stage three. Feeling. Nothing special: wet, humid fibers. Stage four. Tasting.
A careful gulp ran down my throat, wetting the dry esophagus, bringing the blissful coolness all through my chest and down to the stomach. Even though I was tempted to drink down more and more, I've exerted my willpower to put away the bottle and estimate whatever contribution it may have to my system.
Nothing, except the sweet, familiar taste.
Well, I guess, I'd better drink some more – just take some adsorbent in just in case, can't hurt much.
When the bottle gurgled the last drop of its contents, I've exhaled, feeling all better, and thought that better I'd take care of an ankle. The joint looked swollen, was hot to the touch and, if the foot itself moved, the displacement of the bones was evident. Applying some painkillers blockade and waiting a couple of minutes the medication to take effect, I've took the cork, sighed and bit the cork steadily. Tug and twist – and a blast of pain, making me bulge me eyes out and moo mutely, biting the cork down with such force that the teeth buried halfway into it – but my leg was now fixed, and, after some rest and regenerating medication injected, I was ready to move on.
When I've stuck my head out of the cellar, it was already dusk – the best time for a survey. Leaving some of my stuff back in the cellar, hidden well behind some barrels and crates, I've crawled out of my shelter and slithered behind the bushes, following the paved paths to whatever is meant the center of this town.
My worst suspicions proved to be true – the micro-equine aberrations proved to be the denizens of the place, in their everyday routine mocking the humankind – they visited somewhat mocking cafés, strode around in couples, chitchatting easily, some even nudged each other's snouts in whatever sign of possible affection to each other – but that was not the weirdest thing I've seen. The diversity of species was the thing that made shivers run down my spine. From the more or less familiar equine creatures, that I could identify with a pony – more or less – I've also spotted the species with functional wings, that actually propelled them into and through the air. Also some of the denizens sported a spiral, narwhal-like horn in the middle of the forehead, for some unknown reason and purpose. My primary guess that the class diversification in their society placed them somewhere like warrior or protector class had ruined immediately – and I only had to wait and inspect. In this diary I've also placed some of my guesses, but those are of no scientific value.
Anyway, from what I've seen, I've managed out two things: those were equines, and those were sentient. They've actually had a language – not the combination of neighs and snorts and wheezes, that you may hear from a typical horse – no, their lips were moving in a complex, continent motions, actually pronouncing words, with a specific intonation for each matter! I was astounded.
The second thing that amused me was some kind of a brand that I've seen on a flanks of each specie – the only difference was that the brands are usually only a silhouette images, made either by a hot iron, either by chemical bleaching of a hide – but those looked like a colorful tattoos, every single one was individual, and there were no two alike.
And, of course, the coloring of those... how do I call them?.. ponies? - they were Technicolor in the most literal meaning of this word. All hues and colors of the rainbow – wait, not even rainbow, of the RGB color scheme – were dancing in front of my eyes. Such kaleidoscopic flamboyancy before me made my head dizzy, so I've dove back down and crawled further.
Crawling back into my hideout, trying to arrange the wild hive of thoughts, buzzing in my head, but one thing was absolutely, dreadfully clear to me: I was no longer where I belong.
April, 20th
I am undercover for already four days. Though I feel somewhat dubious, if it is me so stealthy or the locals just pretend not to spot me, as, by my estimations, my hearing is much inferior to theirs – herbivorous animals have naturally developed the sensory organs to prevent being ambushed, attacked and chased by carnivorous ones. Besides, my smell should be much different from their habitual olfactory environment. Though, taking that the first hours here I've been subject to many physical actions, my clothes should have absorbed the natural smells of the environment... Though not having a bath for so long is rather... discouraging.
I'm still hiding in the cellar, sleeping through the light time of the day and surveying in the dark. My areal of action spreads with each day, and more and more information comes to me. For example, eavesdropping in the bushes made me know, that my current location is called Ponyville, Equestria, that the winged species are called Pegasi (reminiscence to the Greek mythology), are responsible for weather (meteorology here seems to be an interesting occupation, if you ask me), but which way do they do it – I haven't figured out yet. Also the Unicorns (obvious, that those are the ones with horns, is it not?) seem to be the class of scientists, teachers and, after all, 'white collars' of this... reality?
The 'normal' ponies – the 'Earth' ones – are busy in every kind of manual labor, mostly agriculture, and seem to be most skilled at it. The society in all of its complexity seems balanced: the Earth species seem to be the basis of the economic system, producing goods; Pegasi are both the stabilizing element (meteorologists) and the couriers, providing the steady exchange; while Unicorns are seemed to be the 'brains' of the society. The only thing I still cannot understand is the application of a horn. Is it a phenotypic feature that provides the 'head' position in the society?
One more curious thing is the 'Alicorn' phenomenon – the ruler of the 'ponyfolk' – Princess Celestia, the mare that is sporting both the horn and wings. Such is meant to be, as I see, the feature of the royalty, that is even intertwining somewhat with theocracy, as the Princess is presumed divine creature with somewhat god- or demigod-like power.
This is curious – subject for more research.
3 Robinson would've been proud!
April, 21st
Today I've made a very interesting acquaintance – an eagle-owl, who hooted loudly above my head, when I was trying to copy the title from the monument of Princess Celestia to try and solve the riddle that the local language was for me. The sound made me nearly jump, and I've barely kept my mouth shut, bolting my head to and fro, trying to locate the source of an interested 'hoo?'. Was it an illusion or not – I'd rather not judge just yet, rather listen. An owl cocked its head to the side, staring at me with his unblinking sight, and I tried to hoot back.
From the look on his 'face' – if owls could mimic things – I'd rather read much, and the softest definition would've been 'moron'. However, my neighbor skipped a couple of branches down, still looking at me.
'So?', I inquired, 'Sorry, pal, got nothing to treat you with.'
He just sat silently, turning his head all the way backwards – in that swivel-like fashion only owls can do – he must've considered that I was more that enough a waste of his precious attention. Feathered bum.
Finished with whatever copying I was doing, I've put the journal back and took off, moving in short spurts and keeping head low, in case someone (or something, relating to animals) could be watching me. Last thing I've ever wanted was the fuss about me being found, and from what I've seen I've suspected that these species must have a kind of a legal system; if so, for wrongdoers some kind of penitentiary system should be provided, and the last thing I've wanted is to pass time in the prison cell. Or worse – in the zoo pen.
