//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Rewrite // Story: From one scene, to another // by Pvt Caboose //------------------------------// The world around me was dark as I regained consciousness, the ear piercing wail of the movement alarm on my air-pack echoed through my ears. With groggy movements, I moved a hand to squeeze two buttons on the sides of the flashing and sounding box upon my right shoulder. Sweet silence reached my ears, save for the sound of the air flowing through my mask, which was keeping me alive. Pale light shone through a nearby window. Visible particles of dust, fibers, and smoke still around me. Charred wood, pieces of drywall, and scorched debris laying around my in large piles. Fibers of insulation and chunks of unknown building pieces were scattered across my protective gear. In the corner of the mask shone a single red light, an indicator of being low on air. Casting my gaze down to the gauge on my left shoulder showed just under a quarter tank of air. A sigh escaped me as my head fell limp. This wasn’t good. Though there wasn’t any fire present, the atmosphere I found myself in was less than ideal to breathe in. My muscles were tired and I ached as I slowly sat up. Subconsciously I reached up to my helmet and turned my flashlight on. The light was dim, apparently sustained damage during the fall. What it showed in the darkness perplexed. Large bookcases, that seemed to be carved into the wooden walls of the building. It wasn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen in a house, but it caused me to make a mental note. The silence was shattered by a high pitched whistle. Looking at the gauge showed the needle in the red, and the light in my mask was now flashing. Shit out of luck, and out of air. It’s better to run out of air and suffocate, than it is to take your mask off and compromise your respiratory system... “Fuck that noise,” I spoke to no one, “I ain’t suffocating.” I raised my hand slowly as I unclipped my helmet, tossing it off to the side. My gloves were paired together, before being discarded to the side along side my skid-lid. My eyes remained staring into the darkness, moving off of mental routines that were permanently etched into my mind. A hand pulled back my nomex hood as I pulled my mask off, over my head. Air rushed out immediately, drowning out the continuous whistle of the low air alarm. Lazily I reached a hand back and shut the valve on the bottle. Gradually the whistle faltered, before falling silent, all of the air purged from the lines. Inhaling a deep breathe, the acrid smell of smoke and sickly sweet aroma of burnt house filled my olfactory system being overloaded. Deep coughs echoed throughout the room, as my body rejected the contaminated air. I could feel it in my lungs as I continued to cough, nearing the point of vomiting. Managing to stabilize my breathing, I pulled my nomex hood up over my nose in an attempt to purify the air and save my lungs. There was no way of telling whether the room was uninhabitable. No fire was present, nor the tsunami of water that was sprayed into the house, which confused me as everything was mostly dry. I sighed, if this is the way I go out, so be it. I closed my eyes for a moment, before sitting up. Placing my helmet back on my head, and gloves back on my hands, I delicately stood. Rubble fell from my body as I stood on stiff and sore bones. I wasn’t going to simply lay there and die, I was going to try to get out of here somehow. As I stood catching my bearings, I noticed how eerily silent it was. No running trucks, saws, water being sprayed, alarms, sirens, horns or shouting. Nothing. While being in turnout gear was warm, the room itself was a stark contrast to the inferno I was fleeing. They were coming for me. They had to be, the men I fought along side and am proud to call my family would save me. They’d pull me from the rubble with tears in our eyes, and we’d all go back to the station. Any time there’d be a coordinated effort as saws and machinery cut into the building to get me. Looking down, I found the mangled microphone for my radio. Hope was instantly crushed at the sight of my destroyed lifeline to the outside world. Squeezing the button, I keyed up the mic beeping as it does when a radio transmits. Relief washed over me as I spoke. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.” I calmly said into the mic, then patiently awaited the acknowledgement. The radio was dead quiet. No outside transmissions coming in from the scene or the county. I attempted to call out again, and was met with the same result. Pressing the orange panic button on top of the mic, the radio chirped and said my call out once again. Fear was setting in. Why couldn’t they hear me? Why couldn’t I hear them? How could the panic button not work? It goes directly to the county building and locks out the radio, everyone knows when it has been pressed, yet there was nothing. Pulling it out of it’s pocket, I looked it over. It was intact, on, and had plenty of battery. There were no bars of signal showing though. Shit… I sighed once again, returning it to it’s pouch. While I contemplated my next move, I eyed the ceiling above