“I’m sorry, Jacob. There’s been an accident.”
Those words bounced around my skull like a particularly annoying insect as I broke several road laws speeding home. Wrong, he had to be wrong, there was no way….no way. It had to be some sort of joke; his voice was far too smooth, far too controlled to be delivering such terrible news. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t, it couldn’t……
I promise I’m not crazy.
Alright, maybe a little backstory would help explain why I was speeding down the roads of a sleepy town while simultaneously having a mental break. I mean, such behaviors aren’t exactly common - at least, I don’t think they are - and so you’d have little precedent with which to make an assumption. Anyway, on with the backstory.
It was finals week in college, the period of time every student dreads. It seems like an endless loop of studying, test taking, crying, etc. My stress levels were already through the roof after my Organic Chemistry final, and then, I received a phone call.
“Hello, this is Jacob Forner, who am I speaking to?” I answered in my ‘official’ sounding voice, you know, the one you use whenever an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen and you don’t know if it’s a telemarketer, or maybe a bill collector, or perhaps even your proctologist.
Maybe a bit too much information there.
“Greetings, Mr. Forner,” The voice started, silky and smooth like velvet.“ I’m Officer Arouet with the Annetteville Police Department. I regret to inform you…..well, I’m sorry, Jacob. There’s been an accident. We need you to report to your family home as soon as possible.”
Those few sentences shattered my world; it was the verbal equivalent of throwing a baseball at your neighbor's window. My family was everything to me: my father, who worked hard to provide for us and supported me no matter what; my mother, the woman with the kindest heart I’d ever seen who gave me all the love in the world; and my sister who, despite being mischievous and a bit of a pain, was still the best younger sibling anybody could ask for. Were we a perfect family? No, we got into arguments, we fought, we disagreed, and there would always be parts of each other that we didn’t like, but despite that we still loved each other, and if anything happened to them……
My car bounced around as I made the turn onto my pothole littered, dirt street. The old road could barely even be called that; it was so washed out at this point, destroyed by years of erosion and lack of maintenance by a town that cared little for backroads way out in the woods, that it was hardly drivable. ‘A free rollercoaster’, a friend of mine’s father used to say. I called it a future concussion.
Dust flew up in my wake as I sped down the street as fast as I could without risking brain injury. I calmed down by a barely perceptible amount as my home came into view; on the outside, at least, everything looked fine. The decent sized two-story didn’t seem to have any damage to it, everything seemed like it was in place.
I was bursting out of my car before I even finished putting it in park, scrambling to the front door in a mad dash. Grabbing at the gold colored knob, I gave it a few test turns before realizing it was locked.
“Key, key,” I muttered as I fumbled around in my pocket for the keyring. Nothing. Confused, I checked my other pocket, then my back pockets, then my jacket pockets…..still nothing. Now thoroughly perplexed, my mind went into overdrive thinking about where my keys could have gone. In my panic, where would I have……
I smacked my forehead as realization struck me. “I left them in the frigging ignition.”
After resolving that lapse in basic awareness and grabbing my keys, I was back up at the front door, inserting my key into the lock and hearing that satisfying ‘click’ as those zealous tumblers were made happy by the shard of metal in my hand. It took but a second to open the door after that, and I was welcomed into my warm, loving hom-
Well, that’s not exactly what happened. Instead of feeling that sense of relief and safety that always washes over me whenever I step through the threshold of the house I’d lived in all my life, a shudder worked its way through my body. Everything seemed….unnatural in a way. The white siding of the house, dirtied by years of being exposed to the elements, for some reason reminded me of old bones; the red shutters on the windows seemed reminiscent of blood; and the darkened windows of the house were black, soulless voids, not unlike the abyss present in front of me just through the open door. Everything seemed so still. So dead.
