S(crap)tacular Stories

by CosmicAfro

(2B)Answers

Waking up in an unfamiliar bed is often perceived as one of the scariest thing in the world; it usually makes a few things come to mind. To me, it means that I’m in someone else’s house (obviously) and the people who own it have been generous enough to let a stranger sleep in a room, alone. So if they’ve been trusting of me I have to trust them! That alone isn’t the scary part. What are the people like? Will they expect me to make up some work? Are they ugly? Will I have to date one of their children (hopefully a daughter in my case)? Will I have to pay them for eating a few of their apples over the last couple days? And here I was hoping to finally find some answers… all I’ve done is create more questions. Though, I do expect that in my new… handicapped state… half of those answers are “no”. And yet I’ve met people cruel enough who could say yes.

I could hear a barely audible ticking somewhere near me. At a guess it was a clock, but it was too dark for me to be certain. The bed I was in felt extremely roomy. I managed to spread my arm’s length across the entire mattress and my fingers only barely drifted beyond the edge of the bed-spread. I felt like I should have gotten up, but I was tucked in. I guess the only thing I can do is head back to sleep.

And yet, I couldn’t just go back to dreaming; something didn’t feel right, like there was something watching me here, in this room. I rotated my head to the right and saw nothing but more darkness. I assumed there was a wall there. To my left I noticed a slim section of orange, flickering lights near the door. It was probably a television or maybe a candle. It was a country house after all. I chalked up the “something watching me” part to my imagination trying to get the best of me.

I lifted my arms out from under the blanket and fluffed the pillow. If felt a tad… hairy. I mean, it was obviously a pillow, but I guess the last guy who was sleeping here must have been shedding or something. Thick hairs too. Geez I hope there wasn’t something wrong with him.

I tried to lift the stubs I called legs and managed some success. There wasn’t any particular reason for it, it was just nice to know that there was still something there.

I felt a tear spontaneously dribbled down my cheek. I don’t know why that is though because I’m not in a particularly sad mood. I felt my face with my hands and it felt damp. I had been crying last night. Normally, I’d call myself a pansy but I didn’t have the energy to do it. I stared into what was to me open space and let a wave of mental fatigue carry away my consciousness into an alarmingly large sea of doubt.

___

A rooster crowed in the distance, and then again… and then one more time. “Hey, wake up! Suns up! Oh my god I’ma tell the world again! YO EVERYONE! SUN’S UP!” That’s probably what he was saying. I gave my condolences to the hens nearby, I couldn’t imagine waking up to someone screaming in my ear every morning at that magnitude. At least my parents only yelled once. With no small amount of effort on my part, and some encouragement from another gratuitous “cockle doodle doo”, I managed to force my eyelids open. Curtains had been drawn in my room and light immersed the square room, momentarily blinding me. My guess was that this room’s window faced the sunrise. Over on a drawer that was on the opposite side of the room was a clock with two bells on it. It didn’t look to be set to ring so I didn’t see the need to get angry at it. I never learned the name of one of those things, though I’m pretty sure it’s still called a clock. Most of it was made from brass and it was directly in the sun’s path so it should have been reflecting a lot of light. I noticed that a thin layer of dust was destroying those expected results which also told me someone had gotten it just for me out of a dusty drawer or maybe the attic. It probably could be assumed that this room wasn’t used often either.

The walls had some basic decorations clinging to them: hooks, paintings of horses, pictures of horses, and some kind of wall mount that was, yup, horse shaped. I’m starting to wonder if these people who live here are horse crazy. That insanely intelligent red horse from yesterday certainly wouldn’t prove that theory wrong.

I lifted myself upright out of the covers and found a curled note wrapped in green ribbon on a small night stand next to me. I gingerly untied the bow and examined the contents.

Sadly, it was either in a foreign language or the handwriting was just that atrocious. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. So, great; I’m in a farm house, in the back end of nowhere, inhabited by people who might as well speak horse. So on top of being immobile, I can’t even communicate? Why doesn’t someone remove my nose while they’re at it!?
… I hope the note didn’t say something important actually.

