Prologue : A Day In The Life..
My life, hell, that's it, not a life, a personal hell. My friends abandon me, like an unwanted dog, in the cold and wet, as I'm more intelligent, is that my fault? Is it? I only have one person that is nice enough to be even called a friend. Now, before you can learn my predicament, you need to know who I am. My name is Francis Sharpe, and my life is almost a poltergeist of torment. I go to my high school, Southeast Senior High, everyday with a mostly upbeat attitude and a determined mindset, but because of all the abuse I’m forced to endure, from students and teachers alike, I come home, a bullied and tormented shell of my former self. But I said almost a living hell, remember?
Luckily, I’m not without a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. The only friend, Joseph Connor, in my little hellish world poses as my flickering light, that will hopefully guide me through demons and hate with jokes and attempted laughter. As luck falls upon me, these attempted smiles and giggles never perpetrate the cold steel of sadness and neglect. Joseph's laughter is like a wood plank to the sword of my sorrow. The armor of sadness, which is clamped to my soul and latched to my skin, never weakens and, sometimes, grows stronger. It doesn't break nor does it loosen. It is a choke point of my happiness.
My only outlet of the containment of anger is warfare. Games and books. the Total War series of games, for example, is one of the only things I have left to cling onto in this unforgiving and hopeless world, with slippery fingers and aching arms. So here we are in the present day,agony and misery still hangs in the putrid air I breath, I’m walking home right now, after an average day of torment. I get in the door, lock it behind me, put my books down, and proceed to go up to my room. I walk up to my room and shut the door behind me, even though the putrid stench of misery still follows me, I walk to my desk and sit down, beginning to play Shogun 2: Total War. I search for someone to do battle with and, as usual, it takes what seems like forever. ‘’Just freakin’ typical’’ I mutter, finally, some guy with the username ‘totalmaster109’ gets on the other end, and we start the battle without much waiting nor hesitation. I start the battle with 6 units of Matchlock Ashigaru, which I rely heavily upon, 4 units of Matchlock Samurai, since the peasant Ashigaru tend to route, and 7 units of Yari Samurai. Since I'm defending, i put my men into lines, the Ashigaru in the first, 2 units of Matchlock Samurai on either side to support them, and The Yari behind them to act as a wall, incredibly effective in defence and nearly immortal against cavalry. I put them into a group and have them advance in formation, eventually running into totalmaster in a forest ambush, but luckily I manage to turn my formation in time, and soon his best bows and cavalry are mowed down by my Matchlock gunners and started running like heathens from a preacher from my advance as I massacre the rest of his army. master congratulates me on my win and he leaves soon after.
I soon went to bed, as it was 10:30, and quickly succumbed to sleep. As I slept, I dreamt of only darkness, but not of torment nor hatred but a plea. A cry for help. The voice in the dim of the dream spoke 'send us a savior that does not fear death, life, sin, evil , powers, things present, neither for them to fear things to come. But has heart to save and protect the innocent' then it cut off, destroyed, like radio static. It shuddered me, the amour of sorrow loosened due to the confusion of the dreamt voice and it’s origin. Even at school, while being taunted by threats and insults, the words of the plea echoed through my mind. Who was it? Who was this savior? Why did I dream about it? The prayer's echoes have stopped, the insults being sprouted into my earshot. I cannot take it much longer
. But long is too much. I span on my heels, and extended my arm. My fist connected. Pain shot through my arm and down my torso. But I think he felt a bit more. Wait...Oh dear god. There, lying on the floor, was one of my former friends, Travis Hawking , his hair scattered across the cement. Blood was on my fist. No, it can't be! The sounds around me halted to a stand still, but a plague of whispers and hidden voices swept the crowd that had formed. No, this isn’t me. I don’t do this! I must run! I must hide! So, I ran. It was the only thing, I could do. Move fast and hope, not hope ,pray, they don't follow along. Buildings sped past, the floor made a constant whacking sound under my feet. The world became a blur. A flurry of twists and turns.