I crept cautiously into the house, noting the distinct lack of voices despite it being evening, a time in which everybody was normally home. From room to room I snuck, peering into each one to see any sign of life, but I found none. No food cooking, no t.v. switched on to some news station, no people. A dread had worked its way into my gut, growing and growing like a parasite that had found a prime food source. Something was very off.
My hand extended to open the door to the final room on the first story, the bathroom, before a thought suddenly crossed my mind. Have you ever looked at something, thought nothing off it, moved on, then a few moments later realized you missed something? That’s the feeling I had as I retraced my footsteps to the dining room, looking with a much more scrutinous eye at the far end. For you see, on the other end of the dining room was a window, one which was open. And the screen was cut out. From the outside.
At that point all the details I’d missed before came rushing at me: how I never asked the officer for his badge number; the lack of police officers at what was supposedly an active scene; the fact that somebody was in the house and this was almost certainly a setup!
My phone was out of my pocket before I even finished that thought, dialing 911 and pressing ‘call’.
“911, what’s your emergen-”
The calm voice on the other end of the line was cut short as my phone shattered into a million pieces. It took me a few seconds of shocked staring to realize it had taken two of the fingers on my right hand along with it, leaving a mess of blood, chunks of flesh, bone, and small glass shards. It took another few seconds before I felt the pain.
“AHHHHHH, FUCK!” I screamed at the very top of my lungs. My hand felt as though it was being hammered upon by a very angry man who I had exchanged unsavory words in a bar with. The pain was so great that I almost didn’t notice the movement in the peripherals of my right eye. Almost.
Slowly, and with great effort due to the pain, I swiveled my head to meet the gaze of my attacker. Whatever I was expecting, it was not a well-dressed young man who looked as though he had just stepped out of the catalogue of a particularly fancy menswear store. This man looked absolutely perfect: perfectly clean gray suit, without even a wrinkle; perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth set into a perfect, unblemished face that must have left people swooning in his wake; and perfectly combed back blonde hair that had not a single strand out of place.
The shooter gave me a smile with his perfect teeth before addressing me in the same voice I had heard over the phone earlier. “Something seems to be wrong, I just can’t put my finger on it.”
He burst out into raucous laughter at his joke. I could only stare at him in disbelief; had he really just tried to be funny at a time like this?
His laughter died down after a few moments, and he wiped a few tears from his eyes with his gunhand. He was carrying a Colt Single Action Revolver in that hand, and I could see peeking out over his fingers a few petals of a flower etched onto the wooden grip. I was lucky; an older gun like that might make the next bullet easy to dodge as long as I remained observant.
“You’re probably wondering, ‘who is this guy in my house that just shot me’”, he began, leveling the barrel of the gun at my forehead. “The answer? I’m the guy who likes everything to be just perfect, and you had to ruin it with your little call.”
Right as I saw him pull the trigger I threw myself to the side, completely dodging the bullet as it harmlessly whizzed past my ear.
“AHHHHHH,” was the only sound I could make as I realized the bullet wasn’t so harmless and had, in fact, shattered my ear drum. I instinctively cupped my left hand over the ear as I watched blood drip down onto the floor, mixing itself with its brethren gushing from my much more obvious wound.
A dark chuckle resounded above me as I felt a punch connect with the back of my head, sending me sprawling out on the floor. A hand grabbed my leg as he began to drag me across the hardwood floor,face down, a trail of blood left in our wake.
“So,”he said, mirth filling his voice, “let me guess. You thought you were going to be like one of those action heroes you see in the movies. Dodge the bullet, beat the shit out of the bad guy, save the day.
“Well, guess what kid.” He stopped dragging me and flipped me on to my back. “This isn’t a movie. And, as you can see, there’s no day left to save.”
He gestured with his gun to the right of me and, as I slowly turned my head to see what he was talking about, I took a sharp intake of breath. Within arm’s reach of me were the bodies of my family, sprawled out onto the floor, covered in blood and bullet holes, and with deep slash marks across their throats. Tears formed in my eyes at seeing my family like this, and I was choking back the sobs bubbling up my throat. I couldn’t let him see me like this, I couldn’t let him feel like he won.