The sun was still high in the sky, and I've amused my own cheekiness – almost in the open, for everyone to see, rolling around in a home-like style. Well, almost homelike – back home I'd walk. Plain and proud. Here I have to crawl on all fours.
Oh, well, all is for science.
Comforting myself this way, I've made my way towards whatever side I've still haven't been at – to the brim of the forest I've been initially hiding at, hoping to find something to eat, because my stock of glucose tablets was running low, and I haven't had starving on the agenda.
What a luck! - I've ran across the dense bushes, a good yard taller than me standing! What a bountiful feeling – when you don't have to scrape the land with your belly, writhing like a worm after the rain. Oh, bliss.
Making my way through the mini-grove, I've noticed a rooftop dead ahead. A house? What a hermit lives here and why? I felt compelled to go and see – and the grumble of my stomach just pushed me forward, in a weak hope to find something that can be snatched and eaten. The vegetarian diet never appealed much to me, but... better than nothing, right?
With those simple thoughts, pushed by the most primitive instincts, I've jumped over the low fence, which was more a protection from the air, than from the intruders, I've ran into the vegetable garden. The diversity of fruits of the mother-Earth made my guts coo sweetly, so I wasn't wasting much time and raided the neatly tended beds. Chomping down the ripe carrot, I've been plucking her sisters out one by one, stuffing my pockets with the spare ones. This should keep me rolling for a couple of days, then... Ooh, cabbages!
Quickly dropping off the shirt, I've improvised a sack of it, filling it with a plenty of veggies, driven by the axiom of 'five go to the sack – three fill the guts', feasting in process.
I've been so carried away with this small hunger-fueled theft, that everything else just slipped all the way past my mind, concentrated on squatting down on the rows and destroying the juicy foods.
So, when I've finally felt full enough to notice something else rather than just the neat garden-beds in front of me and the groceries, I've felt something warm, fuzzy and feathered, nested neatly on my head. All that actually would've been nice – except for the claws, that the intruder used to literally anchor himself to my cranium, while I was frantically stuffing my long-hungry stomach. Feeling what was up there, I've been greeted with a familiar 'hoo' – and a playful pinch!
But worse was yet to come – pouting from such frivolous behavior from the bird I barely know, I've gathered my trophies and was about to leave proudly already – just like that, tall, proud and with a big warm owl-hat – when the growl behind me made me freeze.
A large, freaking giant grizzly bear, that seemed to stroll out of the forest and was picking berries from the raspberry bush, felt me. He stared point-blank at me with his beady eyes, as if assuming if I was edible or not. Despite feeling that my guts are going to tie into a slipknot in fear, I couldn't suppress the dumb giggle – the damply glistening button of the bear nose looked so comic to me.
Another growl – low and just-not-yet-threatening – came as a warning and as the last polite request to get the hell out of there, and I've just used an opportunity. In a crustacean maneuver – rear-first – I slowly began to inch back, eyes to eyes with the bear. What was worse – my neighbor bird decided, that the head is not the best place to perch, so he just strolled easily down to the shoulders!
What a bum, I thought, dashing through the dense forest, hugging close the precious sack.
April?, ?th
How long was I here, in this twisted world of pastel-colored horsies?
What I've considered my sense of time proved to be just a traitor – it just waved a hand at me and left me somewhere.
I still lived down in the basement of the tree house, – which proved to be some kind of a library – dwelling in the dusk, spending my time sleeping mostly – and occasionally writing down to this journal, when I feel like it.
I've seen that owl again – and not once. He seems to be stalking me – watching my every step and predicting them even – always greeting them with always the same sarcastic 'hoo?'. Blast that bird. I've even given him the name – Morgan. Hell of a name, I know, but that's just what slipped into my mind.
Another good thing is that I've found another source of food.
That's quite a story to be told.
One night – exactly, it was dusk, when the Sun's down already, and the Moon is not that high up – the best time for creepers like me, time, when no one can trust their eyes – I've been making my way to wherever I wish – just to get some air. I've known Ponyville fairly well already, so this could've counted as an evening promenade.
So, diving around into the bushes already almost full height, I've followed a sandy path to the farmland – outside the town, where nothing was seen – and by that I mean 'no ponies', to be precise – till in front of my appeared a white fence of what looked like a full-fledged farm – cattle barns, barns themselves, roosts, all like that – and the odor of it all hit me hard – the smell of straw and cattle, oh-so-familiar.
With a snake-like snicker, I've slithered through the fence and tiptoed to the closest barn. Nothing – just an old cart, and a couple of cartwheels, complete with haystacks – meh. Boring – and nothing to eat.
Next stop – bingo. The cow shed. Sneaking inside and closing the door carefully behind me, I've cautiously approached the closest, recalling everything I was taught long ago on how to milk cows.
And, with a bucket and a piece of gauze in hands, treading lightly to the udder, happened a thing that just made me think if I was nuts – the cow spoke to me!
In fact, she spoke the same blubber ponies did, but the whole tone of her inquiry was understandable – she wanted to know what the hell have I forgot here in the middle of the night.
'Me...' - I tried to explain, but a brilliant idea hit my mind. Instead of just speaking, I'll complete my words with gestures! How about a shot...
'Me...' - prodded a finger to the chest - '...so hungry...' - showing to my open mouth first, then to my grumbling stomach, I've made a sad grimace to indicate how so hungry I was.
Silence.
Then the cow smiled at me – was that an illusion or an actual smile, I don't know. So much different stupidities already happened that I wasn't sure about anything – and waved her head backwards.
'May I?..' - I pointed out, seeing nod as a reply.
Still a bit hesitant, I've squatted near the rear legs of the cow, putting the bucket under the teats. First jets of warm, sweet-smelling milk sprinkled through the gauze, sending another wave of hungry spasms through my guts. The angry hungry gurgles intensified, and I felt my mouth filling with saliva momentarily.
The first idea was to drop the bucket and suck right onto the teat, as a calf would do – but reminding myself of human dignity and all that, I've ignored the plausible method of quick and sound sating, keeping up with the chosen method.
Soon, however, after a dozen more tugs – the milk splashed in the bucket, barely covering its bottom – I've felt a soft prod against the shoulder. I turned around to see another cow, gently prodding me towards the udder, as if they've really seen me as a hungry calf! Well, I thought with a bitter irony, I'm just right the size of an average calf.
