The World Turned Upside Down

I sit with my arms folded in my lap, staring at the floor as the room fills with the pale grey tinge of the morning sun. I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night.

And how could I? Never mind the fact that, in less than forty-eight hours, I’d found myself in the middle of nowhere, locked eyes with a creature that was supposed to turn me to stone, dragged myself through mud and water until I passed out, and met a talking pegasus that looks nothing like a pegasus — that’s all dust in the wind.

No, what’s really shaking me up is that I’d come face to face with this nation’s leader, who had not only proved that magic is a real, tangible force in this world, but also given me a task that I didn’t really want, nor was I ready for.

Responsibility and I are like Pepe le Pew and any of his hapless love interests: wherever possible, I avoid it like the plague. I can be responsible when I need to be, but… more often than not, I just can’t trust myself to live up to everyone else’s standards. So, when a weight this heavy has been dropped on my shoulders, with no warning, no chance of opting out and no one to complain to, what else can I do but sit here and brood?

But I’m not worried, or anxious, or anything like that. Instead, it’s that bothered feeling again. Whether that’s good or bad, I don’t know, but in less than an hour, I’m sure that’ll pass too. Or sooner, if there’s a distraction.

The bedroom door opens and out steps Amber, who, upon seeing me, gives me the same bitter glare from last night and continues through to the kitchen.

I’m tempted to say good morning, just to see how she’d react, but I know she’d take it as a provocation. Which it would be, now that I think about it. Her patience with me is thin enough as it is — she doesn’t need me pretending like nothing happened. That would be crossing the line.

She returns a few seconds later with two potatoes. “Fhin’ fash,” she mumbles past the one in her mouth, and throws the other at me.

“Hey!” I shrink away and shield my head instinctively, but it hits the back wall instead and I shoot her a scowl. “What was that for?!”

“Being there,” she replies matter-of-factly, after spitting the first into a waiting foot.

I stare at her with an incredulous sneer and shake my head. “You are…”

“Insufferable?”

“…A real piece of work.”

“Makes you want to leave, doesn’t it?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Then go.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re supposed to help me.”

“Give me less sass and maybe I will.” She takes a bite from her potato. “Fair’s fair, no?”

“You were touching my stuff.”

“So?”

“So, you were being a hypocrite.”

She swallows and deepens her frown. “It’s my house; I can do what I want.”

I gesture to my bag. “And these are my things.”

“In my house. I have a right to know what you’re bringing inside, don’t you think?”

“Then ask.”

“After you tried to pull the wool over my eyes yesterday?”

“I… wasn’t doing that.”

“Oh, so you were telling the truth?” She exchanges her frown for another one of her unimpressed looks. “It never occurred to me.”

I weather her gaze a little while longer, then let out an aggravated sigh and hold my head in my hands. There’s no changing her mind, and I don’t have the energy to argue anymore, so it’s best to just throw in the towel and hope she doesn’t hang it over me any chance she gets. Even though I know that’s exactly what she’d do. I look up and meet her eyes again. “Look, I’m… sorry about last night. Alright? That was… I don’t know what I was thinking. I was tired. Really, really tired. I was stupid and tired and… things just… got out of hand.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Can we start over? New game? Clean slate?”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily, you dolt.”

“Then can we at least drop the subject?”

She leans a little closer and slowly snarls through clenched teeth, “Not on your life.”

I fling my hands up in defeat and sit back with an exasperated huff. “Then what do you want me to say? If it’s not an apology, what? Or are you just going to stand there and grill me all day?”

Her eyes narrow. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“But what do you—”

“Rule Two,” she snaps, “or I could throw something heavier, if you’d like.”

Resentfully, I look away, and I can’t help but think that maybe letting her off easy wasn’t the best call. I pick up the potato beside me and inspect it front and back, searching for imperfections, but it’s clean of dirt and I find nothing other than the bruise where it struck the wall. “This is all I get?” I ask, sounding a little harsher than I’d meant to.

