It was Sunday morning, and, just outside the Inn by Glasgow Place road, Sam waited with tapping foot.
On his fifth full-fledged day in Los Angeles, his surroundings were becoming ordinary, even mundane to him. Was this how an average Los Angelan lived? With the explosive freshness of fame and fortune now gone, now a mundane thing, now a simple fact of life?—that it was a throw-away fact that they’re living in one of the biggest cities in the world?
He saw the “tiny” skyscrapers with their glass and metal walls, the adjacent and rival hotel across Glasgow, and McDonald’s behind him, and it was all getting more familiar than ever. What he still wasn’t used to was the Equestrians roaming around—there, in the sky, argued several pegasi about where to place the cloud one of them was holding. A policegriffon came over to break up the verbal fight, just in time to prevent a physical one.
Then, he saw it in the distance, oncoming from the other side of West Century Boulevard: that dreadful, that recognizable black car slowly nearing him, its grille threatening him with its metal look.
Sam shrugged that uneasy feeling off his shoulders and waved his hand at the car just to be sure.
The car blinked its headlights at him.
Having confirmed that it’s the car, Sam approached it, got inside, and closed the door, back in it once again with the familiar warm seats, the familiar cold air, that familiar smell of lemon…wait, wasn’t it pine trees before?
Flinched at seeing Arthur’s face, but the driver wasn’t looking. He breathed a mental sigh of relief, satisfied that he wasn’t coming off suspicious. For now, at least.
“Extra session?” Arthur asked, now in a husky voice. His sunglasses also seemed a shade darker, failing to mask a few seeping eye bags. “I thought that was it for you. Said so yesterday.”
“Well, I won’t be going as an intern,” Sam replied, preserving a calm and collected aura around him.
Arthur raised a hand in confusion, going on one-hand-steering mode again. “Then, what?” he asked wearily.
Sam felt the tension in that question, as if it was pointed against him. Tried to justify it by thinking about the driver’s haggard features today. Maybe he’d went on a drinking spree after dropping Sam off. Perhaps it’d been a rough night for him, a night that had everything to do with taxi-ing and not with ponifying people at gunpoint.
Sam then answered, “I’m going to sign up for conversion as soon as possible.”
“Right, ye—”
And Arthur let his hand stay in the air. Looked at Sam incredulously with a turn of his head. His body jerked as the car suddenly slowed down. “Did I hear that right?”
Sam nodded, furrowing his brows at the unexpected brake. “Yes...I think.”
Arthur furrowed his brows back at him, hand still on the wheel. “Are you sure? Don’t you know there’s gonna be some...event tomorrow?”
“Which is why I’m doing it now.”
Arthur shook his head and wagged a finger, smiling slyly. “You’re crazy, Sam. You have to wait at least twenty-four hours after your appointment before you can drink the potion.” Then, pointing a fierce hand in the bureau’s direction, “You’ll be smack in the middle of chaos tomorrow!”
“At least I have the choice today,” Sam countered, still kindly enough. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll be who I want to be.”
“That won’t stop the PER from trying,” Arthur shot back brusquely, now head and eyes focused on the road ahead, steering around a long truck. “And what if you get hit anyway? Instant death for you.”
That was enough to silence Sam for a while. He thought of answering with, The police will make sure nothing goes wrong, right? However, there’s always someone who’ll go off the deep end anyway, police or none.
More silence as Arthur continued along the boulevard, the airport now to their left in all its grand glory as airplanes swooped in and out. Pegasi in the air served as aircraft marshals, waving their orange batons right in front of the pilots in their cockpits.
“Just...be careful out there,” Arthur said. “You’re a pretty good fellow, and I don’t want to see you get hurt, OK? I’m just...what was the word?” Snapped his fingers once. Twice. “Worried about it, that’s all. I don’t wanna see your pony corpse on the Tuesday papers.”
Sam tried to keep calm with some subdued laughter, but Arthur glared at him right after. Then, still crossing much of the airport’s length on this boulevard, he asked, “Is it because of your contacts? With both sides?”