Thoughts flew past as fast as the buildings. Then, the refuge. Home. I unlocked the door and locked it behind me. I looked down at my red fists. ‘’I’d better wash this off’’ I mutter to myself, trying to be confident, but terrified with himself, noticing my shaking hands, spraying the red water across the ground, as I tried desperately to wash the blood off my hands, but trying harder to scrub the scrapes of self hatred and fear of my souls. After I got the the blood off of my hands, well physically, the blood still lay there , wet, in my soul; my soul didn’t wash, the self hate and fear didn’t even move. I opened the door from the bathroom, the handle is sticky from years of swept and cheap soap, I ran down the stairs, the creaky noise squeaked all the way up. My Dad has a collection of antique firearms, so that’s where I went, I kicked down the door and frantically looked around the room, my dad’s collection was huge, but most of them didn’t work, or my mum had broke for the ‘safety’ of the house. Deciding on a concealable gun that could fire non-lethal BB’s as well as real bullets, I decided to take the Colt M1860, a beautiful revolver that dad had hidden away from the destruction of health and safety, and a large blade, almost big enough to gut a pig.As I left the room, I looked back, I had forget the ammo, ‘’Dammit’’ I cursed as I went back and looked for the BB's, well, at least the BB's were easy to find, I needed to search thoroughly to find the actual paper cartridges, once I found them, I went back into the hall and shut the door. The hallway was toxic green colorful, I will be happy if I see it again.
I went across the landing and opened our door, the old thing was rusted from age, as I opened the door, and as it made it’s scheduled creak, I saw one of the biggest mobs in my life I have ever seen, all classmates from my school , mates is a bit of an over extraction, some armed with sticks, others stones, all angry, and all glaring. Their uniforms, they had always stunk, but I was never this afraid to smell their stench, and through his massive crowd of armed school children, who should I see? But Travis, Travis Hawking, his bloodied face still looked a mess, but he wasn’t armed with a few branches or pebbles, no, he was armed with a club, a bat. My eyes froze time as the bat thumped against his hands, bruising them, then time made a run back.I slammed the door, hard as I could and ran through the landing and across the kitchen, I stood on the sink, and was wriggling my way through the back window, as I heard the sound of bashing fists against my door, then silence, I paused, hoping I could slip back into my house and be left alone, but then, a large ,wood against wood thwack rang out, the damn bat. The old girl wouldn’t be able against that.
I quickly barreled through the window, and landed on my feet on the lush grass of my back yard, but as I ran on, I heard a scream of breaking wood erupt from the window. It was time to run; like hell.The pain in my legs was held back by adrenaline of the moment, but moments pass quickly, and my legs were shot, but I kept running over garden fences, I hopped over the old garden fence at the back, overgrown by ivy and weeds, it creaked under my own weight, I landed in another garden, more patchy than ours, and less lush, overgrown, the house has been abandoned for ages, great route. Crack. My head cracked at the noise, the fence showed a scar, and then another. They knew I was here, I could hear their bones creaking at the swings. I did what I did before; ran like hell.
Through the deserted home, the back door was weak, and split easily but splintered, a large one struck me in the knee; but I pressed one, the old house was cleared of furniture, but it was small, so in no time at all, I burst through the front door. As soon as it splintered, voices rang through the walls. They don’t stop. I ran on, my leg was bleeding a red path, as breadcrumbs, but I pressed on. I ran through the street, then I heard a scattering of feet and a shouting of voices. I turned, the mob looked more terrifying than early, they seemed more bloodthirsty and crazed, but Travis wasn’t in the middle, he was at the front. His bat wasn’t just a wooden club, a nail was placed through the center, he was planning to stab me. One thing I had: Firearms. I raised the gun, and; boom! I was looking away, but I heard a scream, and shouts. That was all I needed. I started to ran again, to restart the breadcrumbs, and I ran through the streets; and there was Joseph's house, like a shining beacon. I knocked on the door and it swung open, strange. No one left their doors unlocked, unless they forgot. But as it was my only saviour, I walked in. I shut the door behind me. I didn’t bother to look or listen to see what was going on outside. As if I did, I would probably be caught.
