A History Of Us

by MyNameHere

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Adventure, Human
Length: 2237

Blah blah Human in Equestria mystery blah blah Luna plays a significant role somehow, blah blah groping Zecora on accident. It's story time people. c:

Blah blah Human in Equestria mystery blah blah Luna plays a significant role somehow, blah blah groping Zecora on accident. It's story time people. c:

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-21 00:26:07 UTC

Let's Kill The Protagonist

His eyes washed over the table. Thin scratches covered the aged wood surface as the man ran his fingers along them. He likened them to waves in a sea; always shifting, changing with each interaction.  A few circular, brown marks tinted the oak grains, while a gentle hum emanated from the hanging bulb above. A gentle flicker made itself known as light swayed on its string. Mark couldn’t help but notice how the shifting shadows moved with the channels of the wood.

A voice cracked from across the table, and Mark’s view snapped up. The voice had belonged to a stick-like figure in a flannel suit. Furrowed brows and a slight frown were etched into its features. Around the man’s neck was a tightly pulled tie, not a degree off center, not a wrinkle in sight. This man’s name was Row.

“Are you going to answer me, Mark? We’ve only got tonight to make something happen.”

Mark fingers continued to run along the table’s surface, “I don’t know what to say, Row. You know that’s a loaded question.”

A grunt was gargled up in response.

“Don’t be like that, Row.”

The suited man stood, his chair squeaking as it slid backwards across the floor, and he leaned forward over the table. “Don’t be like what?”

“You’re making a bigger deal of this than it need-”

Papers flew across the table and into Mark’s face. For his credit, he only flinched back slightly.

“We have six hours, Mark! Six!” The red in the figure’s face was harsh in the dim light. The smell of sweat permeated through the stale air, stirred up by the commotion. Mark’s eyes floated closed and pried themselves open again.

“Sit down, Row.”

The man snorted, his hands interlocked above his head. Aftering twisting around in the small, windowless room, he pulled his chair forward and dropped into it. “It’s over. We can’t do this.”

Mark was back to mapping the groves in the wood. “So we start from the beginning.”

The man’s head was shaking. “We have nothing to start with.”

The wood seemed to almost morph before his eyes. “We don’t need anything.”

The body across from him slouched. “That’s not how it works, Mark.”

Light scraping could be heard from the table. “We can make something out of nothing.”

A few seconds passed before a whisper carried itself across the table.  “Be realistic.”

“Be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable!”

“...Row...Row I think you should leave.”

The man’s mouth opened slightly before locking closed. “Ay, captain. I’ll let you go down with your god forsaken ship.”

Mark was following a particularly long etch along the wood. It seemed to twist and split off at a fork. One line lead off the side of the surface, whilst the other seemed to circle in upon itself. In the dim light, a broken shadow of a walking man flicked across the wall. Mark chose a path to follow in the oak, and a door behind him clicked itself closed.

“What do you mean?” It was a heavy smack to the face.

“I’m sorry, Mark. We just can’t afford it this month.” A large gentleman in a butcher's smock looked down at his feet. “We just can’t. I wish we could...but we can’t.” The last few words had been more of a whimper.

Mark’s facade stood stoic. “I...I-uh,” he looked up at the large figure, and smiled. “I understand. Thanks... thanks for everything, though. It’s been a big help over the years.” The large man dropped a shaky palm onto Mark’s shoulder. A frown and a gentle nod followed suit. An awkward goodbye, and Mark was splashing his way out of the alley.

Soup kitchens don’t run so well without donations, and that had been his last major supplier. This had been going on for months. Backer after backer dropping out. Small donations dwindling to nothing. The city was falling around him and Mark had nothing to do but watch. Passing a small park, Mark diverged off the sidewalk.

Along an earthen path stood a small playground. The green paint was chipping off the slide. A hint or rust splattered all around it. A small wooden play structure looked to be rotten through. Mark sat down on a bench facing the slide. Slouching onto his knees he glanced up at the jungle gym.

“You know, they use to tell me things gets better? That everything can be repaired?” He waved his wrist at wooden fixtures and frowned. “Do you think they could repair your friend over there Mr. Slide?” He held his position for a few seconds before his eyebrows clenched. “Huh!? Do you!?”

Glancing to his left and down the path, Mark saw a woman and dog quickly skirt away from him. Mark dropped his arm and head before letting out a large breath. “The answer is no. They can’t repair it. What they can do is replace it.”

The green slide didn’t respond.

“Of course, though, you need wood to replace it with. But then we’re assuming the metal fixtures are still usable.” Mark nodded slowly before looking back up at the slide. “Though, what’s an outline without materials? Better yet, what are materials without someone to do something with them? Hmm?” A slight breeze rustled the trees around him. Mark cupped his hands over his face. “My god, you act like it will hear you, Mark.” Standing up, he took small steps down the path, out of the park.

Kicking a can along the cement walkway, he made his way down a few blocks of industrial buildings. Passing a small alley, Mark heard a loud yelp. That is, a yelp from an animal, until he heard the shout for help.

Mark was quick to sprint down the alley and around the corner. A small boy was smudged up against the wall, panting heavily. A man was leaning over him with a small knife, yelling.

Mark did the only thing he could think to do. He intervened. “Hey! What’s with you and the kid!?”

The man leaned off the boy and pointed the knife in Mark’s direct. “Back off man. You got no business here.”

The child took his chance and took off down the alley. “Wa? Oh hell no!” The man reached into the lip of his pants and pulled out a tiny revolver before aiming it at the running child. “Shouldn’t of done th-”

The man and Mark’s body slammed into the ground. Mark rolled a few feet away and began rising to his feet.