After a momentarily hesitance I've stood up, cracked my neck and, in two gulps downing what milk was in the bucket already, licked my lips.
Something just clicked in my head – perhaps the taste of fresh milk had gotten somewhere deep, to the already atavistic primal instincts, basing in the subcortex - I've dropped to the floor, crawling under the cow, and sucked right on fiercely.
Oh, the bliss.
Once I was full and let go off the already almost empty udder, I've stood up – with much effort, to be honest, since it's hard to get back to normal after such a hypnotizing pastime, with a stomach full of sweet, warm, savory fluid – and tried to express my gratitude verbally.
However, my honest efforts failed – I've just stumbled forwards and hugged my literal 'alma-mater'.
This night I've slept just grand – like a baby.
5 It ain't easy talking Ponish!
Oi.
Seems like Twilight is concerned about how do we make contact. As for me, I am perfectly content with the gesturizing, but she seems to think otherwise.
She collected a grand stack of different volumes from all round the library and presented it to me, planting her foreleg onto the cover of the first book, smirking triumphantly.
What in gog's name is this? ABC's?!
Oh. Now I get it. Nice one, puny equine... Oi, you won this round...
I still cannot get the basic flow of their language. It seems awfully familiar, though whenever I try to actually speak it, Twilight plants a hoof to her face in utter terror and disappointment.
Bluhbluhbluh, huge bitch she is.
I sure hope there'd be some way to cope with it. I hate feeling like a total idiot – an idiot won't read fluently in Ponish, or whatever this blubber they talk there is called.
The challenge is accepted, dubious blubber; you don't know who you're messing with!
Month?, Day?
Seems like Twilight eventually got tired of my struggle with the Ponish language perks; she called me up to her living quarters, and I sure did, nose buried in the book.
She told me that there is an actual way for me to get over the language problem we're experiencing: through magic.
Oi, right, as if 'majyyyyks' were real, uh-huh.
I, nevertheless, nodded my approval of the idea, pretty sure that this won't help a bit. In fact, I myself was kind of tired of comprehending the best half of what I was told to – this was like a broken radio, you know.
I was commanded to sit down on the floor and close me eyes; so I did, pretty certain that some sort of hypnotherapy was inbound, and, given that I never submitted to any hypnotic influence, I've had a venomous remark at the ready.
Alas, the remark went to waste – because when I opened me eyes, Twilight was already minding her own business, combing her mane. I felt no difference from what I was a minute before, and opened my mouth to spit out what I had in stock – and, much to my shock, Twilight turned to me and smiled, remarking in PERFECTLY comprehendable English, that it worked!
Oi, me noggin hurts.
???
I am still trying to get used to the newfound ability to actually understand what I am told. Seems pretty weird, as for me, but, well, this at least allows me to discuss the most pressing matter at hand: how do I get the hell out of here.
However, Twilight shakes off any of my inquiries, just raining hers at me instead. What means “human”? Am I male or female? Why am I bipedal? What are humans' rations? What are the digits protruding from my upper limbs? Why don't I have much fur or tail?, and so on and so for.
Well, at least I could've presented the humankind to her, like some ambassador. Oi, this is going to be long...
Chalkboard, conjured by Twilight, seems tired to me – so much schematics and sketches were done, and Twilight, with a nerd rage in her eyes, wrote down every single word I said. It feels good to be smart.
??? ???
After a whole marathon of lectures in human anatomy, behaviour, ethics and so on, I've finally managed to ask the question troubling me: how do I get back home?
Twilight, just beaming with joy of the massive flood of new information, pumped into her, just shrugged.
Oi, that was a burn.
After a very nasty ragequit I had, when Morgan cautiously poked his head from the tallest bookshelf and Spike – the reptilian litlle fella – grouchingly went away to get a broom, Twilight approached me cautiously, ears drooped, compassion on her face, and asked 'Why leave?'.
Oi, she'd better didn't.
hurrdurrhurr
I've been imprisoned in a cellar for some time. Nothing interesting happened back there – I was fiddling with the cork I've found on the floor.
Also a very nice spider kept me company. I called him Sir Roderic and beknighted him, so the lil' bugger should be proud over his bloody arse.
Well, honestly, I actually feel bad about the outrage I've had back there. It was childish, unprofessional and unbefitting of a man in my position. Guess I owe an excuse to the library folk.
The day of me excusing myself
The excuse went well – I was spared in the mercy of purple-ish mare, a sarcastic owl and a small reptile, whose name was more befitting for a dog. Oh joy.
I repeated my inquiry to Twilight, indicating that I have an asston of responsbilities back in the place, and, well, that I pretty much don't belong here.
I put all I've had to make the speech as sappy as possible, aiming to hit some soft spots in the female organism, and I succeeded.
Twilight promised me to see what she can do – and I cackled ominously, hunching my back and folding fingertips together as some kind of evil genius from the movies.
Oi, me such a prick.
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6 Sociophobiac tendencies - ho!, and also Not a single tick.
That blasted day when I went into the public with Twilight
All things considered, I was getting pretty accustomed with the simple, plain life in Ponyville – though the nicotine hangover kicked in here and there, making me grumpy. Even Spike's nutrition habits never shocked me anymore – I mean, the bloody scaled arse ate GEMSTONES. Like, for real.
Munching on quartz crystals, as if it was candy – I certainly thought I'd have a bloody heart attack on sight. Nevertheless, my psychic proved liable enough, so I just shrugged it off easily.
As for my request to find a way back home... Oi, things get much more complicated here.
Both me and Twilight got our mouths full with research – every book in the library, related to, as much as I am repulsed from the term, 'magic', were thoroughly studied and reread, to no avail, sadly. And, as I was growing gloomier with each failed attempt, Twilight seemed more and more giddy for the challenge. Nay, she certainly is more of a crazy scientist lot that the bluestocking one.
I managed to put a bolt onto the door of my bunk quarters; once she had snuck on me in my sleep, collecting the samples of my hair. I don't want to wake up to being collected any more samples from me – be it blood, saliva or anything else of the biological substances in me system.
However, aside from the high science, the mundane things also tend to pop out here and there – for instance, Twilight, noticing the dexterity fingers provide, once claimed that I should braid her mane, since it gets in the way; my objections, of course, were neglected.
