It all started with a particularly perfect morning, on a particularly perfect Saturday. The sun was shining brightly. The birds were singing melodiously. Even the wild, stray dog, which would normally chase anybody within its sight, was taking a nap under the trees, too lazy to chase anyone.

Bert smiled to himself as he walked down the street. He was doing his daily morning walk, a routine he has been doing for the past three months. It was a good neighbourhood to take morning walks in, if one could ignore that wild, stray dog that chases anybody within its sight that is.

He was almost done with his walk. He was just a few more blocks away from his house. Inside his mind, Bert was already planning just what sort of breakfast he was going to make himself when he reaches the front door. He smacked his lips at the idea of crispy, sweet bacon and fluffy pancakes topped with maple syrup.

Bacon pancakes, Bert thought dreamily, quickening his pace. He hoped he still has the ingredients at home. Nothing must go wrong on this beautiful morning. He would hate to have it ruined by the lack of bacon and pancakes.

But it was a particularly perfect morning. On a particularly perfect Saturday. Everything was going smooth and without trouble. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was going wrong. It was just a very, very perfect Saturday morning.

Except for...

Bert stopped dead in his tracks. Something was out of place. Something was different. And he hated it when change occurred too fast or without warning.

Something big. Something brown and square-shaped was placed right in front of his house, blocking his way in to the comforts of his home. A box. A big box.

Bert cautiously approached the box, staring at it with narrowed eyes. He wasn't expecting mail. And he was certain he had not made any purchases online when he was drunk a few days ago. So why on earth was there a huge box seated between him and his front door?

A bomb? No, thought Bert, it couldn't be. That would be overthinking things. He doesn't have any enemies. Or so he thought.

A gift from his parents or friends? No, that couldn't be it either. He hasn't kept in touch with his parents for over a year. Why would they send something to him now? And he could scratch out friends too, for he doesn't have much. And they weren't the kind of friends that would just send big, brown boxes to each other just to surprise them.

Bert tried lifting the box up from the ground. It was rather heavy. Putting it back down, Bert contemplated on whether or not he should open the box here and now or carry it inside his house. He chose the latter; he wasn't keen on having his neighbours spying on him through their windows.

Grabbing the box from below, Bert tensed his muscles and was just about ready to lift when suddenly he heard a rustling sound. A sound that came from inside the box.

Bert jumped back. There was something moving inside the box. Something alive. His mind raced as he thought of the possibilities of what sort of creature could be inside the box. A cat? A lion? A spawn of Satan?

The rustling continued. The box even shook a little. Whatever was inside it seemed to be searching for a way out. A variety of scenarios started playing in Bert's mind as he imagined what would happen if the box creature broke free. Would it bring about a hundred years of eternal darkness? Would it summon its master from an unknown part of the observable universe?

Bert shook his head. He should really stop reading stories about Elder Gods.

Bert took a step forward. The box was shaking even more than before, yet no sound or cry could be heard. Just a lot rustling and box shaking.

He braced himself and clenched his right hand into a fist. He wasn't planning on letting the creature have him for breakfast.

Raising his fist, ready to strike, Bert opened the box.

What was inside caught him by surprise.

It was a pony. A pony in a box.

And he was clueless on what to do next.

He wasn't sure how he did it but, somehow, Bert managed to carry the box into his home. The box now sat on the floor of his living room, along with the pony still inside it.

It took him a while to register what he saw back outside. But the first thing that popped into his mind was that the creature was indeed a pony. That was what he thought, at least.

For one thing, Bert has never seen a pony in person before, let alone a yellow pony. With wings. And a pink-coloured mane and tail. What sort of equine has that sort of features?

Another thing was that the yellow, winged pony could also talk. Bert scratched the back of his neck. It actually was more of a scream. When their eyes met, he swore the pony just went "ARRRGGGHHHHHHH!" and fainted.

Do ponies scream in terror before they faint? Bert asked himself. He went over to the box to check up on the pony that fainted.

It wasn't moving. But its chest was rising up and falling down in rhythmic fashion. Bert was pretty sure it was alive. Carefully, he prodded the yellow pony on the belly. Its fur was soft to the touch. He gave the pony another poke, a little bit harder than before.

The pony groaned, but did not open its eyes. At least Bert's theory on the pony's state of mortality was confirmed. He studied the creature more closely, gently poking the pony here and there, as if still trying to convince himself that the pony was indeed there and not just a figment of his imagination.

Slowly, his poking turned to touching. The pony's fur was surprisingly soft and amazing to feel. Bert ran his hand back and forth across the belly of the creature, taking pleasure in the sensation coming off from rubbing the fur. His hand moved from the belly towards its back where the wings were. The feathers on it were real enough; Bert had the idea that the wings were possibly fake.

From the wings, Bert's hand descended even lower, towards the rump. There was a sort of mark or tattoo on the side of the pony's rump, which, to Bert's amazement, was a drawing of three pink butterflies.

The pony moaned as Bert rubbed his hand on its rump several times. The pink butterflies didn't seem to have been branded. There were no scars or any signs of burns. It almost seemed as if the butterflies were one with the pony's fur.

Still confused, Bert lifted the pony's hind leg and looked underneath. The lack of a pair of orbs plus a lengthy sausage was proof that the pony wasn't male.

Bert coughed. There was a tingling feeling in his fingers. A sort of tingling that made fingers itchy. Itchy in a way that could only be satisfied with more touching. He was still holding the pony's leg in the air.

Looking down, Bert started questioning his morals. Would it be considered wrong or sick if his fingers started venturing to certain places? To places human fingers never should go to? To do things with fingers on certain places normally not ventured upon?

In other words, would it be weird if he touched a pony's hoo-haw?

He swallowed. Maybe... he thought, maybe just a little bit... a little... touch... There wasn't anyone else in his house anyway. No one would know.

Lowering his hand, Bert tried to steady his rapid breathing and sudden jump in heartbeats. He was getting excited. His heart was pounding strongly against his chest. His hand started to tremble.

Calming himself down, he positioned his hand just inches away from the pink taco.

"Urm..."

Bert shouted in surprise and took a huge leap back. He crashed into the wall behind him. "I'm sorry!" he shouted out, struggling to stand up. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do anything!"

The yellow pony with the pink mane and tail looked at him from within the box. She didn't say anything. It seemed she was trying to put as much box between them as possible. Only her head, eyes and mane were visible. Everything else was hidden away by the box.

"Urm... hi, i guess?" Bert said, trying to break the awkward silence between them. He couldn't believe he almost played with a pony's banana basket. He took a step forward. "I'm not sure if you could talk or anything." Bert said, intending it for him more than the pony. "But... my name's Bert." he hesitated. "What's your name?"

The pony stared at him with fearful eyes. But Bert swore he heard her speak.

"Fluttershy."

Author's Note

What do you do when you're bored? Write something random.