“Joseph! You there?” My voice rang about the house, bouncing off of deaf walls. No response, he must have fallen asleep, he was always lazy, he could sleep through a party. I walked up his stairs, the walls were decorated with achievements and certificates. No photos. How much stuff can one person do?
“Joseph! Come on” I walked onto the landing, it smelt like it always did, wet dog and gas stations, but, for once, the smell was welcoming. I walked through his room, and the thing I saw struck horror into my heart...
A blue ring filled the floor, it was twirling around like a tornado, but it remanded still. It was like a vacuum, pulling things in, a baseball bat was thrown like a javelin through the water of this thing. I pulled my head away as a splinter of wood was thrown back and cut through the layer of wall like paper, the only thing visible about the wood was a little tip at the end. I tried to pull it out, but it was stuck fast, nothing could pull that thing out. It was dragging everything into it, his comics, his laptop, then, out of the blue, I heard a click and a clank on the wall behind me, I turned around to see bolts launching of his ancient radiator, then a ear piercing screech of metal stabbed into my ears, I held my hands over my eyes, as, if I moved them, I would go deaf. But the screech of metal stopped, and I pulled my hands away from my ears, they were ringing like alarm clocks. Then, the radiator span off the wall, smashed me in the shins, then the face, and pulled me in with it; as I clutched, helplessly on the lone pipe; scorching my hand. I was thrown in with it, into an abyss.
The ring felt like space, time slowed, and you were almost floating. The radiator had been torn away, but I got one chance to give it the finger for burning my hand; that was exactly what I did; gave a lump of metal the finger. I was alone, no one else was in this weird place as I was. I was stuck, in a blue ring for what was probably the rest of my days. But then a place flashed up in the blue darkness, it was a palace, a river ran around it, clear gushing water; it was clean enough it be a liquid mirror. A waterfall to the other side, water bouncing off the rocks and splashing onto the green grasses around it. The palace itself was massive, gold and purple, with large towers. A forest lay, dense, right in front. Any king or queen of the dark ages would fight over it for centuries, until themselves and their armies were dust; it was truly a magnificent palace. The image began to fade away, as soon as it had came. I swiped at it, but it was like shooting a ghost, It just shrugged it off and continued to fade. Then I was alone again in this place, blue as the bottom of the ocean; then, darkness began to seep through; until the place was a basement; cold and dark.
I landed with a thud, and a shock in my nose. My face is fine, but my goddamn nose?! I thought to myself as I stood up. I was in a wood, dark green vines and twine was everywhere, dark brown trees. It was night, full moon. Where am I? It was day when I went to Joseph. Where in the hell am I? I heard music, it wasn’t your average music that you would hear on the radio, this was cultural; it had an strange theme to it, like a ancient feel. As my only beacon of civilization, I followed it. I walked through the trees, in hope I was going the right way. As hope would help me, I was. The music got louder and louder. It wasn’t electronic, it was being played; on drums? Not your rock drums, your skin drums. It quickened my pace, as I remember it was night, and in a wood, no matter where in the world you are, you don’t what you be in a wood after dark. I quickened my pace even further, then again, then again; until I was sprinting. I ran, duck and jumped over branches, stones and rocks. Green vines becoming blurs, and trees becoming mere obstacles. I stopped, I had found the source of the drums; a hut? Well, beggars can’t be choosers. I walked around the hut, the door was crooked and small. It was like a porthole, but the crookedness was attempted to be covered by a shade of green paint, it had dried wrong, it must have been raining. But, anyway, I knocked.
“Hello, anyone in there?” as I spoke, fear had a slight clutch at my voice
“Yes, somepony is ‘there’, please don’t stare” She spoke with a stereotypical African accent, Why was she rhyming? Did she say ‘pony’?
“Can, I come in or what?” Fear had let go, only for a breather, but had let anxiousness grappled me instead.
“You can come in, but do not sin” She didn’t seem that worried that a complete stranger is about it work into her house, for no exact reason. Maybe, I’m in a good part of town.
