Bad Trip Diaries

by The Boorywooch

Chapter 7, or Tis just a hike, what could ever go wrong, I say?

The queerest day of me life

Once I've finally recovered from all the failed 'go-back-home' trials Twilight decided to throw on me, I've decided to take a day off. The bruises were fading, and, frankly speaking, I was dead bored of being locked up in the treehouse, or library, or whatever it is.

So, I got me gear (which included this jounal and a pen), popped me head to whatever room Twilight was occupying at the monent – of course, buried above her head in books, parchments etc., and informed her briefly, that I was going out.

Not quite sure she understood what I said – she just flicked her tail and nodded to herself, and I didn't even care – just got me a couple of sandwiches and took off, trying to stay as low as possible and not to attract too much gazes.

My destination was the forest – the one I've initially found myself in, just to change the environment – gog, I love books, and the library provides them generously – but even the best things in life tend to stick to you and gradually grow dull, so I presumed that I'd better get myself some air rather then providing a free decoration for a library.

Under the forest canopy it was cool and quiet, just some occasional woodpeckers filled the earshot distance with their constant drumrolls; the air was fresh, with a hint of wild mint in it, and felt so nice, opposing the book dust of the book storage I was usually tuckered into at the business hours; however, furhter hike proved that it was foolish of me to feel safe in an alien location...

Oi, of course, I could handle myself – despite me bookworm-ish attitude, I've enjoyed going onto the one-man survival treks, and I sure knew how to tend to meself in the wild, but... Oi, that there forest was really a mouthful.

To start things off, as I was strolling down the small, overgrown grassy path, I was absentmindedly kicking pebbles on me way; and imagine my surprise, when the last pebble I kicked throbbed angrily, buzzed and launched itself towards me, as if propelled by the sling; I was barely able to dodge the haphazardous attack, but following the first, a whole barrage of angry buzzing pebbles took off from the nearest bushes, aiming at me, so I had to flee right away, covering me head with both arms, trying to shield the eyes from flying projectiles; a decent number of shots, however, found a soft spot to land, and I was thoroughly bruised.

When at last I've fled the killzone, I inspected myself and took a good time to properly curse the bloody bludgeons; oi, lil' buggers actually got me in the eye, cracking me glasses nicely and leaving a nice black eye.

After a quick rest and quenching the stress with some strawberry I picked (which was gog so good), I proceeded with me trip, trying to tread lightly and avoid any other flying objects.

However, my trials never ended: a bunny hopped onto the path, effectively blocking my movement; it looked so pristine and innocent... until the blasted abomination yawned.

Aside from the terrifying incisors, quite common to the rodent kin, he sported a full maw of sharp, vicious looking canines and molars, which quite boldly spoke of his nutritional preferences, which were far from the herbivorous attitude of the Earth kind of his lot; I was taken aback with the sight, retreating slowly, when the rustling of the bushes made me stop dead in me tracks: reinforcements. I was being surrounded, and was about to be eaten by bunnies.

Hello, food chain, I thought to meself, dashing forward and kicking my way to freedom; the whole bunch of flesh-craving rodents rushed after me, making screeching noises and clicking their teeth. Oh gog I was terrified – so I just ran, like a coward, dignity of a man pummeled down with an instinct of self-preservation and a conscious mind, that recommended ascending to the most elevated position the forest could offer – and to hope that this things cannot climb.

So I flew upwards the tree trunk, fueled by adrenaline, burning through my energy reserves like crazy, and clutched myself to the uppermost branch, hugging it closely to myself and silently praying to whatever deity might hear me.

The rabbits collected at the tree, silently ogling me; I stared back, tempted to blow a raspberry to the vicious rodents or to flip them a bird, or to do something equally disgraceful and obscene; which, of course, I didn't.

However, the rodents must've conceded on some point, as they fled from down the tree with surprising speed; I was basking in the glow of triumph of man against the wild, and even threw something resembling a pine cone at them...

...oi, that was sure a mistake.

That was the hornet's nest.

