//------------------------------// // The Day I Died // Story: That Same Old Story // by The Historian //------------------------------// Power outages. The bane of any human society, so dependent on our access to the world's massive data networks. Just try going an hour without internet, willingly, and you'll devolve back into some lounging mess that bothers everyone else in the home, constantly whining, persistently asking to help, or doing any number of things capable of driving your average family to the breaking point. So, one day, a smart man invented this fanciful machine called a generator, which was fairly aptly named. You plug it into the power circuit and transfer electrical power, and now you're supplied with energy as long as you have gasoline. About twice what you'd need, depending on your specific electrical requirements. Like running eight hairdryers, or something. Now, electricity's a fickle thing, and when you're in the middle of the freezing cold sometimes the path of least resistance isn't what you always expect. So, without further adieu, so begins my story in Equestria: --- I was staring at my computer sometime in the late afternoon. Seven-ish, I think? I couldn't exactly check the clock with what came next. I was on FIMfiction, disappointed that there wasn't another chapter of that guy Bruce in a filly's body, and shipping him with the cutie mark crusaders in some strange polygamist reverse-gender society where mares were the aggressive ones and colts the motherly. Weird, right? But it was a decent fic overall, with lots of character development and, as a bonus, had Pinkie as one of the more important figures. It's always nice when authors have originality, just like that - Wait, shit. The alarms just beeped and my screen darkened. A glance at the right side of the taskbar and that was explained away: power outage. I unplugged my myriad cords sticking from my laptop and flicked it to power saver, tossing it into my backpack. I had class coming up, anyhow, and figured now was as good a time as any to get going. Pens in my pockets, keys, phone, and a shout from my mom for good measure. Wait, what? "What!?" I screamed down the stairwell, and an inaudible yell returned. I descended the stairs, slinging my bag over my back and grabbing my watch. I fastened the cheap thing as I reached the bottom and cried again; "What, Mom?" I asked, and she was audible this time. "Can you go set up the generator? I just checked 9WSYR and they're saying it's at least four hours until the power can be restored." "Transformer blow or something?" I asked. "Dad would be the one to ask, not me." She said, shrugging as she worked with the dishwasher. I just nodded and stepped into the dank garage, the most wonderful smell of our trash cans meeting my nose. It was time to work quickly, and I uncovered the little wheeled monstrosity with a flourish, tossing the cover in a corner and wheeling it to the door. I walked back to the doorway and tapped one of the door openers. It didn't work, and I tapped it again. And again. And again. I opened the door and called to my mom, "Hey Mom, the door's not opening." "The power's out, numbnut!" She called back from the kitchen. I facepalmed. Back to the door, I pulled the red cord that took it off the track and pulled it up manually, letting it slide into place and wincing when it came down a bit to settle into place. I'd never admit it, but I'm fairly easily startled by things. Too used to being the stealthy one, after all. I wheeled the big 'ol generator out and started the startup process. Like a pilot with his checklist, I went over the steps needed. It was only a little red box, no more than three feet high, and I quickly checked the oil and gas. Guess what? Had to fill them both up, joy. I stood for a minute admiring the house before recalling I was in a T-Shirt. A simple old gray thing, with red shutters and simple paneling. White garage doors and a crappy grey garage. All too grungy colored for my taste. The world outside was white and fluffy, the snows this year far better than the last. I went skiing, rather than "slushing", and that was what mattered. Stepping back into the garage, I made a beeline to a dozen high-up cabinets containing all sorts of odds and ends: basketballs, footballs, soccer balls, some tools and car repair things, a can of gasoline, some coolant jugs, ah! Oil! I nabbed it and put it on the floor, and looked again for the gasoline. I checked all the rest of the cabinets. Where was the... wait, I saw it before, it was just there! I spent fifteen minutes looking for what was already sitting in front of my face. Today was grand. I filled up the generator and started her up. Smoke billowed out and I left it to start warming up: in the meantime, I was already chilled to the bone. I was wearing some ranger green cargos, filled to the brim with odds and ends. I nabbed my multicam jacket that I normally wear for airsoft: it was one of those Afghanistan-issue ones, so it was nice and toasty. Snapping its fasteners into place, I nabbed a simple knit cap and a pair of ski goggles: all the better to go skiing later with the bros. All that gear assembled, I was about to slip on my boots before realizing I'd forgotten something: my wallet. Damn, this morning was going just fantastic. My dad told me this story once where slaves were taught to say things were fantastic rather than bullshit. It's been something of an inside joke since then, and sometimes he