The other matter is that once in a while Twilight actually left the library – doing the shopping, for instance, and not the regular kind – groceries and all alike – nay, she restocked on parchment, ink, quills... And, given the fact that I was around, she considered that a cheap labor would come in handy... or hoofy?.. blast.
Anyway, with a thrust of her magnetic field, emanating from the horn-ish protrusion on her forehead, she plucked me from the place where I've been, dragging me outside and quickly debriefing on the matter: I was meant to act naturally, not startle the ponies around and, basically, act as a silent functional appendage – or a silent servant.
Oi that tickled me dignity so hard, I actually felt the urge to tell the snobby pony who was who back in me world, thus restoring the dominance of the humankind... though I've opted to do as I'm told, or rather I was risking to apply a role of mount to myself.
I swear to gog, I felt it coming.
So, as we were navigating the streets of the town, making our way to whatever destination (or destinations) Twilight had, I was trying to act naturally. Which was kind of hard, granting that an average pony was as tall as my lowest rib, so I was at least towering above the ponyfolk. A queer feeling, that Gulliver must've had in the land of midgets.
But, true to my word, I was smling to the ponies, waving them a hand and beaming friendliness by any means possible; however, the tiny equines were shocked with my appearance, maing googly eyes and generally avoiding contact with alien – id est, me.
Boy, that felt sure not nice.
All things done, I was handed a number of packages, and we proceeded back to the library. I could feel my facial muscles spasming with so much smling I've done, and a rivulet of sweat streaming down my spine non-stop, making the fabric stick to the body unpleasantly; I felt like a clockwork doll, made for a stupid purpose of smiling and waving a hand. Like a blasted Chinese Lucky Cats. Urgh.
I should get the heck out of here – and fast.
Gogdamn my face hurts.
That very day when the solution was seemingly found.
Have you ever been greeted from your slumber with the acute feeling, that the sky itself decided to drop down on ye? No?
You better don't. Quite a nasty experince, for those of weaker nerves might even make their heads white with terror. As for me, I just screamed like a total bitch, jumping out of bed and fleeing to the farthest corner of me quarters, huffing, bulging me eyes and clenching fists convulsively.
However, no cosmic disaster wasn't there to wreak. That was just Morgan – or Owlowiscious, as they called this featherbrush here – perching on the headstand of me bunk, ogling me and greeting me with a 'Hoo'.
Bloody feathers-for-brains. Caught me with me pants off.
I demanded to know, what on the living world was up, since he had exerted himself to get into me quarters through the open window – since the bolt was soundly shut. Of course, the answer was a craned head and another 'Hoo'.
“Ye, ye, I got it...”
“Hoo?”
“Me!”
“Hoo!”
Feathers-for-brains indeed.
After the usual morning routine (gog, that felt nice after all the time I've spent in the cellar, devoid of simple hygienic procedures), still keeping a small grudge at Morgan – Owlowiscious, I descended the stairs, calling out loud a greeting to whoever heard it.
Seems like Twilight had been up all night – she seemed really excited, almost frantic, and she was oi so much disheveled. All of her fur.
Carefully inquiring what was the matter at hand – or, rather, at hoof – I carefully treaded towards the kitchen, intending to stuff some nutritional value down me gullet. However, I was deprived of such possibility, and rather rudely, as a firm tug of Twilight's magnetic field (yes, and I still deny the concept of magic, aye) pulled me to her.
The mare presented me with a parchment, that looked like some checklist – and sure it was a long one. I scanned through it and rolled me eyes back – the best part of the checklist seemed not simply challenging to accomplish – downright impossible.
I've informed my host on that – but that feverish glistening of her eyes told me clearly, that she is about to have me run through every single point of the checklist, starting now.
Oi.
As we made it through a good two thirds of the checklist, Twilight explained, that she had adressed the Princesses, and they've given here the whole list of possible ways to solve the problem; after we were done, I've done some research on the nature of 'Princesses', and found out that Equestria seemed to be a theocratic oligocracy; but that's not the most important.
Another vicious experiment finished, leaving me bulging eyes and huffing for air, drenched in icy-cold water and clattering teeth, while Twilight was observing me with curiosity; what was she trying to find out – I cannot even presume, maybe that I will become transparent and disappear, or implode, or just disperse to subatomic particles – I don't know. The fact is that I was still there, incorporated, cold and wet, and if me eyes had the power to burn – Twilight would've sported two scorched orifices in her body already.
One way or another, the checklist was done with, and not a single tick was put.
Only the crosses.
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7 Tis just a hike, what could ever go wrong, I say?
The queerest day of me life
Once I've finally recovered from all the failed 'go-back-home' trials Twilight decided to throw on me, I've decided to take a day off. The bruises were fading, and, frankly speaking, I was dead bored of being locked up in the treehouse, or library, or whatever it is.
So, I got me gear (which included this jounal and a pen), popped me head to whatever room Twilight was occupying at the monent – of course, buried above her head in books, parchments etc., and informed her briefly, that I was going out.
Not quite sure she understood what I said – she just flicked her tail and nodded to herself, and I didn't even care – just got me a couple of sandwiches and took off, trying to stay as low as possible and not to attract too much gazes.
My destination was the forest – the one I've initially found myself in, just to change the environment – gog, I love books, and the library provides them generously – but even the best things in life tend to stick to you and gradually grow dull, so I presumed that I'd better get myself some air rather then providing a free decoration for a library.
Under the forest canopy it was cool and quiet, just some occasional woodpeckers filled the air with their constant drumrolls; the air was fresh, with a hint of wild mint in it, and felt so nice, opposing the book dust of the book storage I was usually tuckered into at the business hours; however, furhter hike proved that it was foolish of me to feel safe in an alien location...
Oi, of course, I could handle myself – despite me bookworm-ish attitude, I've enjoyed going onto the one-man survival treks, and I sure knew how to tend to meself in the wild, but... Oi, that there forest was really a mouthful.
To start things off, as I was strolling down the small, overgrown with grass path, I was absentmindedly kicking pebbles on me way; and imagine my surprise, when the last pebble I kicked throbbed angrily, buzzed and launched itself towards me, as if propelled by the sling; I was barely able to dodge the haphazardous attack, but following the first, a whole barrage of angry buzzing pebbles took off from the nearest bushes, aiming at me, so I had to flee right away, covering me head with both arms, trying to shield the eyes from flying projectiles; a decent number of shots, however, found a soft spot to land, and I was thoroughly bruised.