Chapter 1: Running Like Hell!
Chapter 1
I stood in front of this strange-looking hut in the middle of the forest, a cold shiver passing down my spine. Back home, my mom used to tell me all these bedtime stories about kids getting lost in forests and then meeting all sorts of sticky ends. I didn't plan on following in their footsteps.
Middle of the forest? Check.
Strange looking hut? Check.
Weird music and an unrevealed voice? Check.
On second thoughts, maybe the forest isn't such a bad place after all-
The voice took note of my hesitation:
"Why the fuss, do come, my child; now, you know, I'm truly mild!"
Voice speaking weirdly for no good reason? Check.
A sudden rustle in the bushes behind me caused my head to snap backwards. There was nothing I could see in the undergrowth. What if- I gulped.
I looked back at the hut, sweaty palms clasping ever tighter to my revolver. At least those kids never had the benefit of firepower.
With trembling arms, looking backwards constantly, I slowly put my fingers around the handle. It was greasy to the touch. I withdrew, revolted. Green paint was smudged on my hand. Eurgh...
Another rustle. I snapped my head back. Nothing again. Another cold shiver.
Hastily, more determinedly, I grabbed the handle and pushed down hard. The door swung open. I enter, gun half-raised, still looking backwards. "I'm sorry," I began, slowly turning my gaze back into the wood. "I'm just not very sure what to expect here- "
The words died away as I came face to face with the sum of my fears. The voice wasn't human. It wasn't human. It was a... zebra.
I blinked. It was still a zebra. I blinked again. It was still a zebra. I dared not rub my eyes. And then it spoke.
"Welcome, child, Zecora's hut; but, for you, may I ask 'what?'"
My brain wasn't functioning properly. "Y-you're a z-z-zebra!" I exclaimed dumbly.
"Yes, a kind of pony far; please, pray tell, just who you are,"
The weirdness was too much. I raised my gun, comforting myself in the only explanation that seemed even mildly plausible.
"Y-y-you... stay back!" I stammered, frantically backpedaling back out towards the door. "If you d-do any magic, I... I'm gonna shoot!" My left hand groped for the handle back out to the forest. I couldn't find it.
The zebra's shock turned into laughter. "Why, you do fear magic thus? In that case, don't be with us!"
Us? There were MORE of these... things? "Th-there are more of you!?" I chattered, eyes shooting wide in fear. This gun can only get me so far. "Why hasn't anyone on Earth told me about you... things?"
Zecora - I think that's what she said, earlier - chuckled again. This was definitely unnerving. "Ah, the zebras, quite rare, we; in this land, I think, just me!"
I breathed a sigh of relief. Alright, so I just have to deal with her. My grip on the gun tightened again as I took better aim. "Alright then... enough of the poems, Shakespeare," I commanded uneasily. "Y-You do anything silly, and I'm blasting you back into... uh... Narnia! Now turn back into your real form, and tell me where I am! P-please," I added, worried that my orders may have inflamed tensions.
The zebra didn't seem to realize that I had in my hand a dealer of death. She merely trotted over and began poking at the revolver with her hoof, her eyes looking up the barrel. "D-don't do that," I tried to menace, but failed miserably. I was shaking all over. I didn't think I could bear causing injury to another being - albeit not human - in the span of one day.
The zebra withdrew to my side and spoke gently, perhaps cognizant that I was, perhaps, not of this world:
"I still don't know what you are; you may come from lands afar.
I am only what you see; I will not a Changeling be.
Welcome, friend, to pony land; in Equestria here we stand;
Peaceful folk we ever are; friendly folk we never bar."
I stood next to the door, still aiming my gun pointlessly at empty space in the middle of the hut, my mind getting more addled by the minute. Changeling? Pony? Equestria? What!?
