"Stupid... dead end job.." You mutter to yourself, exiting the gas station you work at and walking towards where your car is currently parked, the motor already running. You kick a couple rocks, which clatter softly across the deserted parking lot, the lights having long since been turned off, now that its closed for the night. As you enter your shitbox, the sound of distant thunder can be heard. Grumbling to yourself again, you pull away from the lot and begin the 45 minute drive home. Your radio stopped working months ago, so to supplement it, you turn on your Bluetooth speaker and let the sweet sounds of Avenged Sevenfold carry you home. In the midst of singing your heart out over loves lost, a booming crash stops your sonorous sound. Heavy rain pelts your windshield, though without the help of streetlamps it looks almost... black. Shrugging it off as an effect of your poor sleep schedule, you press onward, knowing you have tomorrow off. A second, bright flash and crash stops your revery however, as a large tree splits down the middle, falling across both lanes of the road. You tear your wheel to the right, swerving to miss the leafy branches currently blocking more than half of the road, but with your attention squarely placed on the tree, you miss the large sinkhole that has opened just past it.

The gaping maw of the sinkhole, like a great, black worm, consumes your front right tire, throwing you up and over it, your car rolling onto its side, then again onto its roof. As you lay there, blood flowing freely from your fresh new forehead wound, you pray to whatever gods may be out there to at least send you somewhere nice when you die. You get no answer, and as you slip into unconsciousness, you at least take comfort in knowing your death will inconvenience your manager.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

18 hours post rescue

Groggy. Itchy. Too cold. Too hot. Too bright. All these things and more pertain to your present situation, as you finally manage to peel your eyes open, groaning at the much too visible light trying to melt your retinas. As you attempt to roll away from it, you find the thing you're currently laying on, some kind of bed maybe, feels much too short for your frame. Your legs past the ankle hang off the end, and the blanket doesn't seem to fair much better. It really only covers three fourths of your body comfortably, so either your upper chest is exposed, or your feet are granted the pleasure of roasting in the sunlight. Finally conjuring enough strength, you groan quite audibly, then slowly sit up like Frankenstein's Monster. Looking around the room, its incredibly sparsely decorated. All white walls, tan chairs and dressers, and a painting of an open sky on the wall directly across from your bed. It all screams hospital, and the IV currently inserted in your arm confirms this fact. Looking over your body, nothing seems out of the ordinary save for the lack of a shirt covering your chest. You reach down, tossing off the blanket to reveal your still attached legs, one of them, your right, is currently in a cast.

After confirming that all of your limbs are still in their proper place, you note that your throat feels incredibly dry. Looking to the right, your gaze settles on a glass pitcher and cup, sitting on the table at the bedside. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you slowly, hesitantly pull yourself off the bed, putting your weight on the non-injured foot. After a small nod, noting that you can in fact still stand, you reach out and grab the glass and the pitcher, filling the cup half way and downing it in one go, quenching your thirst. Now to find something to eat. While thinking about what awful food this hospital must have, the sound of muffled footsteps interrupts your contemplation. You manage to pull yourself back onto the bed, tossing the blanket over your legs. The steps are followed by hushed whispers, and you watch the door slowly swing open. Fully expecting a doctor, you are instead greeted by a... small... horse? No, pony. A pony with an old school paper nurses hat on its strangely pink mane. The two of you lock eyes, and the creature (a female, judging by the shorter muzzle and much more visible eyelashes), seems quite startled by the fact youre awake. She closes the door behind her slowly, trotting over to the table with the pitcher, and slides the tray balanced on her back onto said table.

The pony nurse then moves to the foot of your bed, gabbing the hanging clipboard and clearing her throat, confirming with certainty that it is in fact a female.

"Good Morning mister...", she trails off, looking to you seemingly for assistance with your name, which you oblige after a thorough clearing of your own throat

"Camden. Camden Morris." Wow. Has your voice always been this scratchy? She nods, looking back down at the clipboard and, quite adorably, makes a note with the pencil, using it with her mouth.

"Yesh, sank you mishter Morrish." She slurs out around the wooden writing implement, setting it back down. "Do you know where you are, by any chance?" Her gaze swiftly wipes the small smirk that had grown on your face while watching her write.

"Uh, no, i don't. Last thing I remember is driving home in my car then crashing. After that its a lot of shapes and noise and lights. No clue what happened after the crash or where i am currently." Your voice comes back to you more as you talk, feeling like an old car engine left in a shed for much longer than it should have. The nurse nods, moving to the side of your bed, checking the hanging IV Bag and grabbing a pressure cuff, though swiftly sets it back down after realizing it definitely wont fit your arm. She then grabs a stethoscope, pulling out a stool and climbing on it before pressing the cold metal cup to your chest, nodding as she takes your heart rate.

"Well, my name is Nurse Redheart, and you're currently at the Ponyville General Hospital. You were brought in a few nights ago after some of the citizens found you laying next to a flaming hunk of metal. Most likely the thing you crashed in. Does that sound correct?" She asks, setting the stethoscope aside and grabbing a popsicle stick, motioning for you to open your mouth. You nod, saying "aah" as requested. She grimaces at your most likely abhorrent morning breath, looking over your mouth. Her eyes widen slightly upon seeing your canine teeth, and she makes a mental note to change your dietary type from Herbivore to Omnivore.

She continues through your checkup relatively swiftly, taking the basics down and noting that your leg is healing much faster than had been predicted. When asked about this, she responds stating "When we had a Unicorn scan your leg, the structure of it seemed to indicate it would take at least a few months to heal. However, from what i can tell, it should be fully healed by the end of this week, possibly even earlier."

The admittance of "Unicorn" throws you for a loop, and you make a note to ask about it next time you get the chance, seeing as she leaves right after answering your question. Once alone once more, you lay back down, trying to absorb all the new information that's been thrown at you, and most importantly, why the hell you aren't dead.

Author's Note

Howdy howdy. This is the first little chapter in what will hopefully be a decently long story ill put together at like 1 AM while i should be sleeping before work. Constructive criticism is absolutely acceptable, but if you genuinely just don't like what i have so far, please just scroll away.

-V