When at last I've fled the killzone, I inspected myself and took a good time to properly curse the bloody bludgeons; oi, lil' buggers actually got me in the eye, cracking me glasses nicely and leaving a nice black eye.
After a quick rest and quenching the stress with some strawberry I picked (which was gog so good), I proceeded with me trip, trying to tread lightly and avoid any other flying objects.
However, my trials never ended: a bunny hopped onto the path, effectively blocking my movement; it looked so pristine and innocent... until the blasted abomination yawned.
Aside from the terrifying incisors, quite common to the rodent kin, he sported a full maw of sharp, vicious looking canines and molars, which quite boldly spoke of his nutritional preferences, which were far from the herbivorous attitude of the Earth kind of his lot; I was taken aback with the sight, retreating slowly, when the rustling of the bushes made me stop dead in me tracks: reinforcements. I was being surrounded, and was about to be eaten by bunnies.
Hello, food chain, I thought to meself, dashing forward and kicking my way to freedom; the whole bunch of flesh-craving rodents rushed after me, making screeching noises and clicking their teeth. Oh gog I was terrified – so I just ran, like a coward, dignity of a man pummeled down with an instinct of self-preservation and a conscious mind, that recommended ascending to the most elevated position the forest could offer – and to hope that this things cannot climb.
So I flew upwards the tree trunk, fueled by adrenaline, burning through my energy reserves like crazy, and clutched myself to the uppermost branch, hugging it closely to myself and silently praying to whatever deity might hear me.
The rabbits collected at the tree, silently ogling me; I stared back, tempted to blow a raspberry to the vicious rodents or to flip them a bird, or to do something equally disgraceful and obscene; which, of course, I didn't.
However, the rodents must've conceded on some point, as they fled from down the tree with surprising speed; I was basking in the glow of triumph of man against the wild, and even threw something resembling a pine cone at them...
...oi, that was sure a mistake.
That was the hornet's nest.
The bloody insects chased me through all of the forest, placing their stings wherever they could've reach – and boy did that hurt.
Though, one peculiar thing has to be noted: where the 'regular' apitoxin – means bee venom – makes the place of the sting numb after some time, whatever vicious venom those bastards pumped in me overirritated the nerves, stimulating them to over the verge; the sensory capability of my skin was boosted to the top, almost to the painful level; I guess that might be used for treating the anorgasmia...
Oi. What the actual heck am I thinking of?
However, escaping the swarm of oversensitive hornets, I've totally flipped them a bird, cursed a couple of times – and with the next step have fallen down into some hole, head-first; yelling more of pain, caused by overstimulating my intoxicated nerves with the coarse soil, I've launched out into some kind of a cave; part of the cave's ceiling seemed to collide once, leaving a grand hole, and in the middle of it was a small pond.
Oi, I could use a swim, I definitely could.
The water was oh so pleasant – cool, soothing, it brought blessed numbness to my bites, washing me over with a waves of calmness and peace. I clambered back onto the sand, never troubling myself with clothes, and fell asleep.
Alas, an alien noise interfered with my slumber, making me open one eye to check the surroundings – and I've just bolted upwards, presented with the sight of my exact copy, roaming the cave and knocking at the wall with his/mine knuckles, as if trying to locate a niche behind the solid stone wall.
At first, I was terrified with the sight; I even shook my head, trying to get rid of the last remains of the sleepy grogginess – of no avail, sadly: another Me just kept doing whatever he was doing.
On second thought, I've never supposed I look good: I could definitely lose a pound or two to get rid of the 'soft-to-the-sides' look, but in general, I was looking quite fit, even rather buff.
Though I dismissed the narcissistic attitude and approached my doppelganger, shamelessly poking him with a finger; some tiny voice in the back of me head told me, that it was all just a hallucination... but finger poked at the warm, taught flesh of the shoulder, and voice immediately shut the heck up.
My double turned around: gazes met. Oh gog, do I actually have that terribly idiotic-gloomy gaze? We stood facing each other, consecutively poking one another, as if not believeing our very eyes, when He (sic!) first lost his chill; he demanded to know why the hell is he seeing the exact copy of himself here and why is this thing so shamelessly poking at him. Needless to say that I was about to blurt out exactly the same inquiry exactly in the same words.
After a verbal fight we strode away one from another, doubtlessly considering on the very same matter at hand: this cave – and the prospective way home – is too small for the two of us; one should've be gone.
At first we tried an intellectual showdown; however, this proved to go to waste quickly – whatever phrase he began, I've ended, and vice versa; same came with the riddles, Math problems and bunch of other scientific stuff we both had stored in our brains – or rather, sharing the one pool of knowledge.
Round one was a draw with a zero score; we returned to our corners, considering the tier two of the showdown.
Only brute force could've decide the outcome of this, we considered, and approached each other; after an obligatory handshake (I'm a gentleman, for gog's sake) we began the sparring, which would've tipped the scales of our most destinies.
However, this was the same as the shadowfight: he effectively countered everything I threw on him, and vice versa, and the brawl might've last forever – if I wouldn't have recalled a particularly dirty trick my friend once showed me: we had a sparring at the punch club, and she, dodging one of me swings, grabbed me testicles and tugged them down hard, making me eyes bulge, my jaw drop and me vocal chords vibrate at the low frequency as a flow of air, compressed by the diaphragm and lungs, rushed through them; plainly, I bellowed with pain and shock, as she brought me to me knees with this sucker punch and planted her foot at high velocity against me chest; flying was a pleasurable experience, whence the landing was not quite as much. After a good two minutes of squirming, hopping and hissing, I've asked why would she do that – and she just replied with a smile “I love to win”.
As much as I hate myself later for utilizing that kind of humiliative, sucker trick on me copy – I was pretty desperate at the moment. Grabbing a hold of his/mine bollocks, I've pulled them towards the floor, observing the very same reaction I must've had – gog that was double as gross – and then just throwing him with a kick into the pond.
The last cry of me doppelganger 'NO FAIR!! U CHEATED!!' resonated under the ceiling – but at least, he looked like gone for good, and I was there – sweaty, chest heaving, but victorious nevertheless.
I stared at the pond suspiciously – of course it gave no answer – and decided rather not to submerge to it again; me gut nagged me, that the presence of the copy of me was somehow linked to it.