<the next page is filled with the sketches of rabbits – general view and teeth – and a small line 'bloody basturds'; beside is a sketch of a hornet, with outlines pointing the stinger and the eyes, complete with the line 'those are much worse'>

The bloody insects chased me through all of the forest, placing their stings wherever they could've reach – and boy did that hurt.

Though, one peculiar thing has to be noted: where the 'regular' apitoxin – means bee venom – makes the place of the sting numb after some time, whatever vicious venom those bastards pumped in me overirritated the nerves, stimulating them to over the verge; the sensory capability of my skin was boosted to the top, almost to the painful level; I guess that might be used for treating the anorgasmia...

Oi. What the actual heck am I thinking of?

However, escaping the swarm of oversensitive hornets, I've totally flipped them a bird, cursed a couple of times – and with the next step have fallen down into some hole, head-first; yelling more of pain, caused by overstimulating my intoxicated nerves with the coarse soil, I've launched out into some kind of a cave; part of the cave's ceiling seemed to collide once, leaving a grand hole, and in the middle of it was a small pond.

Oi, I could use a swim, I definitely could.

The water was oh so pleasant – cool, soothing, it brought blessed numbness to my bites, washing me over with a waves of calmness and peace. I clambered back onto the sand, never troubling myself with clothes, and fell asleep.

Alas, an alien noise interfered with my slumber, making me open one eye to check the surroundings – and I've just bolted upwards, presented with the sight of my exact copy, roaming the cave and knocking at the wall with his/mine knuckles, as if trying to locate a niche behind the solid stone wall.

At first, I was terrified with the sight; I even shook my head, trying to get rid of the last remains of the sleepy grogginess – of no avail, sadly: another Me just kept doing whatever he was doing.

On second thought, I've never supposed I look good: I could definitely lose a pound or two to get rid of the 'soft-to-the-sides' look, but in general, I was looking quite fit, even rather buff.

Though I dismissed the narcissistic attitude and approached my doppelganger, shamelessly poking him with a finger; some tiny voice in the back of me head told me, that it was all just a hallucination... but finger poked at the warm, taut flesh of the shoulder, and voice immediately shut the heck up.

My double turned around: gazes met. Oh gog, do I actually have that terribly idiotic-gloomy gaze? We stood facing each other, consecutively poking one another, as if not believeing our very eyes, when He (sic!) first lost his chill; he demanded to know why the hell is he seeing the exact copy of himself here and why is this thing so shamelessly poking at him. Needless to say that I was about to blurt out exactly the same inquiry exactly in the same words.

After a verbal fight we strode away one from another, doubtlessly considering on the very same matter at hand: this cave – and the prospective way home – is too small for the two of us; one should've be gone.

At first we tried an intellectual showdown; however, this proved to go to waste quickly – whatever phrase he began, I've ended, and vice versa; same came with the riddles, Math problems and bunch of other scientific stuff we both had stored in our brains – or rather, sharing the one pool of knowledge.

Round one was a draw with a zero score; we returned to our corners, considering the tier two of the showdown.

Only brute force could've decide the outcome of this, we considered, and approached each other; after an obligatory handshake (I'm a gentleman, for gog's sake) we began the sparring, which would've tipped the scales of our most destinies.

However, this was the same as the shadowfight: he effectively countered everything I threw on him, and vice versa, and the brawl might've last forever – if I wouldn't have recalled a particularly dirty trick my friend once showed me: we had a sparring at the punch club, and she, dodging one of me swings, grabbed me testicles and tugged them down hard, making me eyes bulge, my jaw drop and me vocal chords vibrate at the low frequency as a flow of air, compressed by the diaphragm and lungs, rushed through them; plainly, I bellowed with pain and shock, as she brought me to me knees with this sucker punch and planted her foot at high velocity against me chest; flying was a pleasurable experience, whence the landing was not quite as much. After a good two minutes of squirming, hopping and hissing, I've asked why would she do that – and she just replied with a smile “I love to win”.

As much as I hate myself later for utilizing that kind of humiliative, sucker trick on me copy – I was pretty desperate at the moment. Grabbing a hold of his/mine bollocks, I've pulled them towards the floor, observing the very same reaction I must've had – gog that was double as gross – and then just throwing him with a kick into the pond.