I sighed. It was pointless to keep up this charade any longer. It's not like I can actually defend myself against magic. I lowered the gun. "I'm sorry... Zecora, is that right?" The zebra nodded. "I'm sorry again... I think we got off to a bad start. I'm Francis, and I don't know where I am. Ok," I clarified hastily, fearing that I might have insulted the zebra's explanation skills. "I know I'm in this... Equestria... pony land. But I've never heard of this place. Is it in Africa? Or Asia?
Zecora raised an eyebrow. "Africa? Asia? I see; you are definitely- "
"Alright, so I'm not on Earth then, that's what you're saying," I interjected, not particularly interested in how that line would have turned out. The zebra pondered for a bit, then nodded.
Great. No family, no friends, no nothing. Despite this, the sinking feeling I had expected didn't seem to really materialize. Earth hadn't been all that good to me, to be perfectly honest.
The zebra gave me some space to mull things over. The sound of metallic clanging resonated throughout the little hut.
After a long while, I finally emerged from my contemplation. "Um... Zecora?"
The zebra looked up from her work. She was slowly heating up a cauldron. Wait, a CAULDRON!?
Images of evil witches eating defenseless humans once again relentlessly flashed through my eyes.
I gotta leave! "Um, Zecora, what can I do around here?" I enquired quickly, silently praying to whatever God was in this land. Let me go, let me go!
"Oh, so soon? Well, that's a shame; sit, let's play a little game!"
Terrible choice of words that only increased my determination to leave. "I... I don't want to get in your hair - mane, Zecora." My once-again shivering hand gently closed around the handle of my blade. "Please... tell me where else I can go."
The zebra pouted a little bit.
"Right, my child, then head on off; down the path, a sweet smell soft.
Through the river, rushing wild; up the whiff of camphor mild.
Scent the road: forget-me-not; follow it to Canterlot!"
"Um... right, Zecora," I thanked the zebra half-heartedly, still not sure if she had laid some trap for me en route. "Thanks. I'll head on out."
"Fare thee well, and see you soon; now, when lost, do seek the Moon!"
"Okay, Zecora. Thanks again." I rapidly shut the door, slightly relieved to know that I had escaped alive.
I looked up at the sky. The white moon was still very much in the air. It was at least twice the size of Earth's satellite. Seek the Moon? What the hell does that even mean: is this 'Canterlot' below the Moon or something?
I quickly dashed off from the hut, running with still-complaining limbs to a point where the hut could no longer be seen. I looked around. Nothing seemed here. I holstered the revolver and took out my knife. Close quarter combat.
"Right," I mumbled to myself, trying to recall Zecora's directions. "Down the path, a sweet smell soft."
I sniffed the air. No smell besides that of dirt.
I walked around for another minute, sniffing the air like somebody getting high on oxygen. Still no 'sweet smell'.
"Darn it, Zecora, you lied- " I began. But an abrupt recollection - "Do you know, class?" Mrs. Amherst chirped. "Horses have a better sense of smell than humans...". I slapped my palm on my face. Of course. The zebra had given me directions according to her sense of smell. Which she must have thought I had. And I didn't.
I remembered Sun Tzu saying (alright, it was a quote from Total War) "If you do not know your enemy and do not know yourself, you will be in danger in every battle." Guess I'm in constant danger now, then, I couldn't help but smirk bitterly.
I looked around. Every way seemed to lead to more impenetrable woodland. Having no better options, I decided on a random direction and began walking for as long as it took to find something. Above me, the Moon observed, serenely drifting through the star-studded sky.
*
I am bound and gagged to a chair. Travis Hawking and his goons are around me. He's holding his bat, the iron nail menacingly dripping red. A flickering light swings unsteadily above me, revealing moving, changing, vanishing shadows within the darkness beyond. How many people are here? Five? Ten? Twenty? A hundred-
"Well. You're awake." The cruel, slick voice of Travis Hawking notes.
"Mmph!" I struggle against my bonds. Fruitless. A dry laugh from behind me. Footsteps. And then out of nowhere, a heavy hand lands on my face. The chair tips over and I collide with the cold, wet floor. And even through the ringing in my ears, I can hear the laughter. They are jeering. They are taunting...