It was barely a second later he was right over me, gleaming steel knife at my throat that had already been stained with the blood of my family. I could only glare at him with hatred and contempt at this point; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
A sick smile formed across his face as he stared reverently at the knife for a moment. “You know, you might think I prefer the gun as a weapon, but I love the knife. So much more brutal, so much more personal.” He leaned over me just a bit more, the predatory smile on his growing. “So, any last words?”
“You-” I had barely finished the first word before the knife was drawn across my throat, cutting into the windpipe and several blood vessels in my neck. I could feel the blood pouring into my lungs, ironically drowning me in the very fluid that gave me life. My assailant stood back up to his full height while giving me a smug smirk.
“Like I said, not a movie. You don’t get some awesome last words to say to the big villain.” He began to walk away, giving me an almost friendly wave as he did so. “Goodbye, kid. It was fun.”
As I laid on that floor slowly dying I did the only thing I could think of. I inched closer to my family, reaching out my arm so that it was on top of the pile our killer had dumped their bodies in. For a moment, I thought I had imagined the brief flash of life in my little sister’s eyes, but as I felt her smaller hand curl around my own I realized she too was still alive, though not for long.
For a second, our eyes met. That moment felt like an eternity, each of us displaying the endless familial love we shared with each other, trying to give the other comfort in our last moments. And then, I watched as that brief flicker of life started to fade away, and I felt my own begin to fade as well. With my remaining strength I gave a small squeeze to her hand, and I felt a weak one return.
I settled my eyes on her, on them, so that I could see them all
One…..
Last…..
Time…….
Author's Note
It's nice to be back to writing. Covid-19 got me into a bit of a slump, and it became hard to find the motivation to work on my other stories. I realized after a while that perhaps the best way to motivate myself to work on my other stories was to start a new one. It sounds rather counterintuitive, but I've found myself with new inspiration for my other stories. It's like popping the cork on a bottle of champagne: the ideas start spilling out after the initial gush, and these ideas will soon be put into action.
Anyway, feel free to comment down below. I really do like hearing from you guys. I don't believe any of us can truly grow without proper discourse.
“-ey! Hey, wake up!” A gruff voice rasped out above me. Whoever was talking was also shaking me around in an attempt to wake me up if the feeling of being jostled was anything to go by.
“Mmmmm,” I couldn’t help but groan as I came to. My entire body, every single little cell, molecule, and atom, was sore. Like, day after an extreme workout sore. The ache went deep, into every muscle and bone, hell, even my teeth hurt! I would have loved to just stay in that alleyway until I died.
And that’s when it all came back to me.
You know those two seconds when you wake up in the morning where everything just feels alright? Like your mind hasn’t had time to remind you of all the trials and tribulations of life, and you can just enjoy yourself without the burden of certain memories on your shoulders. Well, it seemed like my two seconds had already passed.
Flashes of the terrific events passed through my mind’s eye like a particularly morbid montage: my hand getting blown off, the killer’s smiling face, the bloody, torn bodies of my family. My own death, as blood slowly dripped down my slashed throat and filled my lungs, taunting me with an ironic demise of drowning in the very thing that gave me life.
My eyes snapped open as I realized that I was, in fact, not dead. I think, therefore I am, and all that jazz. You’d think I would have realized that a little sooner - dead people don’t really feel sore or think about their own deaths that often - but I guess it took my mind a bit to catch up considering I don’t get my throat slashed and have near death experiences too often. I have to keep it novel, you know?
What I saw made me wonder if I was dead.
“What are you looking at?” That same gruff, masculine voice from before spilled out of dry, cracked lips, like wind blowing through the hot desert. Viridian eyes, partially obscured by a mop of messy, unwashed gray hair, pierced me with laser-like intensity, filled with a coldness and desperation that put me on edge. Muscles twitched below a royal blue coat that had patches missing, reminiscent of a mangy dog. And all this was leaning over me.