“Y-Yeah,” Arthur quickly quipped, fingers twitching on the steering wheel. It’s a very breakable balance.” Gesturing with his free hand, “You get some experience in both parties, and I get bits of insider knowledge—nothing too major—but it’s dangerous.” A pause as he grunted, wrecking his head with deadly possibilities. “If both of them find out, I’ll be toast.”
Sam nodded, maintaining that polite facade. In reality, he remembered Julia’s drunken words: Chances are he’s gonna bail on me if they put him under the gun. “But, I assume you have everything under control? You seem like a smart person.”
Arthur looked back, glancing at where Sam’s ID used to be. “Smart? Yes. Wise?” He smirked, teeth glimmering under the sunlight. “I’ll get back to you.”
Thus, the ride continued.
After coming in the bureau for three days straight, it felt...different to see it once again, especially knowing that he’s not coming to clock in for work. In fact, he felt butterflies in his belly: seeing familiar faces shuffling inside, happily interacting with one another and even sharing a laugh but without him there.
That’s not to mention the bureau’s own characteristics: its glass facade, its silky fifties-retro style. Also: the flower boxes, courtesy of Key Note, just sitting on the sidewalk doing nothing.
He gave Arthur a farewell, but noted that he stayed a good ten seconds or so before leaving. He could barely see past the tint, but in his brief glimpse, he saw Arthur looking at the bureau, painstakingly scrutinizing the interior for some time.
Then, he drove off, blending in with the march of cars wheeling down the road.
Now left to his own devices, Sam entered through the glass doors, and was greeted with colder air and the return of friendly waves and smiles. Hello!’s and Good to see you again!’s took the reins, with everyone lighting up to re-welcome this intern they’d thought they’d never see again. Dark Roast waved her hoof at him while brewing some espresso. The salesdeer and saleschangeling beckoned him in with a look at their wares, with the deer saying, “I could even deliver whatever plant you want right by myself!”
“You’re stressing yourself out!” cued the changeling, nudging the deer on the back.
Away from those two: There was Paraffin by the receptionist’s desk, carrying a briefcase and wearing a hat. She was finishing her last day at the bureau residences, about to go back home and take care of Georgina for the foreseeable future.
How did he deduce all of that? Why, Paraffin was being very chatty with the griffon receptionist.
Then, before Sam took a few more steps towards her, Paraffin flew over to him with a tip of the hat and a big if scary fanged smile. “Ah, it’s you, Sam!” and shook his hand with her claw, not anticipating Sam to recoil at having his hand squeezed so tight. “Didn’t expect to see you again!”
“Didn’t expect to see you, too,” Sam said replied weakly, holding his long-awaited Ow! inside as best as he could. Then, with a raised brow, and out of a bit of smugness, “I see you’re heading out, miss.”
“Of course, I am!” she said, spreading her scaly arms open to further display her briefcase and let her hat shine. “Anyone with half a brain could see that!”
He felt backed into a corner with that, but he had another card up his sleeve: “Ah, getting haughty like the teenagers you used to rant on, huh?”
“I heard that!” yelled a teenage griffon without looking, busy with messaging some friends on her phone as she sat in the lounge.
Paraffin rolled her eyes and softened her smile. “Now you’re just desperate, Sam.”
He instinctively raised his hands in surrender. “Alright! You win!”
She held a claw to her mouth and, in her best imitation of her old voice, “This isn’t a contest, sonny!”
It was at this point in time that Sam slumped his shoulders and gave up on one-upping this elderly—no, this young adult of a dragon. The score of chuckles and snickers against him only solidified his surrender. He raised his arms, only to drop them again and say, “OK, you got me. You got me. You can gloat all over me if you have to.” He then sealed his losing fate by resting on the glass wall despite conventional advice that you should never let rest your weight on a glass wall.
Instead of gloating her victory over him, however, Paraffin shook her head. She folded her wings, making herself look less threatening, and then said, “How’re you doing?”
That caught him by surprise. “Um...good? How...about you?”