Instead, I've just rolled me clothes neatly, shook the sand off of them, and decided to take a nap a while longer.
How much times can you wake up with the same feeling you're being watched before it grows into paranoia? As for me, I was irated with the first one, but feeling that someone (or something) is prodding me in the head with some sort of twig – that was outright nasty. I got up, slowly opening me eyes, and growled some very heavily censored profanities – until a puzzled feminine voice, clearly childish, inquired, what in the world did that mean.
Turning my head to the side, I've discovered a trio of pony children: foals, I guess, or rather, fillies: the Unicorn, that was using her magnetic powers (they seem inherent for the whole lot of them) to hold the twig she was obviously using to poke at me; two others – the one sporting wings – Pegasus, I believe – and the 'plain' – Earth – kind, sporting a big pink bow on her head – both making googly eyes at me, showing different grades of curiousity and shyness.
Oi, that was a mighty weird situation. I felt me blood vessels dilute, blood pressure rocketing, and the upper tiers of me facial skin reddening and burning with shame; I grabbed me shirt, covering the privates, and asking the fillies courtiously to look away for a brief minute; they obeyed, though I can't overcome the feeling that they sneak a peek every so often, whispering one to another.
Weird conversation ensued, of course: I found out that the fillies were called Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo and Applebloom respectively, and that they've been the head and, basically, the only members of some schoolkids club – something regarding the crusades and some cutes and some marks; I've also noticed, however, that their flanks – where Twilight, for example, sported an identical mark on both sides – a brand, or a tattoo – and that were unique for each pony – were pristinely blank; pointing out that fact, I've been rewarded with a continued high-pitched monologue, that was held in three voices, taking turns – with the exclamation referring to the crusades and cute and marks.
Since the trio ended their performance, I've introduced myself to them and asked if they could've lead me back to the pony town; they nodded their approval and then...
Gog, such a tsunami of questions I haven't been subject to since that weird day when I jumped off the bridge to get the drowning boy; firsthand I was considered some suicidal freakhead, but when I've clutched to the bay, hacking water and clinging desperately to the unconscious boy in tow – I was considered a fooking hero. Oi, what a ruckus there was, mate...
...anyhow, I was just littered with questions. Who am I? What is a human? Why am I sleeping at the Mirror Pond? Why am I sleeping disrobed? What's the meaning of the words I've been saying waking up? etc., etc. Looked like one more course of 'Humankind 101' was inbound.
And, of course, I was forced to give the fillies whatever they wanted to know.
As we were done – and me throat dry as the sands of Sakhara – I've inquired that the trio would lead me back to town, as they've promised; they perked up, obviously befuddled with the amount of information forced into their minds, slapped one of their forehooves each together in the air and squealed something like 'Cute Marks Crusade – Tour Guides! Yeah!'.
In the meantime, I cautiously approached the pond, intending to quench my thirst: I just hope that this won't clone me – or any parts, contacting with the water, like lips or hand, which would be pretty queer. Or, gog forbid, double me stomach inside me.
As strange as it is, the way back to civilization (even this of the sentient multicolored equine midgets) was much easier than the route I've been forcing through on the way here; it was a true walk in the park, and the trio of fillies kept talking all the time.
By the time we've reached the town, I realised that I've considered the fillies quite adorable.
What a mess.
Of course, Twilight was above herself, worried sick – because as soon as I've closed the door behind myself, she put the same containment bubble around me, gave me some good thrashing, inquiring furiously, where the hell have I been; as soon as her fuse burnt down, I've began me story.
Of course, Twilight was laughing her horseshoes off, huffing for air and bursting out again; tears streamed down her cheeks, as she was convulsing in the silent spasms of laughing fits.
However, she never removed that restricting bubble from me once I was done.
Did I mention, how much of a bitch she could be?
8 Catharsis! Much tension!
The day that I finally snapped
The bubble was finally removed today; which was rather pityful, as I've managed to use it like a hamster ball; rolling downstairs was kind of a good fun – except the fact that ascending the stairs was pretty challenging; oi, me say, this goes straight to the legs, so I've had a leg day all the time in this wretched bubble.
However, once the pinkish prison popped into nothingness, beaming Twilight presented me with another scroll of parchment; I blankly inquired if it was from the Princess/es; she answered positively, assuring me that at least one of the described methods would be succesful.
This seemed at least a dubious statement, though, seeing the slightly crazed expression of the mare, I'd opted to roll me opinion up and shove it deep into me rear pocket.
When someone who can imprison you in an impenetrable container with a crease of a brow and hold there for a number of days says you're up for the experimentation – you better shut yer windhole and go for it.
Ignore the last statement, of course. Magic ain't real, and is someone forcefully locks you up, they're subject to: a) beating the living crap out of them and b) criminal proceeding. Given that they make it through the a) part.
Meanwhile, as I was musing at the beating-and-proceeding part, Twilight led me to the cellar – not the storage part of it, which was a rather hospitable home for me, but the other – where her laboratory was situated. Just catching a whiff of the smells wafting around the place – ethylic spirit, aether and fumes of sulphuric acid – I knew this is not going to be pretty.
And of course, it was not.
After the first round of various experimenting me guts felt like they've gained some twisted consciousness of their own, squirming in me stomach cavity, obviously protesting whatever Twilight was intending to rain down on me tired system; still, I objected and will object against the concept that 'magic' was included – even if I'm just a Doubting Thomas and a complete stubborn ass, which I sure was, providing the evidence presented.
I sat down quietly, trying to pacify me bowels, that objected loudly (gog, I never knew meteorism could be that loud), though Twilight seemed to never care that the next thing I was going to do is to puke the living guts out of me – instead, she was just rummaging through the shelves, picking out some vials and pots; ones were set back, and the other sat at the table, promising some queer chemical fun.
By the way, I've been experiencing that lil' bugging voice in the back of me head most of the time, convinving me, that all I've been subject to is just a bad trip, induced by toxic shock to the brain, and whatever I see, hear or do is hallucinatory and unreal – it's just me deliriously stalking around, doing some weird things, as my damaged brain interprets it as it wishes.
So, concluding whatever I've got at the time, me thought that another acid trip might be not that bad – whether or not I've gone nuts with the first time, this one might not actually do worse.
I mean – being trapped in some psychedelic realm of talking colourful equine-ish midgets, who talk, fly and do majyyyks – me probably already having a screw loose, or, rather, a couple. What could actually go wrong?