“It’s all either of us get,” she replies, taking another bite. “Believe it or not, food takes time to grow, and I never planned on having guests. So, if you want to live like royalty, go outside and dig your own garden. Otherwise, eat.”

“A raw potato?”

“Eat.”

I put the spud back down and fold my arms. “I’m not hungry.”

Her face sours. “Fine. I guess you don’t want lunch or dinner either.”

“What?”

“Well, if you have the strength to fight a cockatrice, I’m sure going a whole day without food shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?”

“That’s… What? No, that’s—”

“I bet you don’t even know what a cockatrice does, do you?”

“It… turns people to stone.”

She raises her brows and slowly nods. “Ah, so you don’t need my hoof to jog your memory.”

“Well… No…”

“Then maybe you can tell me where you actually come from, and what that… thing on the table was, and why you’re dressed up all the time.”

I frown in confusion. “Dressed up?”

“Yes, dressed up. Or don’t you classy types understand the concept of modesty?”

I pause, and then baulk and try to hold back a wide, snickering smile. “Not that modest.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll do it for you.”

I stop laughing and look down to my feet, but I can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t act like I’m the one being weird here — you are.”

“For wearing clothes?”

“For wearing them all day every day.”

“Wait, so… you wear clothes too?”

“Don’t change the subject!” she yells, stamping the floor. “You have a lot of explaining to do and I’m not going to let you worm your way out of it like you did the last few dozen times. I want answers and I want them now.”

I hesitate. I’ve been here twice before, and in both cases, neither lying nor being honest had done me any favours. Weighing up my options, though, she’s already heard the truth and rejected it, so I’m really left with only one choice.

“Well?”

I look down at my feet and try to think, but knowing her scolding gaze is only a head’s turn away makes it difficult to focus. This would be so much easier if I knew even a mere fraction of this world’s history, and where a ‘unique specimen’ such as myself may have come from. I could say that Abyss place, but if Selene knew about the look-alike ‘tribes’ there, I don’t want to risk clashing with common knowledge.

And besides, if she could recite the details of a private conversation she had no part in, I’m sure she’d find out if I’d gone back to my deceitful ways.

Forgiving or not, I don’t think she’d take it well at our next meeting.

“I’m waiting.”

“The truth is…” I blurt out, trying to buy more time. What that truth will be, I have no idea. And if I do come up with something and she still rejects it, I have no idea what I’ll… “The truth is… I think I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Her tone’s as doubtful as it is stunned.

I look up and gently nod. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“No, hold on, what do you mean you think you have amnesia?”

“I mean… before you found me the other day… I don’t remember much of anything. I remember walking, and stumbling, and banging my knee against something, and… maybe I saw something dangerous — could’ve been a cockatrice, could’ve been—”

“It wasn’t a cockatrice.”

“…Could’ve been something else. And then I slipped and fell and… then you found me. Before that? Nothing. Or, not a whole lot, at least. There are bits and pieces here and there, like… what you said five minutes ago, about me finally remembering what a cockatrice does. I also know there are… dragons, and minotaurs, and, uh… hippogriffs — I think they’re called — to the southwest. I bet there are others too, but… those are the ones off the top of my head. And… you have a princess in charge, don’t you?”

“Princess Selene.”

“Right. And she’s a winged unicorn, isn’t she?”

“An alicorn.”

“A… what?”

Amber rolls her eyes. “A living symbol of harmony in Equestria, and embodiment of the union between pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies.”

“…Right… And she lives in… Canterlot, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah-yeah, alright, enough about Equestria.” She waves a foot at me. “What about your home? Why don’t you tell me about where you’re from?”

“…I don’t remember much.”

“How convenient.”

“Well… even if I did remember anything, you probably wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“And whose fault is that?”

Slowly, coyly, I raise a hand.

“Bingo!” she cries with unusual enthusiasm. “See? Not so dense after all.”

I slowly blink, then shake my head as I grab my potato and stand up.

“Whoa whoa whoa, where do you think you’re going?"

“Fetching a knife,” I answer, “otherwise this’ll just hurt my teeth.”

