The Unforgiving Reality Ensued
First Pony View
A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic
By Suomibrony
Chapter 7.
The Unforgiving Reality Ensued
Terror . . .
Heart racing . . . it hurt . . .
I wailed incessantly . . .
Ran . . . Fell . . . Got up . . . Ran . . . Fell . . . Got up . . . Repeated . . . over . . . and over . . .
Tried to flee from myself.
I wailed . . . until I couldn't . . .
I ran . . . until I couldn't . . .
Twisting and kicking . . . desperately tried to tear my body asunder . . . Failed . . . Collapsed.
I couldn't escape . . .
Crying.
I couldn't stop crying.
I tried to wake up . . . I wanted to wake up . . .
I just wanted to wake up . . . I tried so hard . . .
The pain I had brought on myself didn't end my nightmare . . . I didn't wake up . . .
The horrible fear tormented my heart.
The immeasurable emotional anguish wasn't ending my trauma.
Being a pony was supposed to be a fascinating experience . . . With no escape it was horrifying . . .
Every nerve told me I was a pony . . . I knew it . . . but I didn't want to know it!
Tried to stop knowing . . . Couldn't stop knowing . . . I was trapped . . .
Trapped . . . in a pony . . .
Alone . . . Helpless . . .
Had to fight it . . . Had to survive the deranging stress.
Not become a filly . . .
Scared . . .
Filly . . . Scared filly . . .
Ignore it . . . Ignore myself . . . Ignore . . . a filly . . . Ignore . . .
Ignore . . .
Ignore!
Ignored . . .
I didn't want to be scared . . . I didn't want this . . .
Every nerve told it over and over and over now.
Small form . . . The hooves . . . The moving ears . . . Hair everywhere . . . Pony . . .
Tearful . . . fearful breaths . . . through my larynx . . . Female's larynx . . . Filly . . .
Nothing I could do . . . Only try to ignore it . . . Ignore it . . .
Ignore being a filly . . . A crying filly . . .
So difficult . . . Impossible . . . Too many things had changed, couldn't ignore any of them . . .
Why . . . ?
Why had I become this?
A pony . . . Female . . . Why?
Why? Why, why, why, why, why?
I wanted to know why . . .
Body told me. A pony. All the time. Never stopped. Never! It didn't stop . . .
Why couldn't it stop? I had to ignore it. Not listen. Ignore! Ignore . . .
Was so difficult to ignore . . . I couldn't. Every nerve told me . . . pony.
Down there . . . its absence told me . . . Female . . .
I felt sick knowing that . . . Sad and sick . . .
I didn't want to be this!
I didn't . . .
I wanted everything to be restored!
I wanted peace to be restored . . .
I wanted to become numb . . .
Too cold . . .
Too upset . . .
No, I had to stop this. I had to collect myself! Be strong like a . . . Why had I said that to myself? Why? I wasn't . . . No, I didn't want to remember that! I had been stressed and still was. So wrong . . . Everything was so wrong . . .
I could find peace. Could manage not to be numb and upset. I had to focus, try to piece something together.
Where was I? I had no idea. Rain, darkness, and tears obscured my vision. The ground felt hard, uneven . . .
What had occurred? I had panicked, and after that, all had been an incomprehensible blur, but now . . . now . . . I . . .
Maybe I would be listened to . . . ? I was still sobbing . . . hearing a female in my throat twist every sound I made . . . I felt terribly discouraged from talking . . . but maybe . . . I wasn't alone? Maybe there was salvation for me?
“P-please . . . help me . . . I d-don't w-want this n-no m-more . . . I j-just want out . . . I just . . . P-p-please, I w-want to know . . . It's all I ask f-for . . . t-the only t-thing . . . I w-want to know . . . t-the only thing I wish . . . How . . . how t-to g-get out . . . p-please . . . h-help m-m-me . . . h-h-help . . . I-I'm b-begging, p-please . . . I-I d-don't want t-to be a f-f-filly . . . Help . . . me . . . t-turn me b-back into a guy . . . P-please . . . help . . .” The rest of my plea were whimpers . . . The same female that had spoken in my stead was now sobbing pitifully . . . I was sobbing pitifully . . .
I waited. Waited some more. Then even more. I waited so long that a form of sensibility reinstated itself. Maybe it was only a minute, but it might've as well been an hour. There came no help, no answer, and no comfort. I received nothing but cold misery in the form of the interminable downpour. I was utterly scared and alone. Desperately, I began to writhe in a final attempt to break out from my prison, grunting and squeaking tearfully all the while. It was all in vain. There was no escape. The utterly heartrending anguish consumed me again, and I resigned myself back to the role of a shriveling, miserably sobbing heap.
Every audible sound coming from me consisted of pain, even as it inflicted more upon me. This wasn't what I sounded like! This wasn't what I looked like! I wasn't a pony, I wasn't female! . . . But every little spasm and sob reminded me of the precise and desponding facts of my transformed body. Wishing nothing more than total peace from myself, I gradually became silent and unmoving. Even my tongue was centered in my mouth, where it couldn't contact my teeth and divulge my lack of cuspids to me.
I concentrated on the pressure my clenched teeth were exerting on each other. For a moment, I found mild comfort in this since the shape of my mouth was surprisingly human-like. Alas, I quickly recalled that stallions had a long angular muzzle, whereas mares had a significantly smaller rounded snout, the inner shape of the mouth not far removed from a human's. My tongue acted independently and inquisitively for a second, sadly confirming the assumption I had made. It didn't make an iota of difference whether my quick analysis on pony mouths was wrong or not. The irony of discovering the human-like feature in the body of an Equestrian mare shattered my self-deception and fragile tranquility like they were hollow eggshells, and the resulting outflow of tears was veiled by the rain.
I was alone, lost, and beside myself with despair and horror. Grains and stones were digging into my hide, and the sky was pouring chilling water over me, but those hardly registered in me anymore. They were insignificant annoyances that hardly matched the cerebral torture my morphed body incurred.
