Help! There's a Blueish Alien Unicorn Pony in my House!
There was a unicorn in my room.
Ohno.
I shouldn't have
mixed that
Red Bull
with the
Monster Energy
and my Oronamin shake.
It was blue.
I felt green.
It was complaining about starlight and twilight?
In English?
Not quite.
It wasn't any language I recognized.
But I understood what it said.
Or did I?
Really?
I ran to the toilet.
Left it alone.
Thought about things
while clearing
my stomach
and my mind.
Meditation.
...
...
Clearing!
...
Meditation.
...
Clearing!
...
Meditation.
...
Stupid.
Starlight and twilight?
That wasn't right.
It was daylight outside.
I left the toilet.
The creamy blueish miniature horse was still there.
It was wearing a sorcerer's hat.
I shouldn't have indulged the hallucination.
But I did.
Stupid.
"You are talking nonsense,"
I said.
And gestured to the window.
It responded:
"Those ponies did this to the Great and Powerful Trixie!"
It posed with a hoof pointing to the ceiling.
And it kept on posing:
dramatically.
"Who is Trixie?" I asked.
The pony settled into a defeated slump.
"Who is Trixie? Who is Trixie? Is this beast dumb?"
"I can speak, thank you very much," although I was not operating with my full capacities.
My thoughts were scattered, although my mind's sentences, jolted by this shock and resuscitated by my purging, now came more fully-formed. But the paragraphs were still shattered.
"Thank you very much," it mocked. And it paced, harrumphing as its hooves pressed down on my floor, clip clopping, shaking the building and my shelves. My closest tea set trembled.
My downstairs neighbor would not like that one bit. His grim reality would rescue me from this fanciful hallucination, with screams and threats and demands for recompense for his migraines--I wouldn't open my door. But the moments dragged on without his arrival and he was not a patient man. Maybe he was out?
"You menace! You beast. The Great and Powerful Trixie is Trixie!" It pointed to itself.
"You speak in the third person!" Revelation.
"Third pony," it corrected. "'Third person', ugh. Are you speaking ancient Ponish? Nopony talks like that."
I looked down at my hands. "I'm not a pony."
"At least this beast is not deluded," it snarked. "To be fair, though, gliding griffins and yonder-dwelling yaks can be called ponies. The term is generic. Generous ponykind welcomes all into the herd. But you are not a griffin or a yak, you smelly beast," it sniffed.
"Quit calling me a beast," I asked. "Please. Sit." I had some pillows in my den, where the creature stood. "I'll turn on some calming music." I picked up my cellphone, which could broadcast songs to my television and which (more importantly) could also be used to dial the police.
An innocuous offer, I had made.
The thing did not charge me.
I'd often fantasized about riding a unicorn when I was young.
But not *this* truculent one.
Truly, not seeing is a flower.
I--my world was falling apart.
At least we were not locked down.
But we might be.
At any time, I could die.
Death could come via a unicorn virus--defined as a rare, unexpected one, or by a uniquely unexpected unknown unicorn.
Maybe unicorns were popping into existence all around the world?
In hospitals?
Stadiums?
Ships?
Retirement homes?
No! This was only happening to me!
At least...
Death by unicorn would be uniquely memorable.
...
Melodramatic me.
I had my phone out and I started the music to give me time.
The unicorn startled as the music played. Then it considered me, with a wary eye, harrumphed again, looked around, and it stomped a forehoof. "Enough of this sorcery," it demanded, likely indicating the music. "Witch." It elaborated: "Trixie commands you to send Trixie home this instant!"
To the sound of what was one of my favorite Disney songs, some very old stuffed toys and a teacup set levitated from a nearby shelf.
They danced around my head, aggressively. I nearly stumbled over my den's kotatsu, struggling to avoid them.
"Who?" I said.
"You!" It pointed a hoof.
"Me?"
"Are you sentient?"
"Yes."
"Good," it nodded. "Go on, then prepare your spell, witch. Send me back."
"I'm not a witch. And you're the one wearing a witch's hat!" Sorcerer, witch, all the same to me.
"Balderdash on your claim--Trixie asserts balderdash. You brought Trixie to this cursed world--"
"Cursed?" I frowned. "To be fair, there is an horrendous worldwide pandemic going on, but at least we're not living in 15th Century Europe with its plague ships, at least not now that those cruise passengers have finally debarked--"
"With hideous creatures!" My stuffed toys and tea set clattered back to their places with a concerning clatter.
"Excuse me?"