Everyone else laughed at this awkward moment before the two moved on to more traditional small talk. How’s the weather? Did the gemburger taste good? What did he think about wearing fuzzy slippers on dragon feet?
Then, as they began exchanging farewells, Paraffin leaned close to his ears. He couldn’t see it, but her lips bent into a little frown. She whispered, “Georgina hasn’t sent a letter since last we talked. She may have gotten sick, but she would’ve texted me or notified the bureau about her condition.”
Sam pursed his lips, somewhat thrown off by Georgina’s supposed state. “I don’t think it’s hard to write a letter when you’re sick”
“Tsk! Tsk!” and she loomed her head over him, stretching her long neck out. “Looks like you’ve only had diarrhea and cold your whole life. You don’t know how hard it is to focus when you have tuberculosis!”
Sam wanted to retort, but he tried to remember the last time he had any major disease. Less than a second later, it was clear to him: she was right. No bad memories with any bad diseases except the usual whinings against vaccine-holding doctors back when he was seven. He felt a touch of guilt for being relatively healthy most of the time—and also a lot more guilty for being talked down to by a “young adult”.
“Well, Sam,” smiling some more, “it’s been nice seeing you, but I want to see for myself is she’s alright.”
“OK, miss! See—”
Couldn’t say ‘ya since she flew past him and took off to the sky, keeping a tight hold on her briefcase so that she wouldn’t drop it.
And that was all for him and the dragon.
Then, Sam adapted himself to everyone’s warm demeanors. Indeed, it was great to have him back, even for just a few minutes’ time.
His next move was to go to the reception desk and meet the pony behind the counter. She was busy fixing the service bell with her tools, but she had the kindness to stop and say, “Hey! Good to see you again!”
“Aww!” and Sam rested his shoulder on the counter. “Well, good to see you again as well! As for me, I’d like to request an appointment with Canter Crowhop. A conversion appointment, to be more specific—and I think she told you about this already….”
It’d been a happy moment to see Crowhop again, especially when she burst out of the hallway, galloped to Sam, and lunged at him for a hug, only for a couple unicorn guards to levitate her mid-air. Hugs were nice, but sending Sam to the hospital wasn’t worth the risk.
After Crowhop had calmed down, she and Sam walked down the hallways together. He could not, for even one second, look away from Crowhop who was rambling on the state of the bureau, how everyone’s been doing, how Dark Roast and her coffee bar was going to expand with new Fall options, how she got to meet Applejack on her Saturday day-off, why oranges are definitely better than apples—
Crowhop bumped into the office door with an “Ouch!” and fell to the floor, rubbing her sore horn. Breathed in a gulp of air, and then, sheepishly looking up at Sam with a flustered smile: “Heh-heh!”
He smiled back and looked down, leaning forward to get a better look. “You need aspirin?”
They both laughed at that as they entered her office.
As usual, it was crammed with photos and lists with that sharp clinical smell as usual, but it was slightly more organized. He could see more of the walls, for one. In fact, he could finally tell their color: pink. They’d been pink all along and the photos had all obscured it before.
Instead of sitting behind the table, Crowhop levitated her chair and placed it right in front of that furniture, setting it right across the other chair.
“Have a seat!” she chirped, patting her own chair with her hoof.
So, Sam sat down, feeling a little relaxed from enduring Crowhop’ nonstop onslaught of words in the hallways.
Then, Crowhop hopped up to sit down, too.
She grabbed some papers from the table, flipped through them with her glowing lime magic, all while humming and bobbing her head. She put them aside on the surface, mumbling, “Not gonna need those….”
Wondering why they wouldn’t need those papers, he craned his head and saw the top page. He recognized the big stylized words on it: A Friendly Guide on What Species to Be. The same papers from which he got the photos from for his appointees like Lacque, the same papers he’d read and reviewed on the flight to Los Angeles, the same papers he’d seen an online copy of on the website for the Inter-Dimensional Conversion Bureau Organization before all of that.
