You kick your car’s tire and growl in frustration. Of course it would break down on the way to the repair shop. Pulling out your phone, you look up a tow agency’s number and call them, requesting in as polite a tone you can muster for them to pick you up and take you to the mechanic you were headed to before your vehicle decided to splutter out on the side of the road.

You look at a nearby street sign, your lip curling as you read to the person on the other end, “I’m near the corner of Starsong Avenue and Loop Deloop Street.” You’re in the pony part of town. The person thanks you and hangs up, leaving you with nothing to do but wait.

You refrain from grinding your teeth as you shove your phone back in your pocket. Ever since some fantasy country named “Equestria” appeared in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, the residents have felt like nothing but a bother to you. Actually, “residents” would be inaccurate, because it seemed like the place had an inexhaustible number of immigrants, quickly forming their own little communities in major cities all over the world.

You don’t hate them, that’s too strong a word. But you definitely wouldn’t mind if you woke up and they disappeared; it’d make the world a better place, at least. They’ve been nothing but kind, generous, and friendly in every single interaction you’ve had with them.

And that’s exactly the problem.

They feel like fake people, fake people with cartoonishly huge heads and big eyes who never seem to get angry. Ever. You’re pretty sure you could punch one in the face and it’d apologize for hurting your fist. And yet, every world leader has seemed to fall head over heels for them immediately, sympathizing with every little slight or insult against them, and insisting they be treated like equals within society. How come? What have they ever done for you? What about acting sickeningly cute suddenly makes tiny horses deserving of your respect?

“E gorago khoi?”

You turn to see one of them, looking meaningfully at your vehicle, then up to you, its eyes shining with concern. The little horses only stood about four feet tall on average, so they always had to look up.

Case in point. “I don’t speak freak-language, little horse. Talk English or go away,” you say flatly.

“Oh, English, sorry,” it manages with a heavy accent, slurring its “S”s into “Th”s. “Wrong, machine?” It points to your car.

“Yeah, my car broke down, and unless you can make my tow get here faster, you don’t need to be here.” You do not want to deal with this right now.

The pony recoils from your harsh tone, but doesn’t leave. “Sorry, I want am help. Friend.”

You grit your teeth. They always apologize, too. They always apologize. “I don’t want to be your friend! Now piss off already!”

It finally seems to get the hint, and backs away, saying “Sorry, sorry,” over and over again before turning and fleeing behind the corner. You grunt. At least that little annoyance is taken care of.

Turning back toward your car, you glimpse another one of the wretches across the street, this one with a horn. Unlike its little friend, it actually seems to have some backbone, staring intently at you.

Whether it’s your car breaking down, the stupid pony who had just walked up to you, or just the hot sun, you finally lose your cool, and everything starts spilling out. “The hell are you going to do, apologize too? Stupid little creatures, I don’t know how the hell you’ve managed to sucker everyone else into falling for your act, but you’re worth less than the dirt on my shoes! You come in, make puppy dog eyes at authorities, and expect everyone to treat you like you’re something special! You probably can’t even understand a word I’m saying, but I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean when I say, get the hell out!”

To your great surprise, instead of capitulating or running, the pony speaks back with equally fiery words, in perfect English: “Do you think we have it easy? Do you think it’s a walk in the park, trying to prove those like you wrong every day? Trying our best not to step on any toes, be as humble and understanding as we can accepting your countries’ invitations, and still facing hatred from humans who insult, degrade, and harm us no matter what we do?”

You feel your face flush red with fury, but as you open your mouth the pony’s horn ignites, burning bright blue. You feel an ice-cold chill grab you in a stranglehold and your voice leave your throat.

“You have invited us as guests within your nations, yet many of you treat us like servants or monsters. Even the worst Canterlot noble wouldn’t be so hateful.” The pony’s grip tightens, and you feel yourself drop to your knees, unable to stand. “You’re the perfect reason why. I’ve long lost faith in humans to resolve it amicably, and I’ve long lost my ability to care for the consequences of taking matters into my own hooves. Perhaps understanding it firsthand is the only way for you to realize the truth.”

Its horn flares, and you feel the chill leave you, but your stomach begins twisting into knots.

“This is your chance for redemption.”

