My Full-Sized Goddess Horse
My Full-Sized Goddess Horse
by Present Perfect
I gaze out my window at the decrepit ruins of a city decaying around me. Feeble light from a diseased sun struggles to filter down through greasy smog, but against my windows there are only soft droplets of rain falling. Perhaps these pearls of moisture come not from the sky but from my eyes as I look through the windows at the fallen, uncaring world outside. Or maybe they're power-washing my apartment building and I forgot about it again.
No, these are definitely tears, that I shed as I think about my long-deceased parents. My wonderful, kind, loving, dead parents had passed away from death and were no longer here, on account of their being dead. It had been so long since their kicking of their respective buckets that I could not bring to mind the length of time that had passed since that tragic event. But that time-length had undoubtedly been the saddest period of my life, on account of having no parents, nor mother, nor father, nor anyone else to care about or love me.
Thank God for My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.
I watch it every day on the HUB. When it is not on the HUB, I watch it on YouTube. When I am not watching My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, I interact with a group of fans of the show on the internet, whom you have probably never heard of. They are called "bronies", which is short for "males and males alone who are fans of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic", and they are the most wonderful group of for-real internet people I have ever had the pleasure to not meet. I particularly like looking at fanart and reading the wonderful and amazingly heartwarming fanfictions that bronies write, like Fallout: Equestria, Rainbow Factory, and My Little Dashie.
I like that last one the best. It is so well-written and heartwarming and amazing that I cannot help but describe it with those three precise words. What I would give to find a tiny filly Rainbow Dash, or any pony really, even Applejack, in a cardboard box on the sidewalk. Alas, my life is too horrible and sad and unfulfilling for such a momentously wonderful event to occur in it.
I think I'll go for a walk.
Before she died from her fatal death, my mother once told me that walking every day would help me lose weight. I had laughed then, discounting her advice callously, as children are wont to do, because I am not fat and merely big-boned. But ever since her shuffling off of this mortal coil to a better place, I have realized the error in my ways. Now I take walks daily, sometimes more than once, and with every step, I wish with all my heart that she could see me being a dutiful son, only too late.
The phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see it is my mother's number. Ah, if only; but such wonders are no longer possible in my life. I let it go to the answering machine, a bright red "99" blinking on the front.
"Morton? Morton, you lazy good-for-nothing, pick up the damn phone!"
The voice sounds so familiar.
"You lousy, rotten, no-good son, you never return my calls!"
It's almost like hearing the ghost of my own dear, sweet mother here in the room with me. But I know that's impossible, since she had long ago ceased to be, and my father too. I reach for the erase button.
"Even a text message would be fine! We pay for your cell phone, after all! Your father and I are worried si--"
Did I mention my parents were dead?
I wipe away an errant tear at the thought of them. It joins a collection of its brothers and sisters in a corner by the television. Then I reach for my jacket, put it on, grab my galoshes and umbrella, and open the door onto the harsh and loveless world outside my home.
I walk aimlessly, for it does not matter where I go when every place is the same dull shade of lifeless grey. There is no one in the streets. Once, this had been a bustling industrial town, but when the economy dried up and the car companies shut down, everything started to fall apart. Now, it was like a ghost town. I don't actually live in Detroit, but I might as well.
As I cross the street, it's almost like I can hear them, the ghostly echoes of those who had lived here before me, who fled when their livelihoods had shattered against the cold, hard pavement of politics or something. If I listen closely, I can hear their words:
"Get outta the road, you fat dumb fuck! I'm drivin' here!"
If only I could hear, once again, such signs of life in this town every day.
There are numerous routes that I take around the city, though it matters little which I choose on any given day. My favorites, though, are the pair of paths that take me by the park. Such a wide open space, with green trees and lots of sky, grey and choked though it may be, nearly stirs my heart to movement. But not even such a splendid sight, shallow as it may be, can reawaken the emotions that died within me along with my parents.
I take this route, for no reason beyond that it is a route available for me to stretch my legs along. The other nice thing about the park is the benches, or those which remain intact at least, in case I need to stop and catch my breath. I don't need to today, not for long anyway, but it's good that they're there.
My walk seems to be taking longer than I'd anticipated, and the dark sky grows darker as I finally loop back onto the dead-end, one-way cul-de-sac on which I live. Because the sunlight has waned so, and because the city shut off all the power to the streetlights and also some of the stoplights, it isn't surprising that I end up stumbling over something.