“So, have you thought long and hard about it beforehoof—I mean, beforehand?” and she smiled, ears flattening at her tongue slipping.
Sam took this question to ponder on his decision. He leaned an elbow on his knee, imitating a certain thinker. “Probably, but not enough.”
Crowhop chuckled. There it was again: that cute, sickeningly cute chuckle that only a magic colorful pony could pull off. “Surely, you didn’t start thinking about it when you landed here, did you? That’d be really bad!” before she blushed, hoping that she didn’t offend her former volunteer. Cleared her throat, then: “What about back in St. George, back in that tall state?”
“Tall state?” He cocked his head. “You mean Utah?”
“‘Cause I’m taller, you know!” and snickered at her joke.
While Sam let her simmer down from her own humor, he proceeded to continue thinking about it, becoming silent in his contemplation.
His mind raced back to the news of that explosive first contact with Equus: about a portal ripping apart the fabric of time and space or something like it. Both sides had been wonderfully surprised at the other’s existence, but there’d been no time to celebrate their extra-dimensional neighbors.
He’d watched the news in his house, the whole thing breaking as he’d been throwing a small birthday party for a friend. Reports of a what humans and Equestrians alike had been calling “the Veil” were spreading fast, about this thing moving in on Hawaii at about six or seven kilometers per day.
Panic had ensued: Anarchy and burning cars had showed up en masse in Honolulu. Presidents and prime ministers and monarchs had tried to reassure everyone that it’ll be solved. New info on this new magical dimension had been punctuated with updates on the Veil’s reach along with estimates as to when it’ll make landfall on Hawaii.
In those ominous hours, at least there was hope. At least there was a shot, a chance, that it could be reversed. Dozens of ponies and other Equestrians had told the press that the Elements of Harmony and the Princesses had saved their world before; this would just take a little longer, they said. In those ominous hours, at least everyone could dream of what’d happen after the Veil had been vanquished: proper good times with each other, living in harmony and what not.
A short joint-effort research trip to the Veil later, the death knell had rung: It was an unstoppable force. It was an inter-dimensional breach. It couldn’t be fixed by Equestrian mix nor by human technology.
It would never stop. Never until it’d crossed all of Earth, transforming the whole planet into a magical world just like Equestria.
He’d remembered how everyone stared at the screen, faces frozen like they’d seen an assassination live on the news. Even the birthday man, who’d supposed to be the happiest of them all, had been coming from the kitchen, saying, “Got you all some of that bacon popcorn!” before dropping his bowl when he saw that the Veil couldn’t be stopped.
“Looks like you haven’t thought about it that much, have you?” Crowhop asked.
“I did,” Sam said, half-lying through his teeth as he picked himself back up to the present. “It’s just that I didn’t expect to have an appointment right here. It’s a lot closer to the Veil than the Rocky Mountains.”
“Because Utah’s more inland, you thought you could stay safe longer,” she surmised, scratching her pink chin and then her snout. “I understand that, because it’s true. But, you can’t wait forever. You know that.”
Sam showed a fake smile, or, rather, a coping smile. It felt patronizing to have this pony hammer home to him that, yes, he couldn’t run away from the Veil until Time Zero. “I thought...well, since we’re not on the West Coast, we could hold on a little longer. Can’t have everyone be a pony or whatever right now...there wouldn’t be enough magitek to run around for us at St. George or even Salt Lake.”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Crowhop reminded. “Maybe worry a little, but that’s a job for others. We could even give you some money to buy an Equestria-fit computer and phone, if you want.”
Sam sighed. He looked at his watch once more, each second ticking by another second to wait for before he took the potion the next day. Dangerous thoughts of riots, burning riots, came to mind—of being gunned down by HLF machine gun-wielding psychos or being forcibly ponified by potion-throwing PER lunatics. Already, he was mentally mapping out the bureau as he knew it, finding an escape route if he was in the conversion room, the anteroom, the hallway, the lobby, the rooftop—
“Uh, hello?”
And Sam yoinked himself out of his planning craze, looking at Crowhop waving a concerned hoof in front of his face.
