I heard a snap and felt a strange vertigo, like you get looking into a nauseating funhouse mirror; it warped my view of the creature, the buildings around him, and the sky of pink and grey clouds until they became twirly. My stomach flip-flopped and I felt my heart throb in my throat. For an instant, it felt like every inch of my body was pulled outward, then thrust back in, like bread dough being folded and punched down.
The frightened little voice previously inside me wrested control of my vocal cords and I shrieked. My heart raced. I found my wings beating in a blur as I streaked upward over the roof tops, flying as far away as I could get from the living nightmare.
Flying upside down.
The new voice inside, which replaced the old scared voice now in control, insisted I calm myself, that I ignore the panic that flooded my emotions, that I turn back immediately. Ponies needed help!
It failed to turn me.
There was the part of me that felt too much fear to think, which caused me to flee, and the part that told me to think of how the equally scared ponies felt, which I ignored. Scary but refreshing selfishness made me feel astonishingly normal, except that I whirly-gigged through the air, my wings flapping and legs pedaling, my body trying to fly with the buildings above me and the sky below, and each time I tried to compensate...
I dipped toward the roof of Town Hall, barely missing the finial atop it, my nose passing a hoof-length from the red shingles. I veered right, which was left, and down, which was up, skimming the grass, unable to slow down because everything I did went opposite my intention. I avoided a window across the street by sheer luck and got a face full of thatch as I streaked skyward. All the while, a babble of words streamed from my mouth like I had lost my mind.
That this was probably true for many at the moment tortured me and got me to loop back from the edge of town. I saw buildings floating upside down, the dirt formerly below them like roots pointing at the sky but dropping clods and stones, each a lethal bomb. The lawns and hills turned one after another into a crazy-quilt of fabric patterns, unimaginatively mostly checkerboards, but I did see a few paisleys that wriggled like fever-dream tadpoles.
Then it began to rain.
Something... eww, brown. I twisted midair and dived, a new panic trying to form in my already fear-wracked heart.
I got splashed in the face. Cocoa?
I smacked into a cloud and found myself covered in gooey sticky pink spun sugar that fought against the lift of my primaries and secondaries. Despite the desperation that drove me, I had to slow.
That allowed me to look around, avoid a red tile roof and dodge another covered in golden thatching. I still ricocheted through an open window across a bedroom where a pony hid beneath a brown woolen blanket and out the, thankfully open, opposite window. I touched the frame with the edge of my right wing, though; the candy floss stuck just enough that it set me spinning downward.
I flared my wings and landed hooves down on a street turned into a pastel blue and pink linoleum checkerboard. Trying to stay standing proved tricky. My twitchy muscles betrayed me. I fell on my left side, knocking the air out of my lungs. Despite my grunting and kicking against it, I found myself hooves up. Sugary pink goo made me a fly stuck to flypaper.
"Bloody Tartarus!" burst out of my mouth, followed by a string of Trotter invective that I'd always listened to carefully when Dad swore, but had never had the nerve to repeat.
No, I won't relate what I said.
The sun sank abruptly, instantly replaced by a crescent moon. Contrarian me spooked, but the combination of being hooves up and pasted to the linoleum road prevented me from springing into the sky.
I lay there instead, shrieking.
My eyes ached I held them so wide. My heart raced and I beat my wings against the ground for the many seconds it took for the impulse to pass.
Into my temporary submission—puffing, wings knackered and aching, throat burnt raw—I spoke.
"Did that really help any?" I heard my inside-out (or rather my outside suddenly inside) Nightmare Moon-inspired cold voice of reason.
The rest of me cried, tears running across my forehead, through my mane, and dripping to the street. In a sob, my emotional self answered, "N-no."
"Can we think this out?"
"Can we just leave? It's too scary here! I want to go home!"
My split-mind came together in an oddly balanced virtual pop. We—I yelled, "Mum and Dad!"
Thanks to the pooling of a sudden cocoa downpour dissolving the sugar securing me to the road, a renewed frantic-yet-controlled pulling and wiggling freed me.
"Do the opposite," I admonished my other-self out loud as my emotional side hesitated, quickly preened and threw me into the air again.
"Right, left," I said, over and over, fighting the need to tilt. "Right, left left." Never quite getting it correct, frightening myself over and over as I careered toward lamp posts and chimneys, I gave in and flew upside down. It made the flying less of a battle, which allowed me to find some calm. I still had to make vocal course corrections, but the internal war between the opposing domains of my mind refused to ease until I let something happen I'd never let happen before.
I began to sing—and "I" liked it.
It wasn't that the untransformed "me" didn't like singing. It was, well... I called her Shy for a reason. That whole having immigrated from Trottingham thing, the family having gone from being peasants to lower class maids and janitors. I had an ingrained dislike of being looked down upon and hadn't wanted to explain the word peasant to my Equestrian school mates. I didn't want to be noticed—and singing seemed a bit, well, demonstrative.
And, okay, yes Equestria is a friendly place. I could have taken the chance. I didn't because...
I didn't think my singing voice was any good. That voice now rang out and it didn't suck. Was I going to do everything I'd previously suppressed?