me. Save for the dust and smoke, everything seemed intact, not resembling anything close to a collapsed floor with the roof on top of it. This was strange. With the unusual occurrences piling up, my mind went else where as I tried to reason everything I was seeing. My eyes traced the lines of the room, looking for any signs of stress on the walls or ceiling. Nothing. As my eyes scanned lower, my breath hitched in my throat. Instinctively I shook my head and rubbed my eyes before doing a double take. There was a pony standing on the far side of the room. A very pink pony. Surely this was the product of trauma inflicted to my head. Or being in an oxygen deficient atmosphere. They say you hallucinate and do weird things when your brain begins to starve for oxygen. Maybe this was truly it, before I pass out and suffocate… My eyes closed as I stood still, waiting for me to lose consciousness. Though nothing happened. I gazed upon the pony after giving up on waiting for my death. Considering the color, and how feminine the pony seemed, it was safe to call her a she. Unlike anything I’d seen before, she was tiny. Her head maybe reached up to my stomach. Her fur was pink, like bubblegum. Her mane and tail were a darker pink, kept in a curly, messy bunch. Upon her hindles, were a trio of balloons, one yellow and two blue. Large blue eyes met mine. Her sides expanded and contracted slowly, her rounded muzzle scrunched up slightly, obviously repulsed by the stench of burnt building. I remained motionless, watching as the pony slowly traversed the heaps of rubble towards me. I was frozen, hoping the pony was something akin to a tyrannosaurus rex, in hopes that it wouldn’t see me if I didn’t move. My eyes remained locked on hers, as I carefully shuffled towards the married set of irons on the floor. In the event that I was mauled by the pink pony, which I was mostly sure was a figment of my imagination, I’d be able to have a fighting chance. The pony stopped mere feet from me, looking up at me with it’s wide eyes. She seemed to connect the dots between the tools on the floor and the look of fear on my face. Cautiously she inched closer, before bumping my gloved hand with her muzzle. Any thought process I had was derailed immediately. I scoffed and raised an eyebrow in confusion, looking intently at the pink pony to make sure I saw her correctly. She displayed no emotion as she bumped my hand again. I turned my hand slowly, palm facing her as she nuzzled under it, letting it roll off of her head. She acted like a dog seeking attention, which had lightened the mood immediately. Her nose was now smudged black from the soot on my gloves. Attempting to save her from the carcinogens on my hands, I removed my gloves and carefully scratched the top of her head with my finger tips. She leaned into my touch, she pushed her head against my hand like a cat. Purring emanated from the pony as I moved to scratch behind it’s ear. Her hind leg began tapping as a goofy look spread across her face, eliciting a chuckle from me. Reality came knocking as I attempted to rationalize the scene before me. My hand was retracted as I lost myself in thought. So there’s a pony before me...that’s pink...and I’m pretty sure I’m suffering from CO poisoning… I had concocted an experiment to test my madness. Focusing back on the pony, her face had returned to a neutral state, as her eyes watched me carefully. I raised my left hand, and waved it side to side, which was re-enacted by the pony perfectly. Moving on, I smiled as wide as I could which was once again mimicked. I leveled my gaze with her, that she also mimicked, before I bursted out making every type of facial expression I could fathom, which she matched in earnest. Eventually the pony was reduced to very girly, bubbly giggles. The laughter coming from the pony alone had thrown the twenty-fifth red flag in the past couple minutes. Venturing deeper, I tentatively found my voice, “Hello?” My eyes widened in horror as the pony took an extremely loud and exaggerated breath. “Hello!” An extremely feminine voice bellowed out, enough to make me stagger back. “Jesus titty-fucking Christ!” I exclaimed much akin to the pony’s voice, I skittered back and slammed into the wall. The impact upon my head made my vision go cloudy as I slowly slouched to the floor. The sound of her voice was the last thing I heard as I fell into the darkness of unconsciousness. “A jes-awhatnow?” The pony asked curiously, in her light hearted voice. PLEASE READ THE QUESTIONS AND PLEASE COMMENT BELOW 1. Do you want me to keep this first person? -At this time it's slightly difficult to write first person, coming from my other stories, while I can make do, I think for ultimate reading enjoyment, I'd switch it to third person 2. Maturity rating? -There is very graphic language and imagery slightly gorey. 3. Would there be any interest in depicting sexual scenes? -While not totally against this, it would have to be in third person for this to happen, I simply refuse to put any reader through first person sex scenes 4. Thoughts? Opinions? -If you have any ideas, I am more than happy to hear from you, be my guest, throw out ideas and I'll consider them. Thanks again!