"Get up." Travis snarled, kicking the bottom of the seat. "Oh wait - you can't."
Rough hands grab my shoulders and right me. Travis comes into view again, slapping his bat against his hands. His nose is still broken. He breaks into a devilish grin. Some of his teeth are missing.
"Well, looks like the little jerk got a bit worked up, didn't he?" he lent close for the kill. His breath stank of alcohol and nicotine.
Before I could even mumble a few words in protest, he touches my forehead and presses down hard with his finger. I lose my balance. Another dull thud as the back of my head meets the ground. The world rings. More jeering. More laughter.
"Get up." The legs I now see behind me move, and before long I am once again face-to-face with the mangled face of the school jock. Again he leans in, malice dripping from every orifice.
"Let's have some fun, Francis," he whispers. Silence. I feel his breath slowly creep towards my ear.
"LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!" he screams abruptly, seemingly tearing at my very eardrums.
I barely register the crowd around me breaking into a frenzied bay. "Tra-vis! Tra-vis! Tra-vis... !"
The well-built athlete withdraws. "BRING JOSEPH!" he roars in sadistic anticipation.
"Jo-seph! Jo-seph!" the crowd follows. The shuffling of feet behind me, the sound of cheers and whoops. My heart starts beating faster. I close my eyes in blind terror. A cold chill sweeps down my back.
"Open your eyes, Francis," Travis mocks in a musical trill. "Open your eyes, Francis, or I'll break both your legs... "
Nothing has happened - yet. No winning situation. I slowly creak open my eyelids.
Joseph is standing before me... no. No. This can't be Joseph, my best friend. Gone is his warm face and kind smile. Gone were those boyish freckles and unaligned teeth. This Joseph was meaner, leaner, grimmer. Blood spattered all over his face. His grin is crazed, evil even. Scars on his cheek and left eye. The stench of nicotine and cocaine wafted around him.
"J-Joseph?" I stammer, eyes flashing wide at this horrible sight. My words get translated through the gag into a series of unintelligible noises. "W-what are you d-doing?"
Joseph doesn't respond. He grin spreads. He approaches.
"Give him the bat." Travis' orders make it quite clear what my erstwhile friend is to do.
Joseph approaches with a bat. I silently beg him, whimpering, sobbing. He ignores me.
"Open his eyes." The rough hands of two goons force a contraption onto my face. My right eyelid involuntarily shoots open, despite my best efforts. Joseph is now in front of me.
The nail at the tip of the bat teases a tear out of me as it makes contact with the soft cornea. I am no longer able to speak.
"Nice and easy now, Joseph."
My torturer pauses for a while, an eternal while, before he abruptly begins leaning in-
"NO!" I screamed, arms flailing, tears flowing, as I ejected myself back up into the cool Equestrian night. There I sat, panting, my mind a complete blank. The night air felt cool on my face. Still in the forest. Still on the mat of leaves I had gathered. I was still alive.
Instinctively, I slapped my hand against the right hand side of my face. Half the world blacked out. My eye is still here, thank God. The heaving continued unabated.
Night winds continued to blow. The trees rustled. I dart my eyes around, expecting something, seeing nothing. Except shadows.
Those inching, dark shadows begin to dance around me... Francisssss...
My breath quickened. I look around. More shadows, slowly creeping in, their dark figures silently slipping over the trees and the vines, each one mumbling, whispering... Francisss...
I couldn't care less if it was real or if it was merely a fiction. "N-no!" I yelled into the ether, fumbling around with panicking fingers for my gun and blade. "No! G-go away! Go away!"
Francisss... the rustling leaves and the moving bushes continued to crackle and whisper.
"N-no, go away, go away, g-go away!" I blubbered, weeping uncontrollably under the stress. I raised my trembling gun to the sky. "P-please! L-leave me alone!"
Francisss- the strain was too much. My trigger finger drew back.
BANG.
A terrified squeal from a nearby bush. I snap my head around. Two azure eyes stared back at me. The world stopped.
I ran.