I turn, a vile curse forming on my lips before I see it is only a cardboard box. It's rather large; maybe it contained a television once. Unlike most of the trash that is left strewn about this neighborhood, it is in fairly decent repair, with dirt and dust that cannot have been accumulating for more than a day. I almost feel like smashing it, just so it will fit in, and also because I'm ticked off that it tripped me. But my anger is short-lived, as are all my emotions, due to the overwhelming sadness in my heart left over from when my parents bought the proverbial farm, oh so long ago.
I look at that box, and all I can think about are my parents, and how they are so, so very, very dead.
I sniff back a tear, nod to the box as if apologizing to it, and shuffle back to my home down the dark and dingy street.
Over the next few days, the box consumes my thoughts. Is it normal to think about cardboard boxes? Given how messed up the world in general and my life in specific are, I don't know what's normal, abnormal, right, wrong, up or down anymore. But yes, I keep thinking about it, and how I should go back and look at it again, or at least get it off the sidewalk so that no one else trips over it in the dark and gloomy darkness.
Oh, except that I almost forgot there is no one else here to trip over it. Sometimes, like I said, it's like I can almost hear the voices and feel the presences of other people in this town. I'm like a psychic sensitive or something. Well, I decide, I'll go look at it again anyway. Maybe someone left some sweet loot inside.
I put my coat on, and my galoshes, for it has been drizzling for what seems like days, and amble back down the cracked sidewalk of my street towards where I saw the box last. As I walk, I can only imagine what might be in it: leftovers; gold; a sandwich; an actual TV; two sandwiches; or a pony, like in My Little Dashie. That's what I'm really hoping for. It doesn't have to be Rainbow Dash or Twilight, or even Fluttershy or Pinkie Pie. It could be Daisy, or even Braeburn, and I would be happy to have that pony all for my own. Just so long as it isn't Spike.
More than likely, though, it will be empty, as all things in my life tend to be, and I will have spent all this time and energy for nothing.
I come upon the spot where I recall the box having sat, but see nothing. Perhaps some stray vagrant or survivor of the apocalypse wandered past and claimed its food- or pony-related contents for themselves. That would be just my luck. I look around, just in case the wind blew it across the street or something, when a voice catches my attention.
"If you're looking for me, I'm over here."
The voice is mellow and calm, and maybe a little bit annoyed. I spin around and look across the street, in front of a dilapidated and burnt-out delicatessen on the corner. There is the box, sitting open. And standing in it, well, standing over it with her two front hooves inside the box anyway, is...
I can't believe my eyes.
It's Princess Celestia.
The goddess of the sun, the bringer of light, is standing there, right in front of me!
I rub my eyes, too shocked by the sight to believe them for another second.
"No, I'm really here," she says, and as the full weight of those words sinks in, I cannot help but let out a fanboyish squeal.
Finally! At long last, here is the filly pony that I have wanted to look after and love, to raise as my own child and learn the redemptive power of love and self-respect from! This is the pony who will change my miserable existence into one of quiet contemplation and calm happiness!
Without a second thought, I flounce across the street, as the ghosts of the city call out to me with voices risen by the intensity of the joy that I feel, "Will you watch where you're fucking going?" That joy wells in my heart, and almost blocks out the heavy weight of sadness that I have borne ever since my parents were so cruelly taken from me by their act of perishing and departing from the face of this green earth.
I reach into the box and scoop the filly up in my arms.
"It's okay," I say quietly, "I won't hurt-- Sweet merciful crap, you're heavy for a filly!"
"I'm not a filly," she says. "And I think you just called me fat."
I refrain from further attempts to pick her up. "Would you like to come home with me? I have a nice, safe house, where you'll be warm and cared for and loved."
She fixes me with a loving expression, her eyes going wide and one of her eyebrows lifting.
"You really could have worded that in any number of not-creepy ways, you know."
"I understand," I say, and have to hold back tears of joy. "Let's get you home, Celly."
"You're not calling me that."
That first day with my little Celly -- that's what I call her! -- has been unbelievable. Tired from following me home, she curled up immediately on the couch to sleep, and I sat beside her, stroking her beautiful pink mane.
"Stop touching me," she says, her voice full of sleepy adoration as she closes her eyes.
"We'll go for walks in the park," I say quietly. "When you've grown up, you can learn how to fly, and do magic. We'll have birthday parties and watch TV together, and late at night I'll tuck you into your--"
"Would you please stop talking?"
I can't believe my ears. Here she is, saying her first words, and they're...
"I understand," is all I say, and a single tear slides down my cheek as I watch her drift off to sleep.
"And can you maybe stop staring at me?"