"Look at your face, scrunched up and oval, not oblong at all." She rose and, again, posed. Then she winked.
I backed up, out of the den, into my bedroom. I really should have called the police. But I hesitated. "I'll have you know, my nose is considered quite long. Comparatively."
"Pitiful." She dismissed it, modeling her expansive snout for me and smacking my cheek with a sideswipe. "This is what a schnozz should look like."
I staggered and fell back against my vanity, which shuddered. An overburdened teacup on it splashed some liquid. I really like teacups. But not when their contents burn me.
"Hey!"
She was already turned around and walking away: "Trixie supposes you may not be a witch."
I was now jolted more back into the moment. Forehead burning and heart racing a kilometer a minute, I reconstituted my paragraphs.
"Trixie does, however, demand that you help her," she insisted.
"With what?" I asked.
"Returning home."
At least that was a shared goal. I placed my cellphone into my hip pocket. "I would love to help you leave my demesne. Should I call someone for you, or would you like directions?"
"No," she said. "Trixie requires access to your magic. It is possible that you are too incompetent to be a witch, but regardless, some magical resonance is present. It must have drawn Trixie here instead of Trixie's goal."
"And where is that?" I asked.
"Trixie is supposed to be in a world where mares stand on two legs."
I looked down at my legs. "Seems right?"
She tossed her head. "Neigh! The mares there have proper pastel coats, not whatever abomination bedecks you."
"My skin?" I touched it.
She harrumphed. "Whatever you call it, it is an horrendous shade."
"Horses are too dumb to talk," I said, with some bite. "And rude people shouldn't talk." Over the years, I had heard quite enough about my skin splotches... and even though she wasn't criticizing those, her pointed words at something splotch-adjacent still bit.
I narrowed my eyes. And she looked away.
"Apologies," she sighed. "Trixie supposes you cannot help it, and Trixie does not intend to speak words that could be considered to provide some limited amount of offense, but Trixie is out of sorts: she thought you had intentionally bewitched! You look quite strange, even to one as widely-traveled as Trixie. You, for inscrutable reasons, ramble mendacities about ponies' extinct 'horse' ancestors," she sniffed. "For the aforementioned reasons and one other, Trixie must definitively conclude this is an incorrect location: you most certainty lack the property of being thin."
I crossed my arms and cleared my throat.
She scrunched up her face, picking up on this particular faux-pas with surprising speed. "You misunderstand. Where Trixie intended to travel, all... bipedal mares and stallions are very thin, weirdly so. Thinner than Trixie. Twilight never mentioned any wide beas-creatures."
"Thinner than you?"
"Indeed."
"And you want to be thin?"
She snorted. "Lack of muscle means one cannot properly haul a traveling wagon." Her tone changed to a bright observational one: "Trixie is observant! Could it be you take offense to the categorization?" She cocked her head. "Trixie merely observed that your size was inappropriate for the dimension Trixie had intended to traverse. Trixie's point is, you do not look like the ponies Trixie expected to see."
"Bipedal ponies?"
"'Ponies' in the broad sense. If you are sentient, and Trixie will grant that likelihood has been increasing, Trixie supposes you could be deemed a type of pony, like the griffins, although for politeness sake due to their general preferences, Trixie refers to them as griffins when they are present rather than as ponies. A traveler of the world must be aware of and accepting of cultural differences."
"It is so weird talking to you. You're like... a fictional magical sapient horse woman from a fairy tale."
Trixie glared. "Excuse you for even considering that. Trixie is not a horse. We have trod this ground before: Horses are extinct. Ponies are inherently superior as we are not extinct and we are magical and we are not stupid. Only stupid creatures go extinct." She paused, then she added: "Trixie is also not fictional."
"They're not extinct." I pulled up a webpage on my phone and showed her.
"Trixie is not a horse," she insisted, awkwardly crossing her hind legs. "I--Trixie is a pony."
I searched online for 'pony' while she continued her assertions. "And Trixie is not just any 'pony'! Trixie's herd is the Great and Powerful unicorn tribe, capable of Amazing and Exceptional feats of magic!"
I skimmed through the results of my search, many tiny pictures of miniature ponies and looked back at Trixie. Politely, I voiced agreement that: "You do have some similarities with ponies."
Trixie nudged my head aside and examined the photographs. Then, with a toss of her mane that nearly struck me, she hissed. "Trixie is not THAT kind of pony. You should not call those things ponies. Trixie is a Clean and Hygienic pony. Call that dirty thing a poneigh or something that suitably demonstrates differentiation. Trixie is civilized." She pointed in outrage to an unfortunate photograph of a pony defecating. "Unlike you and your ponies, Trixie grooms herself, does not disseminate 'dirty' photographs, and she uses a bidet! You creatures are entirely uncivilized!"
