Griffon a Hard Time

Griffon a Hard Time – Chapter Four: “I thought I had a chance.”

The pony stared back at me, scared and unknown. Her amber eyes were far off and dim, as if the fiery sharpness that normally glimmered within them had been completely smothered. The muscles surrounding her lavender mask was wrought with lines of fear that slackened her once lustrous, pearly, face into the looseness of misery. Two golden hooves clung desperately to her cheeks. My cheeks. The force had numbed to a light pressure that bore almost no feeling – like someone who wore glasses and no longer felt their intrusive presence.

The reflection pressed a murky uneasiness into the pit of my stomach. It wasn't her pony features that disturbed me, but her foreign look of abject despair. I couldn't see one ounce of grit in her helpless eyes, only vulnerability. It was the same look I seen a few times on my hunt. A weak creature of prey would have the rare chance of surviving my initial dive strike. After being torn and slammed into the ground, it would rise on trembling legs as fresh blood flowed freely down its body from the lethal gash across its neck. It always raised its head to stare at my advancing figure with the same look I saw now of the pony in the mirror. They knew that the end was near, and so they rose not to fight, but to stare at their inevitable death with stricken awe. To those rare few, it was the end of their lowly lives. To me, to the pony in the mirror, it was the end of my griffon identity. And perhaps also, the end of my redemption with Dash.

A wave of disgust ran over my body. With a slight shudder, I glanced away from the mirror to the green tiles of my hospital room floor. It hurt – not the physical pain, but the ideas swirling around in my tired mind. I had lost my griffon identity, but now that I thought about it, the bulk of the agony came from the idea of losing Dash forever; I wasn't sure. Torment like this was confusing and shifting, akin to dark mist shrouded over a rocky shore, blocking out the lighthouse of discernment.

My head lifted a few inches, slowly turning towards the shadowed corner of my room. I only felt the raw urge of formless emotion driving my muscles to action, a blind movement that was absent of any intelligible thought. As blue forelegs came into view, I realized that I still wanted to see Dash. My head stopped. The tufts of hair over my forehead sheltered my eyes from seeing any more of her. I rose my hoof in a steady motion, closing it on the tufts to move them aside. Yet as the hoof grazed against my temple, I felt the distinct, alien, bluntness of having a hoof. I couldn't face Dash, not now. I was a pony, and I needed different answers first.

Instantly, my head swiveled away from Dash's direction to Twilight Sparkle.

“Hey you, get over here.”

My voice was cutting and short. No matter how much torture I had endured, physically and emotionally, I had to keep true to myself. No weakness, only aggressiveness; no intimidation, only assertiveness – a deeper truth surfaced to my mind for a split second: this was the only way I knew how to live in a world that showed no mercy on the helpless. I had seen enough to know that firsthand.

Twilight's eyes flickered left and right in slight panic. For a brief moment, her eyes shot over to the window as if she was actually considering a jump through it worth the effort to escape me.

“I ain't got all day!” I snapped.

She took a few tepid steps towards me, coming around the mirror to the right side of my bed post.

“I got a few questions, but first off, get this mirror out of here. I'm tired of looking at this lame pony form.”

Without a word, Twilight enveloped the wooden stand mirror in her magical magenta light and swept it away to the left side of the room. It was just me and her now. I took one deep breath to steady my quickening heart. Looking Twilight square in the eye, I brought my hooves down in a sweeping gesture to my sides.

“How did this happen.”

I could hear the small yet distinct clip clop of Twilight shuffling her hooves against the floor tiles.

“Gilda, you must understand that it was an accident.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Well... Last night was the product of a very difficult spell that took weeks of study and preparation, and a lifetime of magical skill to create. However, it was not meant for you.”

“Obviously. Something that could cause this much trouble to warrant a lame pony hospital visit could not have gone as swimmingly as you might have hoped. Way to screw it up dweeb.

“When I said it wasn't for you, I meant that the spell was not tailored for you species. You shouldn't even be here.”

“...What do you mean.”

“It's a miracle you're still alive.”

“Are you saying that you thought I wasn't tough enough to survive your petty, little, light show of lame pony magic?”