It's the first time I've shed a tear since my parents died that wasn't related to my parents dying. I curl up on the couch beside her and close my eyes.
"What... Why are you going to sleep? Oh geez, personal space, come on!"
The next morning, the sun wakes us, as it should, considering what little Celly's cutie mark is going to be when she grows up. That is, assuming she does find her talent and learn how to raise the sun. Could she even? After all, I know that the sun of this world does not actually rise.
What a perfect metaphor. This world is so cruel and dirty and diseased; something as wonderful as Celestia shouldn't have to face it all alone! Our horrible, uncaring universe filled with horrible, uncaring humans will only taint this precious and innocent young filly the more she remains in it. The perfect crimson woe of it all hits me in the face like a sledgehammer being wielded by a Mack truck driver on the Autobahn.
The phone rings, but I let it go to voicemail as I'm too racked with dolorous sobbing to get up off the couch.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Celestia asks in her adorable voice. She must be a little older than I thought initially; perhaps the equivalent of four or five in human years if she can already talk.
I dry my tears, trying to look strong for her, and sit up on the couch.
"No, sweetie," I say quietly, "don't worry about it. What would you like to do today? Are you hungry? Do you want breakfast?"
She lets out an adorably exasperated sigh. "I never expected being fawned over by a dumb brony would be so utterly boring. Yes, I'm hungry. I actually came to this world to get a cheeseburger, because... You know. Cows in Equestria being sentient and all, eating them is kind of frowned on."
"A cheeseburger?" It sounds strange. But really, what do I know about pony eating habits? I seem to recall there even having been an uproar in the fandom over Applejack having a ham sandwich in one episode. So who's to say that a growing filly shouldn't get a cheeseburger, if that's what she wants?
"Yes. A cheeseburger."
I smile at her. "All right, I'll get you a cheeseburger for breakfast. But first you have to say the magic words..." My smile grows little giddy as I play this game with her.
She frowns cutely. "Uh... Would you get me a cheeseburger please?"
I grin. "That's a good start, Celly, but it's not the word I was thinking of..." I lean closer, hoping she'll get the hint.
She continues to frown, concentrating, and then her expression turns into one of joy, eyes growing wide and mouth hanging open as she finally gets my drift.
"...D-Daddy?" She swallows a large lump in her throat, and I can't help but feel the same way. My Little Dashie was right: my heart just exploded twice. It doesn't matter if it's a dead meme, it describes exactly how I feel right now.
"Okay." I give her a hug, and she pulls away, making cute gagging noises. I get my coat and galoshes on. "Now, you wait here, okay? I'll be back with your cheeseburger in just a few minutes... daughter."
"Just leave already!"
I can't explain how wonderful I feel right now. I think my heart just got twenty percent explodier in ten seconds flat. Memes really do help describe feelings!
The walk to the cheeseburger store is not as bleak and full of despair as my walks usually are. Just having Celly in my life is enough to drive away the black clouds that haunt this land and turn it into the wretched hellhole I have come to know. It almost seems like she's brought back the people of this town with her very presence, for I think I see one or two on the edges of my vision as I traverse the otherwise empty streets. They're more people than I have seen in this desolate city since my parents stopped being alive, at least.
This is good, because as I make it to the cheeseburger-getting-place, I realize that if there was no one working there, I would have to scrounge for supplies and figure out how to make the cheeseburgers myself.
I push through a cracked glass door and step onto a tile floor that is streaked with black dirt from all the grease that no doubt pours onto its surface. A tiny bell chimes above my head, but its sound is more feeble than merry against the overwhelming gloom and depression around me.
"Can I take your order?" asks the for-real person behind the counter in front of me. As I scan the menu board, trying to decide if I should get two cheeseburgers or three, because I realize that I haven't eaten yet either and should get some food for myself, the person says, "Wait, Mo, is that you? Where the hell have you been? I'm pretty sure Christine said you were fired last week after you stopped answering your phone."
When I was just a child, probably not much older than Celly is now, I learned a hard lesson the hard way. It had been after school one day, as I waited for my parents, who were at that point not yet demised, to pick me up, when a group of my classmates, whom I considered my friends, emerged from the school building and began to taunt me.
They laughed and jeered, poking my belly and saying that they wouldn't want to be friends with a fatty like me. I'd only just begun putting on weight then, and their words stung. Worse, their betrayal showed me that I couldn't trust people, that I should never put my heart out where others can step on it. And then the only people who I ever loved and trusted, my dear, sweet, full-of-life parents, had to go and die and leave me all alone like that.