I had no will to move. No will to do anything. No will whatsoever. Lying flat like a carcass, I stared fixedly at nothing, drawing somber breaths. Was this how I'd go out? As a female animal? Life cut short before I even got close to achieving my dreams and aspirations? No matter how horrible and untimely my death would be, I always imagined there would be remains to use as identification. A body to bury. A funeral to be held. Mourning relatives. Now, I was an alien being, and my DNA was probably out of this world. Literally. I was unidentifiable. I was effectively a missing person. Was I even a person? Alive or not, if I was seen by my parents, I'd be as unrecognizable to them as I was to myself.
I wished they were here with me, though. Helping me, comforting me, protecting me and loving . . . or maybe they wouldn't. Could I wish such horror on them and humiliation on me? Would they believe me? I, stuck as a petite pony, claiming to be their son? Would I believe it myself if I were in their place? Even if they were convinced, could they defend me from the world? How long would it take until they'd slip up, inadvertently but inevitably sealing my fate as some lab project? What if they could manage to successfully conceal me from the public eye? I'd probably be confined indoors for the rest of my life, my future all but ruined. Would I always be their son? Would they disown me if the secret of what I was proved too hard to maintain? What would I do? Live in the seclusion of a forest, reluctantly obeying my survival instincts and adapting to a new life? Life as an animal? Eating berries, leaves, and grass? Would I even survive the winter? Freezing and starving, I'd succumb to fatigue, weeping until my last breath.
Why did I even bother to run these scenarios in my mind?
I couldn't live as a pony regardless. Not as a filly. I had no future as one.
No. This would be my final day. That was all I needed to know.
Gradually, the rain took its toll on me, and complex thoughts became more and more difficult to abet. I considered it a fortune because it was easier for my devastated self to simply exist instead of being pensive.
The rain continued, and the darkness finally became total. Maybe took an hour. Did it matter? I did nothing and now I saw nothing. The surrounding void was no match to mine. For some unfathomable reason, my heart kept beating. Couldn't it just quit it?
Maybe a wild animal would come to slay me? I was defenseless, had no will to fight. Easy prey. Why wasn't an animal finding me? It would hurt a little, but then I'd be granted peace.
Why wasn't I succumbing to the cold? My unwanted body was still here. I could feel it shiver. I could feel the rain pelt it. Striking the two things on my head. I had no shelter to give them from the rain, and they twitched involuntarily under the harassment of the incessant droplets. It didn't hurt, but I wept again for a fierce want to forget my bodily horror. Why couldn't the cold show me mercy and grant me ultimate peace by making me numb?
Then, I saw a gleam. It vanished, then came back. The pattern continued. It was distant, but with each appearance it was nearing.
I recognized it. Two lights. Close to each other. Illuminating a path.
Shifted towards me. It was on a road.
I realized something. I was on a road, too.
The thing grew brighter. We were on the same road. I thanked the guiding force for this merciful meeting.
Finally, I'd get my peace. A little bump, and then the suffering would be over. The lights were the keys to my prison cell, keys to my eternal peace, the light at the end of my dark tunnel.
It would be over.
The pain. The sorrow. The fear. The joys. The hopes. My life. All over.
My aspiration since I was a kid. Gone, too.
It was directly ahead now. We would meet soon.
I wasn't scared anymore.
Just a few more meters, then afterlife. I wished a Cessna 172 waited for me there . . . Never got to pilot one. Didn't even get to flight school. Worked to gather the money. To one day be free from the bonds of earth itself. Me and the plane . . . together we'd be one. The perfect bliss, and now I'd never . . . My greatest dream. Forever unattainable. The greatest joy I had ever wanted to experience . . . I cried. . .
The lights were so bright now that I could barely look at them. I had to force my eyes open, but the whiteness was soon to overwhelm my efforts. Never had headlights been so bright. It was like staring at the sun, but I wanted keep my eyes open. Witness my final second.
‘Dad. Mom. I'm sorry . . . My friends. I'm so sorry . . . Jim. I'm so very sorry . . . that I'll be forever gone . . . Please, always remember me . . .’
No . . .
No, no, no!
No afterlife . . . No Cessna . . . No mercy.
Instead, a short symphony of displacing gravel . . .
It didn't come. It came so close, but it didn't come. It had been so close. My freedom from this torment, my final wish, and my only reason to feel joy. It had been coldly denied. Two rectangles in a sideways world . . . interlocked rings in between the beaming eyes of the impassive machine. I knew that emblem . . . It was supposed to be my passport to a better existence . . .
Through the rain and purring of an internal combustion engine, I heard a few steps. Whoever it was had. . . Wait . . . No, I couldn't be seen as this! I had to get up and flee, but . . . I couldn't. I was so utterly defeated, so scared of the bodily terror that had befallen upon me that I was paralyzed. Besides . . . this wasn't a situation that I could run from.
Whoever had found me crossed into the brightness and graced me with tangible warmth. The minor joy of receiving heat in the cold was immediately destroyed by the ever-present discomfort of my alien shape and the looming fear of it being dissected by morally depraved scientists.
“Thank God, you're breathing! I thought you were dead.” He was worried. Relieved. Why? Why couldn't I be dead? I couldn't be seen as this. “Are you okay? Can you move?” I wasn't okay. Spiritless to move. What was he scheming to do to me? “Just my damn luck! The one day I forget my cell phone at home, this happens!” He was lucky; I wasn't. Who would he call? Did it make any difference who he'd call? I was doomed regardless. If only I had met my end under the wheels of the car . . .
“Can you hear me?” I could hear him. Why was he lifting my head? “You don't look too good.” No, I didn't. I didn't look like myself. I didn't want to be seen as this. So little light, yet his unshaven face was shining with concern. Why?
“Don't you worry one bit, I won't leave you here.” Why couldn't you? Why did you pick me up? I should've tried to run, but I didn't want to. Not as this. I couldn't be seen as this. I didn't like being carried either. A fragment of pride protesting . . .
Dry, soft and warm—I had been placed on the rear seat of the car. My new environment was of little consolation. The car began to move.
