You walk inside the inner precincts of Stalliongrad city, the goddess of gray. The monotonous coloration is interrupted by the colorful denizens and propaganda.

You stop to look at one of those posters.

UNITED WE STAND AGAINST EXPLOTATION!

Ponies of all kinds look into an unknown distance, holding red flags.

You look onto the next poster.

To have more, you must produce more.

A hoof is pressed down on a book.

To produce more, you must know more.

It seems to be a part of an anti-illiteracy campaign.

Who is so gullible? As if it would encourage any creature of anything. You certainly are not convinced.

You are gullible.

No, you’re not.

You are not immune to propaganda. If becoming immune to propaganda were as easy as saying, ‘I’m not gullible,’ they wouldn’t bother producing it, companies wouldn’t put in countless amounts of resources into advertisement, and political parties wouldn’t propagate theirs. It is sublime. It works, that’s why they do it.

So, what? If you want to stay unmanipulated, should you blindfold yourself whenever you go outside? Become a hermit? Participating in society sounds like a chore if your brain is constantly bombarded.

Maybe you should read a book or two. That Knowledge could help you stay resilient.

You look at the poster again.

… Damnit.

The adventure continues. You walk the streets; the amount of passerby sinks until you barely meet any creature. You come to the realization you have no idea where you are going.

You are lost.

You are alone.

Not just physically alone.

Yes, completely alone, isolated – segregated from every creature. No consciousness will ever truly meet yours. Alone and forgotten even by yourself. What do you plan to do? What do you want?

That ‘date’, of course, is a lead. But do you really mean it? Do you want to follow it? It is something that was planned – by yourself – you knew you were going to follow it. Why shouldn’t you?

This creature could help you figure yourself out. Do you want that? They are clearly connected to your past. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known of them.

You want to search for your past? You forgot for a reason, and it must be a very good reason.

Lost in your thoughts, you stumble into a pony. You falter, she is unmoved. “Oh, my knight.” A sanguine mare – you must be very distracted – appears in front of you, an earth pony.

“Uh?” you exclaim eloquently.

“It’s so nice to see you vis-à-vis. I sensed that you’re in a little dilemma, so I came to help, my gent Lost.”

Does she know you? “Who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize me, my little detective?” she says, you look at her, she is severely scarred, bordering disfiguration – she’s beautiful. “I’m the first you were acquainted with, I’m in the air you breathe, in your lungs, pores, and every second thought.”

She is showing her dominance, throwing you off. A primal urge likes it. She stands there like an unmovable object, making you aware of your mediocre size.

Your mental dices give ones. You are unable to react.

“I’m sorry, mommy, I mean mommy, I mean mommy, I mean miss. What?” You are very close to a catatonic breakdown.

“I am Stalliongrad. I want you, Lost, to join my fellow protectors.”

“What? Protectors?” If she *is* the city then, “you mean like Hoax and Snowy?”

“Yes, oh, those hopeless lovers.” She is close to you. “You are searching for meaning. Let me tell you one thing, I am old, I saw many try to find meaning on their own, or in the end of a bottle. It never worked out. But I am here for you, I will give you meaning, and you will become one of mine; swear fealty to me, my dear.”

You take up a charming pose– in your mind ‘charming’ but seeing her expression, it only shows for a second, confusion, it is anything but. “Oh, I can do all sorts of things. Swear fealty, sure. Anything you want, miss. Though, I have to ask, what exactly do you want from me?”

The mare simply smiles – she gets close, touches you, throws her forearm on your shoulders. “Many of my brothers and sisters have their own champions, and intellectuals. I have my own, however better more than less. You are no intellectual. But a nonconformist wildcard. I need you to work for me.”

“Do you know me? Are you, like, a spirit?” If she is, she must know. “What happened. What did I—”

“Don’t. You need priorities.” Her priorities. “Either you can be crying over the past or finding meaning in me. Clean out your room and keep what you like.”

Joining the police and working for something grander than yourself. Isn’t that what everycreature wants? And the uniform. You straighten your mane – the strands of hair jump back to their chaotic position. “Oh, yeah. I’ll get to look prober. I’ll help. Join the police Insignia. I’ll look so slick.”

“You are not doing it for it for the uniform.” It was a simple statement of fact.

You deflate. Of course, you only do it for the uniform. Anything more meaningful makes you more vulnerable. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask. Simply follow my veins, my arteries, follow the trams they will lead you to my heart.” Now she is very close to you. “Love you.”

She kisses you, forcing your eyes to close. Wet lips. Heartbeat. When your eyes open again, she is gone.

It is official, you have brain damage.

Are you sure, this world has magic, why shouldn’t a city have a ponification?

Really?

Oh, well, at least you have funny brain damage.

‘Funny brain damage’, what does that even mean?

Hallucinations are much less bad than a coma, paraplegia, or dying.

That’s true. But how are you even assured that she is fake? Magic can do many inexplicable things.

Willful ignorance: If it makes you feel better pretend as if. It doesn’t matter if she is real or not.

You continue your journey. Reaching a tram station, there, plastered on one lamppost is a timetable with a map next to it.

Wait, do you need something for the tram?

No, public transport is gratis.

Nice.

It may be free, but it turned up fifteen minutes too late. You didn’t get a seat and you are squished together in a multitude of creatures. They are strangers, yet you don’t care. The tram conductor drives the tram with paternal pride. There are ponies with wings that use public transport.

Flying is banned in downtown areas.

A larger concern for you is the creature you are currently sharing the same square decimeter with.

Leather wings, very tired, dark coat, and very attractive.

Ask him what he is. Ask him for his number.

Don’t, the tram is an inopportune place for that.

Better yet, give him a wink and an air kiss. You need to know what he is, and what he packs.

Stop, you don’t even know if you like stallions. Contain your metaphysical detective and your libido, you can find out what he is at a later date.

Look at him, he has sunglasses. That’s badass, he’s *cool*. Now is your chance to ask him out. What will the chance be that you meet him again? It is *very* small.

You barely win at containing your tongue, the tram eventually arrives at your goal.

After exiting it, you are greeted to the scenery of a huge plaza. On the other side of the plaza is a giant construction underway. Looking at a nearby clock, you arrived at about the right time. You leave the concourse part of the square in search of a café. It doesn’t take long until you do.

Then you see her. A cutie mark of an eye on a globe. It couldn’t be more ominous. She sits alone, calmly drinking her coffee.

Well-kept hair, beautiful eyes, nice posture, a very threatening impression; ask for her number.

An aura of misery surrounds her.

If you ever were gay, she de-gayed you in this instant moment.

Wait, are you really gay or not gay, ungay? No, you are something even better. You are super gay. Only the hyper gay can love all.

Turn around, she is nothing but trouble.

Satisfied with your inner conundrum, you take no time to prepare yourself, you approach her and ask, “do we know each other?”

Author's Note

Hi, I'm back from killing Henry Kissinger with my bare hands.
Jokes aside, this story has ratings with one third dislikes. So, I'm going to ask, why? I can't deduce from dislikes alone what I'm doing wrong.
You can dislike it from its very premise, which is completely understandable. I can only guess and that doesn't help much.
Is it the grammar, the prose, the characters, or story that's the problem? Did I mislead too much with the description? Was it the first Author's note?