“…You stay right there,” she orders, eying me suspiciously as she backs up and disappears into the kitchen again, then returns a few seconds later with a thin, semicircular stone replacing her spud. She sets the stone on the table and holds out a foot to me, which I assume is her version of an open hand.

I sit down and toss her my potato.

Amber catches it and sets it on the table, then uses the stone to score it with several deep cuts. “There,” she tosses it back, “you happy?”

“I could’ve done it myself.”

“And let you near something sharp? I don’t think so.”

I frown. “You think I want to hurt you?”

“I’m not taking chances.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You tell me.”

I pause, then upturn my palms and shrug in absolute bewilderment.

“You haven’t given me a single reason to trust you ‘til now, so don’t act surprised. Now, I said I want answers, and I want to know, if you really do have amnesia, why lie? Why not just come out and say it? Why make up this crazy story about a world without magic and ponies who can’t talk?”

“Because…” I begin, and trail off before I can finish the rest of that sentence. It was the truth, but it would never be her truth. Better instead to answer with a half-truth. “Because I was scared. I told you last night. I still am. It’s just… I don’t know… a coping mechanism, I guess.”

“So, your way of dealing with stress… is to dig a deeper hole?”

“…Yeah. Go figure.”

She stares at me blankly, then slumps back on her haunches, closes her eyes, puts her feet to her head and sags. “Moon above, give me strength…”

“Hey, it’s my problem, not yours.”

“You’re a compulsive liar with a faulty memory,” she grumbles, returning her forefeet the floor and looking at me again. “Where could this go wrong, I wonder.”

It wasn’t really what I’d intended… but if it works for her, I’ll just have to make it work for me too. “So, you believe me?”

“I still don’t trust you.”

“…But you believe me, don’t you?”

She straightens herself somewhat and watches me with narrowed eyes. “No,” she finally answers, “but it’s a heck of a lot better than whatever you said before.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Good. Because that’s all you’re getting.”

I ignore the snark and tear off a piece of potato. It’s dry, starchy and the rubbery skin has an odd flavour to it, but if there’s nothing else, and Amber isn’t willing to indulge me, it’ll do for now. After the first few bites, I realise how thirsty I am and reach out for the cup on the table to wash it down, only to remember that it’s empty. “Can I have a refill?”

She gives me a crabby look, but stands up, picks up the knife in her teeth, then sidles along and retrieves the cup in the bend of her ankle. Just as she’s about to go through the kitchen archway, however, she stops and sniffs the air, then the cup, and then she turns back to me with a suspecting scowl.

“What?” I question, hoping a flat denial would hide my brief sense of panic. “Seriously, can’t I ever catch a break with you?”

She says nothing and continues on her way.

I let my breath go and tear off another piece. It’s finally paid off, but I’m already sick of lying. My alibi is simple and easy to remember, and still gives me the opportunity to ask about anything I see fit, but I know that in a few hours, this façade will start to weigh on me. To steal a phrase, there’s no one I can play it straight with — tell the truth to — without them thinking I’d regressed into lunacy.

I’m no stranger to theatre.

Once upon a time, I fancied myself to be the next big name to grace the big screen. So much, in fact, that the first high school I applied for and was accepted into was an arts college, priding itself on its renowned drama programme. It was a good school. The students were good, the teachers were good — even if some of them were a little up themselves — and the library staff… were the sweetest people I’d met in a long time. Especially Ms. Sanders…

The only problem was the drama programme itself, which, after the first year, focussed more on the theory of acting, rather than anything practical, like, I don’t know, acting. It also didn’t help that drama students were being merged with musical theatre, for reasons I’ll never understand, and never care to.

But the year and a half I was there, before my parents withdrew me for a more standard education, it was a blast. My first and last major performance was an absurdist play I’ve long since forgotten the name of, where I, along with another who played the role at the same time, was a firefighter with an insanely complex ancestry. Or something like that. It was fun.

No offence to Dianne, but I think I was the better firefighter. Mum said so.

