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// 1. I Am Alive 
// Story: The Little Wooden God 
// by Apophis797 
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<I'm still saying it's an alien.>

<Spike, it's obviously not an alien. I've already explained it to you. For life to exist on other planets they would need to control their own suns and we've never detected a mana signature anywhere near large enough to do something like that. It's just basic physics.>

<Than why does it look like one? It's got the long thin limbs. The big head. The weird outfit. It's even got that little brick full of weird space tech you found in it's pocket.>

<You really need to stop trusting those comics. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for where this thing came from without invoking space. Now, I think it should be waking up soon and I'd like to make a good first impression.>

As I slowly pulled myself to wakefulness I was greeted with the sounds of a language I couldn't recognize. A smooth, almost melodic tongue where each word seemed to flow into the next. Like speaking in cursive. If anything it was a welcome distraction from how none of my bones seemed to fit together right. It wasn't painful per say but anyone who's slept weird and woke up with their whole arm stiff knows what I mean. Just extend the feeling to every last joint in your body. To be honest I didn't even know I could feel some of them. Regardless of the feeling, however, it wouldn't do much good to lie in bed doing nothing so I managed to open my eyes and look at the two creatures before me. Two creatures which were brightly colored, biologically nonsensical, and utterly alien. Given what was either a strange prank or first contact with a new species I felt it prudent to begin communication.

"The fuck are you?", I mumbled through the fog of half-sleep. I know, not exactly the image of diplomatic grace, but I had just woken up to what looked like a pair of living, breathing toy mascots.

<It even sounds like an alien too.> 

<Come on Spike, no need to be rude. There are over 4000 languages in Equus. I'm sure this is just one of them. Now, I think it might be trying to say hello.>

The larger of the two, a small purple unicorn with terrifyingly large eyes, cleared its throat, looked into my eyes, and said "Thee fuck are youuu" in a forced, overly emphasized tone. For whatever reason it felt far more surreal than any of the actually impossible things that had been happening to me up until that point but at least it seemed like it was trying to establish communication. Thinking back to years of science fiction I slowly worked my way into a sitting position and decided to see if we could at least work out some names. First I gestured to myself and said my name, "Johnathan Siegsmith", and then gestured at it to do the same. In response the horse excitedly muttered something to its reptilian companion before gesturing to itself and saying <Twilight Sparkle>. It wasn't a name I was familiar with but it rolled off the tongue easily enough and, more importantly, it established pointing at random objects as a method of communication. Now I just had to see if I could get some sort of drawing implement and we'd be a solid most of the way to crossing the language barrier.

At first I tried holding my hand out like I was gripping a pen and, while it seemed like it confused the horse more than anything, the lizard's eyes immediately lit up.

<Oh, I think it wants something to write with. That's how I usually do it anyway. Good to know they still have quills in space.>

<Oh, of course! That would certainly make communication a lot easier.>

The small lizard, beaming with pride, placed its clawlike hands on its hips.

<Well of course! It's obvious when you're always using your claws.>

<And it would have been equally obvious with my new species checklist if *somebody* had organized that shelf like I asked. Now, go get a scroll and quill and I'll see if I can learn anything else about 'Johnathan Siegsmith' here.>

<Fine.> The lizard muttered, visibly deflating. As alien as they were they at least seemed to use the same basic emotional cues so I guess that's score one for panspermia. 

As soon as it left the horse turned to me and waved its arm, slowly saying <Hello> in a voice one might use when speaking to a small child or animal. Sighing as I resigned myself to the tedium of learning a new language, I waved back and said "Hello". This sort of thing continued for several more minutes, with my learning the local words for "me", "table", and even "bed" before the lizard came back and I set to drawing. First up was to see if they at least recognized earth. Given their level of technology, they gave me a feathered quill of all things to write with, my theorizing was shifting away from alien abduction and towards ancient curse. Slowly sketching out a circle with rough approximations of the various continents on it, I then tried my hands at one of those big flat maps they have in school. I know they're not supposed to be very accurate, like at all, but I figured it would be close enough.

Neither of them recognized it. I didn't know what they were saying but the confusion on their faces was obvious. If this wasn't a dream than I wasn't on earth. I wasn't somewhere that knew of earth. I'm not sure why but that was what finally tipped me over the edge. What made me stop seeing this as a problem to solve and start seeing it as the possibility that I might never see my home again. That if I didn't wake up in my bed the same way I woke up here than I might never get home again. I might never see the person I loved again.

They left me alone after that. Well, not immediately, the horse did try and hug me at first, but I wasn't having it and I think I managed to get the message across despite the language barrier. I'm still not sure if that was a mistake, to be honest it felt a bit like shoving away a puppy, but I needed some time to be alone. I needed some time to think. Crying would get me nowhere, at least if the first half hour alone was any indication, and while I couldn't quite reach happy I could still aim for clinical detachment. I just had to analyze my surroundings, figure out a plan of action, and keep all my feelings shoved down deep inside where they couldn't hurt me anymore. I won't say it was a perfect plan but I did only cry three or four more times while exploring the room.

Before I had been focused on the aliens, who wouldn't be, but now I could really take things in. They were more normal than I expected. The ceiling was uncomfortably low and most things seemed smaller than they should have been but it was still a normal bedroom. There was a nice bed with a wooden frame, a nightstand, a dresser, and a window with the curtains drawn over it. Neither the nightstand nor the dresser had anything in them, although both were exceedingly well crafted, so next I started trying all the doors and windows. The one they came through was locked, presumably they didn't want a possible unstable alien wrecking their house, and another door just led to a dresser with some spare sheets in it but the window just had a heavy curtain drawn over it and outside was... mostly branches. It seemed I was in some kind of giant treehouse. Beyond the branches, though, were a town. A town with crowds and information and possibly even a map. Given how long it had been since I woke up there would hopefully also be food. With things awkward between me and the horse and it apparently wanting to keep me contained, however reasonably so, I knew what I had to do. Donning a spare sheet as a cloak, I was an alien after all and I thought it might at least reduce the risk of a panic, I opened the window and set about the arduous task of climbing down the frankly excessively large tree.