The last cry of me doppelganger 'NO FAIR!! U CHEATED!!' resonated under the ceiling – but at least, he looked like gone for good, and I was there – sweaty, chest heaving, but victorious nevertheless.

I stared at the pond suspiciously – of course it gave no answer – and decided rather not to submerge to it again; me gut nagged me, that the presence of the copy of me was somehow linked to it.

Instead, I've just rolled me clothes neatly, shook the sand off of them, and decided to take a nap a while longer.

How much times can you wake up with the same feeling you're being watched before it grows into paranoia? As for me, I was irated with the first one, but feeling that someone (or something) is prodding me in the head with some sort of twig – that was outright nasty. I got up, slowly opening me eyes, and growled some very heavily censored profanities – until a puzzled feminine voice, clearly childish, inquired, what in the world did that mean.

Turning my head to the side, I've discovered a trio of pony children: foals, I guess, or rather, fillies: the Unicorn, that was using her magnetic powers (they seem inherent for the whole lot of them) to hold the twig she was obviously using to poke at me; two others – the one sporting wings – Pegasus, I believe – and the 'plain' – Earth – kind, sporting a big pink bow on her head – both making googly eyes at me, showing different grades of curiousity and shyness.

Oi, that was a mighty weird situation. I felt me blood vessels dilute, blood pressure rocketing, and the upper tiers of me facial skin reddening and burning with shame; I grabbed me shirt, covering the privates, and asking the fillies courtiously to look away for a brief minute; they obeyed, though I can't overcome the feeling that they sneak a peek every so often, whispering one to another.

Weird conversation ensued, of course: I found out that the fillies were called Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo and Applebloom respectively, and that they've been the head and, basically, the only members of some schoolkids club – something regarding the crusades and some cutes and some marks; I've also noticed, however, that their flanks – where Twilight, for example, sported an identical mark on both sides – a brand, or a tattoo – and that were unique for each pony – were pristinely blank; pointing out that fact, I've been rewarded with a continued high-pitched monologue, that was held in three voices, taking turns – with the exclamation referring to the crusades and cute and marks.

Since the trio ended their performance, I've introduced myself to them and asked if they could've lead me back to the pony town; they nodded their approval and then...

Gog, such a tsunami of questions I haven't been subject to since that weird day when I jumped off the bridge to get the drowning boy; firsthand I was considered some suicidal freakhead, but when I've clutched to the bay, hacking water and clinging desperately to the unconscious boy in tow – I was considered a fooking hero. Oi, what a ruckus there was, mate...

...anyhow, I was just littered with questions. Who am I? What is a human? Why am I sleeping at the Mirror Pond? Why am I sleeping disrobed? What's the meaning of the words I've been saying waking up? etc., etc. Looked like one more course of 'Humankind 101' was inbound.

And, of course, I was forced to give the fillies whatever they wanted to know.

As we were done – and me throat as dry as the sands of Sahara – I've inquired that the trio would lead me back to town, as they've promised; they perked up, obviously befuddled with the amount of information forced into their minds, slapped one of their forehooves each together in the air and squealed something like 'Cute Marks Crusade – Tour Guides! Yeah!'.

In the meantime, I cautiously approached the pond, intending to quench my thirst: I just hope that this won't clone me – or any parts, contacting with the water, like lips or hand, which would be pretty queer. Or, gog forbid, double me stomach inside me.

As strange as it is, the way back to civilization (even this of the sentient multicolored equine midgets) was much easier than the route I've been forcing through on the way here; it was a true walk in the park, and the trio of fillies kept talking all the time.

By the time we've reached the town, I realised that I've considered the fillies quite adorable.

What a mess.

Of course, Twilight was above herself, worried sick – because as soon as I've closed the door behind myself, she put the same containment bubble around me, gave me some good thrashing, inquiring furiously, where the hell have I been; as soon as her fuse burnt down, I've began me story.

Of course, Twilight was laughing her horseshoes off, huffing for air and bursting out again; tears streamed down her cheeks, as she was convulsing in the silent spasms of laughing fits.

However, she never removed that restricting bubble from me once I was done.

Did I mention, how much of a bitch she could be?