“My home's not far away, so I'll take you there, and then I'll call for help. You'll be fine soon, I promise.” No, I wouldn't be fine. I couldn't be seen as this. Why call for help? What was he planning to do to me? Was he good-natured? Was he saving me? Was he lulling me into a false sense of safety? He talked to me, asked questions. He sounded worried and serious, but I was absolutely inattentive to what he said and made no reply. Music was playing softly. I listened to it fixedly. Recognized a song. Breaking The Chains by Dokken. The solo was good. It helped me a little. Very little.
I continued to listen to music, but grievous threads were spiraling around my heart and upset it every time I did something—anything—related to my irremovable form. My acceptance . . . No. The tolerance I had for this body had shattered, and I was so focused on keeping myself together that I was having a hard time thinking straight. If I lost myself again . . . I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't be seen doing that. I couldn't be seen as this . . .
He had said soon, and more songs played, but time was being tardy for me. Only by paying attention to the music did I know time was progressing at a seemingly normal rate. With my body temperature climbing back to nominal levels, my senses started to return to me, and I came to earnestly wish I was in a sensory deprivation tank. It didn't matter how I aligned my limbs; they told me exactly what they were. I missed my fingers. Their nonexistence wouldn't leave me alone. It was like pain, but not quite. A numb agony. I didn't even want to think about them. If only it were so easy . . . I had to pound my mind with thoughts to keep myself on the calmer side, but like a piston in an engine, my thoughts quickly rotated back to my horrible situation. Perhaps it was only right that they did.
I still wanted this to be a dream, because then this could end somehow. Painlessly. I just wanted to wake up, in my bed, with everything okay. I had read a fair share of fictional stories and seen movies where transformation occurred during sleep. Never did I imagine it'd happen to me. How could I have? Why would I ever prepare for the impossible? This was impossible. Something like this doesn't just happen. So . . . how could this be possible, then? What had made all this possible? I wanted to know.
Then . . . there was something persistent . . . An overwhelming, repeating feeling: I couldn't be seen as this. Why? What was so wrong about this? Why couldn't I be seen as this? Because it was dangerous to be a pony. Correction: used to be. Presently, the possibility of the unimaginable horror of becoming a lab animal had been reduced. At worst, it had only been postponed. Though trivial in comparison to the real hazard, this was utterly wrong . . . It was wrong for me to be of this configuration. I was tragically and unjustly encased in this unbreakable shell.
I couldn't be seen as it. As this. As a . . . a female.
A much more potent and emasculating word existed to describe this extremely distorted version of myself. Female was somewhat of a neutral word . . . or maybe not . . . It was nonetheless a degrading, undesirable, and unfair title which I had not requested and had no available means to remove . . . and the irremovability of my status threatened to force tears from my eyes. I didn't want to be a female pony! Yet, here I was, mysteriously transformed into one, without the faintest clue on how to turn back into whom I used to be, and I feared that I was now doomed to this miserable life.
How had this happened to me, and why? I just wanted to know the answers. Answers that a stream of tears couldn't hope to grant me. Pony or female? I didn't know which hurt me more. Frightened me more. Crying about it was so wrong, so unmanly . . . but it was the only comfort I had to offer myself. Not even shielding my eyes with my arms could accomplish that pertinent task, what with them . . . being covered in soft fur . . . possessing delicate skin . . .
Like that of a female . . .
They weren't my arms! I didn't want to be a filly! I'd never wish to be a female! Not even a pony. I didn't wish for anything . . . and I almost began to cry openly. My life was ruined. Of course, I would cry about that, but I still tried to save face. Only the recurring sniffles dared to reveal my grief.
Wishing to forget the reality of my insufferable condition, the music again became my sole focus. Rock songs, most of which I didn't recognize. Didn't make a difference, though. The music permitted me to be quite ignorant of my flesh and future; that was what made the difference between drowning in my own lachrymosity and holding my head barely above the surface.
Time passed. Was it minutes? Hours? Years? No, only five barely familiar songs had played to their conclusion when the car stopped and became quiet. The music, the engine, and even the driver were quiet. Without music to focus on, my attention shifted to the door handle instead. Not long after, the voice of a somewhat fraught male drifted into my ears . . .
“Alright, here's the plan: I'll take you into my home and call you a doc ASAP. I don't know if you're seriously injured or not, but I hope to God you aren't.”
. . . my strange, sensitive, disturbingly flexible ears. Why did they have to turn? I didn't want them to do that! I didn't want to know this body . . . Didn't want it . . . It wasn't even possible to mentally escape from my bodily horror, was it? A few feeble and futile attempts, sure, but I was too easily pulled back into the quagmire of misery. Wait, what? Call me a doctor? Now I was truly doomed. The doctor would probably knock this guy out cold or worse, then take me to wherever I'd then serve as a most extraordinary research subject.
The guy muttered something indiscernible under his breath, but I didn't open my mouth to ask what; I had nothing but sorrow queuing within my throat. A door opened nearby, then after it closed, I had a short moment in solitude. Not that it granted me anything remotely positive. When the door before me opened, I didn't look into his eyes. If he hadn't known I had shed tears with shameful abundance, he did now. Softly spoken but useless words of consolation slinked into my tormented mind, followed by two arms and hands swiftly but gingerly taking me from the warm and gray out to the cold and dark.
I was so light and small now that it was of no trouble for him to support me in his arms. Gazing at the ground beneath me, I struggled to evict the thoughts related to my form and future. Thoughts were controllable. Sadly, nerves were not, but at least I could try not to devote a thought to them. The meandering path of concrete tiles embedded in the lawn scrolled beneath me as I was transported to his abode. Concrete changed to a parquet floor, then finally to white ceramic tiles, whereupon I was laid down with care.
“Okay, you rest easy here while I fetch my phone and return in a second,” the unknown male told me as I resumed my sprawled-out-like-a-starfish stance. “I really hope you aren't wounded or ill,” he reiterated before he sighed, then left in an apparent hurry. Really? Care for my health and then invite another human here? Maybe I still had a chance, though? As difficult it was to admit, my shape had adorable facial features. Perhaps I could use it to persuade the doctor to obey his professional confidentiality and extend my life . . . Life as a forever imprisoned female pony?
I sighed; I had only bad choices ahead of me.
