One way ticket

Location: The streets of Ponyville.

Time 12.00

You were walking around Ponyville, you figured the best place to start would be at Twilight’s place, but this was Ponyville, you had absolutely no idea where anything was compared to the hospital. You vaguely remember where the town hall was, form your previous pass though town, but that was about it.

“Well if I get to the town hall, I could get the mayor to help me. But that would implicate the local government, and I don’t want that just jet. But non the less its a good reference point,” Your stomach growled, not to happy about not being fed breakfast or lunch. That complimented with the warm and sunny weather made you feel a little sick.

Your body wasn’t tuned to warm and sunny weather. The climate back on Earth, where you lived was always damp cold, and dark. The temperature was always somewhere in between 10 – 18 degrees Celsius, or around 50 – 64 degrees Fahrenheit and raining. The sun was also hurting your eyes, while they struggled to adjust.

“Urg... I need something to eat. Maybe I can procure a few apples from a merchant or something,” You wondered to yourself as you walked down the same road you came from earlier that day.

As you were walking a lot of ponies gave you strange looks. They ranged from scared, interested, amused, to down right confused. But all the ponies gave you a wide birth of range, from a few meters, to crossing the street all together. You could understand why, but you were hardly the strangest thing that have happened to this town, maybe the most extraordinary, but not the strangest.

As you walked up to the large circular building that was the town hall, and looked out over the marked place. Small amounts of brony excitement started to seep in. But that feeling was quickly overpowered by hunger pains.

You had to be smart about this, you observed the shop keepers, and how they did business. There were a few that stuck out to be a little extra giving, but then you saw the Apple family apple cart with Big Mac operating it. That was probably your best bet, since you kinda knew him.

You wanted something, making you the hunter, and he had it, making him the prey. You didn’t go straight for the red stallion. You learned a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, to always strafe your target, if you went straight for him, he would know something was up, always have the element of surprise.

But that is kinda hard when you’re a huge bipedal creature, inn a sea of tiny equines. He was kinda eyeing you from afar.

You walked as casually as you could, pretending to brows some goods at a few stalls. It seem like it worked. Big mac seemingly forgot about you and directed his attention to tending to other costumers.

You kept roaming the market, always with Big mac in your vision, but there was no rush. You stopped to help a small filly, who had trouble getting the attention of a shop keeper. Her face was priceless, and beyond super cute, when she realized that an alien, had just handed her a bag of cherries.

It got even cuter as you motioned for her to follow you to the cash register. You knocked on the counter, earning the shocked, fear filled, and generally annoyed attention of the large, dark brown stallion. You pushed the tiny filly in to the vision of the stallion.

“That’s 5 bits.” The shopkeeper said in a very rusty voice that somewhat resembled a chain smokers cough.

“Oh come on! Last week it was 3!” You jumped at the unexpected big voice coming from the filly. She was like a tiny canon, packed with a huge lode of black powder and a attitude to follow.

“Well missy, things change...”

You just gave him a very sincere smile.

“uh... okay... okay I’ll make you a deal” You didn’t realize it right there and then, but you were smiling with teeth. Showing off those sharp white bones made for cutting, probably sett a fright in the stallion.

Just as you were walking away from the cherry booth, a wave of shame hit you, almost out of nowhere.

“Was that Sweetie Bell?” The sound of your hand sacking your face echoed through the marked.

And you call your self a Brony! Not instantly recognizing one of the cutest fillies in the whole cosmos. You should be ashamed!

And you were.

Your shame was partly brushed away by the growl of a hungry stomach, time to see Big Macintosh about a few apples.

“Big Macintosh I presume?” The large stallion did a 90 degree turn, faster than you though possible for any being his size, kicking up some dust in the proses.

What followed was as informative as a whole week of conversation with anypony. It is true what they say about Big Mac, his gaze could rip every secret from your very soul, and than some more. And his eyes told just as much as they read. The emotion he held was more than any living thing  ever could hope to contain. Eyes told so much yet, hardly anything at all, the story that repeated itself the most was one of loss, tragedy and happiness.

“What can I do for yha’ stranger?” His eyes was locked to yours, barley blinking.

“Well as you may have guessed, I’m a stranger here, so I’m in need of some help. I heard that there was this unicorn named Twilight Sparkle that lived in the town library, and I need to see her, for the reason of making my presence known to the princesses. If you could point me in the general direction of her tree it would be mush appreciated...” As if one cue, a growl escaped your gut.

“That  leads me to the other thing I was going to ask you. I’m starving! Can I borrow a few apples? I don’t have any money at the moment but I will pay you back as soon I can, plus AJ can keep a eye on me”

At the mention of his sister, Big Mac took a aggressive pose. He was a good head and a half taller than the other ponies, making his face reach your chest. He wasn’t as big as you, and you did have a few advantages, but you didn’t want to fight him at close quarters.