Did I mention he wasn’t human?
Perhaps I left out some important details, like the fact that he was quadrupedal, had a snout, a tail, and was, what’s the appropriate term…...A FUCKING HORSE.
Let’s put this together: I must have died from my injuries - it would be almost impossible to survive having your throat slashed, especially considering the emergency response time to my house was at least half an hour - and there was an odd horse creature in front of me. There could be only one answer.
“Is this some sort of afterlife? Are you like an angel or something?” I immediately flinched at the high pitched, childish voice that came from my lips. There was no way that was my voice. That sounded like a young child, not a college student. But those were the words I meant to say, and I felt the words leave my mouth.
“Hello,” my mouth snapped shut as soon as the greeting left my lips. The same childish tone coinciding perfectly with my own intent to speak. There was no doubt about it; that was my voice. But how…..
“I have no idea what in Tartarus you’re talking about, but I can be an angel or anything else you want me to be.” I was brought out of my confused thoughts as the male-horse-thingy leaned even further over me, close enough now that I could feel the heavy, hot breathe pouring out of his mouth.
I sprung to my feet, uncomfortable with how close he was to me. I immediately stumbled and fell on my rear as my body registered muscles I didn’t even know I had, muscles I was certain I wasn’t supposed to have. Confused, I glanced down at myself...and promptly screamed.
“M-my hands! What the fuck!” I screeched as I waved two very unhand-like appendages in front of my face. In place of my fingers was a stump, a stump that had a flat, ovular end to it…..I guess it was a hoof really. Impulsively, I looked over my shoulder at myself, because how could the situation get any worse?
Well, the small, midnight blue body, silvery-white tail, and leathery, black bat wings didn’t make anything better.
“What the hell!” My freak out continued as my head whipped around, eyes zeroing in on the creature in front of me. “I look like you! What did you do to me! Where am I! How am I not dead! What happened to my family.”
The horse began to back up as my face, anger written clearly all over it, came ever closer to his. He put his two front hooves up in a defensive gesture.
“I didn’t do anything! What are you even talking about?” He turned tail and proceeded to run off, not before shouting over his shoulder, “I just wanted some bits, you crazy vampony.”
My anger subsided as I watched him leave, only to be replaced by a profound sense of confusion.
Was I dead, in some sort of afterlife? I had to be, right? How else could you explain being turned into some weird talking horse. But how - none of it made - what about my fam - what was goi - wha -
Thoughts flit around my head like moths around a lantern, moving far too fast to be understood. My lungs burned as they were deprived of oxygen. It felt like a giant hand was reaching into my chest and squeezing the two organs like balloons every time I took a breath. I spiraled into a nothingness, a feeling only of anxiety and fear and despair and oh god they were gone what the fuck was going on and -
Time became meaningless as I sat in that alley. I could have been there for minutes, hours, days for all I knew. I don’t know.
I suddenly became aware of something warm and soft pressed against my face. Unconsciously, I snuggled deeper into it, the surface becoming stained with my snot and tears. Something wrapped around my back and pulled me in even closer, and I became aware of a soft humming just over my head.
My eyes, screwed shut from my emotional outburst, fluttered open, only to be met with a wall of pastel yellow fur. I felt guilty crying onto someone else and making a mess, and so I attempted to pull back, but the….forelegs, I believe they’re called, pulled me in even tighter.
“Not yet, young one, you’re still in a state of panic,” a soft, melodious voice cooed. In comparison to the last voice I heard from one of these horses, this one was decidedly feminine. “Can you take a few deep breaths for me?”
I greedily sucked in air like my life dependent on it, held it in for a few moments, then released it. Repeating this process a few more times helped to stabilize my breathing and clear my head. I let myself relish in this calm for a bit before everything came rushing back.