But that was years ago. Now, I’m out of practice, and as much as I loved the attention then, I don’t anymore. At least, not in the same way. And this isn’t like any play I’ve ever seen or been a part of before.

This is a solo performance. I am the only actor. The props are real. The lines, improvised. The number of acts, unknown. There is no director, no intermission, no margin for error, and no one I can share my burden with. And the audience, though small, has the power to cast me back out into the freezing rain, where we all know I shall never act again.

How long can it last, I wonder, before cracks begin to show?

“What about those things on the table?”

I look up to find Amber standing about a metre away from me, cup filled, fixing me with a stern expression. “What about them?” I ask, trying to match her conviction.

“What were they?”

I pause, and then gesture for the cup. “Water first, please.”

She winces cagily.

“So you don’t throw it in my face.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You know why.”

She pulls the cup away. “Why would I do that?”

“…Because you might not like the answer.”

“Try me.”

I look down at my lap and think. Coming straight out with the answer… isn’t the answer. Not for her. She’s blunt and direct, but doesn’t like seeing that from someone else. I have to ease her into the idea somehow. I have to be vague without being patronising, but precise enough in case she knows what I’m talking about. “Do you know what electricity is?” I ask cautiously, meeting her gaze.

“You mean what lightning’s made of?”

“…Yeah, pretty much. Do you have anything that’s powered by electricity?”

She winces again. “What’re you getting at?”

“Do you or don’t you?”

“…Well, not here, no.”

“But they exist?”

“Yeah.”

“What kinds of things?”

She pauses, then draws her head back and — as best as she can on three feet — gives an exasperated shrug. “I don’t know. Streetlights, I guess. Stuff you see in the city.”

“Phones?”

“…Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Well, they’re not the most common thing in the world. At least, I think…” She frowns to herself, then blinks and shakes her head. “Why does it matter, anyway?”

I reach down to my bag and unzip the front pocket.

“Wait… Wait, you don’t actually mean…”

I pull out my phone.

“That’s not a phone.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, phones are… bigger. And where are the wires, and the… number wheel, or whatever it’s called?”

I know what she’s describing, but there’s a slight waver in her voice that tells me she’s not so sure herself. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve never seen one before?”

Amber hesitates, then stomps and shoots me an accusatory glare. “I don’t need to see one to know what it looks like!”

I try not to snicker.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Lying.”

“…No, I’m—”

“There’s no way that’s a phone. You just can’t fit something that complex… into that.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know, okay?! I don’t care if I’ve never seen one before, or know how they work — there are some things you just can’t do, and that’s one of them.”

“…Seriously?”

“Of course I’m being serious!”

“No, I mean… you live in a world full of magic… and you have trouble believing that something can be downsized?”

She stares at me blankly.

“Can I please have my water now?”

A splash to the face is all the response I get.

I open my eyes and mutter, “Thanks.”

“Your breath stinks,” she says gruffly, “and you need a bath.”

I dry my face with the slightly-less-wet collar of my shirt. “I take it that’s my first chore for the day?”

“It is now.”

“Alright. So, where’s the well?”

“Don’t have one. You’ll have to go to the lake.”

“…The… You want me to go back out there? Alone?”

“Something wrong?”

“…Well, I’m supposed to be resting my leg, aren’t I?”

“It’s not that far.”

“To you, maybe.”

“I didn’t see you complaining yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, the ground’s pretty level here, isn’t it?”

“Then stick to level ground.”

“What if I trip?”

“You’re a big boy.”

“But… what if I get lost?”

“Don’t kid yourself,” she scolds. “You have amnesia, not short-term memory loss. If you’re going to lie to me, at least stay consistent.”

I fall silent. The petty reasons have been exhausted; all that’s left is the real reason I don’t want to go — why I shouldn’t go. But if I play that card, not only would she not believe me, I’d be breaking a promise, and throwing my only chance of outside help down the drain. “…Fine,” I huff. “But if I get hurt, it’s your fault.”

“Oh no, how will I ever live down the guilt?”

“Nice to know you care so deeply.”

“I don’t.”

