//------------------------------// // Ditzy Begins // Story: Similar and Different: My Days as Ditzy // by house932 //------------------------------//         ...Guh. Why is my alarm clock early? Looking up, I saw that it’s not any earlier than I set it. (6 AM, fast by exactly 15 minutes.)         Turning off my alarm, it seemed that the gap between my bed and my alarm clock is much bigger. To top it off, my fingers aren’t cooperating. Thinking this weird, I tried to put on clothes to go to school. They seem a lot bigger, and my tail gets in my way.         Wait, tail!?         It’s blond, as is usual.         You know what, image crisis later. I need the bathroom. Going to the bathroom, I noticed that the room is (say it with me now) bigger than usual. Shaking the strange feeling off, I noted that my legs are light grey and fuzzy.         Odd. Most of the time, they’re not grey.         When I finished, I peered into the mirror. Blonde, messy hair? Check. Gold eyes? Check.         Wait a second. My eyes are normally blue.         Looking closer, it seems I am a shocked grey pony with a blonde mane and golden eyes. So, a Derpy lookalike with straight eyes who is shocked to see me.         How did I open my door? Are those wings? It appears they are. How do I fly? How do I walk? How am I standing here?         Turns out that I’m not anymore, as it seems questioning it makes it stop working. Unfortunately, it stops working right on top of my wings. Stupid sensitive Pegasus wings. While in pain, a thought occurred to me. Why me? For now, just blame Discord. It's in the same vein as his previous actions. After the pain stopped, which took a long time, (because of my stupid sensitive pegasus wings) I decided I needed help. “Hey mom? Are you awake?” There is a definite hesitation about those words.         Apparently she isn’t, but the cat is. She heard and investigated me. It turns out that I’m not that interesting to her, even after my strange transformation.         “Stormy, it’s me, Chris. I seem to have been turned into a pony. Can you tell me how to walk?” This question, while mostly a joke, bore my only hope of knowing how to move around the world.         Meowing, she walked away. Using my new hooves, I pulled the door towards me to better see the way quadrupeds walk. Being one now, it seems to me like good information to have. After as much study as Stormy will allow me (Read: none. She’s not keen on others petting her on anything but her own terms.), I practiced on over to my mom’s room. Unlike me, she leaves her door open. “Hey mom? It seems that I’m a pony.” She doesn’t wake. My newfound hooves take care of that faster than my hands could have. So there are benefits to the transformation (other than flight, the fur being very soft, increased lung capacity...). After my explanation was repeated and she was fully awake, my mother looked me over almost as if I was a prank. “You say you’re my son. Prove it,” she said skeptically. “My favorite member of the crew of the Serenity is Wash, the Dreamcast reigns eternal, First Contact is pretty cool, and you like The Typing of the Dead,” I rattle off. Strange, I haven’t practiced... “Tell me the password to your account on the computer.” “No.” This comes with a look that simply says ‘You are nuts.’ “Okay, then. If you aren’t Chris, you’re close enough,” she admitted rather grudgingly, adding “So, why’re you waking me up this early?” “I need you to call me off of school.” This was obvious to anyone. “Why?” “You have to ask?” My eyebrows wanted to leap off of my face, judging by how fast they rose. “I was just seeing if it was the reason I thought.” “Which is...?” My eyebrows tried to revolt again, this time with considerably less success. “Your lack of fingers,” she pointed out, seemingly forgetting that I had probably already noticed. “That’s a major factor, yes, along with distracting every class that has any line-of sight to me and the probable anti-pony groups.” “There are anti-pony groups?” She sighs. “I swear, some people will be against anything...” “There are none that I know of yet. This may be the slowest hate group to form.” I would prefer this feeling is true. “At least, I hope so,” I add, smiling. “And on that note, I’ll be downstairs.” “Okay, have fun.” “You too.” Now to get downstairs, I need to go down stairs. How did I forget that? This can only end awfully. Wait, I totally have wings! This is awesome! ...I think, right before gracefully hitting my head on the ceiling. If anyone asks, it’s because of my mom’s understandable freakout. She needs some alone time to process this. After the incident with the ceiling, as I was still rubbing my head, I went to my computer and try to type. Oh yeah, hooves. Gotta do something to help me type. I end up tying a pen to my hoof with a spare USB cable. Not much, but it works. I can type enough to get where I want on the internet. For the mouse, I can just be careful with my hoof. With the pen on my hoof, I’m almost to my typing speed when I was 5! (That’s extremely slow.) I looked around the pony community, and saw that on Sunday, Lauren Faust had a press conference (Of course she was Celestia.). It was Thursday now, so more people have turned pony. So, I decided to check the news. I didn't find much, other than the press conference. Maybe I should search something else. Searching for pony clothing, I found a nice nearby tailor’s shop with pony-sized clothing. Taylor’s (seriously) opened at 10 and was in the Short North, two miles from my house. I nearly hit the ceiling in excitement. This time, the ceiling wasn’t quite close enough to hit me. “Hey mom! I need a ride to High Street!” I shouted upstairs, grinning. “Why?” “My trenchcoat doesn’t fit ponies!” I said this more excitedly than I should have. A bit of background: My family is composed entirely of creatures of habit. We have some odd ones, like the practice of putting wheat germ on ice cream. I don’t pretend to understand it. One of my odd ones is wearing a dull green trenchcoat and a German soccer scarf whenever doing anything sufficiently adventurous. I call it adventure gear. The inability to use a part of it is a national-scale emergency to me, and my poor mom knows it. “When do they open, and where exactly is it?” She sounded grudging. Can’t imagine why... “Taylor’s opens at ten.” “I think I’ve seen that place. Why don’t we go up there around lunchtime and eat lunch there?” “Okay. Sounds good.” I smiled at the thought of a new trenchcoat. My old one works just fine, but it’s starting to fall apart. I don’t want to see the day it starts tearing. I donned my scarf to see if it fits. It does, with a little adjustment to prevent dragging on the ground. It’s not a Tom Baker scarf, thankfully.That would’ve been even worse. About six hours later... We stepped out of the door a little before 1:00, and tried to hop into the car. This was an experiment for me, as I had avoided sitting down in the normal human manner whilst using the computer. Apparently, I could sit up decently, but not comfortably. It was more comfortable slouching slightly, like Lyra does, but in a car, that could end badly. Eventually, the backseat saw my presence. More space to spread out my wings, and I can sit like a normal pony. About five minutes later, we got there. It was off of High Street a couple of blocks, so parking was merely a hassle instead of a nightmare. There was a sign outside stating that pony clothing was available. When we walked in, there was no organization in in any manner. “Looks like your room, Chris,” my ever-nice mother noted, grinning. “Oh, you be quiet. Like your room is any better.” I think I got my moments of occasional snark from her. I eventually find a cyan pony I don’t recognize, with a rainbow mane and tail. “Would you happen to know where the owner is?” I asked. “I can help you. Do you need something?”