Nearly at a loss for words, I murmured: "I have a bidet."
"...Show me this device," Trixie demanded, uncrossing her hind legs.
After some time later, the loud sound of usage, and a few flushes of the toilet and bidet, Trixie emerged and nodded at me: "Your bidet was... acceptable."
"Okay." I was at sea, so I fell back on our prior conversation. "Given that we have bidets... are you sure this isn't the world you intended to teleport to?"
She snorted. "Trixie grants that suggestion is worthy of some consideration and that Trixie may merely have been mislocated by Twilight's terrible prestidigitation--but based on empirical evidence, Trixie does not believe that to be the case! Therefore, answer me this: do you know of a Sunset Shimmer or a Canterlot High, et. cetera?"
"No..."
"Aha!" She beamed, triumphant that she was right and she wasn't in a place she could be easily rescued from. She clearly had not thought through the implications of her rhetorical victory.
"I can check this on the Internet," I said, whipping out my phone and typing in words. "We have hits for cocktails with the name 'Sunset Shimmer' and a marijuana edible called 'Canterlot High', but other than that, nothing."
"Your roosters can speak?" Trixie frowned.
"You mean the cocktails?"
"What else would Trixie mean?" Trixie stomped an imperious hoof.
I had a flashback to the Oronamin shake's egg and felt bile rising again in my stomach. "You wanted magic, right?"
She nodded.
"Try this." I pulled out my cellphone again, pointed it at the television and changed its screen to the "Magic" channel. Then I made haste again to the toilet.
When I emerged, feeling less ill and prettying up myself for my guest, with some mild makeup and lip gloss--habits endure even in hallucinations, the creature was intently watching the television.
"Fraud!" She shrieked at a performer on the screen.
"What?" I turned to see. It was a rerun of Magician David Blane performing a famous trick: burying himself and emerging seven days later, alive.
'Trixie' was not impressed. "Unless this bipedal non-pastel pony was never in the coffin then it's like he's performing an ersatz moonshot manticore mouth dive where he's eaten and processed in the manticore's gut but he somehow has the fortitude to walk out alive!"
"I don't understand a word you said."
Ignoring my implication that an explanation was necessary, but turning to face me nevertheless, she continued her complaints. "You creatures have no conception of the magic of proper illusion! Observe, will you, the practice of true magic!" She declaimed, holding a gold piece aloft in a hoof. A picture of a coyly smiling unicorn with a generously flowing mane adorned the gold, then the picture flashed as she she spun the piece around. When it stopped, it showed a picture of this Trixie unicorn instead. I got the feeling that wasn't supposed to be the coin's usual backing, so I feigned being impressed.
"How'd you do that?" I asked.
"Magic," she said with breathy punctuated determination.
"Has the show helped you make any progress determining how you ended up here instead of... wherever you intended to go?" I asked.
She didn't meet my gaze. "Trixie is considering several theories."
"Well..." I started. "How did you end up here? Maybe reversing whatever you did will send you back?"
"How did Trixie end up here?" She huffed. "Starlight and Twilight."
"You keep saying those words but I still don't understand what you mean."
"Magic-using ponies who think they know more than they clearly do. Although, Trixie supposes the error is mostly Twilight's--she always did revert to trickery and corrupt patronage to win whereas Starlight possesses the greater natural talent." Trixie's visage darkened.
"Uh-huh," I nodded to humor her. "But what did they do?"
"They had Trixie, the Great and Powerful and Brave, demonstrate proof of concept for a new spell!"
"Why?"
"Twilight thought we could create a more reliable mirror to traverse to another weird world where somepony named Sunset Shimmer lived among bipedal ponies."
"You need to stop calling us that," I requested. "We're humans."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You are humans. Sunset Shimmer, however, was surrounded by bipedal ponies."
"I guess that's fine," I said. I still didn't have a good understanding of the weird pastel creatures Trixie had been talking about and I certainly had no idea what they called themselves.
"But about the magic from Twilight and Starlight? How did that work? And what was your plan to get back?"
Trixie started to say something, then she snorted. "Trixie--Trixie--Trixie didn't..." She trailed off.
"What did you say?"
"Trixie started before Twilight finished her explanation," she paused. "The spoiled one's rambling had been so boring for so long that Trixie decided to execute the theory. There may have been a plan. But Trixie was not privy to it."