“No! Gilda relax – please. This spell was highly complex magic that involved many variables. It took all my ability just to contain it into one straight burst that night. The spell could have rebounded back on us and exploded. It wasn't just a miracle for you life, but really, all our lives. We got the best out of all the worst possible outcomes that night.”

“Speak for yourself. Do I look like I'm in the 'best' of shape? Do I look happy to you?”

“No...”

“Then give me some real answers!”

“I think I can help you with that.” The new voice sailed from a yellow swinging door. In strode a tawny colored unicorn with a wavy brown mane and tail. He wore a typical doctor's jacket that clung snugly around his upper body. Tucked neatly under his jacket was a simple black tie; his flank was adorned by the image of a monitor with a spiked lifeline dashed across it. His gait was confident, complimented by his keen sky-blue eyes and smug smile. He trotted past Twilight to the side of my bed in irritating closeness. Without warning, he drew his head forward in a scrutinizing gaze at my pony facial features. His face dipped lower to inspect my naked body without the slightest trace of hesitancy or shame. I couldn't help but jerk back a little at his intrusive presence; a jolt of pain fired off in my body to remind me of my limited movement – so a slap to his face was not advisable for the sake of my ragged body. His head tilted to the side to catch glimpse of my smaller wings and bronze coated tail, but his gaze froze for a moment upon seeing my bare flank. With a quiet hmmm, he pulled back up in distant interest. His eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth drew tight across his muzzle in pensive wonder, as if he held an incomplete solution to an interesting puzzle.

Several seconds passed as I still stared at him, not quite believing that he had just done that without receiving a serious thrashing from me. Instead, I opted for more my usual sarcasm.

“Oh, you're excused by the way,” I quipped sardonically.

Instead of a witty retort, his response seemed much more dangerous. His horn suddenly glowed with the same sky-blue color of his eyes. A magical aura formed over his front coat pocket, and out popped a plastic package containing a single syringe.

“Gilda, was it? I am going to need you to extend your foreleg please,” he said as he slipped the needle and tube out of the package.

“You're kidding, right?” I couldn't quite keep all of the apprehension out of my voice. The syringe had now been fully assembled – it wafted towards me with its needle taking aim at my immovable right foreleg.

“He- hey, hey! I don't even know your name or what the heck your trying to put in me!” My voice went shrill as a last defense against the enclosing needle.

He blinked, his focused expression waning into light shock. The occurrence of stabbing a patient without any formal introduction or explanation seemed to be an acceptable practice to him, judging by his bewildered eyes. In an attempt to save face, the tawny unicorn cleared his throat with a small cough and straightened his head into a well mannered pose. I watched the needle drop to his side with a sigh of relief, yet it wasn't put away – it merely hung suspended in space by his magical aura.

“Please excuse my… abruptness. The nature of being a doctor sometimes lets me get a bit carried away,” he added with a wry smile. “My name is Dr. Stable Pettimore House, but please, just call me Dr. Stable.”

“Right...” I replied in wariness, still keeping a close eye on floating syringe.

“Now Gilda, I'm sure you want to recover from your pain. This is a potent mixture of medicine and pain killer enhanced by magic to repair muscle atrophy and alleviate symptoms of anemia. By my calculations, you should make a great enough recovery by the end of the day to be released from the hospital. So please,” his tone softened as he stooped his head in a small plea, “allow me to administer the dosage.”

“With that needle?”

“Yes.”

“I never heard of such a crazy thing.”

“Now dear, you surely can't mean that?” came the soft feminine voice of Nurse Redheart. She trotted over to the side of Dr. Stable. “You must have had shots before.” She sounded sure of herself, until she caught the empty glance of genuine denial on my face. “Haven't you?” she added in a worried tone.

“No,” I replied.

“No?” she repeated, not quite believing such an answer was possible. “But... how? Didn't you grow up with–“

“No!” I half yelled. I felt my heart twist and my face cringe into severity. The last thing I wanted to do was explain a part of my past to a group of impersonal ponies I barely knew; not even Dash knew the whole story of how I was raised and she was my best friend – my only friend. I did not want to travel down that black road of memories. These ponies had seen enough of my sorrow and frustration. The more I reacted, the more I betrayed my restless spirit, the weaker I was. I had to parry this topic as quick as I could while still maintaining a level of casualness and composure.