You involuntarily curl into the fetal position, unable to keep your eyes on your assailant any longer as your muscles force you down to lie on the sidewalk. Your voice comes back, and you immediately scream as your fists clench harder and harder, your joints popping and moving as your hands feel like you’re holding them inside a fire.

You beat them against the concrete and peek through your eyelids, seeing your fingers lose definition and push together until they’re fleshy globs at the ends of your arms. You let out another shriek, screwing your eyes shut again and kicking limply as your feet catch fire along with your hands. You feel yourself rolling onto your back, and you try your best not to pass out as the fire crawls up your legs and arms.

You jerk in agony as your body crushes itself into a meat grinder, and you feel your limbs stretch well beyond breaking point, rotating and flexing in ways so wrong you’re sure they’re broken beyond repair. The fire reaches your core, and you lose even your ability to scream as fireworks shoot burning sparks within you. In the back of your brain, the small part still capable of thinking, you sense yourself distending and reshaping, but to the rest of your mind it only means there’s more of you that hurts.

A spike drives itself through your head, and you clutch it with your new hooves, whimpering as it swells large and round. It pushes deeper and deeper, your pain coming to a crescendo as you feel your brain start cooking.

You begin to forget words. Your grasp on the English language slips away from you, words and meanings dissolving into nothingness until it leaves you without anything left to speak or communicate. Concepts and values grow beyond the reach of your ability to think about them or understand them. Your higher-brain functions become incapable of anything but pictograms, reducing you to a scared, confused animal.

You let out a sad, sad moan, squirming fearfully as agony wracks your body. Pain pricks your scalp as you feel long hairs growing out of it, and you rub your lengthening mane, trying to get it to stop stabbing needles into your head as your vision grows fuzzy. You don’t understand why it hurts so much, or why it’s hurting; you just know that it hurts.

You blink, water droplets flying from your eyelashes. You try to say something, anything, but all you can do is whinny in sadness and fear. Articulating yourself was impossible, and even with words it would be hard to explain how much you'd lost, but all abstract thought is entirely lost to you. All you can think about, and react to, is what your senses tell you, and every single one of them is sending alarm bells through your head that you’re in pain and you don’t know why but you want it to stop.

The spike in your brain begins yanking itself free, and glorious, glorious words filter back through your conscience, mental circuitry and dendrites reconnecting and rearranging themselves. You sag, your tears becoming ones of joy as you feel your world of thought and imagination open up once again.

“Oh, thank Celestia,” you say between sobs. “Thank Celestia I can speak again.”

You lie in the street, calming yourself as you realize your transformation was over, and steadily get to your hooves.

“I’m... I’m able to stand,” you say to yourself, confused. You cough, wiping your pony muzzle with a hoof, and your heart races as you realize that despite knowing you’ve just been forced into a quadrupedal form, your anatomy feels perfectly natural to you. You bring up a hoof, examining its underside, and while the alien contours repulse you, you don’t feel like you’re missing any fingers, or anything at all. In fact, while you’re mentally screaming that everything is wrong, part of you feels weirded out by the idea of being anything different.

You gulp, looking around at the nearby houses. “Hey, um, unicorn that turned me into another pony? I'm very sorry now!” You look down at your discarded clothes, and realize with a special embarrassment that you’re naked. Tail instinctively curling around your legs to hide your shame, you catch a glimpse of a picture on the side of your butt: a large yellow bell against a light purple coat. Looking past the marking on your flank, you see your tail is a rich, dark blue.

You feel your eyes water, and your attempt to stop your tears from restarting comes too late as your leg muscles buckle. Slumping against the gutter and scraping your muzzle, you cry against the sidewalk, naked and alone.

“Oh my goodness gracious! You poor thing!”

You stiffen as feel yourself being lifted from where you had fallen in a magical grip to see a different pony, a teal unicorn with a pink mane, setting you back on your hooves. She lets you go, and you fall onto your haunches, tears still running down your face as you’re unable to stop from bawling.

“What in the world happened to you?! You look like you’ve just been robbed! Was there a crime?!” The unicorn's voice rose in pitch and panic every syllable, but unlike before you don’t find her grating. In fact, her overwhelming concern and worry feels like the only hope you have to not completely break.