An image of an electric-blue-maned white colt appeared in my mind and my heart skipped beats. I swerved around Sugar Cube corner, now floating in my path, as his name, Ghost Zapper, came to me. Really a brill example of unicorn horse-flesh he was, and I'd really fancied him in my junior year, writing poetry and finding songs I was sure he'd like to hear that might make him dance with me. Figuratively, I mean, not figuratively. The senior had graduated.
I really hoped I didn't run into him in this chaos. It might be really embarrassing to explain why I was suddenly snogging him, especially under the circumstances!
The thought of him and me together seemed to clarify the resolve of my other half, so I wasn't going to fight that. Unless we—I found him.
Suddenly, I noticed I wasn't alone. Above me on the streets (okay technically below but bear with me), I saw ponies staring agape. Town Hall rose into the sky. The clock tower, big red tongues having replaced the hands on the clock, herded the bigger building around like a shepherd dog.
As my cloud of panic lifted in pieces, I recollected seeing dancing buffalos, probably the transformed ballet ponies revised from before, and stilt-legged antelope-rabbits, amongst other crazy things perpetuated in the name of "fun." How pony-like to stare at the bizarre.
I tried shouting to run, but it didn't come out and it interrupted the rhythm of my wingbeats. I spent long seconds correcting right-wing dominant whirly-gigging again.
How could I warn them?
Right. Singing.
I hit upon Fly Away!, a simple trap-y future-bass number by New Canter Soundmachine, a song covered by too many artists; it had few words, but I knew them well.
That my staid half wanted to sing appealed well to my emotional half. I sang, "I have ta fly... I have ta fly us... here, there, n' evvv-ver-ry-where." And as I did, finding harmony in chaos, I succeeded in flying in a straight line.
Albeit upside down. Abrupt stomach-churning yawing disabused me of perfection. I nevertheless looped back, dive-bombing the impromptu audience staring at the horror midtown. Not only did I sing the lyrics, I beatboxed the high-tops popping with the beat in my head, clacking my bronze-shod hooves, and even filled in the slack between phrases of the song with the almost meowed secondary voice that mirrored the main lyrical line.
With the cobble road hoof-lengths from my eyes, I swept away from the civic center. Ponies screamed and spooked, and ran from my on-coming flight. They scattered in the right direction, thankfully not to inside the houses but down the street. I swooped up and back into the sky.
That I succeeded so well in scaring ponies made me wonder if I'd turned into a monster. A glance at my legs and my wings showed pony legs and pegasus wings. The tail waving behind me trailed long mop-like dark hair, not writhing snakes. The sun came up, went down, and came up in quick succession. In the improved light, I slowed while passing glass storefronts. I saw myself swimming through the air on my back; only my straw-yellow fur looked a soiled white. My black mane had turned the drab grey of the soiled mop I wielded most afternoons helping my parents clean other pony's places. I looked as if powdered in ash—it was like seeing somepony in the depressing light of a very stormy day.
I wove through streets, trying to get my bearings amongst houses turned to things like candy canes, umbrella stands, and sand castles. Others waved like flags or looked like deflated balloons. I saw no rhyme or reason to it, or why half the thatched alpine-style houses stood unmolested, even when some hovered upside-down unchanged. I swooped up over a roof, high enough to figure out where the monster roamed, and down what I thought was probably my street. Twice, I had to charge bewildered transfixed ponies to get them running out of town.
I spotted our house, a little one-story featuring an eyebrow dormer that streamed light into the converted attic where I had my room. All the shutters stood open. I hoped that was a good thing. I looked in each window, including the half-round one upstairs into my room. I was singing, Search'n for Somepony. "Life means nothin' 'less I've got somepony ta love! / Search'n, search'n, search'n for some somepony who'll show me where you 'ave gone..."
I had no doubt Mum and Dad would hear me. They'd hear me a block away, belting it out as I was. They weren't home. They'd probably been out working.
I hoped that was a good thing.
Not seeing me like this was a good thing.
I heard voices as I flew away. I followed my perked ears in a direction that was away from where I'd last seen the monster. A few blocks down, I recognized branches over the rooftops and spotted the Golden Oak library. Some ponies argued loudly.
Joy! Another dozen ponies to scare toward the edge of town!
As I crested a roof ridge, I gasped, halted, and settled near a chimney which had a flat area for the chimney sweep to work upon. Laying on my back, I saw a very obviously annoyed purple mare leading a familiar white, yellow, pink, orange, and sky-blue mare, all of whom had been greyed as had I: Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony. I knew something was wrong by the way Pinkie Pie kept getting in the other's faces about laughing at her. The leggy fashion model pony... Fluttershy—she kept saying things, some shockingly unprintable things that I shan't repeat here (either).
And then there was the boulder the dressmaker carried on her back!
They all entered the library, after Fluttershy first trampled the bushes. I decided to leave when the dressmaker and Twilight Sparkle began arguing about bringing the rock inside despite the door not being wide enough.
Twilight Sparkle still looked purple, likely unaffected by the monster.