One: If he got in to a good bucking possession, and actually hit you. You could count any bone that might have been there, to be pulverised instantly.

Two: It wouldn’t look good if you started a fight with one of Celestias subjects and ended up hurting him.

And Three: If he didn’t kill you, his sister would. You could never hurt Apple Jack even if you had to.

“Don’t worry. I promise by the gods, may they have my head if  I ever let any harm come to her direct or indirect.”

Your theatrics seemed to do the trick, he slowly eased up and turned to get a bag of apples. Not that your words were false though, you would fight and die for the main six, hell you would fight and die for anypony innocent and good, at any time and place.

That is a lifestyle you are proud of, but it takes it toll, going out every day and expecting to die at any time isn’t very healthy for a mind. But you had other insanity’s to worry about other than a constant paranoia, a lot nastier ones.

Anyway, if you accept the fact that life is flimsy, and you don’t fear death you get away pretty clean from any crippling paranoia. And still, life kinda seems pointless to you if you don’t have something you can die for with a clean conscience.

All this philosophy about death and disaster have gotten you very familiar with the feeling of imminent doom, and how it acts.

There is always the distant feeling of doom in your spine, but there is some other variant of this that you know very well. The immediate doom, the feeling of a prey being hunted.

Something was following you, and its presence was about to be reviled.

Big Mac walked over to you with a small bag of apples and a note. You humbly accept the bag and note. Examining the note you discovered it was directions to the library.

You turn to the silent stallion to give your thanks and wish him a good day, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking past you. In his eyes you saw a dot of colour that didn’t belong in his green eyes.

You reacted faster than technically possible, because you didn’t react. Your always prepared nature, made ducking, running for cover and countering when possible, more or less a reflex rather than a calculated effort.

You herd the air being cut over you as the multicoloured bullet passed over you.

“Horse apples!” The cyan pony jelled as she sped in to a field of clouds, disappearing completely.

“Figures,” You grounded as you got up and started to brush the dust of yourself. “Well I did make her eat a good bit of dirt earlier... but damn she is president.”

You departed the market, giving your thanks and good will to Big Mac, a nod and a smile. Somehow you feel like that smile conveyed more than all the words in the cosmos ever could relay.

As you were walking down the barely crowded, cobblestone streets you heard something... something beautiful. The clambering of silver strings like the voice of angels. The notes shot through you bringing tears to your eyes. The beauty of the notes threatened to brake your walls, letting untold demons to the surface. You steeled yourself barricading every door in your mind, locking every gate, you couldn’t let this world see the full rage of a human.

You needed to find the player, the one making this beautiful pain, you had to see it before you could let the music heal you. Every note assaulted the safeguards made to keep you at bay.

You were getting desperate, the voice of a thousand angles was letting them free. You had started running, your breathing was ragged, ponies scrambled out of your way. Then you saw her, the mastermind behind your agony.

A mint pony.

You knew her, Lyria Heartstrings was her name and invoking your rage was her game. She was sitting on a small wooden stool, perked like a human, eyes closed, her golden lyre wrapped in her green aura. Squeezing out beautiful note after beautiful note. Her entire being was wrapped under your psychotic shadow.

Note after note, second after second, your rage was dimming, your walls were crumbling, your breath slowed, but your heart raced on.

Rage was always the first to escape its cage. A rage so potent, it could rip every fiber of your mind to peaces and send you in to a deep, frenzy, threatening everything around you. But after that something much worse creeps out of its hole... silence.

This was not a peaceful silence. Imagine the silence after the fires of a atomic bomb. The silence that comes after war. The silence after death. A silence, just as damaging as the fires that came before.

Your shadow was no longer towering over her, it was now at her hooves, silhouetting the form of a human. His knees to his chest and his head low, quietly crying...

(Yes I’m letting it hang there, just because I can. Plus I don’t think I can dig any deeper in to my mind and still have words to voice my feelings. And still I feel like what I have written does not suffice. Ow well the writers dilemma, I’m I right?

And yes, all of Richards feelings are mirrored from my own, so if you ever wondered how insane I am, this will get you started.

In other news. I’m gonna try to put out one chapter every weekend, Saturday or Sunday. And in return for waiting one whole week for me to get my finger out my ass and get writing, you’ll get better quality and longer chapters. This goes for my short stories too, but those are going to be a bit more spontaneous, not guaranteed weekly.

Now tell me the error in my ways and help me get a better writer. Thanks.

And as always have a nice day)