You sniffle, trying to bring yourself under enough control to speak. You can see your new muzzle running with tears and snot, sticking out in front of your face and limiting your vision. “I... I...”

Your throat seizes up. You can’t talk about it. You just can’t.

“There, there...” the other pony says, pulling you into a hug. You clasp your hooves around her neck, abandoning any pretense of keeping your composure as you sob into her shoulder and mane.

“Eyo, orrsis!”

You and your companion look over to see a large tow truck pulling up beside your car. A man pokes his head out of the window, shouting at you.

“Dyew wer iss or onerth moavill? Yauta gell.”

You shake your head, confused. You feel like he’s speaking English, but it’s complete gibberish to you. “What?”

“Tch!” the man says, waving an arm, “Sipcal. Dewpit orrsis, toano awurrf eenith. Vawin airenns.”

“Ey!” the unicorn holding you says, in words still foreign to you, “Wea kinnirue! Yish naube sroo, speshi tuthe pifase!”

The man swerves his vehicle in front of yours, banging the wheels up against the curb, and steps out, slamming the truck door behind him. He towers over you, looking down with piggish eyes and a nasty scowl.

“Come on,” your unicorn friend says to you, dragging you to your hooves, “we should go. This human seems mean.”

You let yourself be led away, trying not to burst into tears again as you look back at the threatening human. Even if you can’t understand a word he said, you know perfectly well what he means when he flicks his middle finger up before turning to inspect the car he’s towing.

Your car.

You hold it in until your partner turns a corner, bursting into tears as soon as you’re out of sight from the horrible man. “Why is he being so mean to us?!”

The unicorn turns back, opening her mouth. After a moment, she closes it, sighing and looking down. “How many humans have you met before?”

“I...” You can’t think of anything to say, and feel yourself hiccup instead. “I don’t understand! We didn’t do anything wrong!”

She bites her lip, looking away. “Sometimes, with humans... you can do everything right, and still be wrong.”

“That’s not fair!” Your voice cracks. “That’s not—” You’re unable to continue, coughing wetly as you resist a powerful urge to just lie on the sidewalk and cry your heart out.

She hugs you again, rubbing your back gently. Your pony back, your back part of you insists is normal and another part screams is wrong in every way. “I’m sorry, friend...”

After several minutes, you gather yourself enough to break your hug, trying your best to wipe your eyes and muzzle with your unwieldy new appendage. Your new friend smiles sympathetically, and her horn flares, cleansing your face and hoof from all the slobber and snot you’d gotten all over yourself from your bawling.

“Thank you...” you say weakly, unsure what to do.

“You’re welcome,” she says with a kind voice. “I’m Key Lime. What’s your name?”

Your thoughts suddenly fly to the bell on your hindquarters, and you turn your head to look at it again, feeling a crushing horror at your long neck rotating so naturally.

“I’m...” You stop yourself, trying to sort through your memory. You keep thinking “Bellwether,” but you know it can’t be your name, because it’s such a ridiculously pony name. You’re a human! Humans don’t have pony names. “I’m...”

Your friend nods patiently. “It’s OK, you can tell me.”

Your throat grows tight as you fail to recollect any human name for yourself at all. “I’m... Bellwether...”

She smiles. “You have a very pretty name.” You sniffle, unable to say anything else. Her smile wavers. “Are you OK? Do you need anything, anything at all?”

“I...” you choke out. “I don’t have anything left... It’s all gone...”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear,” she comforts, hugging you once again. “Would you like some food? I’m more than happy to give you a place to stay, if you need it.”

You feel too exhausted to say no, and nod, feeling your head brush against her neck. You shiver with dread as you feel your furry coat rub against hers, tickling you.

“OK,” she says quietly, but doesn’t move, keeping you locked tightly in her embrace. “Just remember, ponies look out for each other, OK?” You sigh and nod again.

As she stands and leads you into the pony part of town’s residential areas, despite all that has happened to you, you feel reassured that, at least, you have one friend in the world.

Author's Note

I've wanted to write this since forever, and I finally got the time and inclination to finish it. Thanks for reading, it really means a lot to me! I hope you have a wonderful day!

-adoi