I began to lethargically survey my location. The slightly rectangular white-tiled room was a bathroom with an inbuilt bathtub occupying a corner on the longer left-side wall. A small assortment of haircare bottles was perched on a glass shelf above the bathtub. To the left of the shelf and tub was a grooved door. Probably a sauna there. Opposite that door was another ajar door. The right wall was closest to me, a shower affixed to it ostensibly far above me. Resting my head back on the ceramic underlay, I continued to cling intently to the tiny tranquility I had discovered from inspecting the room.
Alas, I started to shiver. Not due to a cold. An extreme fear. Unprecedented form of claustrophobia, I hastily assessed. That tremendous fear demanded all of my mental strength to keep myself from falling prey to it. I knew it wouldn't help me at all if I did waver, but a significant part of me desired to scream in complete terror under the illogical belief that I could tear myself free from my transmogrified body by twisting and kicking forcibly enough.
Again . . .
The Caucasian male rushed back and crouched down. “Check for injuries? I'm not sure I know how to do that,” he said with doubt both in tone and expression, followed by barely discernible speech emitting from his cell phone. He nervously licked his lips, frowning as he regarded me, then closed his index finger and thumb across his mustache before setting his hand on his knee. “Okay, I'll try to do my best. Help is on the way, right? Good.” He sighed, seemingly having second thoughts about what he was about to do. Understanding what was about to come, I hoped he'd hesitate forever to inspect me and order the "help" to go away.
Alas, he then did exactly what I feared by placing a pair of fingers on my upper arm. Gingerly, he started to press my skin, moving methodically and slowly towards the end of my limb. Unwilling to look at my appendages, I fought behind tightly closed eyelids to preserve my brittle composure when my extremely distressed mind was directly informed of the encompassing layer of excess hair and the hide underneath. When he reached the border of the soft skin and hard keratin, the sensory feed became too cumbersome to bear, and I withdrew my limb. I winced lengthily, both at what had instigated me to move my limb and suppressing an excruciating discomfort when an instinct to fold five digits into my palm informed me there were only one and none.
“Does it hurt?” the man wondered with justifiable concern. My response was to swiftly resile the limb to its least troubling posture. Only now did I notice I was hyperventilating. Quickly, I embraced the disappearing traces of peace remaining in myself, and not a second too late. There were no broken bones in me, only the tormented shards of a broken spirit, though I would've gladly traded the latter for the former. Bones would heal over time, but mental trauma could be forever.
“I can't be sure, but it could be that . . . I see. How long? Okay . . . I'll stay on the line until he arrives,” he talked to his phone. Allegedly, some kind of medical aid was on the way. It wouldn't help me. It couldn't help me. What I needed was something much more urgent and integral: my original body. I wanted out from this highly undignified and frightening frame, but I didn't know how to leave. That was my agonizing wound, and no plaster, no suture, and no antibiotic would heal it. The pain was so grievous that I was constantly on the verge of tears. I was fearing for my life in more ways than one. I didn't want to die in a lab, but I didn't want to live in the secrecy of some guy's home, either.
“Hey? You feeling okay?” he asked. It was a calmer tone now, probably meant to relax me as much as it was to relax him. Such a noble but wasted effort in my case. “Lets try to chat about something," he suggested, sounding like he was trying to mask his unease with a dose of friendly unconcern. "I heard it helps relieve stress. I'm Marcus Lundvik. Strange surname, I know, but that's what I get when my mother married a Swede, and I'm not talking about the vegetable.” He chuckled at his own remark, but I was miserably immune to his mirth. “Anyway, I'm thirty-four, I've lived in this little town since the age of five, and I work in retail. Furniture, to be precise. I get a nice employee discount both there and in the cafeteria.” A silence followed, myself doing nothing more than stare at the far wall. “So . . . how about you?”
Unthinking and unmoving, I gazed at the seams between the tiles in another desperate attempt to bathe myself in ignorance of the surreal reality I was in. Here, my life was all but a nightmare come true, and he gives a quick summary of his own life? This truly was a nightmare, then! He didn't even care that I was a pony! The crouching furniture salesman—who had tried to comfort me with his deceitful hospitality—shifted on his bent legs as he waited for . . . I didn't even care. Half of his attention was on me, the other half on the phone he held to his ear. Presumably. I didn't care to find out.
“You . . . don't want to talk?” His lax tone didn't adequately mask his underlying concern any longer. No, I didn't want to contribute to the chit-chat! I didn't want to hear the voice belonging to this body. I simply waited. For what, I truly didn't know. Maybe the doctor would just . . . I didn't even know. I didn't even want to think anymore! I just wanted to be utterly ignorant of everything!
“Hey, uh, you'll be fine, won't you?” the guy inquired, his concern back in gear. His hand found its way onto my back, displacing hair in his attempt to comfort me. I didn't want to know I had so much hair, and his gentle stroking of it was having the very opposite effect of his intentions. Underneath the hair and the skin resided a pair of lungs within a small ribcage, pumping fitfully small amounts of air. Between them was my anxious heart, frightened of the alien framework it was now sealed in and of surgical tools that would cut it open. Then, all the hairs on me began to bristle, and my jaw locked. The tremors of an anxiety attack were approaching . . .
The doorbell's abrupt chime penetrated the room and thankfully called off the hand from mollifying me into a new panic attack. Maybe it should've. I could've had a chance to escape. To survive in the woods . . . for a few months . . .
“Okay, I think he's here,” he said to the phone—or me—before he stood up. “I'll be back soon with good help in tow!” With my eyes still locked on the wall, glum silence was my reply, and I was left alone with myself again.
Nothing particular ventured into my mind. Hoping to retain my tattered sangfroid to the last second, I was fully fixated on analyzing the mortar between the wall tiles for crumbs of willpower to repel an overwhelming anxiety. Moments later, I heard talking coming from beyond the room, the volume increasing in sync with their approach to my location. My attention converged on their chat. A distinct fear began to form in me. Just a few seconds left, and then my fate would be defined for good.
“...to a hospital if I were you,” an unfamiliar male spoke in displeasure.
“Sorry. I was all shot with nerves and did what I thought was for the best,” the recently introduced man defended himself apologetically.