A couple of footsteps interrupted my train of thought as someone was apparently walking down the hallway. He/she was going at a funky pace too. Instead of a dun dun dun dun it was a ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk. Maybe it was two people and their steps were overlapping? I wasn’t sure. There was only one way to find out!

“Hello? Is anyone out there?”

The steps stopped suddenly in the middle of their ka-thunk pattern, as if they had paused in the middle of the tempo. They resumed again, albeit slower and seemingly with more care. A pair of shadows lingered at the door. The knob, it actually looked more like a lever, shifted downward as if the person was relishing every tumbler clicking into place. Every churning gear managed to make a unique noise and frankly it was getting on my nerves.

Before I could say anything, the door creaked as it was timidly swung open. I can say right here, right now that what I saw next was probably the least expected thing ever.

“Oh my god.”

Jaw.

Dropping.

Adorableness.

I’ve seen a lot of cute things on the Internet: cats in fuzzy slippers, bunnies, rabbits, baby kangaroos, sneezing pandas, a monkey give another monkey a hug, and on occasion some kid that doesn’t annoy me and actually shows sign of promise. But what I saw gave me a figurative heart attack. No, this should have given me a heart attack but the universe decided I was going to suck it up.

So, this little yellow pony sticks its head in and looks at me. First, I think it’s a her. Second, the biggest eyes of the most heart wrenching cuteness ever conceived looked right at me. Third, she’s wearing a red bow delicately placed in her mane. A FUCKING BOW! I’m confused as to how I didn’t explode from all of this. It’s the world’s eighth mystery. The fourth I think is where I almost passed out. When she walked in, just… I-I can’t even explain it. She’s so small but so cute I’m just… forget it! Just forget it. She’s too adorable to accurately describe with my available vocabulary.

I must have been making some expressions that terrified her because her eyes got even bigger after that and her lip quivered. That lower lip gave me heart palpitations. I don’t know if I could take much more.

My belly roared, a great long throaty rumble (which did nothing for probably holding a megaphone to itself to let it be known that I was hungry. Stupid stomach, I already know I’m starving, what more do you want from me? The answer was obviously “get some food you dolt” but the problem was I couldn’t exactly reach any right now.

I tossed the covers off of my body, promptly ruining the tremendous job someone had done tucking me in (sorry), and swung my half-legs over to the side of the bed-spread. I noticed I still wasn’t wearing my shirt and it didn’t look to be anywhere nearby. My pants, however, seemed to have been untouched and some of the chlorophyll had rubbed into the white linens.

I could only imagine the horror someone had to go through carrying a half-naked man with stubbed legs into a guest bedroom right after an enormous red horse brought him here in a wheelbarrow.

The yellow adorableness approached me slowly, looking as if it was braving something dangerous. As far as I knew, I wasn’t remotely harmful unless words she couldn’t understand count. I can say some things that I didn’t know were possible. I know the expression goes, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” but that isn’t always true: if words could never hurt me, then why did I cry when someone called me a loser when I was four years old? Words are, it seems-

Anyways, she gingerly approached the mattress and looked straight at me. In actuality, it felt like she looked through me, trying to figure me out it seemed. She gave a small whinny and a grunt or two, sheepishly even (a horse doing something sheepishly… I smell irony). I stared at the young thing with my head cocked sideways. She motioned with a flick of her head to the door like she wanted me to go that way. As cute as it was, I knew I couldn’t do that plan of action. I pointed at my legs with my index. It was her turn to be confused. Oh, right, she probably can’t see them.

With a small amount of effort, I managed to rotate my body so that my legs drooped over the edge. She still didn’t seem to get it. I guess that makes sense in a way. Trying to show a creature that has hooves for feet that I can’t walk because mine are rounded wouldn’t even cross its mind.

I stroked my chin for a moment, wondering how to proceed. I needed a way to explain to this little… uhh what do they call them… colts? Wait no, that’s for guys. Cubs? No, I think that’s bears. Fillies. Fillies, that was it. I needed a way to explain to this little filly that me and moving weren’t the best of friends right now. My elbows were sore so I sure as hell wasn’t crawling again.