“Yoo-hoo? Canter to Henry, do you read?”, still waving the hoof in front of him, bending her forelegs like wavy pretzels.
“Oh,” and he thoughtlessly fixed his sleeves and his collar. “Sorry about that, ma’am—I mean, Crowhop!”, happy that she didn’t shoot a glare at him for acting all formal again. “ I was… I was just thinking about—”
“Tomorrow?” guessed the pony, angling her head at him.
Sam sat still as a stone. Refused to move at all, to betray any sudden moves.
“We’ve already talked about this last night,” she continued soberly, slowly stretching a hoof forward. “We’ll do it as fast and as safe as possible. If things get bad, we’ll transport you and the rest somewhere else. If things get really bad—” shivered at the thought of what that “really bad” situation could be “—I’ll just text or send a letter.”
Sam nodded, showing mundane acknowledgment. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s OK,” she cut in, pulling her chair forward to be closer, to give off that tender impression of understanding. “I know you’re afraid.”
Placed a hoof on her chest. Shuddered as she looked at the door.
Half-expecting someone to burst through the door to shoot them both.
“I’m afraid, too.”
Silence returned, with only the whir the AC unit hanging above them. The cold air in this cramped office, in this list- and picture-dominated office, felt heavier now to Sam. Her shuddering look had given him pause, almost made him half-expect that imaginary killer. What did he have? Some pepper spray in his pocket, and that was all.
“OK,” and he raised his head. Breathed in, breathed out. Rubbed his nose, then scratched it. Scratched his neck, too, because it’s itchy. “Let’s get this over with, Crowhop. I don’t to delay this any longer.”
Sam expected her to giggle or even just smile at “doing the right thing” or however he thought it. To his surprise, Crowhop retained her no-nonsense behavior, taking a peek at the friendly guide on the table. She levitated to a random page, skimmed a line, then returned it to the stack, eyes resting on the hardbound version right at the other end.
She then asked, “So...first choice that comes to mi—”
“Pegasus.”
Her ears perked up. “That was...quick.” Those ears withered back to their normal stance. She then examined his face from her seated position, slightly tilting her head. “What made you say that?”
Sam leaned back on his chair, grimacing at his mistake. He slapped the backrest. “Actually...don’t turn me into a pegasus. I said it because...” tried to look out the window only to realize there was no window in this room, “it’d be a nice surprise for my Mom and Dad over at Equestria.”
“Aww!” and Crowhop raised her forehooves to her lips, looking over him with big eyes and their expanded, shiny irises. “That’s so touching!
He put up a devious smile, knowing she’d have to erase that cute face. “Heartwarming, yes, but I’m afraid of heights, so….”
But what he got was a pony covering her snout, trying to hold in her laughter in an effort to respect his acrophobia. Closed her eyes, barely holding it in now.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!” Sam insisted ironically, then shaking his head, now that he’d made himself a laughingstock. He could see the headlines: New Foal Pegasus Afraid of Heights! What was this Man Thinking?
“Sorry!” she yelled, mirthful crowing dying down, taking in deep breaths to regain oxygen and composure, “but...well,” wiped her face clean of joyfl tears with a hankerchief—”well, we’re...we’re not gonna pressure you.” She levitated a water bottle to drink from it, refreshing her throat that’d been dry from the well-meaning jest. “If you’re comfortable being a pony, you still have the choices of Earth pony and unicorn.”
Sam was caught tapping the table with his fingers. That sign of impatience, that sign of Yeah, I know this stuff ‘cause I read it. Can we get to the actual consultation part or what? but the other part of his mind told him to not rush. Don’t rush. Never rush, especially with one’s future at stake.
He looked at his hands. The nightmare flashed back to his mind, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m...not so sure about that....about being a pony.”
Crowhop sighed, also looking at his hand for a while. “Yes. I understand that losing your hands and your fingers wouldn’t be easy. I’m not going to hide it. But—” raised her hoof so that she could show it to Sam more clearly, “hear me out: we ponies are where we are now without hands and fingers.”
