Potato ex Machina by Alamais
Steven Stu yawned, and checked his privilege. Doin' fiiine, he thought to himself. The elevator door opened, and he slouched out into the lobby of his apartment building. He waved to the doorman, "Hey Bill," and walked outside, his breath catching in the cold, wintry Chicago air. Another lovely day in hell. Why did I move here again? Oh right, bribe-happy politicians and lax child labor law enforcement. He began to whistle softly.
He turned left, and made his way down sidewalk, to the next intersection. He avoided the ominous puddle near the crosswalk, and was pleased as the universe bowed before him, the light changing just as he arrived. He stepped into the street, and was halfway across when he heard a screeching noise. He turned to it just in time to see a medium-sized delivery truck spinning out of control towards him. Oh shit.
While he could not move quickly enough to avoid it, time slowed enough for him to register the words "de Lancie's Produce" on the side of the truck. He squinted his eyes as the truck spun entirely around on some black ice, and then...stopped. It was about ten inches away from him. He sighed, and got ready to run around and scream at the driver, when he heard a CRACK, and the doors of the truck swung open, the left one giving Steve's temple a firm love tap along the way.
Stunned, he barely felt himself fall to the ground, face down. Bwuhhh... Then he barely noticed numerous fast, small, repetitive thwacks to his back. He did vaguely recognize that the world was going away, his direct vision blocked out by numerous small, oblong brown objects. Everything slowly faded to black.
***
Steve woke slowly, pain shooting through his head. Jesus Christ, I feel like I got hit by a...hmm. He managed to drag himself into a sitting position. Why the fuck hasn't anyone helped me? He looked around, and realized he wasn't in the street.
Two walls were parallel to either side, about two meters apart, with a dirt path between. What the hell? I get hit by a truck and someone throws me into an alleyway? He crawled over and leaned against one of the walls, trying to clear his head. I knew the city was bad, but shit. Bracing a hand against the wall, he managed to get himself standing, and stumbled towards the end of the alley.
He was about halfway there, when he heard someone approaching. He paused to see who it was, and two...horses?! meandered by, chatting with each other. What. He very slowly made his way closer to the end of his shelter, staying in the shade, and saw more horses. No, they're too small. Ponies. The thought ground around in his head for a moment. Talking...ponies. He glared around a bit more. Talking...pastel...ponies. A set of trollish neurons in his brain finally fired off, and he remembered. No. Fuck no.
Stumbling backwards, he returned to the peace of his alley. What the hell. He tried to rationalize it, come up with something else, but the pounding in his head and pain throughout his body made him give up. I must be dead. And the afterlife is fucking My Little Pony? Shitfuckcockballs...
He turned away, dragging himself the other way down the alley. I can't handle that shit. He emerged into a small courtyard adjacent to a tiny wooded area. It looked like the edge of town, as he could see empty fields and an apple orchard in the distance. I should buy some apples, he thought woozily, but then he collapsed, the pain overtaking him. Feels like I'm going to implode!
He looked down at his hands, and noticed a silvery glow clinging to them. What the fuck is potato to me? Despite the pain, he blinked at his own thoughts. Why did I just potato potato? He felt panic start to grip him, but then a new surge of pain came over his body, and rational thought was exterminated.
An observer would have heard his joints popping, his bones breaking, his organs collapsing, as his pathetic human form collapsed ever smaller. Eventually even his skull caved in with a sickening pop, his pale skin flowing together, then turning a medium brown. His eyes shadowed over, becoming tiny puckers on the otherwise smoothly curved surface. When it was finished, a large russet potato lay on the ground.
Through some trick of magic, a shred of consciousness remained, clinging to the cells of the starchy tuber. Potato? Potato potato potato. Potatooooo.
Not having much of a sense of time left, the spud was content to sit for however long it was sitting, before it noticed--with some strange residual potatosense--a pony passing by. Potato? Pretty green. Potaaatooooo.
***
Lyra was taking a shortcut to get to the market, where she hoped to find Sweetie Drops and wheedle a lunch out of her. So hungry. She was out of bits, and wouldn't get paid until Time Turner made good and coughed up the vig on that loan for the race bet last week. Such a lowlife. One more day and me and Mr. Truncheon go have a talk with our friendly neighborhood clockmaker. She was almost to the market, passing through the small courtyard behind the candle shop, when she noticed...a potato?
It was lying on the ground near the middle of the yard. A single, large, lovely-looking potato. She felt drawn to it, as if under a compulsion. As she walked up to it, she glanced around, warily. What the hell is this? Seeing nobody nearby, she bent her head down and sniffed it. Oh...how can a raw potato smell so good? She guiltily looked around again, then gave it a quick lick. It tasted better than it smelled.
No longer caring, she grabbed the terrific tuber off the ground, and cradled it in her foreleg. She noted a nearby, secluded park bench, and hurried over to it, taking a seat. Finally, all self-control gone, she took the end of it into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it, sucking lightly on the dark, rough skin. How?! How is it so good?! She bit into it, carving off a small chunk, and shuddered slightly as succulent potato juice dribbled into her mouth and down her chin. Her mind was a torrent of confused pleasure, but a single thought rang through her consciousness, almost as if called out by another: PoooootaaaaatooooOOOOOooooo!!! She paid no heed as she gnawed on the potato with the side of her mouth, slowly grinding off small pieces, eventually leaving it looking like a potato shiv.
She pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, and slowly sank down on the bench. She then dove back in, licking the exposed, dripping potato flesh, savoring the starchy fluids. Finally she bit the remainder in half, and let out a small moan as she chewed it into a paste, and gulped it down. Panting rapidly, she held herself back for one more moment, and then, with a cry, consumed the last piece of her wondrous pomme de terre. She quivered in ecstasy as the final drops of juice met her tongue, as the final shreds of raw, creamy flesh were crushed, and then fled down her gullet.
She lay there, shivering, for several minutes. Eventually, her eyes popped open, and she glanced around, relieved to see that her ecstatic noises had not attracted any audience. She sat up, and quickly licked her face and hooves clean of the last drops of potato blood, a chill going up her spine at the taste.
Finally, she stood up, feeling slightly wobbly, and with one last glance around the area, she continued on her way towards the market. She couldn't wait to see Sweetie Drops--she didn't need lunch anymore, but boy did she have a story to tell!
The. Friggin. End.
Author's Note
May the gods have mercy on my soul.