Pictures. That’s an idea. Removing the scroll from my pocket I flipped it over and praised that it was completely blank. I looked at the red haired filly and made gestures with my pinkie that I wanted to write something by drawing imaginary lines on the surface. She walked across the room, opened a drawer and removed a maroon quill (with her mouth, eww), closed it and returned to me. The feather was wet with.. ugh, horse slobber; but, it would do. She repeated the action again but this time grabbing a tiny bottle of ink. Damn, she’s smart! Just like the red one!

I loosened the cap and dipped the point in the ink, carefully wiping off the excess on the edge of the opening to not get any on the sheets or myself. To start, I drew the outline of a human figure with two arms and two full legs. It was too pyknic, but all I needed was to get a point across. Over the misshapen figure, I drew an arrow pointing down at its head. I showed my lovely drawing to her and then held it next to my face. With a polite nod from her signaling she understood (she’s a fucking genius I swear. I need to ask if they’ve been genetically mutated), I continued. I drew a line half way through both legs and smudged the bottom half with my thumb. I held it against my face again. I think then she got the point. I stuffed both the letter and the quill into one pocket and the ink container, making absolutely sure the lid was on tight, into another.

The pony left the room without warning, trotting through the still open doorway. I thought she ran away or something (I’m not that ugly, am I?) but she did come back and with something that brought a joyous tear to my eye. A rolling stool. Something that could inhibit free movement!

I hereby proclaim this adorable yellow fluff to be the best pony ever born, scientifically altered or otherwise.

She placed it near the edge of the bed and I more than happily complied by plopping onto it. To put it into a perspective easier to understand, the height of the contraption was somewhat taller than the length of my stubs; obviously, pushing around with those wasn’t going to work and that was almost as upsetting as having no legs at all. To my surprise, she recognized the problem and she started to push from behind. I turned my head around to see how she was doing it and, I must say, I became even more impressed.

She had placed her front hooves on my back which she used for stabilization and introducing a path for forward momentum. She used her hind legs as the force creators, walking forward to push me in the direction that I needed. She would shift the direction as necessary with relative ease thanks to the four wheels being able to rotate a full three hundred and sixty degrees. She moved at a pace that was fast enough to not put too much strain on her back while carefully minding not to push so hard that I went arms and stubs flailing forwards. Since she can’t physically grab onto anything, even if I was wearing my shirt (still, where is that thing?), this was a brilliant system of transportation. And the best part was that I didn’t have to do a thing! I had never lived before I let a pony push me around, strange as it may sound (and/or rhyme). Science, doing it right!

My stomach sent me another impertinent memo that it was still craving sustenance and my rather endearing mode of transportation heard it loud and clear. As we entered into the narrow hallway I took note of all the pictures hanging on the wall. Most had a title or plaque underneath them but they were still in that foreign language. I recognized the red one I met yesterday in a few pictures but there were a lot that were easily distinguishable from him. It could have been the facial expressions, but the main factor was simply the colors of their furs.

Reds, greens, blues, oranges, the-aforementioned-all-together; almost every color in the spectrum were on these equines. And the strange part was that not a single person was in any of the photos, not one. I grabbed one off the wall that was particularly interesting. It had in between twenty to thirty horses, all with a unique coloring scheme and an oddly marked behind that had something to do with apples or food in general. Each one looked as if they were having a good time, odd as it may sound. I think a few of them had a smile.

Then, it all clicked. These were pictures from some kind of freaky animal contest! Of course! That makes perfect sense! Obviously they were having some kind of contest and they had to spray paint their horses for who knows what reason and the different brandings are from different farms! And since all of the photos in this hallway are similar in this regard it must mean that these are from the same convention. Still, I found it strange that the owners didn’t want to get into these photos… maybe there’s another room with them and this one hallway is dedicated just to the horses? Hmmm… I could buy that.

