A Pony Anthology

by Gentian

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Horror, Human, Second Person
Length: 2010

A trio of short stories, taking us from bliss to perdition.

What does one do when faced with a 1000 word publishing minimum, a "main" story which stubbornly refuses to take shape, and a number of short stories which fail to meet the length requirement?

Why, one takes a break from the main story (only a short one, I promise), and collects a few of the smaller ones into a group to meet the word-count requirement, then publishes them as standalone story-chapters. At least, one hopes that's what one does.

None of these are new, but I've healed enough to resume work, and so have much less time to spend on my newest story, yet feel the urge to publish something, just the same. So, here are 3 of my favorite short stories. They deal with themes some may not like at all, so I've decided to arrange them in order from lightest to darkest.

The first is actually a happy story, wherein Twilight visits Earth to spend time with her human lover. The second, is about a human going to Equestria to meet their waifu, albeit not in the usual way, and while it starts off in a manner some might find uncomfortable, has a nice ending. The third, also involving a human taking a trip across dimensions, has no such saving grace, and imho, Grimdark, would indeed be an apposite descriptor.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-06 03:44:10 UTC

1 - Heat Lightning

Heat Lightning

Somewhere, far, far away, there is a river. It would be unpleasant to stand on its broad, rocky banks tonight; the air is cloying, and uncomfortably warm, made worse by the bodies of those come to see the show pressing in from all sides. Instead, we leave the sultry mass of humanity with its sweat-soaked yukatas, and exhalations heavy with the odors of unnamed celebratory foods for a nearby building.

It stands beyond a copse of trees-mostly camphor and pine by their perfumes-and at 4 stories tall, stretches above their canopies. The grounds are spacious, and with the gates barred, are as deserted as the darkened halls within the building proper. It's a plain, boxy design, and its broad white walls and numerous windows glow spectrally in the moonlight.

Approaching the doors, we find them locked, but that doesn't matter. We enter the school, for that's what it is, and make our way along its corridors. Here, at least, their plan is simple, and we know them intimately besides; we know exactly where to go. Just as importantly, we know where not to go, for while this is a school, it is also more than a school, and we would do well to remember, and respect that fact.

We come to some stairs. The way down, to the basement, beckons, but we remember, and respect, and go up, instead. Through unseen wards, and hidden runes we climb, until at last, we reach another door. This one is locked too, but is no more hindrance than the other.  We step over it's threshold, and emerge on the roof.

A flat expanse of gravel extends before us, broken by the shadowy forms of pipes, ducts, and silent air conditioners. We could be forgiven for believing we're alone, but, listening carefully, happy whispers, and the muffled crunching of stones drifts on the air.

Silently, we move toward those sounds, and find an area claimed by bags, and carefully laid out beach towels. Except for a line of distant clouds, the night is clear, if oppressively humid. Silhouetted against it, a pair of figures can be seen, leaning on the edge of the building, taking in the view. A warm breeze brings in the faint sounds, and smells of the festival below. They stand closely together; so much so their bodies touch. Heat lightning flashes soundlessly in the distance.

They talk, and laugh together; animatedly, but careful not to allow their voices to rise, and carry. Their enjoyment of each other's company is obvious: the enthusiasm in their conversation; their smiles, barely visible in the light from moon above, and stalls and stands below; the way they lean together, and the way one drapes a wing around the other's waist. There is attraction here, but not anxiety, or furtiveness. Simply relaxed confidence; secure in the mutual positions they hold in one another's hearts.

They fall silent at the tinny, amplified voice of an announcement from below. An expectant hush falls over the throngs as hundreds of pairs of eyes turn skyward.

Suddenly, the darkness is gone.

With a hissing roar, jets of glittering flame erupt from the river. Great flares and rockets streak through the sky, throwing their colors across the night's canvas in booms felt more than heard. And there, below the blooming starbursts, the figures embrace. Their shadows dance across the roof in the flitting colors, even as their bodies remain locked in place by their kiss.

Slowly, one pulls back, gently taking the other's lip in her mouth as she goes. Her eyes open, and shine with intense, almost painful passion.

“I love you so much,” she whispers. Her voice is somber, but edged with potent, deep-seated emotion. “so, so much.” Her partner kisses her again, and, with forehead pressing to hers, smiles.

“I love you too, Twilight.”

2 - Going Home

My task is done, my song hath ceased, my theme has died into an echo;

it is fit.

__________________________

Tap

Tap

Tap

My eyes close, and roll to the ceiling against the sound of blood dripping on paper. My blood; it won't be long now. The calm quiet in my mind is surprising, but welcome. I'd expected thoughts and memories to swarm up, but instead my mind drifts placidly, and it feels good to let it; to allow this little extra bit of responsibility to slip away.

In their new found freedom the colors and shadows behind my eyelids coalesce in to shapes: a cloud, a puddle, a starburst. This is all I get? Really? Isn't my life supposed to flash before my eyes, or some shit? What a rip off! Get it? Rip? Like my wrists? Yeah, that's ok; everything else in my life is a failure, why not my last joke too? But why is it taking so long?

“Across the street to visit your friends, down the road to meet your end,” right? That's what I did, damn it, and man is it coming out, so why am I still here? Eh, fuck it, it is coming out; I just need to lay back and let things take their course.

Tap

Tap

Tap

Not so warm now. It's harder to move, too, but the pictures are better: a tree, a house, a...Jesus, fuck why do I have to see that? So many memories, so much of the reason I'm here now.