Sam raised his head at that. That caught his attention.
“I know you know,” she went on more slowly, “but….”
Trailed off, chuckling at herself and glancing to the side.
“I apologize for sounding like a bad telemarketer or whatever you call them, but,” relaxing her shoulders and then rubbing her cheek, “in the end, what’s the difference between your society and ours?” Counting on her hoof—although Sam didn’t know how that worked—“We got homes, families, schools, offices, fashion, culture, technology...in many ways, we’re just like you and you’re just like us, despite how different we are. We even speak the same language,” and then looked to the side “—or, one of them, at least.”
The differences were profound, weren’t it? Hooves and hands, eagles and griffons, a world only half-discovered and a world all-uncovered thanks to satellites. The list could go on. However, it’s the similarities that’d always catch his attention in those early, foreboding days of first contact, of getting to know each—
But, he wrested his attention to the watch, to the time. A morning’s eight-fifteen. He looked at Crowhop, her figure the object against the wall of countless photos of Equestrian old times and Earth new times. He asked, “Do you know when tomorrow's protests start?”
Crowhop glanced at his watch, too “Same as our opening hours, so seven AM...officially speaking.” She looked at the door once more. “I won’t be surprised if they’ll set up camp tonight. Probably won’t be a lot, but they sure are dedicated to the cause.”
Still, he himself had enough talk about riots and protests and escape plans. He didn’t want to ask about what the security measures would be, if the police would be called in at what time—that’d lengthen the conversation, kick back his transformation five minutes or fifty. “So, remind me the choices again...?”
Crowhop’s ears perked again. “You’re not going to think about the other two Pony Tribes?”
“Unicorn’s magic magic, Earth pony’s plant and pony magic,” he replied lazily, holding out two fingers to represent the whole gamut of those two tribes.
Skid! as Crowhop pulled her chair forward again, this time with the aid of her “magic magic”. With a lowered brow and a jaw hanging open, “Sam, are you alright?”
“Ye—no,” and the transition had been quick. Beneath the snazzy casual clothes he’d donned for the occasion, Sam was sweating. It was cold, air-conditioned cold, even icy cold for his hands. He wasn’t supposed to sweat, but there he was: cold sweat forming in tiny droplets on his palm. That parade of smiles came back to his mind’s ey—
“Sam?” Crowhop asked, now getting concerned. “There is something wrong, isn’ there?”
Said nothing. He said nothing. He stared at her for a while, then gave a slow nod.
Crowhop was taken aback by this. She clutched her chest, as if her heart would break. “What is it?!”
Sam sat straight. Rubbed his eyes with his cold hands, let his eyes wake up with those cold hands. That nightmare still chilled his bones, but he fought through it to say, “I...I had something the other night.”
Crowhop gasped. “You went sick?!”
Sam blinked, confused by the suggestion. “Uh, if I was sick, I don’t think I’d be here.”
She shrugged. “A guess as good as any!” Then, going back to serious mode with her serious face: “Back to business: Tell me what happened. It’s got to do with that binging session, right?”
“Not really,” he replied, letting his arm rest on the table. “The drinks started it, but...I had this dream.”
“Did you get to meet Princess Luna?!” she shouted suddenly.
Sam was floored silent. Princess Luna? As far as he knew, the Princess of the Night had never intruded a human’s dreamscape. “No, she didn’t.”
“Then, what was it?” prodded the pony, leaning forward in place with that perturbed face.
“I...I...OK, in this dream,” hands outstretched, moving around to illustrate, “I got kidnapped, talked down by the Uber guy I’ve been with through most of my stay here, got injected and became a pony out of nowhere.”
“That’s terrible!” yelped Crowhop, hooves to both her cheeks. “Good thing it’s just a dream, right?”
“It was a dream,” he repeated, “but I’m afraid it might become true one way or another.” He looked at the door just like Crowhop, treating the door like the window to the outside.
It was silent yet again. The silence between the two was deafening, revealing snippets of Sam’s worrisome reverie.
“Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly, pulling her chair forward one more time to pat his knee. “We’ll make sure that’ll never happen. We’ll protect everyone here, we’ll keep them safe. If you’re still not sure, I’ve already asked for more police presence,” and levitated her phone into view to prove she wasn’t lying.
Sam nodded, breathing becoming easier. He was now a good distance away from hyperventilation. “Good, good...just wanted to get it off my chest.”
Then, Crowhop touched the stack of papers before levitating the book version of the friendly guide to her eyes. “So...let’s get to the rest, shall we? Ooh! I almost forgot!” With shimmering eyes, “Would you like to be a bat pony? We’ll receive our next batch of it tonight!”
“Nah, I’m not much of a night person,” he reasoned out. “Don’t think I can stand being nocturnal. Not after what I’d pulled off last Friday.”
Crowhop merely spread out her cheeks, attesting to that. With her magic, she flipped through the pages, speed reading so many sections of material and pictures. Then, she closed the book, only to open it once more. “Let’s try to narrow it to down, shall we?”
This session went on for close to an hour more.
Knock! Knock!
It was already nighttime. Past early evening, approaching midnight back in Sam’s hotel room where he’s found writing something on the table.
After the appointment, he’d decided to hang around a dozen more minutes in the bureau, preferring to keep quiet about his decision with everyone else but Crowhop and his designated pony therapist. He’d had a fun time playing a sort of scheming mastermind, having a quarter of the lobby try to guess his choice and never telling whether they were getting hotter or colder.
What happened after he’d bidden farewell, he wasn’t exactly sure. He knew he traveled to a couple more places in the city and enjoyed a couple more attractions. But, after fulfilling that honeymoon buzz on Saturday, it was all just a mishmash of cool memories beginning to jumble in his mind’s collection.
It was all tomorrow’s fault.
That day came ever closer. The twenty-four hours would soon be drained, to be done at nine the next day.
He’d expected a grand finale to his final human hours. A great party with his friends was a cool idea. However, it was quite unfortunate for him not having enough money to send his friends over from Utah. Even with the cheap airline tickets these days, there was still the question of paying for a place to stay, footing the restaurant bills, making sure no one would get injected with pony serums by taxi drivers….
Knock! Knock!
“Who is it?” he asked gruffly, sounding rough in his near-midnight state.
“I’m the mailmare!” a cute voice declared.
Sam scribbled the final line, left the ballpen on the table, put the phone in his pocket, inserted the letter neatly in the envelope, closed it to seal it, stood up from his chair, and walked to the door.
He opened it.
Saw a gray pegasus standing outside, wearing her uniform of brown cap and shirt. That saddle bag of letters and packages was slung around her torso, the strap not hindering her wings.
Sam refrained from using the traditional greetings he knew; one “How are you?” to a pony could lead to a never-ending conversation. He had a letter to send, and he wasn’t awake enough to keep up with such a chat. “Send this to 31 Bulb Onion Street, Amble, please.”
The mare saluted him. “Will do!”
She grabbed the letter with her wing and zipped off.
Once she was out of sight, he closed the door.
Now, alone in his room. No noise at all. Just him and his bed, him and his scent of pine trees, him and his phone.
Sam took out his phone. Turned it on.
Saw the final draft he’d written down on the paper.
Dear Mom and Dad,
How are you faring over there in Equestria? I hope you’re doing fine and not going on dangerous magical adventures.
I’m going to the bureau one more time tomorrow. I’m not sure when you’ll receive it, but I’ll probably not be my old self anymore when you read this.
I’ve done my best to think it through. Maybe I still need more time, but I truly don’t know. What matters is that I trust I’ve made the right decision, and I’m sure you’ll trust me on that.
My plan is to return home on the Wednesday flight, work at the bakery again, and visit you come Christmas time. Or Hearth’s Warming. I’m still used to calling it Christmas.
See you soon. I love you both so much.
From your to-be unicorn son,
Sam
That was that. He didn’t cry, he didn’t smile. In the face of possible impending doom, he’d locked his fate.