"You don't know how to get back?"
"Trixie can figure that out. Trixie has solved many a magical conundrum. Trixie is Great and Powerful!" Trixie posed. "Bring Trixie a mirror!"
We hauled a body-length mirror out of my bedroom and tried to replicate the magic that had sent her to my den. She pressed herself against the mirror, snout to reflection. Nothing happened. She backed up, then raced against it, fell off it with a clatter. She got up and did it again, banging into the glass once, twice, thrice.
"I do not think this is working," I suggested, concerned for her health and the structural integrity of my mirror.
"Bleh," Trixie spat.
"You're sure that's how you got here?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, determined. And she banged into the mirror again.
"How should that even work?"
"Magic." She retreated from the mirror and fixed it with a challenging glare.
"This makes about as much sense as one of those television tricks you were complaining about."
She hissed.
"Woah there," I held up my hands.
She sighed. "Trixie admits some agreement. This plan does not make complete sense. This bothers Trixie."
Night fell and with it came more cold. I turned up the den's kotatsu and warmed my legs near it. Trixie drew close to it as well, next to me. She sighed, long and drawn.
"Maybe it's a matter of the surface? Could something else reflective work?"
"It is... worth a try," she said. "Trixie does not wish to be stuck in this place. And Trixie is becoming famished."
"Would you like eggs?" I offered.
"Are they ethical?" Trixie asked.
"I guess; they're organic."
"Did the chickens have a contract?"
"What?"
"A contract. An agreement," Trixie explained. "When two ponies want to work together very much," she brought her hooves together in a clop. "They make an agreement with terms, provisions, and payment."
"No one makes contracts with chickens," I glared.
Trixie grimaced. "How could you not? Your chickens are sentient!"
"What?"
"You mentioned cocktails--"
"I did..." My voice trailed off. I decided to avoid that issue. "No need for eggs. I have onigiri." I offered.
"Are these onigiri made from chickens?"
I got up and looked in my refrigerator to confirm. "Not this one."
We ate.
Then Trixie tried to recreate the spell again and again and again.
She held a spoon, looked at a lamp, a reflective glass panel, a sliding door to my balcony, a small round marble. She pressed her body, and where that was not possible, her snout against them, making strange squeaking noises as she twisted this way and that. Other than those bizarre demonstrations, nothing happened.
I went, again, to the toilet. When I returned, Trixie was gazing downcast at a teapot. "Trixie understands," she sighed. "There is a difference. Starlight and Twilight gave the mirror texture. These surfaces are flat."
"Can you give texture to a mirror?" I asked.
Trixie shook her head, slowly. "It took two to do it. Trixie can do many things but Trixie is not two ponies." She blinked. "Although Trixie supposes there is a Trixie in the correct dimension where Trixie intended to travel, but she is not here."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The difficult-to-reach dimension to which Trixie would travel is a 'mirror dimension'," she explained. "Each pony of Equestria has a double there: a bipedal pony."
"Wow," I said. "Do you think you might have a doppelgänger here?"
"No," Trixie shook her head. "This world is too strange. Your 'television' confirmed that hypothesis." Over the past few hours, she had watched more of the magic channel, some horrifying minutes of a rerun Terminator movie, the advertising network, and some news.
"Trixie saw the textured mirror and Trixie pressed herself against it, tight against the image reflecting the strange bipedal Trixie."
"You were kissing her?" I recalled the strange smooching motions she had made against the objects.
"No," Trixie shook her head. "Trixie was most assuredly not kissing Trixie. Trixie was pressing her body against the image and standing on hind legs to better match the image of a facsimile twin. She needed tight suction."
"Hmmm...," I mumbled.
"Indeed."
"You weren't standing any time I saw you try."
Trixie sighed and repeated her experiments. This time she stood on her hind legs, but she had similar results. "The texture dilemma remains." She set herself down on all fours and stretched her back. Some bones popped into place.
"Your mirror's surface was rippling?" I asked.
"Yes."
I recalled the toilet that had been a constant companion these past hours spent purging mixed drinks from my stomach. Even when it was not being agitated by liquid poured onto it, its water could ripple: toilet water had texture.
"What if we project an illusion onto water?"