The forelegs around me loosened, and I was finally able to step back and get a good look at my savior. She was decidedly feminine, with a much leaner body than the previous horse I encountered. Her yellow coat was complimented by a curly light orange mane set over ocean blue eyes. Her mouth was twisted into a concerned frown, and everything about her seemed to radiate worry.
“Now,” she began, crouching down so she was eye level with me, “would you mind telling me why a young filly like yourself is crying in an alleyway?”
Glancing around, it quickly became apparent she was right. We were in a narrow, dingy space in between odd buildings that looked like they were made of crystal. The only things furnishing the space were overfilled trash cans and cracked cobblestones that looked like they were trying to make a semi-decent alley floor at one point. Needless to say, I could understand her concern, especially considering that, as far as I knew, I was a child by the standards of this species. A crying child in an alleyway is suspicious no matter what.
With that simple thought all the confusing questions of ‘why’ ‘how’’where’ came back to me, and my eyes began to water. “Just some stuff.”
“What kind of ‘stuff’” she asked, pulling me into another hug. I didn’t even know her but he felt so warm and safe, just like my own mother.
Thinking about her only brought me more despair, and I screwed my eyes shut once again as I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. “I-I’m just so confused. Everything seems so wrong, I feel so wrong, and I-I don’t know what happened to me, and what about my family, a-and - “
“Shhhh,” the mare - that’s what you call a female horse, right? - once again pulled me tight into her chest. “I get really confused sometimes too. You know what the best thing to do is?”
“Uhmmmm,” I grew quiet as I pondered over her question.
“Silly,” the mare chuckled, lightly bopping the back of my head with a hoof. I found her behavior quite odd; hadn’t she just asked a question? Why would you admonish someone for pausing to think over your question?
“You’re doing it again,” she laughed, the rise and fall of her furry chest making me giggle as it tickled my cheek. “You’re overthinking, sweetie! That’s your problem! Oh, I used to be just like you, worrying over everything and mulling things over again and again until I felt sick. But then, my love, oh my sweet love, do you know what she told me?”
I craned my head to look curiously up at the mare. Her eyes were distant, staring up at the setting sun, with a look of absolute jubilation on her face despite the tears that came from keeping her eyes fixed on the bright object. She shook herself from her reverie, looking down at me with a caring smile.
“She told me to accept things as they are. There are things that, no matter how hard we try, we can’t change. When your mind runs a mile a minute trying to make sense of these things you only succeed in driving yourself insane. And besides,” She paused for a moment to wipe my tears away with a hoof. I couldn’t stop my mouth from breaking into a little smile at the action, “are you going to solve any of your problems bawling your eyes out in a dirty alley?”
“No, I suppose not,” I sniffed, my crying more or less forgotten bar some tear trails and snot on my facial fur. The mare was making sense, I guess. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come up with any answers to my perplexing questions anytime soon, especially if I wasted my time crying like a little kid. Which reminded me.
“Uhm, Miss, if you were to take a guess, how old would you think I am?”
She cocked her head at the question, a confused expression making its way onto her face. “What an odd question. But I would say….perhaps 8 or 9 years old.”
My ears dropped a bit at this bit of information. A formerly independent 19 year old reduced to a prepubescent pony, one who would almost certainly need adult supervision. I was never exactly one for authority. But perhaps there was an upside to this; assimilation would be easier.
“Sweetie,” my savior called, shaking me from my thoughts. I suddenly realized that she had broken our embrace, which made me a bit sad. She was so warm, comfortable, it felt like all my troubles were melting away. Now, she stood a few feet away from me, looking down with that same caring smile I had seen on her since she had found me, “I realize I’ve been quite rude. I haven't bothered to introduce myself. My name is Sunny Day, what’s yours?”
What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, right? Yeah, except the rose hadn’t been transformed into a little pony and dumped in a world where the locals had names like ‘Sunny Day’. Something told me ‘Jacob’ wouldn’t fly here, unless of course Sunny Day was an outlier, just an odd one out in terms of names, and maybe….