“Don't fret too much about it, sir,” came the reassuringly spoken reply. “Currently, I have a more important task at my hooves than concerning myself with a hopefully minor and forgivable misjudgement.”
Wait . . . what? Hooves? Scantly had I formed a guess in my head when the answer literally stepped into my view and— OHMYGOSH!
“Anyhow, time to do what I do best!”
Wha— whoa! Were my deceiving eyes me? I mean, eyes me deceiving? I mean- that-that- NO! WAY!! Oh, my, oh my, ohmy, ohmyohmyohmyOHMY! A pony! A real, sand-yellow-coated pegasus pony, with wings and feathers, a slicked-back tangerine-orange mane, golden-yellow eyes, a green medkit with flared wings, and a white cross as a cutie mark, and there was a streamlined medical kit strapped to his back with a harness and and and . . . and . . . and everything! Whaaaooow!
“Hold on a second, doc. Let me take that kit off for you.”
I . . . I . . . I still didn't believe what was before me! Was he real!? If he was, then I'd be ecstatic, if I wasn't already! Wow! No, that was too weak! Woooow! No! Superwoooow! That was better! I-I . . . This was incredible! A real pegasus!
“Thank you, sir.”
This was astounding! A breathing, living, talking, sapient pegasus! Just like in the cartoon, but more real and more awesome! Now he was looking at me and smiling so kindly, too! Was I grinning? Was this real? This better be real! I'll tell all about this on Equestria Dai—!
“May I say, dear miss, you sport quite the positive attitude in spite of the emergency I was informed of."
I . . . W-w-what? Dear miss? I wasn't— ! . . . Oh no . . . I had . . . I had almost forgotten . . . and it hurt so much more to be told than to know that I . . . that I looked . . . was trapped as . . . I didn't want to be seen as a female . . .
This was all too real . . .
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Yay!
New chapter!
Also, don't you guys think that we are like a small cult? We mostly talk about the fanfiction but sometimes we talk about other things. We could make a name for ourselves or something.
461125
That must be rough. My Little Pony is a huge part for me and kept me from committing suicide (I had a lot of depression before I saw MLP and also hid my sadness). You have it much harder than I do and I think that it's fantastic that you kept yourself going despite your hardships. I too would enjoy becoming a unicorn filly if I could. I bet your a good person, everyone has moments when they are very Discord-like.
Wow, that was really good. Setup took a bit but it really laid it out for the juxtiposition at the end there on sighting the pegasus medic. I liked how you handled the whole state of mind/internal monologue. It seemed very authentic.
In the words of the doctor, "What?"
I need to know!!!
Darn it, I seriously want to know what's going on though. It's not Equestria, but it's not fully Earth either...
I want to think a disease has turned people into ponies, but that doesn't really explain the doctor's calm demeanor (If this was an epidemic, I'd assume he'd be stuck at a hospital or something).
Switched reality where ponies and humans live together?
Gah!
463407
Switching realities is as likely as anything else at the moment.
Consider the Laws of Conservation of Energy and Matter. I might be misunderstanding things, but I don't think Energy and Matter can be destroyed, only changed. So, where did the extra matter go? Big man to tiny filly? It had to go somewhere. Either it was consumed as fuel in the process of transformation or we're seeing some sort of consciousness switching which might fall under transformation or transferring energy like the Soul or Consciousness of the protagonist.
I'm really interested to see what happens next!
I guess the limitation of any 1st person story is that a lot of the setting is hidden by the character's very perspective.
That can be good or bad, depending on what mood you're trying to set.
Since it looks like you aimed for the "lost and lonely" mood, the limited perspective works perfectly.
I have to say, it's perfectly rational to awesome-gasm at the sight of a Pegasus.
463407 It seems to me that our protagonist is in a world where Ponies and Humans co-exist. There doesn't seem to be any segregation between the two species in this society.
"Were my deceiving eyes me?" 'Deceiving' and 'eyes' are switched.
463532
Hmmmm~ A straight up universe switch doesn't make sense to me. If it was just that and he wound up in his doppleganger's filly body, wouldn't his apartment reflect that? Wouldn't there be a pony compatible toilet? So if there was a universe switch there has to be a transformative component to go with it. Unless he just totally didn't notice pictures of him as a filly and a ponyfied bathroom and such.
I suspected this from the scene with the elevator. It was dreamlike because our protagonist THOUGHT he was in a dream. Yet this is reality, somehow. Its going to take him a while to get his head screwed on straight and move on from these snags such as "logic" or "sanity". Such absurd concepts aren't they?
Though personally I would try and adopt a line of thinking in any place where I am conscious of myself and can form coherent thought, I think therefore I am. There is no real way of knowing what is "reality" and the "virtual". Perhaps there is but does it really matter if you exist? In some way or another? I would continue to exist and just go on and do whatever I wanted to do or felt was necessary. This may prove completely untrue if I am thrown in such a confusing and frankly terrifying concept of having everything I know stripped from me along with my sense of identity, but such a thing is hard to verify :P.
463326
We're not really a cult. We are simply regular people with an odd interest... Well, most of us our regular! Can't speak for everyone. (Shrugs)
For me, I joined brony culture not so much for the show, but the community. It is an interesting one despite the unique interest, but no matter. It is friendly and accepting as the characters of the shows. The people here devot talents for art and various media not only to please themselves, but to show of their abilities and utilize them in a manner that is agreeable to them and to others. Though, I still disapprove any Rule 34. Porno is rather destructive in its own right being addictive.
But the point being, I enjoy these talents shared by the masses just like everyone else here. I don't see how that makes a cult.
To the story, I LOVE IT! I making my own fanfic (probably my most successfully progressing, just need to edit and post) that is pretty much answering this same question here: what would you do if you were changed into a pony? When I read about this filly guy
, I enjoy the sense of questioning and emotion he/she is feeling when confronting his/her unwarrented change.