Trixie arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps," she got the idea, and trotted to the toilet. She did some motions, magic was cast and, on the toilet-water surface we gazed upon a pastel-blue 'human-like' version of herself. There was something disturbing about it, like a not-quite-human image--something lurking in the 'uncanny valley' of perception. But even though the too-small image wasn't quite right to be a human's, its facial features still bore a passing resemblance to mine. Smiling, Trixie puckered up and with a squick squick--dunked her head into the toilet water. Instead of disappearing, though, she emerged, dripping water from her snout. I handed her a towel.
Shivering, she cast me a penetrating glare. "Your toilet is too small."
I shrugged. "Perhaps a solution will become more clear in the morning. This is not something that can be done before breakfast."(REF1; REF2) Literally it could not, since it was dark and I had an inkling that perhaps a reflection in a larger body of water, like a lake, might suffice. And besides, by breakfast-time this hallucination may have had enough time to disappear.
Wordlessly, we returned to the den and warmed ourselves by my kotatsu, settling in under toasty-thick covers until its warm radiator heat suffused our bodies. After a few moments enjoying herself, Trixie started staring at me with a weird expression and flaring her nostrils every so often. I looked off to a side. With a hoof, she tapped my shoulder. I turned to face her, rolling over on the floor.
"What is your name?" Trixie sharply said, along with a glare.
"I was wondering when you'd ask," I said.
"Most ponies would have politely introduced themselves at the same time as their guest," Trixie said.
A "guest". I snorted: "It's Arima Mizuki. Arima is the surname."
"That does not mean Trixie?" She asked.
I shook my head. "It means what it says. Are not these meanings translated for you like all of my other words?"
Trixie frowned.
"Arima means 'have a horse', which is somewhat amusing since in you I truly 'have a horse', apologies--a pony, thus I suppose fulfilling some inherent ancestral mission."
Trixie snorted.
"And Mizuki--"(Mizuki: "Beautiful Moon")
She interrupted me. "You have not, perhaps, renamed yourself?" She raised an eyebrow. "Some ponies do that."
"At work I wear an English name," I said. She looked blank. "English is another language."
"What is the name?" She asked.
"Patricia. I think it means 'noble'. Nobles have horses, you know, so I'm Arima Patricia.... it's funny."
"Tricia..." she puzzled, ignoring my joke. "Maddeningly adjacent, but it is not Trixie."(They don't realize that it can be.)
"Alas," I shook my head. "Wait--were you thinking that I might be your doppelgänger!"
She shrugged, "Trixie must explore that possibility."
With a sigh, Trixie concentrated on the fire--possibly searching it for reflections? I wondered if I had enough balm in case she decided to 'explore' that possibility as well, but her gaze moved around the room, analyzing its contents.
"You do not live with family?" She demanded.
"Just me," my shoulders slumped.
She nodded: "Trixie suspected this."
"Going to mock me for it--like my weight?"
"Trixie did not mock that," she said. "And Trixie will not mock this." Her voice was very grim.
"Do you live with any fam--"
"Trixie does not need one! Trixie is Great and Powerful on her own!" She shouted. Then her voice grew quieter and she shifted the conversation topic: "what is your employment?"
"I--" I swallowed, putting thoughts of family behind me. "I work as a factchecker for an Internet news company catering to English-speakers." I paused. "It's temporary."
"What is temporary, English?"
"...It may be as all things must pass, but no, I mean the job. I will get something better."
"You do not enjoy it?"
" ...Not as much as I should. There wasn't anything better I could get here. And at the time I could not move. It doesn't pay much."
"But it funds this vast abode?" Trixie asked.
I chortled: "Vast?"
"There are many rooms."
A den, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen.
"Okay... but no, it doesn't fund this completely. I'm using... I'm using family funds."
"Living beyond your means?"
"I'm going to have to move," I said.
"To a more practically-sized abode--"
"To a cheaper city."
"And you do not wish to make this journey?" Trixie asked.
"There is no other option unless I find a better job," I said. "But that's not going to happen. There's supposed to be a boom in work with the coming Olymp--worldwide sporting competition. But, due to that virus, I don't think that's going to happen, and I might even lose my job due to the downturn. If I don't get things sorted, I might have to sleep on other people's couches," I forced a grim chuckle.
"What a sad dimension this one is," Trixie commented. "Are you at least working in a field related to your cutie-mark?"
I stared at her, blank.
She indicated her hip, still concealed beneath the covers. "You recall Trixie's wand, emblazoned on her coat?"
"Your tattoo?"
She hissed. "A cutie mark is *not* a tattoo!" She paused, and spoke softer: "Should Trixie conclude that you do not even bear a cutie mark that tells you what career you should do?"