The little one had stopped moving when I grabbed the portrait, though I didn’t notice at first. I kindly replaced it back on the wall and waved at her to continue. We passed by more and more and I found each more intriguing than the previous. I’d have to ask the owners of the place about this meet-up if they knew any English.

The first area we passed when we exited the hallway was the living room. I only had a few moments to give it a precursory glance, but it looked semi-barren too. A couch and some small chairs, one of them was a rocking chair(and not the musical type of rock), took up most of the available visible floor space in the corners while an oval rug absconded the middle. Each piece of furniture had been placed so that the respective person’s view would face another guest which led me to believe these people enjoyed quality time with each other.

A sharp turn right drove us into the kitchen. It was very rustic; I’ll say that much. The refrigerator was visibly aged with scratch marks and glue connecting old handles. The stove was a gas burner, though I’m not sure if that was a recent addition or not. The sink, or perhaps a pump, was near the stove. Wood cabinets lined the walls leaving a small strip of flooring in the middle for navigating space. There were no storage areas above the counter tops except for a small window ledge that jutted outward from the rest of the area.

To my surprise, we didn’t stop there. An open arch way at the end of the aforementioned kitchen revealed a dining table with a plate of assorted apple produce heaped together, presumably for me. There weren’t any chairs nearby, which was… odd, but thankfully that problem had already been solved: I was pushed close to the edge thanks to my handy dandy helper horse and I dug right in. I was delighted to see there were pancakes, cinnamon apple slices, orange juice, and a small cup of syrup. There was also some hay strips that looked cooked but I didn’t indulge myself in those. I handed it over to her(I really should find out what her name is) but she refused to eat it. I suppose she had eaten recently and wasn’t hungry anymore. I began the process of inhaling the food (‘eating’ would really fail to cut the mustard, or syrup in this case).

I couldn’t help but notice her ogling at my hands as I ate, she seemed fascinated by how I could pick up a cup with one and then pick up an apple slice with the other. I know this because she desperately tried to keep track of both during the entire meal that should have lasted me at least ten minutes but which I had callously reduced it to four.

Patting my extended belly with a grin that said, “well done,” I stared at nothing in particular while I let some of it settle. During this relapse, a small belch escaped my lips; entertaining her further. I can’t say I was surprised when she let out an equally loud burp of her own. She’s a genius, what more do I need to say? I noticed that some syrup was coating my thumb and as I was going to lick it off until a funny idea struck me like lightning, minus the extreme pain.

“Hey,” I said aloud to her. She recoiled slightly, not expecting me to speak, and looked up at me. “Watch this.”

I began to lick the syrup-glazed appendage. The syrup was pretty delicious, I’m not going to lie, so I took my sweet time about it. After about ten seconds I observed my work as well as she. I held it down to her eye level just so she could confirm that I had gotten it all. Then, I did something that horrified her:

I ate my thumb.

It’s an old hand trick where the person who performs it pretends to eat their thumb when it goes inside of his/her mouth. I had learned it from my father who learned it from my great grandfather because his son (or my grandfather) didn’t learn it because he was too lazy. Anyways, the thumb is then quickly pulled into the palm and covered up with the other fingers creating the illusion of a flat surface. If done correctly, it seamlessly appears as if that thumb was bit right off; works great on children and apparently it terrifies fillies.

She. Flipped. Out.

A terrified shriek and a near fainting, followed up by frantically running around the table whinnying and grunting who knows what in “horse-speak” ensued. I pretended to be completely serious about ingesting it for a few moments before I broke out in laughter that hurt my rib cage and nearly forced me to fall out of my seat. I’ll admit, it was a rather cruel thing to do, but I think in the long run it was a lesson she’ll look back on for better or for worse.

I lowered my head and found her cowering behind the middle leg support underneath the table. I showed her that my thumb was unharmed and grinned. It took her a few moments more of quivering and hiding before I think she understood it was a joke and came back out, albeit a little more timid than before. Seeing as she was capable of understanding cannibalism and humor, I decided to show her the process of the prank.