I glance away and suppress a groan. “Can I have my socks and shoes back, please?”

“Sure,” she says, heading into the bedroom.

“Uh… shoes, Amber.”

“I’m getting them,” she retorts from behind the wall, then returns with my sneakers pressed to her chest and dumps them at my feet. “See?”

I stare down at them in surprise for a moment. They’re clean. As well as my socks, which have been stuffed into the hollows, like I usually do. The laces are still done up. “Why’d you take them off?”

“To check your feet, and make sure you wouldn’t just run away. But that was before I realised what a massive pain you are.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She glowers. “You have your stuff, now go.”

I lean forward and start putting on my shoes. “What’ll you be doing in the meantime?”

“Housework.”

“Nothing you want me to do, I hope?”

“Can you climb a ladder?”

I grimace as my bad ankle bends with the effort of slipping on a sock. “Probably not.”

“Can you make plaster?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about gardening?”

“Besides watering the plants, no.”

“Then no, I don’t want your help.”

“Too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I give her a disapproving glance.

“Cut the sass or I’ll give you sass, and a whole lot worse if you ask for it.”

“I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“I don’t feel like being enthused.”

“Well then, that’s your problem, isn’t it?”

“Oh really? And who’s the one poking the beehive?”

“Who’s the one being a beehive?”

She blinks, and then shakes her head and sneers. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re just a migraine waiting to happen.”

I’ve been called worse, but that one hits me a little deeper than most, and I’m glad that I’m up to my laces. If she saw my eyes in that brief moment… I hate to think how she’d use it against me. I know too well because I’ve used the exact same trick so many times before. “I’ll be going now,” I say, stowing my things in my pockets and hoisting myself to my feet.

“Not without your breakfast.”

I look down at Amber.

“You can drink all you want, but unless you eat something, your breath is going to stink, and I don’t want to smell your breath all day.”

“You’ll be outside all day.”

She reaches out to touch my knee.

I widen my eyes and almost jump back, holding a hand in front of my leg defensively.

“Do it, dingus, or I’ll find a beehive and break it over your head.”

I hold her gaze a moment longer, but yield and pick up what’s left of the potato.

“Good. Now get out there and get yourself cleaned up.”

“Yes, Mum,” I murmur, limping around her to the kitchen.

“Hold up.”

I stop just shy of the door and, grudgingly, turn around.

Amber walks through the archway to the other end of the room, where she drags three small pots out from under the preparation counter and neatly stacks them into one another. She pushes them across the floorboards towards me. “Take these with you, bring back some water. I’m running low.”

I pull at my still-damp shirt. “I wonder why.”

“Yes, I know, it’s a mystery.”

My frown deepens, but I pick up the stack and hold it like I would a toddler, then unlatch and open the door. “Goodbye, Amber.”

“Don’t take too long.”

I pause. “Why? Don’t you want me out of your face?”

“I want a bath too.”

Perhaps I’m being a bit too cheeky for my own good, but I can’t help calling her out on another double standard. It doesn’t really offend me, so much as it… intrigues me, but I still sound frustrated when I ask, “Then why don’t you come with?”

She recoils. “Ew! I don’t want you watching me bathe!”

“What’s the big deal? You’re not wearing anything anyway.”

She blinks again, and then rears up and shoves me outside.

My head bumps against the doorframe as I stumble through.

“Just go already!” she barks. “And if you break those pots, I’ll break something else!”

I straighten up and stare at her, miffed, nursing the back of my head, then look behind me in the general direction I think I came from. “Where is it?”

“West.”

I turn back to her.

Dumbfounded by my ignorance, she jabs a foot toward a mountain in the distance to my left. “There,” she snarls. “You can’t miss it. And for the love of all things good, take out the water before you jump in. I don’t want to be cooking with your filth.”

Filth.

For some reason, that word gets to me. I don’t know why; it’s not that offensive, and she’s not wrong — after all, who’d want to use water that some filthy stranger has washed himself with?

But still… it hurts.

And it hurts a lot.

“Now get lost,” Amber growls, and slams the door in my face.