Nonsense again from the unicorn. "Tells me what to do--ugh." Then, I demanded sharply: "What's your job?"
"Trixie is a showpony, performing feats of illusion hither and tither."
"Itinerant?"
"Precisely! Trixie performs at towns and cities across the world, besting all her rivals!"
"Was this Twilight one of those rivals?" I recalled the vitriol she used when discussing that other pony.
"Yes," Trixie's expression darkened. "She is."
"But you volunteered to execute her instructions, so you can't be very much at odds with her, right?"
There was a long moment of silence.
"Trixie may have made a grave mistake," she said. "Trixie improved her rival's spell."
"How so?"
"Trixie was to place herself against the moving mirror, but Trixie breached the barrier with her tongue."
"You French-kissed yourself?"
"No, not at all. This was a construct. An illusion."
"But why?" I asked.
"Trixie was... blowing a raspberry... is that the expression? Blowing her rival through the rippling mirror."
I chose not to more fully explore that elucidation. "And then you were transported here."
"Yes," Trixie sighed.
"So, you were facing a mirror that showed your human--" I corrected myself. "bipedal pony self and it had the texture and heat and feeling of the same," I reasoned.
"Yes," she nodded.
"Too bad I'm not reflective," I joked.
She grimaced: "But you are."
"What?"
She placed a hoof hovered slightly above my lower lip. "This shines." She paused. "Trixie could place an illusion of the bipedal pony Trixie here. At the proper angle, it could look like an entire body." She chewed around on the idea.
"...you're going to press your snout on my lips," I concluded.
"Trixie doesn't much like this concept either, but neither does she wish to remain here, even though this kotatsu device of yours is quite comforting. Trixie once again admits you are sentient and Trixie also now concludes that some of you 'humans' are clever."
"Expecting thanks for that?" I asked.
Trixie shrugged. "Trixie has grow to appreciate certain aspects of you."
Head shaking, I went to get a Monster Energy Drink to power me through the weirdness and to preemptively drown out any pony slobber.
Trixie meanwhile got to her legs, then she stretched. "Trixie has a good feeling about this," she said.
"You just said you don't like the concept--"
"Trixie does not like the *idea* of what is being done. But it must be so," she asserted. "Experimentation... demands this must occur. Starlight will appreciate Trixie's inventiveness!"
Trixie concentrated until she isolated an illusion magicked on my glossy lower lips.
'Experimentation...' I pondered, eyes focused on Trixie's jubilantly optimistic visage. Before distant memories could dissuade me, I asked: "Is it ready?"
"Hush!" Trixie commanded. "It is prepared." She reared up on her hind legs and tottered toward me.
Okay.
Taking a risk.
Here we go.
Nope.
Trixie tumbled past me, but I managed to catch and steady her, then reset.
With me holding her shoulders, we danced.
...
Try again.
This time. Gonna do it for sure.
Kissing... a pony...no, think of it as a unicorn.
The one I always wanted.
...
Not so disgusting to think of... her like that.
...
I guess.
...
It worked.
At least, she's gone.
...
I drank more to wash the taste of her out.
Probably stupid.
Shouldn't have done that.
--feel a bit manic.
Lonely.
In the present...
...
I touch my splotch-skinned cheek.
...
I'm thinking in sentences again.
Probably because of the drinks?
Or, is it the stress? The weirdness?
Whatever.
...
Strange.
I didn't want her here.
I didn't ask for it,
although I brought her hallucination on myself.
But, especially when I'm all alone--which is often--and stare at the rows of drinks and holes in my refrigerator where mom's healthy meals would have rested and when I sit alone in this place I can't stay and I worry and the sounds of lonely hidden coughs come from beyond the walls:
I do miss that pony.
Author's Note
- The title is an acronym. It's a shot at the situation (don't mix energy drinks! Listen to instructions!), at what the main character states a few times, at what Trixie did to get herself into the situation and at the silliness of everything.
- There's a pretty dark way to interpret the story if you choose to see it as an allegory for addiction. But there are several ways to read things.
- This is certainly a comedy; however, if you have finished reading it and have strong opinions about adding the "dark" tag, just let me know and I will continue to consider. I went both ways on it.
- The etymology of "balderdash" is surprisingly apt for the main human.
- Links infra the story provide additional lagniappes.
- Trixie and Trixie.
- At least Trixie's ambassadorial interactions did not go quite as poorly as Starlight's here.
- "Trixie is Terrible" Scale: Rudely Raises a Ruckus and Ruins a Spell: Rather Terrible (7
out of 10).
