//------------------------------//
// Acceptance Abundance 
// Story: The Curse of Cryonics 
// by Mine_Menace 
//------------------------------//

One definition of acceptance, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is: "agreement with or belief in an idea or explanation". Acceptance is a natural part of human thinking and, coincidentally enough, is also natural with ponies and other sapient beings. It happens all the time among them.

But what if it goes too far? What if acceptance is taken to its extreme? What if a being--a sapient being--is too accepting of what he or she discovers? What then?





He was immersed in darkness. There was nothing but the dark around him, but that was okay. The dark was warm. Comforting. Reassuring. He felt like he was slowly sinking into softness, covered on all sides by it.

Simply stated, it felt good.

He felt a breeze cascade softly across him and his body jerked. He knew he was going to rouse, but he didn't want to. He was comfortable. Why would he ever want to get up? It made no sense. If he was comfortable, why leave the comfort?

Logic won out, however. He couldn't stay there forever. He didn't even know for sure where he was, or even if he was in a bed.

So he opened his eyes slowly, wishing he could go back to sleep, and to his surprise, he noticed he was lying on his back on what felt like grass, gazing up at the clear, starry night sky. Another breeze blew over him and he sighed in contentment. That felt good.

This was still nice...but how did he get there? What was the last thing he remembered?

He cast his mind backwards, trying to find something he could work with. My name is Walker, he eventually found. Something Walker...

That was the most substantial memory he could come up with. His name was Walker. Something Walker. I think...my first name, though...huh.

At least Walker knew his name...or part of it, anyway; his last name was fine. But what was he doing in...wherever he was?

He slowly sat up and looked around. Walker was in a city park, by the looks of things. He was lying in the middle of some grass, surrounded by trees. To his left, beyond the park, he could see the side of an enormous white castle with ivory towers and golden-colored spires that would probably gleam in sunlight, judging on the pure whiteness. To his right, he could see a street, lined with smaller, equally white buildings. The street was deserted and the lampposts had been lit.

I'm in Canterlot, Walker concluded. It didn't occur to him that he might be wrong, for he knew he was right. More, it also didn't occur to him that it was odd how he knew that.

He spotted a brown saddlebag lying on the ground a couple of feet from him. The buckle was oddly distinctive--it had a gray storm cloud, except the cloud was shaped like some kind of winding pathway going into the distance. For some reason, he got the feeling it belonged to him, but it had no words, letters, numbers, or other markings on it. Maybe it has something to do with the buckle, he thought.

Walker stretched out to grab it and noticed vaguely that he was reaching with an extremely light blue-gray leg that ended in a hoof. He mentally shrugged and accepted it without a second thought and grabbed at the bag, hooking the end of his hoof around a strap and dragging the bag to him. He undid the buckle of one side and opened it.

Inside were a mass of gold coins that were labeled in different denominations, including one-halves, ones, twos, fives, tens, twenties, and a few fifties. He turned the bag around and checked the other pocket, which had nothing but papers. He reached in and grabbed one at random, studying it.

After a moment, Walker caught on to the fact that it was apparently a birth certificate. His birth certificate. The name Storm Walker was in the name spot. Apparently, he was born in some place called Cloudsdale to two pegasi known as Storm Chaser and Cool Breeze on the first of Spring, 955 Celestial Era.

That sounds about right. Why wouldn't it be? This seems official and everything. I mean, whose else could it be?

That meant that the bag was his. If he was Storm Walker, and the bag had a birth certificate with his name in, it was probable that this was his bag.

Walker replaced the birth certificate and found a pair of maps--one for Canterlot, with the roads, restaurants, and other landmarks labeled, and the other for Equestria, with all towns and rail lines clearly marked. He nodded to himself and put them back in, retrieving the final piece of paper.



Recommended:
-Residence: 63 Dusk Street
-Work: 29 Fields Road--Weather Control



...Well, that...doesn't say much, he reflected, flipping the paper over to see if there was more on the other side, which there wasn't. Well then. Don't know exactly what time it is, but I doubt these places are...open...

Walker dug the Canterlot map out of the bag again and looked up the places on it. 63 Dusk Street, judging by its size, looked like an apartment building, while 29 Fields Road looked positively tiny.

His eyes flicked back to the "recommended" paper. Weather control? he thought. So I'm a...

Walker looked down to his sides and saw a pair of wings folded up against his barrel. Oh, of course. I'm a pegasus. Makes sense, considering I was born in Cloudsdale... He experimentally tried flexing the wings and found they responded well to his command. Oh, well that's cool. I wonder what time it is.

He looked up into the sky and, in what the direction he assumed was east, he could see it starting to become light already, though he couldn't see the sun. So it's close to dawn...

Even if it was close to dawn, he decided, it would probably be a good idea to walk around Canterlot to get a feel for the place and remember his way around. He had a feeling he might be living here now. After all, the "recommended" paper did recommend he go to the apartment complex at 63 Dusk Street to live.

And why wouldn't he trust it? It seemed a bit stupid not to trust it.

Walker shrugged, stood up on all four hooves, and tucked away his papers. He then slung the bag onto his back, adjusted his wings, and then, with little effort, trotted out of the park and onto the street at a slow pace.

If he had had more presence of mind, he would have noticed how disturbing it was that he was accepting everything so easily. But he never gave it a first thought, let alone a second thought.