Welp, it was official: I had been gender flipped. The “she’s” and “her’s” finally found some justification. And I was certainly not okay with this. Not okay at all. I couldn’t be any less okay if I tried. I would never be okay ever again.
Let me explain how I came to this realization. I had just finished my tea, with Spike pouring it into my gullet like I was a paraplegic hospital patient, when he shyly announced that he had to use the little colt’s room. Something about the sound of sipping “not helping?” At first, I was ignorant as to what he had meant by any of that, but then, his little jumpy dance painted an obvious picture. So he excused himself – not that he needed my blessings or anything – and just like that, I was thrown back into the nauseating silence.
By this point, I had remained as immobile as a statue. Still on the floor, still unwilling to budge an inch.
But see, the silence, it brings forth introspective thoughts. I now had some time to observe myself even more meticulously. I came to understand who I was, or at least, the physical envelope of who I was. And with not even a single ounce of perverted thoughts, I couldn’t help but think again about my external plumbing system; or my lack thereof. The embarrassment was creeping back in, and I couldn’t delay my morbidly curious mind anymore. My changed voice, my elongated eyelashes, my curved features, my slender barrel, they all pointed toward something completely heretic. A taint not even the strongest soap in the universe could cleanse.
I investigated with my arm turned hoof, and it didn’t take long for me to find between my two back legs a linear cavity that was supremely out of place. I never imagined I’d bear something of the sorts, ever ever ever. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the physiology of vaginas – I DID have an ex-girlfriend after all – but to have a second pair of lips myself? That wasn’t right. That was so wrong, on so many levels. And I felt it, too. It wasn’t just slapped on with some Elmer’s Glue. It gave out sensitive tingles. That fucker had functional nerve endings. I knew it dug deeper into my body, tunneling to foreign reproductive organs I desperately wanted scooped out of myself. It was real, it was on me, and the thought of hanging myself suddenly gave me a bit of respite.
So that’s how it was going to be, huh? That’s how life wanted to kick me while I was already down? I was absolutely not ready to mourn the loss of writing my name in the snow. Of relieving myself in urinals. Of whacking my stick to some real good computer shit. I wasn’t overly proud of my junk, but I was quite happy with being one of the boys. I felt content, at peace. I actually enjoyed dealing with issues like trouser tents, morning woods, concealing a boner in public, or being vulnerable to nut shots.
And now, not unlike Spike over there, other people would start seeing me as the female I undeniably looked like, because of course ponies had sex dimorphism. They’d say scandalous crap like “miss” and “madam” and... brrrrr. Jesus that thought made me feel like a sack of dog shit. I felt something in my stomach trying to crawl up. Well, to hell with anyone else! In my mind, I would always be a boy, a manly man, the duderino mom and dad proudly raised. The guy who downed porters. The guy who enjoyed a good hockey game. The guy who burped the alphabet. The guy who laughed at armpit farts. The guy who drew dicks on restaurant napkins. The guy who rated hot babes on a scale of 10. The guy... the guy who...
Oh who was I kidding...
I just, I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Even more so with this treacherous discovery. And if I wasn’t myself, then I didn’t want to be anyone. I would try really hard to not let this slit define who I was, but I felt like the battle was already lost. Curtains of depression started to grow out of my shoulder blades – if one could call them shoulder blades anymore.
Luckily, Spike returned, with me being even more envious than I ever was of his hands, his easy-going two-legged stance, and his precious manhood. I would’ve copped better if fate had turned me into his kind instead. But alas... I’m a chick. A pony chick. Fuck me and fuck my life and fuck everyone else who had a part in this diabolical ploy. Those responsible could all rot in hell for all I cared.
I needed to change my thoughts, because I was letting myself getting charmed by very dark ideas. Ideas like, how it would feel to have a bullet pierce my forehead, and having it pop out of the back of my neck (God, wouldn’t that be liberating?) I shook my head, and I reengaged in small talk with Spike, hopping that the black cloud over my head would dissipate.
“Um, so. Spike. That’s a uh, very nice house you have. A bit ah, peculiar... but nice?” I said with a smile I hoped wasn’t too dishonest.
“Thanks? But I think it’s more of your place than mine, really,” he shrugged.
“Really? Who signed the deed at the notary? Like, whose bank account gets drained whenever the city yells for its municipal and scholar taxes?”
Spike found the question riddled with weirdness, yet he actually mused, considering it thoroughly.
“Uh, I don’t think we ever signed a contract of proprietorship on this library, come to think of it...”
My head tilted. “This is a library?”