A face. I remember reading every face we see in our dreams is one we've actually seen at some point; our minds have trouble making them up. But whose face would I see now? My friends, my family? Even in my exsanguine stupor I feel my body giggle; slow and sluggish, more like I'm observing it than feeling it. Guess I'm almost done here.

Friends. Family. Yeah, right, but who wants to hear about that shit? Nobody, and soon it won't matter anyway. Tears in the rain, and all that. But there was...something about that face. Why am I crying?

Doesn't matter now. My eyes close again, the tears roll gently down my face, as my blood goes on running down my hands to drip from my fingertips. At least the newspapers spread below will make it easy for someone to clean up. That's more concern than anyone's ever shown me.

Tap

Tap

Tap

All gone, all gonnne. feel anything anyymore. can't see. eeeeunfocsedd. Coldd. Ppeaccce. Obllivionnn?

Fear. Fear!

Ppleassss no. NO! NO! Nott likkke this! NO pllleease! I wannt to live! I waant to live! Imm sorrry! Iim sorry! Ppleaseee not lik thhisss! Wannt to live. I Want tto LIVE!

Ttaapp

taPp

…

___________________________________

“You poor thing.” Such soft words, such a beautiful voice. A voice?!

“What?” My eyes open, but there's so much light.

“You poor thing.”

“Wh...Ho...?” my words turn to sobs in my throat. After all, wasn't I just...?

“Shhhhhhh.” I gasp as her barely visible form leans in and embraces me, her long soft hair flowing over my shoulders, and her arms wrapping around me. “It's ok now. You don't have to suffer anymore.” As she holds me, my eyes begin to clear. It's still blurry, but the light looks, somehow, like it's coming from her, and not just that. Light, warmth, and a perfume like flowers and love all rolled in to one. I put my arms around her too, and pull my unseen caregiver close. I'm alive!

“How did you find me in time” I whisper in her shoulder. She starts to gently rock us, but doesn't answer. I squint up at her, even as fuzzy as my vision still is, she has one hell of a silhouette. And her arms, they feel strange; an odd shape, and even with our hug, I can't feel her hands. Frantically I rub at my eyes. That's not a sweater she's wearing, it's fur. And that's not a blanket draped over me, it's her wings! ”It's you!”

“Mm-hmm.” Her silhouette nods.

“It's you!”

“It's me,” she says with a little smile. “The others will come when you're ready, but I'm here now.” She soothes me, holds me tighter, and shatters something inside me; I can't help it, my tears pour out. More tears than I ever knew I had. I cry, and cry, but for the first time, I know everything is going to be ok.

“I love you so much. I have for so long.”

“I know,” she says with a gentle kiss “and I've loved you just as long; you couldn't see me, but I've been with you all this time.”

“But how? How can you be real?”

“The multiverse is a big place, my love. You'll see.”

“No! I don't want to leave. I can't leave, please...”

“Shhhhh. You'll never have to, and I will never leave you. Never. But when you're ready, and only when you're ready, there's a whole eternity for us to fill together.”

“Together? With you? Forever?”

“Yes my love, welcome to Equestria, you're home now.”

3 - Nobody

Nobody

Once upon a time there was a man who lived alone. When he wasn't working he'd spend his days reading, shitposting, and watching a show about colorful, cartoon ponies. Almost every day a customer would scream at him because an item was out of stock, or their coupon was out of date, or just because they knew that they could. One day he yelled back, and went home without a job.

There he sat, day by day, until his bank account was as empty as the bottles of whiskey strewn about the floor. But he still had the ponies. Cute, friendly ponies having adventures in a world where everyone had a place, and friendship was more than an empty word.

“I wish I could go there, too” he said.

Cute, friendly ponies, laughed, flew, and played on his screen. His food was gone, but so what? It's easier to fill his belly with liquor than food, anyway. Then the water stopped, too. “That's fine,” he said “I'll just take 2 swigs instead of 1.” Next went the power, but who needed the TV? The ponies were still there without it. Little things whispering through the walls, and up from the drains. Scurrying around the baseboards at night. Darting too and fro through the air, always hiding in some nook, or cranny, but he saw them anyway. Lovely little ponies, they made everything bearable.

“Come play with us” he at last heard them say, so he did. Following their friendly, lighthearted giggles into the forest. “Climb up the stairs!”

What are stairs doing in the middle of the woods?

“It's the way to Equestria!” They answer, even though he hadn't spoken a word. So he approached the spotless landing, and a buzz awoke inside his head.

“I don't remember these being here before.”

“Never mind that! Climb, climb!” and he did, through a headache which throbbed more fiercely with every step. “Almost to the top!” They shouted, but he could barely hear them. Not because of wind, or bugs, or any other forest sound, for there were none; the very copse itself seemed to be holding it's breath. Only the buzz, the deafening, throbbing drone competed with their voices. It didn't matter; he'd made it! “Give us your hand!”

___________________________________

Months later, some hunters found a body in the woods. Enough of one, anyway to match it to the man who had gone missing.

“Bear.” some said, at the rended flesh, and broken bones.

“Javelina” said others at the torn thighs, and missing genitals.

“Pit Bull” said the soccer mom who no longer remembered it had been she who deliberately provoked him in to yelling, for no other reason than wanting to get someone fired. Nobody cared enough about the pony-loving social reject to note neither the leaves in his clothes, nor bits of thorny vine stuck in his flesh were of a type no botanist would recognize.

They buried him in an unmarked grave, in the potter's field atop a reclaimed landfill. There were no mourners.