“Yeah yeah, if the doc says this junk will get me out of here sooner, then lets get this over with.” I forced my face into the straightness of confidence, trying my best to not reveal any errant twitch of doubt. The doctor and nurse had turned to each other for a brief moment. At the same time, they broke away from each other to stare back at me with skeptically raised eyebrows.

“Hey doc, do your job already,” I said hotly.

He lifted the the syringe once more and took aim at the right side of my body. “Please extend your foreleg, or if you need help, I can–“

“Nah, I can do it.” I lifted my foreleg in hasty determination, forcing it to stay straight without the deliberate easiness of bending it upwards. My teeth gritted in pain, but I kept my mouth impassive to hide any sign of distress. My foreleg became fully raised, taut and slightly quivering, with the heavy load of soreness kindling a growing, incessant, fire within every muscle of my foreleg. The doctor injected the syringe above my elbow, or at least, were my elbow used to be. The pinprick of pain was minor annoyance lost in the inferno of discomfort. I felt a strange coolness of chemicals being let loose inside my foreleg. It first crept down to my hoof and back up into my rigid shoulder, dousing the fire of pain all throughout its journey. A wave of bliss lapped into my senses that provided such relief, I had to lay back down against my pillow in complete stillness to fully soak in the respite of sublime comfort. With a self-contented smile, the doctor glanced down at me.

“Feeling good? The medicine has immediate effects but will wear down soon. Its main purpose is for long term recovery, so don't get the idea that you are instantly healed. You will need to still rest for the remainder of the day to ease your body into full recovery. Like I said, don't be surprised when the pain returns after a little while.”

“Dr. Stable?”

“Yes Twilight?”

“How come the medicine didn't have any effect last night?”

“I didn't expect it too, but I was desperate enough to see if it would.”

“Why is it working now? It's the same medicine as before, isn't it?” replied Twilight's voice.

“It is, but Gilda wasn't who she was last night as she is now.”

“What do you mean?” My voice was calm, yet my motion to sit upwards was stressed by a quick jerk to face Dr. Stable with leery eyes.

“You were still a griffon when you were brought into the hospital, and this magically infused medicine does not work on griffons.” he said simply.

“So when did I become a pony?”

“Not sure, I had to sleep soon after tending to your critical condition. Nurse Redheart, did you record the time for Gilda's transformation?”

“Yes,” she walked to the front frame of my bed and brought up a clipboard in her hoof. “9:01A.M.”

My eyes raced to the north wall. The clock hanging behind the line of ponies read 10:32A.M. “Isn't that... unusual? I may not know much about pony magic, but from what I'd seen, I would have thought the spell to be instantaneous.” I turned to face Twilight. Surprisingly, she held her ground this time.

“For most spells, yes. My magic last night, however, was specifically created for Spike.”

“Spike? What do you mean?”

Before she could give an answer, the purple dragon ran forward besides Twilight with a sheepish grin.

She beamed at him. “This is my number one assistant,” she added brightly, with a hint of pride in her voice. “He volunteered courageously to undertake my most difficult experiment to date: full transformation spells. This branch of magic is of a high tier – to correctly transfigure a whole living form into another is quite the feat. I've actually done it once before when I was a small filly. The raw arcane energies erupted in an uncontrolled fit during my magic exam, turning my nearby parents into a cactus plant and–“

“Yeah okay, enough with the trip down memory lane,” I interrupted brashly. “What's this have to do me directly.”

Twilight was caught off guard. “Well,” she started again slowly, “a full-fledged transformation spell must be cautiously prepared. I spent weeks refining and tuning my magic to the wave-length of this spell while studying Spike's energy field in order to correctly prepare the spell for his body. It was a one of a kind spell, built for the sole purpose of turning Spike the dragon, into Spike the pony. The power of the spell had a three day time limit in order to gather data and observe the effects of pony physiology on a dragon. The experiment was highly specific and not intended for anypony else. When one deals with magic at this caliber of complexity and power, no mistakes can be allowed. I can't be certain on how this spell affected you Gilda. The delay in time of you becoming a pony leads me to believe that your griffon physiology and energy field was rejecting the magic. All creatures have a latent energy field harmonized with their body type. For instance, griffons and pegasi can cloud walk – that is a form of passive magic intrinsic of their energy field. My hypothesis is that at some point in your coma this morning, your body finally decided to absorb the magic. I have no idea why that happened, but we're all glad it did – for if it hadn't the magic would have destroyed your body.” She paused for a brief moment to wait for my response. None came.