However, in my fanfic, I'm putting it in present time (2010, precisely) and making a worldwide impact. Through some events, some people are changed into ponies, some dragon, some diamond dog, some zebra, etc. People are being changed into something randomly and by force through this worldwide event. The questions I'm trying to ask is: One, what would you do if you were changed into pony, zebra, dragon, etc where you had no choice in the matter? Two, how would you react to being changed (PAINFULLY!)? Three, would you accept that change with probably no hope of changing back? and Four, how would the world react? Would they accept it?
The fourth one is the most difficult seeing as I can't speak for the world. Simply put, I love this story because it helps me gain insight on the reaction of an individual. I might add a few extra text to my story because you've made some interesting point, suomibrony. Nice work! I can only hope for the same. Drawings really help with recieving an imaginary visual of later events.
And it continues to get even more interesting!
It seems that flying Pegasus seen in an earlier chapter might have been real. Of course, the man the main character argued with back at the apartment building's lack of reaction to a talking pony kinda hinted at a world where talking ponies were normal. Anyways, furniture salesmen still drive Audi's in whatever world it is, so it's at least similar to ours.
Also, judging from the scale in the second picture, she sure is a LITTLE pony. Despite the lack of a meaningful scale in the show, I've always imagined the ponies as being bigger than that for some reason.
463326
Well, this story does have a lot of comments, even if not all of them are related to FPV. I'm starting to think that FPV could be featured on Equestria Daily, but . . . I'm nervous of sending them an e-mail.
As for my own life, it's not perfect, but I manage well. I'm not a sad brony who clings to MLP because it's the only thing that makes me feel happy. No, before MLP I pretty much wasted all my free time on video games, and I have friends who I hang out with. Last weekend I traveled 160 kilometers to meet some friends, walked around town for several hours in a cold rain and slept on a sofa. In the name of friendship! I alos have brony friends, whom I will meet this weekend I believe.
.
Anyway, last April, I saw a thread about MLP. I wondered why, out of all the things in the world, did people find that "girly trash" so captivating. Before I had even seen a short clip of FiM, MLP was about as relevant to my life as a driver's license is to an otter. Still, I overcame my prejudice and gave the show a chance by picking one episode at random and, well, it wasn't so bad. Applebuck Season it was and I got a smile or two from it. Thought I needed to check another episode, then more, and in a week I had watched all the episodes that had been aired. A month later I visited EqD every morning, and I think I crossed over the event horizon when I ordered six mugs with . . .
Moreover, for as long as I had an imagination, I wanted to write a story but I never found anything to light up the spark. I guess it took a colorful cartoon with ponies to do that. So, as of this moment I have six mugs, 20 figurines, one poster, seven shirts and a a fan fic I work on. That's quite the positive leap from the derisive view I had on the nototrious pastel ponies. So what if it's essentially meant for girls? Girls can like boy stuff, and that's not frowned upon by anyone but close-minded people whose views belong to a gone era.
Oops, sorry. Almost entered a rant there
463396
Took me a while to come up with a method to replicate her utterly devastated mentality, but it was evident from the start that I couldn't retain her logical and collected mentality. In chapter five we had her suffer a small breakdown, but the seventh chapter shows the immediate aftermath of a catastrophical failure of her rationality. The disjointed thoughts are to reflect her fright, disbelief and sorrow as accurately as possible. It's a very stark contrast compared to the previous chapters where she studied her four-legged locomotion and telekinesis with perceptive curiosity. She had, in a way, accepted her form because she believed there was an easy exit strategy. Now with her escape method disproven, she's enduring unfathomable terror knowing that she's effectively trapped in a body that she doesn't want to have. Note how seh says it's like claustrophobia? That's a fairly accurate analogue of the fear she can't escape from.
Anyhow, I think this may be the only story where the protagonist reacts to becoming a pony more severly than just a short panic before accepting the change. Of course, in most human-to-pony fics the person finds themselves in Equestria, is usually comforted by either an explanation or another individual to rely on, retain their sex, and their identity is left intact. Poor protagonist has none of that, so for the almost the entire duration of the chapter she's a stressed out, utterly frightened wreck. While I'm not 100% sure of this, I think there's no other chapter that portrays a character suffering so tremendously upon learning that their new form is very real.
463407
Remember the fourth chapter and how the guy was pretty much friendly from the start, and now this Marcus guy being sympathetic too? I'm not saying directly what the gist is, but the audience has to pick up the pieces and assemble them into a picture themselves. The protagonist has to deal with her own troubles first before she'll want to find out why and how ponies exist along with humans.
463480
Hey, who says the extra matter can't be converted into air? 65 kg of mass transforms into 65 kg of mass. So, it's a human that turns into a filly, that's circa half or less going into forming the body and the remainder becomes oxygen and carbon dioxide, or as you said, consumed as fuel for the transformation.
463500
Yes, the downside of first person narration is that we only know and see what the protagonist does. If she doesn't ask how something has come to be, then we can only speculate in her stead. She may also misintrepret things either consciously or accidentally depending on her mood and preconceptions.
Anyway, at the mention of Reality Break . . . are you trying to draw some parallells here? First comes to mind is the apparent harmony of ponies and humans, second comes the so far unexplained transformation of the protagonist. Curiously, I think this story is one of the few fics where the protagonist doesn't meet the mane six, the regal alicorns, or even know the reason for why his body has been dramatically changed. There's been no supernatural phenomenon or mysterious item he contacted or consumed as far as he's aware. That leaves a lot of room for him to ponder on what event is has changed him.
Though again thinking of Reality Break, I think our protagonist, who aspires to become a pilot, would be quite upset if he were in a world that's being devoured by thaumatic entropy. I mean, there are no airplanes in Equestria and she's not a pegasus. Maybe she'd enjoy drifting leisurely in a hot air balloon? But, we don't know much yet on why there are ponies alongside humans, so pretty much any theory is possible.
463532
), seemed to fulfill that objective.
After all the misery and agony the protagonist suffered, I really wanted to show her feeling joy, so her going into a temporary excited fangirl-mode upon seeing the pegasus, even unknowingly messing up her narration slightly (I wrote the "Were my deceiving eyes me?" on purpose
463574
Presuming the apartment belongs to a filly version of the protagonist, she should've looked for the obvious signs of that, such as the wardrobe, the fridge, or the compartment under the sink for any feminine hygiene products there. As for the bathroom being non-ponified, perhaps it hadn't yet been converted for such? And no pictures of her where visible? Not everyone (or everypony) puts pictures of themselves on their home walls.