forgets we're using it when he rants. Regardless, back up the stairs, I poked into my sister's room. She's the only human I know who can sleep in such awkward positions, and until as late as two in the afternoon. But she'd been bratty yesterday, so... I nabbed one of her cymbals from her drum set, and one of her sticks. CLANG! "Moooorning, Sunshine!" I shouted. A feral scream met me as she shot out of bed at me. I dumped the cymbals and ran out the door, slamming the door in her face. Another thump told me the mission was accomplished as she whacked it. My giggles and her screams already had my mom yelling at me, but I didn't really care. Senioritis and all that. I snapped my wallet into my back pocket and checked around for any other forgotten items. I vaguely heard my sister screaming at me from the doorway, but I was busy. I grabbed my IPad and leatherman, both of which were more of a whim than a true necessity, and tossed them in the bag. Sara was still screaming at me, but she didn't really beat some of the kid's program stuff I did for the military. "-'s just freaking mean!" She screamed, as I zoned back in. "I'm mean? Do you even look at yourself in the mirror, ever?" I asked. She self consciously grabbed at her hair. "Not like that. I mean how do you think people t-" "Alex! Just go to school!" My mom shouted from down in the foyer. I let out a grunt and pushed past my sister. Same argument since I was like three. She'd get me in trouble for all sorts of things she did and generally just overstated anything I did to her. A light tap would be a hit with a sledgehammer. A push would send her rocketing through a wall. And believe me, I'm not that kind of PT god. I made my way back down, nabbed a poptart, and turned around to be face-to-face with my mom. "Did you really have to get her riled this early?" She asked. "Look, mo-" "No, you look. You're almost out of High School. She's just a sophomore. Be the bigger person." "Fifteen years is a long time to be bigger, especially when I'm 5'2''" I retorted. She chuckled a bit. "Get to school. Lazypants will take the bus since she's ever so punctual." "Alright, mom. Just let me get the generator going." "Of course. See you tonight." She said. "Yeah, if that." I disappeared out of the kitchen and back into the garage, listening to the generatory's loud hum as I plugged it into one side of the generator. It was a slick and slippy morning, and I slowly made my way back into the garage, cord at my side. I slapped it in, turned it, and made my way downstairs. Dad was on a call, so all I heard was some BS about incompetent coworkers, overbearing bosses, and whatever else he could complain about on a fine monday morning. At least he didn't have school 'till 8:30 PM, with my extra college courses plus High School. I entered the back room, only a single small emergency light guiding me to the transfer box. Four slaps later, the volt meter was still zero and the lights were still all off. I frowned. Must be a generator problem. And so it was. I passed back up the dark hall, light in hand, and left it plugged in as I ascended the stairs. My dad got my attention with a hand wave and pointed to the lights above his wooden desk. I shrugged, and he frowned. I mimicked putting on a hard hat and ascended to my foyer again, giving me view of the kitchen. "Trouble with the generator?" My mom asked. I only nodded as she chopped some carrots on the counter. "Today's been a great day so far. Wonder what else could go wrong?" "Not deathly afraid of Murphy's law today? I'm surprised." She said, glancing at the wooden wall hanging. "Anything that can go wrong will" "Murphy will hunt me even if I forget him. Might as well fight him straight up." I reached into the fridge and pulled out a water bottle before heading back out to fix whatever this mess was. My eyes darted around as I re-entered the garage for the third or fourth time, and I could only sigh as I saw... nothing wrong with the generator. I jiggled the cords and checked the house: no light. I sat and caught a breath on my porch, and buried my face in my hands. Looking at the sky, I asked the question most on my mind as of late. "Why do you hate me so much?" The silence could be cut with a butterknife. I kicked the pavement and stood, waltzing back to the generator. It's roar was loud, like a lion, and I twisted the power cord and removed it. I glanced at the prongs briefly: no issues visually. I blew on the receptacle and inserted it once more. The house's lights flicked on immediately, and I nodded. A foot down, and I noticed I'd stepped on something. The cord itself. The lights flicked back off again, and I noticed the prongs had come partially undone. I bent down to put them back in, and my finger brushed the prongs themselves. The live ones. I was on my back, my vision swimming, and a ring of pain deafened by the generator left me down and the power back on. I struggled, but nothing moved. My legs were numb, my arms on fire, and my chest beating irregularly: and I could even hear it. More swimming, and some flashes. A headache came on, too. I writhed, and tried to scream, but my lungs weren't moving. My eyes got cloudy, and my head wouldn't let me put many more thoughts through. Everything slowly but surely dissipated. Until all thoughts were replaced with little more than the primal instincts of pain and fear. Pain and fear... One last thought made it through my mind: So this is death. And then my next life started.