“Last I checked, the Golden Oak Library hasn’t magically changed overnight, yeah- Listen, Twilight, are you poooooooositive you’re doing okay? You’ve been a bit out of it since this morning, and I thought the tea would’ve helped, but-”
“I never said I was peachy!” I squeaked out. “A-and the only thing I’m positive of, is that this?” I waved a hoof, pointing here and there at the scenery encompassing us. “This isn’t my place. I live in apartment in Baltimore for crying out loud, not in a library!”
I was about to double down by telling him how I loathed books and reading, but Spike held up his paws at me, pushing the air, perhaps to appear more diplomatic within this conversation.
“Whoa whoa, hol’up. You never told me you had a second home in Baltimare?” he nervously pondered.
Probably because I had never met this strange little character before? Gee, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Spike was so obstinately trying to pretend we’ve been pinky buddies since the dawn of time. He certainly has acted altruistic toward me, even at my lowest when I was naught but sobs and tears, but that didn’t mean he could forge a fake backstory involving the two of us. Was I not sufficiently confused as it was?
“In BaltimOre, yes,” I corrected his mispronunciation with extra emphasis. “And this isn’t my second home, it’s my only home.” Spike lifted a claw, perhaps to protest, but I simply giggled. “As if I had enough dough to afford more than one rent.”
“Um...” he droned out, unsure how to steer this discussion anymore.
“So, where are we anyway?”
“Whatchu mean?”
“The city. I never heard of an old-timey wooden library in Baltimore, and I know the city quite well...” I trailed off, met only by big blinking Spike eyes. “... we ARE in Baltimore, right?”
“Oh come on Twi, now you’re just being ridiculous,” he said, his knuckles to his hips.
Grrr. I rubbed my temples. Good, I could still do that. But yeah, stop making this difficult for me, Spikey-boy! I had no desire to tread on eggshells. I just wanted to geographically recalibrate myself and drive home. Blast some QOTSA as loud as I could out of my jury-rigged car sound system ‘til I could kiss my doormat. And then I’d crack a few cold ones with Vince... who would then... see me like this. Bleh. Anyway,
“Please, pretend I bonked my noggin or something, childhood friend of mine.” If that’s what he believed, then let him have it. It could only make it easier for me to fish for answers. “Imagine I’m now stuck with, uh, let’s say, retrograde amnesia. What would you say to fill my thirst from knowledge, then?”
“Oh! I get it, like a test, or- or a game, right?” he bounced.
“Sure, whatever,” I rolled my eyes. And whoa, pupil revolutions sure were disorienting when your eyes were the size of skillets.
“Okay, then I’d say you’re in Ponyville.”
“Ponyville?”
“That’s right.”
“Never heard of it.”
Ludicrous name aside, I certainly was NOT a bookworm, and so, perhaps I simply wasn’t well-read enough. I knew a lot about the wonderful realm of music, but if you asked me to name the capital of, say, Turkey, I’d flinch and yield. I played Geoguessr with the gang once, ONCE, and I cried “uncle” after I pegged Copenhagen in Argentina. So given that, let’s see how far deep the rabbit hole we could go with this impromptu game of trivia.
“In what country are we then?”
“Pfah, easy peasy! Equestria’s your answer, Twi!” he said, a bit more bombastic than I would have liked.
I squinted. Now I wasn’t sure if he was trying to mess with me. “Equestria... thaaaat really doesn’t ring a bell, buddy. How far is it from America?”
“A-mare-rica?”
“America,” I corrected, once a gain. “Well?”
He scratched his cheek, uncertain. “Gee, I don’t know, Twilight. This one is a bit tougher than the others. Can’t say I know the answer to that question. I don’t know what A-mare... America is.”
“Wait, what? Really? The United States of America? USA? Eagles, hot dogs, baseball, viral patriotism?” Still no answer. “O say can you see~... no, nothing?”
He just silently shrugged. Ha, now who was being the silly one? There was being bad at geography, and then there was him. What was he, from a different planet or something?
Oh. Wait.
Yeah, maybe he was. That’s what I posited earlier, did I not? Well shucks, whoopsy daisy. Perhaps not the best candidate to have interrogated. Possibly Equestria was synonymous with ‘Murica wherever he came from. Chances of that were slim, but I’ll hang onto them for now. All in all, I probably tripped myself up with this little back-and-forth between him and I.
Sigh, it was back to square one.
...
“Twilight?”
I pouted, the absurdity of my shortcomings hitting me in the face like an eighteen-wheeler.
“Twiiiiiilight!”
More pouting. I was thinking, since Spike hadn’t been of any help, that maybe I should just head out, and find my damn way home on my own. But that raised the issue of nudity. I was not ready to brave the busy boulevards of “““Ponyville,””” especially not with new female gonads to show for it. That there was an obstacle that needed to be overcome at lightning speed. Maybe there was a wardrobe here or something that I could-
“Twilight!”
