The life and times of Lafayette Ryder

It had been a normal day, it had been a routine supply run, and it had been an average convoy. So what had gone wrong? Why did all hell break lose? Why did they fire on us when we weren’t doing anything more than passing through?

I don’t know. And I don’t think I ever will.

I toss and I turn, blood and fire and death fill my dreams, my nightmares. My blood, the fire that killed me, and my death.

I was dead, I am dead. So why am I here, why am I in a world of multicolored ponies and magic? Why am I alive? Why?

A hoof slaps me across the face and I wake up. I’m lying on the floor, tangled up in an old brown blanket. I look around me; I’m in someone’s home but not one that I recognize.

Tribal fetishes and masks adorn the walls and herbs and reagents are scattered on top of table tops. A cauldron hangs from a metal hook above a fire; whatever is cooking inside of it smells delectable. I sit up and see a pony mixing ingredients into a jar, no, not a pony she’s a Zebra. How strange. I think of the world that I’m in and I retract that statement, how unexpected.

I tear the wool blankets off of myself and try to stand. I can’t. I can’t move or even feel my legs from the waist down. Shit. I try to speak but find my throat dry and my voice raspy. I can’t make put a word but the sound of my voice is enough to alert the Zebra that I am awake.

She turns away from her work and to me; a kind smile graces her lips. The bangles on her leg and neck clink together as she walks over to me and offers a bowl of stew. The soup smells fantastic but I’m weary, I don’t know who she is or what’s all is in that bowl. I look at the offered food and back to her, a cautious look on my face. Sensing my hesitation to try her meal she takes a sip of it herself and offers it to me again.

Why the hell not? I take the bowl and slurp the stew loudly and quickly. I slow down as the heat of the soup nearly burns my tongue and throat. It’s hot but it’s delicious. Some kind of meat and several kinds of vegetables are mixed with a handful (Hoofful?) of spices are mixed into the soup; I’ve never had anything so good.

I drain the bowl of its contents and try to speak, I still can’t. But this time it’s not because of a sore throat, it’s because sleep envelops me. Just before I pass out again I see the Zebra spit out a mouthful of spiked stew and smile maliciously at me.

“Bitch poisoned me…”

I slump back to the dirt floor of the hut as the chemicals from the stew lull my brain into a forced slumber.

‘Never trust a Zebra in a hut full of voodoo shit, I’m probably gonna get raped now or something just as bad.’

Three hours later I wake up again, I’m no longer in a creepy hut about to get raped; I’m now in Twilight’s spare bed at the library. I sit up and the bed creaks beneath me. Ever so carefully I get up and head to the bathroom. A hot shower and a pair of clean clothes later I walk out to find Twilight and her friends waiting for me. Pinkie looks terrible and the rest all look sad and exhausted.

“What the hell happened yesterday?” Pinkie sniffles a bit.

“When the fireworks went off you freaked out, you ran off and we chased you. We finally found you were in the middle of the Everfree forest, collapsed and unconscious. We got Big Mac to carry you here and put you in bed.” Twilight stops to catch her breath, I can hear the strain in her voice. “What happened Lafe, why did you run off? What scared you so badly?”

I sigh and sit down on the bed, despite its protests I lean back and try to think of a way to explain.

“I was a soldier; I was in another country fighting a war. When things exploded there it meant that we were under attack, that if we didn’t get to cover we would be hit. If a bomb or a grenade or a rocket or even some shrapnel hit you it would…well it would be bad. So when the fireworks started exploding my training kicked in. I ran to escape the danger and I didn’t stop until I couldn’t run any more. Speaking of running, where did you say you found me?”

“In the middle of the Everfree forest, why do you ask?”

“So I wasn’t anywhere near a hut, with a bunch of voodoo stuff in it?”

“Well that sounds like Zecora’s place but she lives on the other side of the Everfree, nearly a mile from where you were at.”

“Huh, well anyway I feel much better now so don’t be upset. Pinkie that means you, I’m not mad at you for setting off those fireworks, you didn’t know. So stop pouting right this instant and please tell me that there is some cake left.”

Seeing that I’m not mad or upset brought Pinkie out of the funk and back to her usual self, before I could even think about more cake the spastic pink pony had me enveloped in a bear hug. Soon five other ponies joined in the group hug and told me that they were sorry. I forgave them. I couldn’t stay mad at them, besides I’ve had worse things done to me by friends; the time Fish chased me with an electric cattle prod, the night Matt dared me to down a bottle of Jägermeister and then set me up with a guy (He turned out to be quite nice, even made me breakfast the next morning.), or when Cisco stabbed me with a fork (It was an accident, the explanation of how it happened is a several chapter story in itself.) all made this minor incident pale in comparison.

We sit there like this for a while, just enjoying a (Slightly awkward) group hug. After a few minutes we break it up and my friends offer to buy me lunch to make things up to me. I agree and we all head out.

I guess that the memory I have of waking up in the Zebra’s hut and drinking the soup was all just a dream. That being said, why is my ass sore?