If there was one thing I'd heard, Twilight Sparkle never failed. She and her friends had battled, conquered, and transformed Princess Nightmare Moon into Princess Luna. In my state, there was nothing I'd be able to do to help Ponyville's librarian and notorious do-gooder. I lifted off, or rather flopped myself over and slid down the roof to launch myself spiraling into the sky. I found myself again singing.
I looked forward to convincing—okay, spooking—more ponies to flee to safety.
It was kinda fun.
And, so long as I wasn't getting near the monster, my two halves remained in accord.
The insane transformations swiftly became difficult to witness, though, as I encountered more and more of what the monster wrought. It didn't disturb me so much to see post boxes circling fire hydrants like puppy dogs and trees inching around on their sides like colossal caterpillars. Such aberrations pleased my emotional side enough that she remembered a song about trees.
No, what disgusted me were things like a purple mare shivering in the street, sneezing, her house knocked over like a house of cards. Worse was Diamond Tiara*. I recognized my snooty lower classmate. One could wonder what dissonance in her soul merited the monster turning her into a drooling slack-slipped pegasus who continually flipped her lips with a hoof and babbled. It wasn't the only desecration I witnessed, but, in the temporary moonlight, it broke something in me.
We cried.
We became very angry.
We flew midtown. I didn't think it was a good idea and expected she would turn tail and flee screaming when I saw the monster.
We didn't flee.
He sat upon a red high-backed throne amidst moon shadows. Sparkles of evaporating magic orbited his pink and blue crazy-quilt hill. His chicken claw held a glass containing one of those umbrella drinks adults thought cute or tasty or both. (They were neither—I'd sipped my share I'd found cleaning Berry Punch's house and other places.)
He lifted his dark sunglasses and glanced at me.
"Oh, you."
He lowered his glasses. He made a snapping sound with his grey wolf's paw and the sun rose. Having transformed me, I no longer interested him.
That made me even more angry.
I wanted to yell; she wanted to sing, but she couldn't get the words out. She couldn't remember a song sufficiently derogatory. (Regarding sad songs and country-pony songs, not a fan.)
Unless we harmonized our intent, we'd never get our point across. We didn't want to be just an annoying buzzing fly. We wanted to be a wasp—with a stinging tongue.
Surely, Twilight Sparkle would soon defeat the monster. About resigned to return to pony spooking, an idea formed in our frustration. Why did we have to sing other ponies' songs?
Circling a demonstratively dangerous, egregiously equine, dragon-like demon at thirty pony-length wasn't exactly conducive to creative song-smithing. How could I come up with a rhyme, let alone meter? I had remembered the after-school class Cheerilee had held on eloquence and elocution a few weeks ago for creative ponies from all grades. The youngest was Sweetie Belle. I was joined by Red Pencil, the editor of the Foal Free Press, and Grammar Book who'd already published a few short stories. Mum and Dad had always insisted on my knowing my letters. I always got high marks on essays. Cheerilee had discussed hyperbole, polyptotons, and other rhetorical tools. Alliteration seemed the thing for this, especially because of one purple pony I expected to see rampaging soon.
"Purple prose presents plain perfection," came out when I tried in a whisper. My grin grew and I chuckled evilly. I circled behind the throne and dived.
"Pretty purple pony persists!" I belted out, sing-song, gliding upside-down hoof-lengths over his mismatched horn and antler.
He gasped and jumped up as I made a hard right bank and whirled around him.
I warned, "Purple persists, promenades, porting pernicious punishments. Pause permanently promptly!"
His snaggletoothed head turned and followed me with a queasy disregard for the articulation of his neck.
"Per-per-pernicious pa-pa-punishments," I sung at his face with such plosive vigor I could not help but spit in his eyes. "Personality purr purr personally pleased!" I added.
His lower lip crept under his front teeth, then he smiled. "Low wit! How perfectly chaotic!"
"Patently pedagogic," I returned as he let me sputter on him yet again, but this time with better aim. I flared my wings and tried to hover. And succeeded—mind you, hovering on my back, a hoof-length from his delighted face. He wasn't admiring me, just the chaotic craftwork I represented. "Pathological persistence probabilities populating purple pony pressure punishment. Placation? Pummeling probably."
His face visibly glistened. I could not help but laugh. He laughed, too, deranged beyond any comprehension of the scorn I heaped upon him, or the warning of his fate in my "low wit."
All because.
I really liked my emotional self suddenly. She was pretty cool suggesting this tiny bit of evil. Did two evils make a good?
"Pugnacity presages perdition plus purple pony purgatory!" I bellowed like a metal singer. I fluttered my wings in his face, flipped and zipped over his head, not missing my opportunity to buck the back of his throne. It fell over, and so did he. He proceeded to roll on the strangely carpeted ground, laughing his flank off at an imagined joke.
I pumped my wings hard and I sang There's Nopony. "There's nopony (nopony else) / who loves me (loves me more) / Takes me high / Takes me higher than you (nopony!) ..."
I crested the closest roofline, unwilling to press my luck. I flew loop-de-loops and then anyway. Back to pony spooking!
...I didn't get far.