The room stood still and breathless. It was as if an explosion rocked overhead that pressed everypony into an eerie silence. In the explosion's wake came the force of a vibrating shock-wave that chilled over my bones with a sense of dread. The unspoken words of “the magic would have killed you,” rang as shell-shock to my blindsided brain. I felt a stark awareness pervade into my skin and crawl its way through my body. It rose as a cold chill, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped from the bottom of my body and traveled upwards to my head. The feeling pooled into my consciousness, giving it the form of coherent thought. It whispered, “look at it, this is your life – this is who you are: Gilda the pony. Feel it, taste it, hear it, see it, smell it – live with it.” It was mocking me. The sense of icy dread vanished, replaced by the bleak solemnity of reality.

“–Gilda?”

Why me? I had good intentions, didn't I? I thought I did everything right this time. I thought I had a chance. Dash met so much to me, so very much.

“–Umm... Gilda?”

I wish that was real instead; my dream of sacrifice. I would have gladly accepted death in that form to save her, rather than suffer to see her drift away. I saw her face before we hit the ground, and she understood. Dash held the hint of a heartfelt smile that couldn't form in time – but I saw it – I understood.

“–Is she sick?”

My body absorbed the magic... that is what she said. The transformation happened not too long ago. Was it... Did I make it happen on purpose? I was mad at Dash at first, desperately trying to reach her in our dive. But I felt my heart change with two simple words: Oh no.

“–Should I call an extra nurse?”

The room focused into view again. My eyes had been open, but empty of sight. The end of the bed frame appeared in my vision. The edge of the pale green mattress held two brown equine legs in complete deadness. I rose my head to find everypony, and Spike, closed in on me. I was surrounded on all sides.

“Gilda?” asked Twilight.

“What...” came my lifeless voice.

“We all wanted to know why you came to the library last night.”

I scoffed. “I ain't telling.” My head bowed away. I didn't want them to see my eyes; they would have revealed too much.

“Gilda, yer our responsibility now. Yah can't shut us out, we have tah help ya through this,” spoke a southern accent.

“Oh really?” I laughed, the sound was bitter and tinged with a hint of sadness. My head tore upward to hone on the shy yellow pegasus. She eeped and scampered backwards, but stumbled against the smooth tiles and fell down on her haunches. “So much for responsibility.”

“Pardon her Gilda, she just hasn't got to know you yet,” replied Rarity.

“Hilarious, oh man this is just priceless!” I jeered, still keeping my eyes locked on Fluttershy. “You know what? I actually prefer it this way. Just look at her, at least she's honest. She wants nothing to do with me; she can't wait to leave this dump. I wish the rest of you could take from her example.”

“What do you mean Gilda?” asked Twilight, her voice hushed to almost a whisper.

“Get. Lost. I don't need your help. I don't need your pity. Don't treat me like I'm some helpless stray dog that your obligated to take care of. Haven't you done enough damage already? You heard it straight from the doc, by the end of the day I'm out of here.”

“But... where are you going to go?” asked Spike.

“That's my problem, not yours.”

“Gilda, the original time limit of the spell was three days. But given the unpredictable side-effects of magic gone wrong, we can't be sure if its going to wear off that soon,” said Twilight.

“I'll deal with it.”

“How?” questioned the orange farm pony. “Don't be so stubborn girl, let us help you git you back tah yer ol' griffon self.

“Stubborn? Can't you understand what 'no' means?” I shot back angrily, tearing my eyes off Fluttershy to face the orange pony's emerald eyes. Her face hardened.

“Okay, that's enough!” exclaimed Dr. Stable in a risen voice. “Gilda needs her rest. We can figure all these messy details out later. If you would Nurse Redheart, lead them out.”

“Finally, a pony with a bit of sense around here,” I mocked with a small laugh, but the laugh brought no sense of joy, only a pang of regret.