“Ouch!” I exclaimed as I was bopped on the head again. Sunny Day had a hoof to her mouth, futilely attempting to hold back her chortles.
“You’re doing it again, sweetie,” she gently chastised me, waving a hoof for emphasis. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me your name right now. I understand.”
“Now,” she said, turning around and beginning her walk out of the alleyway, “come along, young filly. I’ll bring you to my place for the night. After all, what kind of pony would I be if I simply left you here?”
My ears perked up, and my face was split with a wide smile at her kindness. Taking me in when she’d only just met me? I shivered as a cold wind snaked past my body, the sky darkening as night began to fall. I would definitely take her up on that offer.
I ran to catch up with her, falling into step beside her as she exited the alley. All of a sudden, something pushed its way to the forefront of my mind.
‘Isn’t a filly a female horse?’
~)(~
Okay, that came as a shock. After a quick check between my legs - an action Sunny Day seemed horrified at - I confirmed that I was, in fact, now a girl. That almost caused a whole new set of panic attacks until Sunny Day intervened. She didn’t really know what I was panicking about, but she reminded me of her earlier advice and encouraged me to take a few deep breaths. So, I did, and I told myself to just accept it. There was nothing I could do to change it, and there were more pressing concerns at the moment. Yeah, yeah, that was right.
Compartmentalization is amazing, isn’t it?
After my little crisis, we continued our trek through the city. And let me tell you, I’d never seen something so beautiful in my life! All of the buildings were made of gorgeous crystal, bar a few that looked a bit newer. The streets were perfectly clean and well-maintained, set out in a geometric pattern that made me appreciate the work of city planners. Ponies of all different colors, species, and even materials (if the crystalline ones were anything to go by), walked along the streets. Some of them seemed to stare at me, some in surprise, some in curiosity, others in disgust, which was....frightening, to say the least. It was like the feeling you get when you answer a question incorrectly in class and everyone stares at you like you're trash. Why were ponies giving me that look? I wanted to ask Sunny Day, but she was staring at something ahead. The centerpiece of the city, what it all revolved around: a large, blue crystal spire that shone in the late day sun like a star.
“The Crystal Palace,” Sunny Day told me, a frown firmly placed upon her face. “It’s the home of the Crystal Royal Family.”
I glanced at her, surprised at the way she spat that bit of information out like a piece of spoiled meat. It seemed odd for a mare I had come to associate with care and compassion. Perhaps the royals weren’t particularly well liked here?
I hadn’t noticed I had walked past Sunny Day until I was already at least a dozen feet ahead of her. I looked over my shoulder to find the mare stuck in place, staring at the palace with such a look of disdain it was almost frightening. She slowly shook her head, placing that same smile from before back on her face as she gestured with a hoof towards a house a few paces ahead of me. It was a cozy looking thing, small, made of a red crystal that went well with the bright red rose bushes planted out front. A wooden door appeared to be the only entrance, currently being unlocked by my hostess who must have gone ahead as I examined her abode.
I walked up to her just as she swung open the door, gesturing for me to go inside.
“I’ll come in after you, lock the place up,” she explained.
I nodded, walking ahead of her and on into the foyer. It was sparsely decorated, bar a few pictures of an alabaster white pony with a long horn. I heard the lock click shut behind me as my hostess finished securing her residence. I turned towards the mare, beginning to thank her profusely for her kindness
“Thanks for letting me stay here, Sun-” I was cut off as a hoof slammed into my face, sending me onto the floor writhing in pain. Someone growled above me.
“Look to the Sun, Night Vermin!”
Author's Note
No decision is made without some sort of reason. Even though some plot points may seem random, their is significance behind them. Probably.
I should have had this chapter out a while ago, but life gets in the way. Still, I deeply apologize to anyone enjoying this story for making you wait.
As always, feel free to comment, whether it be concerning grammar, plot points, references, etc.
