Ponies from another dimension live on Earth, work on Earth, laugh on Earth. There aren't many. It's not that others can't come. They have the technology. We couldn't steal it from them. Not me. But humanity. Some tried. They got fried. Ponies died. They stopped coming. But after a while, peace got worked out.
They don't like our planet--actually, our humans. We eat meat--lots from fish to flesh of dog and pig and cow and yak and basically anything with four legs. We race equines and ride equines and beat equines and trans-dimensional ponies become nauseous looking at that. And even after they offered us gifts of weather control and unicorn search and rescue teams for disasters... we wouldn't stop "evil" just to make them feel better. Not even for friendship. We can't change.
But some ponies are here. They're a little queer, the ones that stay.
Don't quite fit into Equestria--their homeland. And they don't fit in here.
But those ponies want to be here.
One lives down my street.
She runs a veterinarian clinic, Equestrian-licensed, caring for animals that humans neglect. "People need to care more," is her slogan.
She's magically better than any human and welcomes hard cases. Some die. Many don't. She saved mine. Smiled. Made me laugh: softly. I didn't want to spook her like she painfully winced when humans spoke with gruff voices or got close. I made her laugh, with my expressions and impressions. I was too embarrassed--dry throat--to speak much, so I wrote my requests rather than leaning in close.
Somehow... fate, I guess, joined us. We played tic-tac-toe while waiting for instrumentation to get fixed. Big and scary technicians. She asked me to stay since she knew I cared about animals and could at least comfort her. I'd do anything for her. She operated--me at her side, stroking her hide--calm. She purred. Then she got to work. Could not save a patient. Put him down. She couldn't bear to speak to the neglectful owner.
I wanted more than just to hug her briefly. I wanted us to hold each other every night.
But, I can't ask Fluttershy out. I don't have a glistening coat like hers and no wings and I'm awkward and I'm ugly in comparison.
She's sweet, like a cat, flitting about, sinuously, dreamily--a fashion runway model.
She's so foreign and yet so home for me.
She's a pony. Pastel yellow, easy on the eyes. My heart flutters. Shy. Too shy am I.
I'm a human. She's a pony. It isn't going to work physically. Emotionally, maybe. But certainly not physically.
But there is a surgery. Magic they're working on in Equestria, just across the dimensional portal. Pony scientists speculate human bodies make us cruel. Eat meat. I don't think our digestive system affects our morality. I mean, we need nutrients. I take supplements! And fish.... We've solved nutritional problems related to plant-based diets. And there are good humans. We don't need to be ponies.
But some ponies postulate our bodies make us cruel. I wonder though... how could a soul of a bad human become good when set inside a beautiful body. Still, I'd like a beautiful body. I could do that--become a pony. But it might not work. I could be even uglier. I'd be famous. Everyone would have something to say. How stupid I was. How brave. How good. But that's terrible. Attention. I'm too shy.
I won't do it.
I've worked at the same place since I was sixteen, entering data. Typing fast. Other people's words. Ignoring coworkers. Pretending to be mute. Thank fate for that deadly world-closing virus. I work from home now. Only walk to the vet.
Every week: we strolled. She took me home--her original home. Equestria. Once. A short jaunt. I carried supplies with my arms. A supply crate was too big for her to move. I wanted to ask if she could show me around, but she might have thought I was using her to see Equestria--its glowing fields, its serenity, its brightness. Lots of humans wanted to travel for status, or curiosity. I just wanted to be with her.
Some pets accompanied her and she buried them there. "Sometimes, we have to let go," she said. She hadn't saved them. They'd been incurable. Resting forever in lovely lands.
I asked an advice application what I should do. It said I should "make myself heard."
I circled a calendar date and made plans.
We were a pony and a human but maybe we could get along. Spend happy times. Have milkshakes, vegan food, go on a voyage to see wild and wonderful Earth animals.
It'd be right. This is what the universe wanted. What had to be.
Destiny.
We had to be together. We even had similar names.
She's Fluttershy, I'm Shay. Shay, Shy, Shay, Shy.
FlutterShay.
My cat was hit by a truck.
I got the call. Nine streets over. Cops scanned his microchip and asked me what I wanted.
"Wait."
I ran.
He screeched and there wasn't anything to do to save him. Maybe there was. But the cops wouldn't transport him and there wasn't an animal ambulance--though Equestrians had been lobbying for one. I could have raced him to Fluttershy. But that would have been shameful.
No way my cat could survive. Couldn't suffer the trip to the vet. So I wrung her neck.
The cops stared. Someone looking like me couldn't do that. But I did. I did. There wasn't anything to say. I couldn't press charges. My cat had scrambled into the road. The truck was going the speed limit.
I buried him in my backyard. Watered him with my tears.
I couldn't go back to the vet.
I couldn't meet her eyes.
I failed.
failed.
I came so close. But fate--
I can't challenge fate.
Clearly.
The Universe.
Exists.
Only
To Make A Point
for
me.
Solipsistically.
Yes.
But my cat died.
I have to let go.
And so,
...
I can't
...
ask
...
Fluttershy
...
Out.
Author's Note
One might see this as a commentary on consequences of interpreting "fated" situations, among other interpretations.
Last year, in the equivalent category for the Thousand Words contest, I entered:
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