Suddenly, thunder sounded out. Mark’s ear were ringing. *Crack* It happened again. *Crack* And again. *crack* And again. The world blurred around him.

A few seconds later, Mark’s face connected with the floor violently. A gun hit the ground; its steel pinging against the cement while smoke drifted off the barrel. Before losing all his senses, he thought he heard sprinting feet echoing down the alley.

The hospital doors flew open. Mark laid limp on a gurney gliding through the lobby. There, a doctor with heavy circles under his eyes joined the procession. "What are we looking at?"

"Four gunshot wounds to chest. Clean in and out."

A man in blue scrubs was taking down information from a monitor. “Shallow breathing and a slo- make that ventricular fibrillation. Get a crash cart!”

“Wallet was missing, we can’t get any records.”

A woman in EMT clothing was pumping a device connected to Mark’s face. “His chest isn’t rising enough. Nurse! Endotracheal intubation!”

A figure quickly grabbed a tube out of some plastic covering. Mark’s sight fidgeted into focus.

“Sir? Sir, what’s your name? Si-” Mark’s eyes drifted closed. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was tired. He didn’t see the harm in a nap. Naps were good, weren’t they?

On the display attached to the side of the bed, a long, green line stood stagnant.

A numbness flushed over Mark’s mind; a whiteness mutely growing over his consciousness like an old flickering reel of film.

“Clear!”

There was a sharp intake of breath as his back arched upwards.

A green blur was moving to Mark’s left. “We’ve got a pulse.”

There was light shining down harshly into his eyes. Mark didn’t like the light, and he felt like he was choking. Why wasn’t anyone helping him? Couldn’t they tell he was choking?

A blue blob began shining another light, this one smaller, directly into Mark’s eye. The top of the blob seemed to glance away. “He’s slipping again.”

The light wasn’t the worst part. Sounds of all kinds were entering Mark’s ears. Each one less distinguishable than the last. From the cacophony of audio, one noise cut through.

*beep*...*beep*...*beep*...*beep*

Mark disliked this tone most of all. Thus, he felt that the gods must have heard his cries, when the sound slipped away into the static.

In a bleach white room, a small machine let a low, continuous tone hum. Wires dropped from the base of the box, moving across the floor and up the side of a metal table. Four men, in red-stained medical scrubs, encircled the large table to which the wires were connected. On top of the surface laid a body with a tag around its foot. One of the figures broke off and grabbed a large sheet. Another had gotten a pen and was jotting down the time. The man with the fabric covering moved to the foot of the table and paused. He stared at the body, slowly running his eyes over its features. Shaking his head, the man placed the sheet over the figure on the table. He nodded to a man in green scrubs standing besides the mechanical cube emitting the tone. The green figure reached a gloved hand out and grasped a switch on the machine. His fingers sat there, running over the metal nub.

*Beep*

END PROLOGUE

Let's Wake up in Equestria

Mark shivered as a breeze ran over him. He was sprawled out on his stomach in some short grass. His bare body was covered in mud and a trail of it followed from the river’s edge. His neck twisted up as he crawled his way to a sun beaten boulder. Mark grunted as he flipped onto his back and pulled himself against the stone’s warm surface.

His eyelids fluttered unevenly as he looked around. Trees ran along both sides of the water way. The canopy filtering out most of the light. His muddy legs were tickled by the thin blades of grass beneath him. Trying to wiggle his toes, Mark noted a lack of movement as the nubs twitched. A quiet sigh came from his lips as his head drooped down.

He had passed out for nearly an hour before coming to with his eyes snapping up to the world around him. His pupils contracted quickly as Mark finally took note of the color scheme around him. The bright, saturated colors left his mouth gaping. A small noise drew his attention down to his... no longer mud covered legs. A small bunny was spitting water onto Mark’s limbs and rubbing the earth off the surface.

Mark’s shaky vision zeroed in on the hare that had somehow managed a focused grimace. It glanced up at the man’s open eyes, and the tiny figure slowed to a stop. Mark wasn’t sure what to make of the little beast that now had a sad frown on its face. The white creature hopped onto the human’s chest and scampered up to Mark’s face. A tiny tear fell from the bunny as it lightly kissed the man on the cheek. It quickly jumped down a few feet away and held up both paws. The motion of ‘stay’ was repeated in a few variations before the rabbit ran off into the woods.

Mark went to raise an arm and stop the bunny from leaving, but the limb did little more than flop. He was left staring off into the brush where the rabbit had exited. His heart beat softly as blackness overtook him again.

A snort pulled Mark from his sleep. His head connected sharply with the boulder against his back. After emitting a tiny cry, his eyes opened to nothing but black and white.

The zebra’s maw was nearly flush with Mark’s nose. The world around him blurred as he stared into yet another creature’s eyes. A bit off balance, he leaned forward and flung an arm around the zebra; his face burying itself into the creature’s neck. A hand ran through the animal’s coat and Mark’s fingers made circles in the fur as they drifted across the zebra’s side. The beast’s gentle breathing blew hot air into Mark’s ear and he could feel its chest expand and contract. His hand had made its way down the length of the creature, prompting him to cup its haunches in a palm. The zebra promptly went stiff in his arms as Mark proceeded to rub the creature’s rear. In a soft voice he gargled gibberish whilst his fingers squeezed the supple fur of the beast’s patootie. As he blacked out overtop the zebra, Mark began to subconsciously nibble on its neck.

The zebra stood rigid with the man’s weight bearing down. The striped beast stared straight ahead with a bright pink hue in its cheeks. Blinking a few times, it slid the large, gnawing ape off its back to collect some twigs and vines.