463621
The protagonist's concept of reality and what's possible has been completely shattered along with her self-image. She is without doubt utterly confused and terrified, and it demands time and fortitude for her to cope with her losses before she can assess the present reality in a reasonable manner. However, considering she has lost her body, she most likely will fight fiercely to preserve her identity, so while researching a society that allegedly has two sapient species living together is in all likelihood fascinating, it wouldn't be quite high on her priority list.
"I think, therefore I am" sounds like an easy concept, but throw in a question on what you are, and a very troubling dilemma is produced. The protagonist learned of that at a very inopportune moment. As far as she was concerned, she hadn't decided to be a girl on her own volition, and her learning of the shift in identity naturally upset her greatly. Her reaction to that, after her immeasurable terror has diminished sufficiently, is without doubt to desperately undo the damage incurred to her self-image.
463778
I wouldn't say we're part of a cult. We're part of a thriving fandom that produces art, fan fiction, music, and even games and film projects. Alas, Rule 34 is prevalent in any fandom, so we can only avoid (and tolerate) it when we can.
Anyway, I myself am just an insignificanty part in this amazing and wide-spread phenomomenon. At home I write a possibly special fan fic, and outside of my home I carry a crystal Rainbow Dash, wear a MLP shirt, and one of the McDonalds figurines always accompanies me wherever and whenever I drive.
But enough about me.
I may want to read your fan fic once it's up. I do have to wonder: is it first or third person? Will there be one protagonist, or are there several that we learn of through POV shifts? What are the things you picked up from FPV? When you say an event changes people, is it an instant change that occurs only once across the globe and on select people, or does it occur sporadically on random individuals? Are they aware of why they are transmogrified or at risk of trasmogrification? Can they take precautionary steps to avoid or reduce the risk of change, and what do they do once they've changed? Do people suffer from paranoia knowing that without any warning they could turn into another being?
. I guess I shuld wait until I've read the story to present the questions.
Oh, sorry
463816
.
Haha, you were able to tell what car it was, unlike another person I'm courteous enough not to name
464142
I haven't read much fanfic but I wouldn't be surprised if you did set some sort of record for Traumatic Pony Transformation.
Hadn't thought of that, it could've turned to vapor, as it were. If it was turned to air then waking up with ear pain as his ears popped would've been an interesting detail to include. A sudden influx of gas would've changed the air pressure in the room even if it dissipated quickly.
True enough. My point was more, if it did belong to himself as a filly, you'd think there would be some sign of it rather than being an exact copy, or close enough to go unnoticed, of the original. He even mentioned the fidelity of the "dream copy" of his apartment. So, yeah.
Also, you got MLP Mugs? Where? I want the Polo Shirts!
464176
Until contested, this is the longest transformation trauma chapter on FMfic.
The ear popping may've happened, but she may've forgotten or ignored to pay attention to it as obviously being a sudden pony had her quite preoccupied. By the time she calms enough to be think of something else than her form, the potential pain has already faded.
Her inspection of her home was fundamentally cursory, but once she gets back home I'm sure she may to check it in more detail. I'm quite sure she will be shocked, disturbed and dismayed when she does.
Form where I got the mugs was from some place called CafePrint, I think. No idea where to get polo shirts, but Welovefine.com is a good place to start looking.
464224
I can't say I'm surprised to learn that.
True enough.
Also true. Now I'm interested to see him return home
Aha~ Cool. Yeah, Welovefine has the polo shirts.
464230
Hope you find what you like.
I think I may want to prepare the eight chapter now. Correcting awkward dialogue the best way I can first . . .
464271
Well I found the update you posted tonight, I'm on a good track for finding things that I like.
By reading The Dresden Files!? Sorry, couldn't resist. It's almost 4am and my resistors have gone to sleep.
Yet another amazing addition to FPV. On my own experience, cold + pain = loss of energy, but add panic to it and you get lack of sleep. I have few thoughts of this, either this is in another dimension (logic? yes) or this guys house is built in finnish style or they are in finland, and just because sauna is not so popular in homes as it is in finland. And marrying a swede confirms it.
I kind of waited her/him to say "kill... me" to this new guy.
About 5K words and 1litre of mountain dew went in reading.
464628
Glad you enjoyed the new chapter.
If he had not been found, I think he would've passed out from exhaustion, then woken up the next morning. Because, I, the author, won't have him succumb to the cold, but bring a sun that warms him up! If he had remained unfound, that is . . .
Anyway, I don't think the protagonist is in any condition to talk yet. Since he's severly disliking his new form, then speaking with a voice that's not his will be quite a mighty obstacle to surmount.
464666
Yeah, sudden change in voice and of course the body would be pretty tragic for anyone. But I think it would be quite funny/enjoyable if he only growls whenever he needed to say anything, until he accepts her voice.
464952
The MC present state wouldn't permit him to growl, but whimper, so I'm pretty sure he'd prefer to be quiet.
464142
It's motivating!
Actually, I plan to answer all those questions (or at least attempt). However, I will tell you that the point of view is actually first person. The main character is telling his the story of his past to Applejack, whom he is currently living with. It is because of trust issues with the orange pony that he is talking to her about it, that and other reasons.
I'm happy that you have an interest to it!
465018
You read my story, so I'm obliged to read yours.
463326 yeah not me i act like him almost all the time. its kinda fun making chaos.
though i im exactly like pinkie pie in sooooooo many ways. and i just got in a huge fight with my mom witch left me really depressed cause i love her. she still loves me. 
oh and um im gonna write about of Discords life (in my thoughts). im gonna write my firs MLP fanfic. 
465047
Deal!
1. MC reminds me of my friend jake burns who would kill him self fright if he so much as woke up as a pony
1. why does Marcus look like me?
3. did i ever say how awesome this fanfic is?
4. did i ever say this should be published?
5. hey MC what would you do if you died went to Heaven...and was stuck as mare for all eternity?