I did it in reverse, first hiding it in the fingers and then duplicating the process backwards. Just to clarify for the sake of knowledge, I repeated it a few more times until she found it funny too. Imagine that, a tiny horse laughing. It’s not as cute as it could have sounded, nor was it anything like what I was expecting, but it was just so god damn adorable I had to give her a high five! I’ll assume that this was one of her first tricks taught because she demonstrated she understood the mechanics fairly well. I need not explain the epicness (though I do need to note to myself that hooves are firmer than they appear).

A door swung open from an indeterminable location, the now familiar squeak of unoiled hinges resonating through the house. The ka-thunk pattern returned but these sounded denser and yet with a side of grace to them that was hard to accurately explain. I soon found out what was making the noise.

I turned around in the chair to find a sunset orange pony with a dirty blond yellow mane in a ponytail staring right at me from across the narrow kitchen with raised eyebrows. I returned her surprised glare with a charming smile (or, what I could muster anyways) and a hand wave. Then I realized something.

She’s wearing a hat. Not just any hat… a Stetson. I’ve met a few people with those and it was pretty cool to see something outside of fedoras and baseball caps, but this creature right here? She pulled it off perfectly. Not just perfectly, comically perfectly; so perfect it’s impossible not to clap and laugh at it good-naturedly. Not that I did of course.

The yellow one ran right up to her, excitedly from the looks of it, and flailed her forehooves in the air (an impressive feat considering it meant all her weight was on only a single pair of legs). I could only assume she was saying nice things about me and that this was another super genius horse. However, the taller horse looked upset; the way she flared her nostrils and neighed condescendingly (there’s no way to describe that, it’s something that has to be heard. I regret nothing) proved that either I or my early morning helper had done something wrong.

She pushed past the small one, carefully scooting her to the side, and walked right up to me. The way she went about it though freaked me out slightly. She eased forward by consciously placing every step while refusing to let her sight run astray. She walked formally and kept herself upright, not letting her muzzle drop one inch.

Here, I’d like to assume that the reason why this mare was being overly cautious was a lack of youthful innocence. Kids don’t assume the worse, they immediately see the best in people and they look to be friends. Looking back at it, is that why the yellow one aimed to help me so quickly? Adults know better. They never trust anything or anyone without some ethos to back it up: relations, recommendations, titles, awards, plaques, etc. Somewhere along the line there is a transition between oblivious to observant, from frolicking to fraternizing, from playing to participating.

By the time I was done running my proverbial hamster in my head to death I had found an orange hoof in front of me. Logical conclusion? Shake hands! Another beautiful trick performed by a super horse. Though, this one was aged considerably more, probably almost fully grown, so mayhaps there was an extra level of communication? If that was true, then there was only one thing to do!

I winked at the younger pony as I dipped my thumb in some remaining syrup in the cup. Oh yes, she knew what was going to happen. She snickered (I think?) but managed to keep her cool when the older pony looked back at her. I licked off the gooey substance and then, I TOTALLY ATE IT.

It’s even funnier the second time because I have never seen a horse turn a sickly green color like that. I could only imagine while she was vacating her stomach in the sink about how maniacal we were, the hair-bow pony and I. After about a minute, she stopped gagging and looked right at me with sickly eyes. I wiggled my thumb like it was dancing and gave a warm grin. She looked furious but after seeing it was just a prank I could see her physically lighten up about it.

___

After everything was metaphorically said and done, dishes put away and everything tidied up, we congregated into the living room while I patiently waited for the owners to return from wherever-ville. I had been assisted with sitting on the couch by the orange mare with the red apples on her flank-area and was now watching the younger one (oh how I wish I knew your name) communicate to the elder one. I would have said talk but I don’t think that would have been a very apt description of it. They seemed to get along quite well.

The Stetson pony paced around the room while the hair-bow filly followed her, making grunts and soft calls all the while. If I hadn’t the brighter idea I might have assumed they were actually talking like people. Most of the time it was Stetson saying one thing and then Bow-tie following up with an endless torrent. They kept looking at me through most of it which I found rather odd. I wasn’t entirely sure why they weren’t outside grazing or whatever horses do.