Well, whatever could, whatever rotten luck I'd hit that day – it had gone so totally wrong. As Twilight was fiddling with the chem stand, mixing, grinding, stirring, boiling etc., I remained still. But as soon as she turned to me with concern in her features, handing me a vial of some dubious glowing liquid – I swear to gog, it glowed much like the neon tubes you may see everywhere – and inquired that I'd drink it – I just snapped. No, I went amok for a time.
I do not recall the details – I just remember a taught, dark, gut-twisting wave, erupting from somewhere in me legs, flooded the entirety of me system, making me heartbeat slow down, curling me fingers into claw-like appendages, making me eyes red with popping vessels – and I just snatched the vial from the startled pony, crushed it against the floor, roaring something completely unintelligible into the air and crushing the shards of the fine glass with me boot into a powder; Twilight was obviously terrified, and me cannot blame the poor lass – it should've been terrible; I remember raging all around the lab, sweeping, crushing, jumping, roaring all the time – I even remember coughing clots of blood, as me throat overexerted itself, vocal chords damaged – and then, after rushing all around the lab, I've noticed a glittery mist where the crushed vial was – and the effect was somewhat similar of that the red cloth has on the raging bull.
I roared out again – and dashed forward, intent on swiping that mist away...
...and then the darkness came.
Oi, was that an unpleasant experience. It was so completely pitch black that eyes deceived me into thinking I suddenly ran blind, and I tried to reach whatever I could've reached – to no avail, of course.
I was suspended in a pitch black empty space, that was absolutely void of anything – well, save for my sorry arse, of course.
To say I was utterly terrified and shocked is to say nothing; I freezed in place, as much as you could freeze when you're hanging at the middle of nowhere – literally, with no stimuli affecting none of your sensory systems rather than hearing your own ragged breath and your frantic heartbeat; this is what the sensory deprivation torture must look like, I thought coldly, amazed and taken aback with the rational part of me mind, that kept thinking straight even at this time of turmoil.
Time? What do you call it in there, where there is nothing you can rely on? I tried counting my heartbeat rate – but lost track of it at seven-hundred-and-third pulse; I tried to pacify myself – to no avail; my mind wandered off, circling around the last moments in the waking world, like a bird of prey. There was no logical explanation as to what I've been doing and for what I've done.
At the time, I thought that me was actually dead.
No, not dead. I felt like a paper man – a flat piece of paper, cut out roughly in a shape of a human figure, laying on the sheet of paper – before; and now it looked like the paper man was taken away from his two-dimensional world and placed into a simple cube – that was me finding myself in Equestria: a new dimension kicked in to me two-dimensional mind. This, however, looked as if I was either shook off the cube – or rather placed into the four-dimentional tesseract. Thank you, my Maths and Geometry teacher – I remember what a tesseract is.
This looked awfully lot like I was either completely off the handle – insane and FUBAR, or just simply and plain – dead.
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9 Me noggin hurts to think another witty chapter name.
back to the living world, I guess
I cannot even slightly presume for how long I've been here.
Feeling that you're suspended in a cold, dark jelly, squirming desperately – as a worm on the fishing line, I guess – can kick all the fight out of you.
I do not know how people feel when they die – but suppose, this is somewhat alike.
Eventually I felt me pulse returning to normal, whatever amok I've been struck with slowly draining from me system; some nice thing it was, I thought – deadmen don't have fits of rage, and I still do not believe in magic, zombies and whatnot; I still believe in logical explanation and science.
Or I did.
The hell it matters anymore, I mused, if me is locked here – dead or not, it's not like I'm going away from this purgatory any time soon – or in the rest of the eternity span.
Fook that all. I've pulled me legs closer to the chest, curling into an embryo pose, and closed me eyes – what's the point of exerting the brain when there's nothing to be seen. Just breeding more hallucinations, I guess...
Hallucinations!!
An idea flashed in me brain, almost as painful as an electric shock to the neurons themselves; I recalled whatever lectures I've had, regarding psychiatry and delirious state: it claimed that addicts – and people high on something – could differ their reality from the delirium. With simply trying to breathe without breathing!
So I did – closed me windholes shut and waited.
...I failed miserably.
The carbon oxide, so generously provided with me lungs, almost made me faint, as the brain was desperately shrieking for some fresh oxygen.
I was not high or delirious. I actually was in the waking world.
So, I'm not dead: deadmen need no air or shit, I'm quite sure of that.
This only made things worse.
So, I closed me eyes again, curled tighter and let me mind wander off somewhere – toying with me memories, beating around the bush with some nonsensical hypotheses and finally counting the blasted sheep.
Slowly, I drifted off to sleep – suspended, much like a fetus in a womb, in a dark, cold, humid place I've been. And yet, I fell asleep.
However, pretty soon my slumber was interrupted with a foreign sound – and by this I mean differing from the noises my heartbeat and respiration provided: it was a feminine voice, calling me name.
Oh, great. Is that the Godmother? Or whatnot?
I tried to call back, but sudden aphonia hit me hard – no matter how much I was exerting my vocal system, I was as silent as a fish out of water; sudden fear gripped me hard – what if there actually was someone who could drag me out of here?! And I cannot respond or let them know I am here?!
Panic hit me hard, and I began thrashing in the invisible shackles holding me; now, recalling that moment, I understand that was the same as trying to flap one's hands in a desperate attempt to take off, like an avian creature; that time me never though – just thrashed and pulled, silently screaming, tears pouring from me eyes – a full-blown tantrum ahoy, aye...
I do not know how long I've been trying to escape the grip of the Purgatory. Eventually my bare attempts became more and more weak, fuse burning away, and I just gave up, weeping silently and desperately – like an orphaned child.
I even accepted my fate then – yes, I did, as low as it is; I gave up.
I was saved, however.
There was no bright flashes of light, or a choir of angels singing, or any tunnel – nay, I just felt a taught force punching me in the gut, forcing me to close me eyes – and the next second I was already back in the lab – as thrashed as it was – thanks to me, of course, presented with worried sick Twilight (was she crying? Her face looked wet...) and two more persons of ponykind – those of importance, I guess.
The first I've recognised immediately – she looked much like the statue in her honor, though the radiant white of her hide and the flowing, nebulous mane coloured after the nothern lights completed the picture. Celestia, I mused to myself, still lying on the floor, curled in fetal position, trying to blink away the blur, caused with the haphazardous change of the light.