464142
I was going to guess it was a Quattro, but a lot of Audis have square headlights. So I erred on the side of caution and went with what I knew.
Is the main character actually a filly (i.e. a young, female pony) or is she just small in general? (She is so tiny! It is funny to me! :TF2Heavy: )
466056
She's not funny! She's cuuuuuuuute!
I just wanna huggle him to bits!
Damn gender swapping and pronouns. Hehehehe
Brilliant chapter, Mate. And, bonus points for the Heavy Metal playlist in Marcus' car. I can't wait for the next chapter, Sir.
How would this be different if MC woke up as Princess Celestia? What would be the pros and cons? please reply.
466654
That would basically be an entirely different story. As a basic premise, that story could go in many directions.
465968
.
1. If he shares the view that ponies are alien to Earth and hence catch the eyes of the public, then the shady folks who wish to perform experiments on his equine self, the option of a voluntary end to himselff is not impossible to comprehend
2. Marcus is in his mid thirties, and I estimated by your conduct and grammar I thought you to be in your early teens, so the likeness to you is purely coincidental.
3. Maybe you did.
4. I think we all knew this chapter would be published
5. You think the MC believes in something called Heaven? Would it even be Heaven if he were to reside there as a something he doesn't want to be, forever?
466056
She's not the size and age of a filly (like Applebloom), but equivalent to the mane six. However, since she lacks a cutie mark, I think it's rather applicable to consider her to be still a filly. The main character herself isn't particularly informed on equine terminology and (erroneously) considers filly and mare to be interchangeable substantives.
466241
.
The only way you'd knowingly hug another guy would be if he were turned into a cute female pony
466246
Thank you. It's the little things, like music preference, that can help to build a character.
Hopefully I can get the eight chapter into editing stage in a few days.
466654
467399
The MC would have access to powerful magic, but also be in a position of ultimate authority, which could very easily lead to power abuse, or if she were to try to maintain the guise, poor decisions and out of character actions which would evoke much suspicion on her well-being and sanity, maybe even clue others in that Celestia's literally not being herself. Besides, alicorn protagonists are frowned upon, and her body being that of a canon character wouldn't mean it's not larceny for the sakes of potential Mary-Sueing. I think the MC being a unicorn bestows her with enough power already, as telekinesis alone can be very versatile.
467657 oh how i love it when you reply to my comments.
i dont know if i can count you as a friend but you seem like one...one who likes my little pony and doesnt make fun me when when i mention it 
what if a guy with a British accent offered you locket saying it could take you to any dimension and planet (if you wore the locket it would protect you if the planet had no oxygen)? please reply
467657
I'm getting better at it! Sorta~ Whatever.
467717
Why would he give it to me? If he had a such powerful and simple device, yet so eager to give it away, I may want to question his motives, as I may suspect he's tricking me into doing something evil without my approval or knowing. Really, it would quite iffy that something with potentially dangerous consequences is offered to me without anything in return. I mean, he may've well given me a poisoned apple or a box of grenades and said "Enjoy!" before running far and fast.
What would you do? Would you just take his offering and be careless of what may follow? Would you transport yourself to another world without a second thought? Would you consume the apple like you hadn't eaten in days? Would you gleefully toss live grenades like they were candy? Honestly, if you don't think of the repercussions and have only a shallow foresight, then you are strolling into a minefield without any regard for yourself, maybe even those who are unwillingly pulled there with you.
Yeah, I again contemplated a lot on something simple, but that's what I am. Transformation, for example, is simple, right? Well, I made that complex. The aftereffects of it, actually, as we haven't seen the protagonist's body morph.
467787
.
Certainly you are
467887
I ran a BESM2e campaign once where the PCs were summoned to be heroes in a strange world. The King that summoned them gave them Universal Translator Talismans. The party never questioned this, even after the king was revealed to be the Big Bad of the series. They then kept getting ambushed during their adventures because the talismans were also locator beacons. The party never clued in.
Fine~ *Bear Hugs!*
467657
So the ponies in your story are just small, then? It doesn't really matter, though. I've always just thought of them as being a bit bigger for no real reason...
OK, maybe I just want to ride Rainbow Dash to and from campus every day dressed as some mix between a Texas Ranger and WWI fighter pilot.
I'd just keep telling her its a race.
468038
In my mind and this story, the protagonist measures about one meter from the sole of the forehoof to the eartip when standing in a normal quadruped posture with her neck held vertical. Stallions may be a slight taller. Though she's technically an adult mare, she's a little pony, is she not?
468038
That is Awesome. It also conjures up the image of the guy riding the bomb in Dr. Strangelove.
467887 did you even come close to catching the Doctor Who reference?
what if a guy with a "British accent"...
British accent, Doctor Who is British
that locket is a mini TARDIS
468679
Oh, I though you were talking about a delirious bum from east London.
Ya better been writing the next chapter, cause i just finished reading and i need more of this thing
468812
I try to do my best to get the next chapter into the betareading stage.
467657
If the author needs time, the readers will wait.
468073
Huh. That's about what I was estimating. I guess the last picture in the most recent chapter makes her look much smaller to me.
468088
Never thought of it like that scene from Dr. Strangelove. I was thinking more along the lines of what a cowboy would wear while riding a flying horse. You know, Cooper A-2 bomber jacket, silk scarf, goggles, leather helmet, and the like. Whatever riding gear I'd need wouldn't have to be the no-nonsense working gear real cowboys would wear, if that even makes sense. I was born in Oklahoma and raised in Texas, so you'd think that I'd actually know about real cowboys or something...
Either way, I'd still need a saddle with stirrups and maybe some type of reins (Although getting Dash to go in a specific direction might be tough). I'd also need to keep my legs clear of her wings, too.
470205
That's cool. But I think you'd need something bigger and more amenable than Rainbow Dash. She'd buck you off somewhere over the Grand Canyon or a volcano hehe.
470360
Figuring out what I'd need to ride her would be the easy part. Getting her to carry me around would be... hard, to put it simply.
just thought, um, it have been worse.
he could have woken up as a female griffon.
or god forbid Gilda. 
470640
Maybe call it "Training". "Of course! Carrying me around will get your wingpower up for sure!"