The ponies gathered together slowly. Nurse Redheart made no attempt to sweep them out quickly, and Dr. Stable did not reproach her for it. He, too, looked hesitant to leave. Dash passed by me without a glance. That was fine; I had made it a challenge not to see her face even though she was just a foot away from me moments ago. It was better this way.... I think.

The ponies had pooled near the door, each of them reluctant to be the first one through the doorway to leave. It was at this time that a piercing sound broke through the melancholy of the room.

“Oh Gilda!” The bright words erupted from Pinkie Pie. I was put off for an instant by her sound of cheeriness against the bitterness of my mood. She was grating to my ears.

“I have one last itty bitty question, and I'll make it super duper quick!”

“Fine,” I replied, feeling exhausted.

“What's this?” She hopped to my bed, and bent low to the ground to reach for something underneath it. She rose back up with a brown package in her hooves. “Is it a present? Oh I bet it is! I just love gifts. Let's take a look inside; I bet it's a terrific gift!” Her hoof dug into the loose brown paper of the small square package.

I sat petrified in a nightmare, where the worst of fears wasn't the action of being tortured, but that my body was free and would not respond to stop the madness. The clear sound of paper being ripped broke the air and carried into my folded ears; it blasted away all notions of the unbelievable, of the unstoppable – and left the singular thought that no matter what, I had to act now before it was too late.

“NO!”

The cry stopped Pinkie Pie dead in her tracks, but the look of fear on her face came not from the shout, but at the sudden sight of me leaping off my bed and through the air at her. She thrusted her body upwards with the package still in her front hooves. During the sudden motion, my face connected not with her midsection, but against her flailing left hind-hoof as she fell backwards. The force of the reclining kick connected as a direct hit under the line of my jaw. I was stopped in mid air and crashed into the rock-like floor.

The package was thrown upwards and dropped like a lead weight in front of my eyes. The distinct sound of a glass crunch resonated throughout the entire room. I could feel the press of all eyes focused on me. Everything and everypony was stunned for one instant, even the small tick tock of the clock could not be heard as if it too look on in astonishment.

I could not think; I could only feel. And what I felt was the crashing tidal wave of pain flood over my body. It was the new mixed with the old – a completed circle of consummate agony that suffocated any pretense of medicine within my wrecked body. A few seconds later, I became dimly aware that two pairs of hooves was grasping onto my forelegs. The murky sound of bustling hooves rang far away in my ears along with the sudden outcries of ponies panicking. I was being dragged upwards and onto all fours. What I felt next could only be described as unbridled instinct.

I slashed my forelegs back and forth in violence, and tore through my own pain to shake the hooves of unknown ponies off me. My back hind legs reared my whole body upwards as my wings splayed outward in primal rage. Adrenaline coursed through every vein in my body. The pain was forced in momentary submission by an ungodly will-power I never knew I had. The silhouettes of everypony swam in my bleary vision.

“LEAVE NOW.”

Nopony hesitated this time. One moment later, the room was empty. The job was done, and so my body shifted back into rest mode and collapsed once more to the floor.

As my head laid sideways against the cold tile, I felt an obscure guilt offset by a mild indifference. I knew what I had just done, and what it meant for any lingering hope I had for Dash. I didn't want to dwell on my failure, so I smothered my guilt by convincing myself that she was a lost cause that couldn't be changed. If I thought of that as a fact, I received the mild indifference as my reward. Yet... I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. It stood in defiance against every rationalization, against every excuse – and it poisoned my heart with misery. The guilt would not let go, and it forced every happy memory of me and Dash as a weapon against the rest of my emotions. My eyes tilted towards the fallen package. I felt a strange wetness in the corner of my eyes. This was supposed to be for her. A gift from Gilda the griffon, to Dash the friend.

Inexplicably, I reached for the package. I forced my crippled body to crawl towards its battered form. I pulled away a bit of the cardboard that Pinkie Pie had dislodged to peer inside. Amongst the echoing physical pain plaguing my body, a small smile of immeasurable joy formed on my muzzle. The single photograph smiled back at me as a single tear fell against its cracked glass frame.

Hello Glenn.