HUMAN
The Author seated before the computer spilled a bit of coffee onto his lap. Someone was in his condo. Scratch that. Several someones—exiting from the closet inside his bedroom and marching directly toward his office.
He thought about slamming the door in their faces and locking it, but what good would that do? If they wanted in, they’d get in. Already, he’d written about how one of them had kicked through a door with no problem.
For some reason the Author straightened out his shirt before they stepped inside.
“You!” the leader of the Pinkie Pies said (most likely Random, the Author believed). “You’re in big trouble, mister!”
The Author held up both hands. “This must be a misunderstanding.”
“Don’t play dumb, Mr. Big Shot Author!” said the one with the saddlebag. Adventure, right? “We know what you’ve done! Trying to kill us off as if we didn’t matter in the least. And for what? So you could write about forty random things instead of one?”
“This is getting way too meta,” the Author muttered to himself, feeling a bit like Stephen King in his own Dark Tower series. “Listen… just… just tell me what you want and I’ll do it, okay? Just… please don’t hit me in the face. Not with hooves. You're basically wearing brass knuckles right now.”
Random wrinkled her nose at him, eventually turning back to the other Pinkie Pies. They whispered amongst themselves. “Alright. We want Sad Pinkie back. Safe and sound and no worse for wear.”
Out of nowhere, Sad Pinkie appeared, safe and sound and no worse for wear.
A group hug ensued, and as fearful as the Author was at that moment, he still had to admit it was cute.
Random—