Another Princess, I presumed, was the one responsible for the Moon – Luna, I guessed; she was slightly smaller than her sister; and all three of them looked at me with equal worry and concern.
I was back to the living world.
Unable to contain my feelings, I threw myself onto Twilight, hugging the pony and crying out loud.
Oi was that indignifying. But I needed that.
4 Oi, 'ere goes the fun part.
?, ?th + 3
Today my cover was blown.
Well, really, there was nothing to be much sorry about – I now dwell in this tree, not under, and may roam free – limited only by the walls of the library. Though I'm in the dry, well-lit place, where I am fed and have someone to talk with.
Or, at least, attempt talking.
Of course, this may seem funny to anyone, who's not in my position right now, but what do you know? Morgan would agree on that, since he was one of the accomplices of my cover-blowing operation – this lump of feathers and a small, purple-ish, scaly... giant bipedal reptilian weirdo? Or a ?
Of course, it isn't: even HERE such things are impossible. Not even the chatting livestock and sarcastically hooting (pretending to converse, doubtless) owl won't convince me that DRAGONS do exist.
Nuh-uh.
So, I hid behind the barrels as soon as I've heard the screak of doorhinges: however, there was enough light shed from upstairs for me to see this... reptilian... thing? entering the cellar, mumbling in boyish voice, rummaging through the shelves: I sat quiet, enticed to see what's going to be next.
The reptilian entity (gog, I finally made that out) procured a bottle from the rack, that I was shamelessly using to quench my thirst – and surely he noticed that some bottles laid uncorked and emptied. However, shrugging off the essential clue to finding me – presuming, I reckon, that some other tenant of the household helped himself to some beverages, stored here – he proceeded to another rack – the one I was croughing behind.
Needless to say – my heart skipped quite a few beats, blood pressure skyrocketing, preparing to either curl myself into a ball even tighter to become as stealthy as possible, or to jumpscare the reptile in a somewhat suicidal attempt to escape.
Of course, the latter option was never considered – all my experience with snakes, lizards and so on was mostly... painful and fueled the awareness of how quick the sumbitches are.
So I held my breath, sinking my head into the shoulders even deeper, trying to drown into the shadows.
Of course, it was of no avail. I can be tad bit clumsy at the time – especially when I'm locked in a confined space with no room to move a limb.
Heedless twitch of a knee tipped the balance of the rack, making it shake and pouring down a rain of various utensils, mostly glass, that shattered itself and my cover.
The reptilian entity jumped up in surprise – and locked gazes with me.
That was an awkward moment. However, I managed to muster enough courage to gain the upper hand – and I bellowed on top of my lungs, which was rather astonishing in the confined space of the cellar, resonating around and effectively deafening every other sound in its sheer terror power.
However, this seemed to work just fine – the reptile, emanating the same, though way more high-pitched, childish cry of fear and calling someone or something – a repeated word I couldn't understand due to the ringing in my head, caused with all the shouting – hightailed upstairs, leaving me triumphant. The triumph was short-living, however, since as I shook off the confusion of an acoustic attack and gathered whatever belongings I stored, I decided to move out and seek a more suitable cover – though, to my shock, I was stopped short with some sort of pink-ish bubble; I tried to punch, kick, even claw my way through – of no avail, sadly, so I was content with the overlooking my shoulder, finding another pony, and Morgan, sitting on her back.
I knew that bloody feathermop would sell me out, oi, I knew it in me gut.
The pony, however, was not irated of bemused by my presence; more of an interested look painted her features, and the horn she was sporting glowed slightly; such was the purpose of the horn, I presumed, emanating some sort of electromagnetic waves and whatnot; the concept of magic I declined dead away.
As I was escorted (or rather, flown) upstairs, away from the cellar into some brightly lit hall, the unicorn responsible for keeping me in custody plopped down on the floor, adressing me with the same alien gibberish them ponyfolk used; I gestured as hard as I could, trying to explain the fact that 'no comprendo, amigo', switching to what various languages I could have: I tried good ol' English, German, Spanish – gog, even Latin – but the little equine was still befuddled with the noises I emanated.
After a while we've reached a consensus – the language of gestures was there to save the day, and I tried hard to explain that I never meant no harm, just being lost, tired and hungry (which was true, by the way), and that I posed absolutely no threat at the time.
The small equine shrugged – I SWEAR TO GOG SHE DID – and went away, pulling my containment bubble with her. I only had to sit down and wait for my destiny to come.
April?, ?th + 7?
Actually, I am forced to say that living with a pony is not that bad. I've come to know that her name is Twilight Sparkle (she managed to make it through to me, carefully enunciating each letter), and, in fact, I was considered as some kind of free tenant. Of course, I've never considered an opportunity of being held as a prisoner, hostage or pet – prisoners don't just roam free in their containment, and no one actually tries to talk with their pets. Well, safe for my grandmother – she talks to her cat all the time, but can a feline reply?
I am fed, bedded and kept safe, so I can keep on with my plans of escape and returning to the realm I call home. Or, at least, I think so.
Twilight lives in a library – literally. As I've noticed beforehand, her domain lies in the trunk of a gargantuan oak, that still seems alive – some scientific mystery that I yet have to solve, no doubt, and I will. And, being a librarian, she seems to be the best illustration for the foolish stereotype of the 'bluestocking' – buried her nose at the book all the time, secluded in her library and sociophobic – are a qualities I sure approve of. Bookworms rule, jocks drool, as they say. Wheee.
Morgan – the treacherous feather powder puff – seems to be Twilight's pet and, if I can possibly apply that judgment – an assistant of sort. Well, no wonder he had accompliced in a blow of my undercover position. Bloody jerkface.
I am back to my reality.
Don't even ask myself how did I manage.
But the impact site on me head still hurts.
It sure is good to be home, but...
Something is missing, and me cannot just put a finger on it right away.
Something feels off.
Aye. The peck on the cheek from the crazy purple horned pony, who lives in a tree trunk-carved library together with a small bipedal sentient reptile, that prefers gemstones to all delicacies and a sarcastic feathermop, in a town of Technicolor sentient micro-equine mutant entities, in a land ruled by theocratic autarchs, sayingly responsible for the change of the night and day...
...gog me noggin hurts.