//------------------------------// // The Stallion in the Mirror // Story: The Slow Transformation of Oliver Sanderson // by libertydude //------------------------------// The flight back home was as mundane as expected. Shorter lines, given the oncoming Conversion caused many to think twice about traveling, but otherwise no different than any other flight. I tried to spend the flight either sketching or reading a copy of Walden I’d brought, but the seat was too cramped for a good hand position, and Emerson’s musings stimulated me about as much as drying paint. So I just stared ahead at the television embedded in the seat in front of me, tuned to the National Weather Service and a Hispanic man pointing at the oncoming Wave off the coast. “The Conversion Wave, as of now, has reached about three-quarters across the Pacific,” the subtitles read. “Civilians on the West Coast are ordered to stay home and be prepared for physical discomfort for the Wave’s landfall, now expected to be within the next five hours. We’ll provide updates as they come in.” “Ain’t that something?” Dad said, shaking his head. “We missed it by just a few hours.” “It is certainly something,” I said. “Would you call it good or bad luck?” “Depends on how you view it all.” Three hours later, we landed back in Orlando and drove back towards UCF. The ride was quiet, the two of us stirring in our own thoughts the whole way. We hadn’t talked beyond brief sentences since the Pittock Mansion incident, not so much out of resentment as a realization we both needed time to cool down. But after flying over a whole continent and the Knights water tower closing the distance, I decided to break the silence. “Nell’s worried she’s going to die.” “I know,” Dad said. “You heard us last night?” He shook his head. “She told me today, while you and Summer were sorting things out.” “And?” “And what?” “Did you tell her anything? Say she didn’t have to worry about it?” “Sort of.” He shifted to the right lane, propelling ever further down the road. “I asked her if worrying about whether she’d die would make her any happier.” “You think she’ll be alright?” “As alright as anybody can be with this.” Soon, the dorm grounds came into view and Dad turned right into its entrance. The soft, white buildings greeted me with a comforting familiarity, and after a few speed bumps, we sat outside my dorm room. I hopped out and wandered to the rear, grabbing my suitcase and backpack from the luggage compartment. “Be safe, son,” Dad said, leaning against the car while I closed the trunk. “Don’t do anything too strenuous when that thing comes along.” “Alright,” I said. “And be sure to drink plenty of water. I hear the turn makes you really thirsty.” “Sure,” I said. Then I leaned against the car, scratching my jeans, now uncomfortable in the Florida heat. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.” Dad shrugged. “On the trip? Don’t beat yourself up about it.” “The trip, college, Summer. Maybe even the last twenty-three years.” He shook his head. “Don’t go thinking like that. Everybody gets better with a little bit of time. You may have a stick up your ass, but you’ll get it out someday.” I chuckled. “Alright then.” “Alright then.” “See you when it’s all over.” “Sure thing.” With that, he got in the car and drove off. I thought about waving, but I just stared until he pulled beyond the trees and back onto the road. I grabbed my bags and entered the dorm. Still dark. Neither Nate nor Harris had come back from their dalliances either. I flipped on the lights and made my way to my room. I tossed the backpack on the floor, shoved the suitcase in my closet, and flopped down on the bed. It’ll be over soon, I thought. I’ll be a pony and so will everybody else. Everypony. Everypony else. Better get used to saying it. After a few minutes, I sat up and walked over to the bathroom. I turned on the light and looked in the mirror. A young man with a thin scar underneath his lip stared back. His brown hair hung loosely, curling in various directions wherever it grew out. His blue eyes stared at himself in a strange trance. I blinked. A pony stood there now with the same features. Same hair, same teeth, same beginnings of a beard on his chin. The only differences now were his body now covered in a dark red coat, and he leaned on the sink to keep himself on two legs. I looked down at my hooves. No, not hooves. They were hands. Still human. So was the rest of me. Back to the mirror. The man stared back once again. I took a nice long look at myself. I looked until I couldn’t bear it anymore and sat down at the drawing board beside my desk. I don’t have much time, I told myself. I whipped out the charcoal and began to create a face and body, the figure’s legs walking in some nondescript landscape. Better enjoy this while it lasts.