I almost break down crying right there in the burger-make-building. But I have to be strong! I think of Celestia, and immediately all of that hurt and betrayal fades into the background like snow on a spring day, and I can focus on ordering three cheeseburgers from the slack-jawed individual in front of me.
He tries to engage me in conversation as the food is being made, but I leave my heart closed to him. This stranger will not trample my feelings any more than they have been trampled, for I have grown cold and hard to this cold and hard world.
I obtain the burgers, paying for them with what little money I have, for there are no jobs in this wretched and vacant suburb, nor did my poor departed parents leave me any great inheritance when they tripped into the great beyond, a consequence of this world being such a crapsack. But I have enough, thankfully. I turn and leave, to go home to my Celly.
By the time I make it home, my heart is getting all explodey again. I have to stop for a burger break partway, even though I'm not walking past the park. But I get home and unlock the door and call out to my wonderful, sweet and adorable new pony daughter, "Celly! Daddy's home with the burgers!"
There is no response. My heart falls through my chest, bouncing off my stomach and getting lodged somewhere near my pancreas as I assume the worst. Maybe I left a window open. Maybe she tried using magic for the first time and teleported somewhere. If she ended up anywhere outside of my house, it would be a serious X-Files scenario. My eyes fill with tears as I imagine callous people in hateful white lab coats interrogating, prodding, and autopsying my beloved daughter. Hot tears track down my cheeks and pool on the bag from the burger joint.
Then I hear a toilet flush. My heart soars to new heights and before I know it, in my euphoric relief that feels like flying, I have wound up flat on my back on the living room floor.
"Oh wow," she says, her voice filled with concern for my wellbeing, "do not go in there for a while, that is my advice." She pauses, then asks, "Hey, are you okay or something?"
"Don't worry, sweetie," I reassure her. "Daddy's just resting."
"It sure took you long enough to get that dead cow back here. Gimme, I'm starving."
I hold the bag up instead of answering. With a gleeful squeal, my Celly takes it -- using her magic already! I'm so proud! -- and digs in. I take a few moments to center myself, then pull my galoshes off. I'm still on the floor when hot chunks of food covered in ketchup and mustard plop onto my face.
"I said no onions!" she exclaims, with love in her heart. "I'm going to be all farty for the rest of the day because I ate two of those! You had one freaking job and you screwed it up!"
I close my eyes and smile. The love I feel from Celestia is overpowering. I've waited all my life for a moment like this to come along and just wash away all the hurt and pain I've lived through all this time. Suddenly, it's as though all the heartache and angst that I have experienced in my life was worth it, just to bring me to this moment.
"Okay, well," she says, "I guess if I can't find a useful human, I may as well head out."
Oh no! I knew this day would have to come eventually, but it's all happening so fast! These days have seemed like years, and the years like days, but all I want is just one more second with my dear sweet little Celly. I would give anything for it.
"Just remember," I whisper, "I'll always love you. Even when you're gone, you'll always be my little Celly."
"Yeah, uh, okay then. Thanks for not molesting me in your sleep, I guess. Weirdo."
I open my eyes. She shakes her head, and her horn glows, opening a large portal on the wall.
"Goodbye and stuff. It's been... completely not fun." As she steps through, I can hear her muttering, "Next time I find a rip in time and space, make sure it ends up somewhere where people are competent..."
The portal closes up, its soft glow no longer bathing my apartment in its light. I pick myself up off the ground; after the third try, I actually make it to my feet.
I wander through the apartment, looking at things but not seeing them. Except that I do see: her toys and favorite things are no longer around. The pictures I took of us playing in the park now only show me, alone. I never thought that her departure would remove all traces of her existence from my life. I can feel the darkness of the oppressive world closing in around me, drawing me back into my old ways of dreariness and drudgery.
No. I won't go back to being that person. I will treasure the time we had together, and take heart in the gladness she brought into my life, for however brief a period. Besides, it's not like I'll never be able to see her again.
I meander into my room and sit down on my computer chair. Waking the desktop from sleep mode, I dial up my internet and go to my favorite pony message board. There, in two-dimensional pixels, but no less real than when she was here, I can see Celestia in all her radiant glory.
She's been anthropomorphised in this image. She has enormous knockers. And she's wearing a skimpy bathing suit. And there's another image, where the bathing suit has been taken away. I clear my throat and reach for the tissues.
The phone rings. I let it go to voice mail.
Author's Note
I can't remember the last time I had so much fun writing something.
If you'd like to see what inspired this, aside from the obvious, check out Daffodil's MLD reading here.