The forest erupted around me. Silence broke into the mechanical whirr of insect wings and an alien language of clicks and squeaks. I didn't care. I couldn't afford to look back. For the second time in a day, my legs screamed back into action. Vines and twigs snapped under me. Thorns and branches nipped at my exposed arms and face. I didn't care. The whirr was catching up.
There was only one solution. I raised the gun again, firing an unsteady round into the sky. The clicks and squeaks fell back behind me. Anything, anything to buy more time!
Mud spattered on my legs and seeped into my feet. Searing cramps once again tore through my limbs. The outside noises faded: the only thing I could now hear were the sounds of my pained breath, and the continued pat-pat of my tormented body.
My head began to bob back and uncontrollably, what little strength I had left quickly abandoning ship. No, hold it together, hold it together...
The sudden glint of gossamer appeared on my left. I snapped back into being. That whirring sound - those beating wings - those azure eyes... I came face to face with a living nightmare. Black shadow; black, horned shadow; black, horned shadow with legs shot through, glass-like wings flitting, opening its mouth, its vampire-like mandibles glinting in the cruel moonlight-
BANG. The creature fell back, squealing and spasming. Another respite. My heart is pounding. My legs are aching. I turn my head back, once again losing control... any moment now... my life would end-
Light! The woods opened up, ever so slightly, in front of me. Light streamed in from its entrance. A path led through it - a path - escape.
I bolted, ignoring any shrill protests from my body. The world grew brighter. The forest grew thinner. The whirring got lighter... and there: I was out in the open.
The blur continued, however. I kept on running, desperate, grabbing at that one chance left to live. Clucks began to emanate from startled chickens nearby. Mooing from cows, unhappy about this midnight disturbance. The sound of an angry and bewildered dog, barking madly from inside a home. The sound of gushing water, emanating from the wild river flowing some ways ahead...
Crack. My knees hit the pavement as I crashed onto the upward section of a cobbled bridge. My long-suffering legs had had enough. Life flashed before my eyes as I savored the touch of cold stone, bracing myself for being eaten by-
Wait, where are they? I rolled over, groaning and moaning with the exertion. The silvery moon looked down, high in the sky, silently mocking my pitiful fitness. I tried to raise my head. No go. My head thudded back down onto the cold stone, heavy as a rock. The moon resumed its mockery. Too spent to retort, I holstered my gun.
The whirr of those creatures had gone, the clucking had gone, the mooing had gone. All there was now was the splashing of the water, running wild below this cold stone bridge...
Wait! A bridge! My brain finally clicked back into action. Bridge - civilization - help!
Heart fluttering, I took a deep breath and tried to sit up. Failure: my legs refused to respond. "Dammit," I breathed in resignation. Tired hands pushing against the surface, I flipped my grimy self, my heaving abdomen slamming down onto the icy masonry. And then, like a slug - what I've been reduced to - I slowly squirm and inch my way up the bridge.
Even before I had reached its apex, I had become sufficiently impressed. Below me, a veritable town, more beautiful that most of the places I had been acquainted with. Thatched houses, grand trees, marble-carved fountains, a colonnaded and awe-inspiring rotunda - that must be a Town Hall or something. This can't have been built by ponies, I thought, recalling Zecora's words. No pony could-
"Halt!" A gruff voice behind me puts an end to my rumination. "Who goes there!"
Great. I sigh in defeat. I try and move my leg. It hurt bad. I couldn't possibly run any more. "I-I'm sorry, I... "
"It speaks, Captain," a smoother voice responded. "Something like 'I'm sorry', or something."
"It's not a pony, Private," the Captain replied condescendingly. "It isn't saying that."
"P-please... " I plead. Didn't Zecora say something about this being a friendly place?
"Now it's saying 'please'- " the Private remarked.
"No it isn't, Private," the Captain interjected. "Now follow protocol, or you'll be on trough duty for the next week."
I was too exhausted to respond anymore. I just closed my eyes and prepared for the inevitable.
"Sorry for this," the Private apologized. "In one... two... three... "
The sound of sparkles. My world turned black.