Amidst one of their discussions the filly came up to me and put a hoof on my pocket with the paper and feather in it. I took them out, unsure of what I was being asked to do. She swiped them from my hand and dropped them to the floor. I gave her the ink bottle too as I assumed she’d need it for whatever she had planned. I looked at the orange mare and gave a shrug. She returned it. Mental note: they can copy body language. P.S. these ponies should be put on Jeopardy as contestants because I know they’d win.

Licking up the quill with her tongue (eww), she dipped it into the jar and began drawing something on the mostly-blank side of paper. There is no way I can express the magnitude of the “holy fuck this thing can draw” I felt right there. I can think of one creature that can draw and that would be the elephant; however, they have an unfair advantage with that serpentine nose of theirs. Yet they also don’t draw, it’s more like splattering whatever colors they feel like onto a blank canvas. Nay, she was going steps beyond that and creating a physical, cohesive shape which is beyond amazement.

It took her a couple of seconds but eventually a… stick pony was born. When I say stick I mean the very bare basics. A messy circle for a head with one little line for an ear, a pencil thin neck with an ellipsoidal body followed by a tail that looked akin to fire. I refused to call the rectangles below “legs”. There was a scribble on its flank –area and above it was a big arrow that had a correctly drawn apple at the end. I continued to look over her shoulder and realized it resembled the red stallion from yesterday. A quick addition of a twig coming out of the circle head confirmed my suspicions. So, she wasn’t an artist but her intelligence levels continued to boost rapidly from my perspective.

She continued by drawing a very basic chair with large circles at the sides. After sporting in some spokes and thickening the rims I came to the conclusion it was a wheelchair. Well, that’s a mixed bag of candy for me. First are the sugary sweet gumdrops that say “hey, now you could move freely without the assistance of the super genius.” I won’t lie, that has an awesome flavor to it to be independent again. The only thing more amazing would be to get another shirt on. But in that same collection of goodies is the sour candies. They say “sure, you can move freely, but do you see the cost?” Truth be told? I do see it. It’s a constant reminder of things I don’t know, like how I arrived or why I’m being deprived of my own two legs I was born with.

Everyone seems to forget though that there is a third candy. The candy that doesn’t really taste like anything amazing but it’s hard to deny that it’s not bad. The good news is that it’s possible to eat a lot of this brand before disliking it which makes it bearable. That candy says, “you can forgo that kind of drama without forgetting your purpose. It’s a means of finding what you need and that’s all that matters right now. Wallowing again won’t get you anywhere.”

Yet, they sent a horse… to go pick up a wheelchair? Hmm, or maybe the owner went out on that specific horse and they’re both coming back with it. That makes a lot more sense. Who would send a horse out for medical supplies? That’s ridiculous.
A door swung open at the far end of the house, beyond my vision from the couch, and two pairs of tapping could be heard.

They matched perfectly in unison so it had to have been a person! Finally! Human life!

I sat at the edge of my seat while I watched the orange and yellow ponies go greet the guests. They were too far away to hear anything I guess because I didn’t pick up on any of it. To be fair I still wasn’t entirely certain about the outline of this residence. I waited for a minute before making a polite chuffing noise to garner some attention. It worked because three horses I knew came into the living room and took their seats. But, a fourth set of tapping came down the hallway.

Ok, this is it. Calm down and be polite. Even if he/she can’t understand English I imagine that they’ll still want to help. Remember, they sent that red stallion into the field with a wheelbarrow for you.

The floorboards creaked…

Oh wow this person is taking forever. But, hey, don’t rush these things. This person probably has the wheelchair with them and you’ll thank them kindly for it. So, alright, just be cool, collective, and courteous.

The front of the chair rolled through the opening. I hopped over a couple spaces to try and get a better view.

This is it.

A white… hoof became visible on the handle. Then another, and then a white pony with a red mane walked into the room, wearing a nurse’s hat. On her hind quarters a cross with four pink hearts around it was her branding. She wore a gentle smile…

until she saw me.