“Gah!” I yelped in surprise. Damn, I had a hard time registering this as my name. You know, seeing as it WASN’T MY OWN F’CKING NAME!
“Are- you’re not really suffering from reto- regot- retrot- uh, memory loss, aren’tcha?”
“Yes!” I hovered my face over his, making him back away slightly. “I mean- no! I mean... I don’t know.” I facepalmed. Facehoofed? “I’m... I’m so confused...”
“Oh dear,” he held a claw in front of his maw. “Like I say many times, overworking’ll do that to ya. I was wondering when you were going to snap.”
Almost on cue, one strand of my hair, or I guess, mane, curled up out of place with an audible TWING. What the crap? This, accompanied with an obligatory eye twitch. Body, cease! I didn’t want it to do things I didn’t mean for it to do. But alas, Spike picked up on the mental asylum signs I was displaying.
“You know, how about you take the day off, Twi? I think you deserve it. Celestia’s study cases can all wait until tomorrow; I’m sure nopony will mind. Maybe next morning, your memory problems will have fixed themselves?”
Celestwho? Ah, who cares. Probably someone thoroughly unimportant.
And hey, maybe the little guy was onto something. If I could make it through the day, it wasn’t inconceivable that I’ll wake up back in the comfort of my true self tomorrow morning. Maybe today was a one-time deal; some kind of otherworldly acid trip of an experience? A fluke in the matrix. Or maybe I’ll instead wake up as a sapient green giraffe. Everything was so damn plausible ever since I took the role of a miniature horse. Man, at this point, not much else to do but pray for the best. I’ll cross that bridge when I’ll get there.
Spike saw that I was still deep in thoughts. “You’ll see, taking a day off is not that big of a deal, you workaholic,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Plus, I’ll be right here, dusting off and cleaning the library.”
Earth back to me. “Huh? Why would you do that?”
“Uh, because you told me to do it yesterday?” Then, he immediately realized the implications of what he just said, and he smacked his own head. “Oh yeah, duh. The memory thing.”
“I would never tell you to do such demeaning work. You’re not a slave.”
“Eh, that’s okay Twilight, I’m happy to oblige. Besides, it is preeeeeetty dusty.”
I shrugged. Shrugging could still be achieved with this body, huzzah.
I certainly didn’t mind living in a dirty environment. Never had. Vince and I were both grotty roommates. Not to the point of being slobs, but y’know. Rule of sitcom stipulated one of us had to be the neat freak, but lo and behold, it wasn’t so. On our defense, we did do our Spring cleaning (and then took the rest of the year as one very long sabbath day). The apartment certainly wasn’t proud. For instance, my workspace was so crass, you could draw with your fingers a couple of cool S’s on my computer desk – or as Vince baptized it, “dust land.”
“So? Who cares about dust,” I finally admitted.
“‘Who cares about...’ Okay, that confirms it. Now I know you really have a head trauma!” Spike laughed.
“I don’t know why you insist on doing that over walking on all fours.”
“Because! I’m not a damn animal! That’s degrading as hell!”
“Is this some kind of snobbish Canterlot haute-culture thingy majiggy I’m not aware of?”
“It’s not- unngh!”
I was hunched over the railing of the curved hardwood staircase that led up to the elevated platform where I had apparently slept. My objective was to try to go down a level. Easier said than done for sure. I was standing up – if by standing up you meant, trying to imitate those inflatable dummies wailing about in front of used car dealerships. Yeah, I was having a bit of trouble. But damn me if I wasn’t going to make this work. These front hooves would not be part of my walk cycle, I would die on that hill. Homo Sapiens ruled, the rest could eat my ass.
Spike, meanwhile, from down there, was cautiously observing my sad display at making my ancestors proud. He was dressed up in a small apron that reminded me of Mrs. White’s costume in the board game Clue. I was the one pussy out and I’m not sure if I was the most embarrassing living being in the room, heh.
Still, I shouldn’t be cocky at all, seeing as I was in a world of agony, what with trying to stubbornly avoid walking like a house pet.
“I-I’m... I have already... e-enough handicaps a-as it is...!” I complained between hot tears of pain dampening my vision.
Christ on a bike, it felt like acupuncture gone wrong. Gone wrong? Gone TERRIBLE. Every step I took made my spine furious, as if I was trying to sabotage it on purpose. But hey, baby steps were still steps. No one could argue semantics with me. I was doing it, albeit poorly. And if I sniffled a couple of times through all sorts of ways my back was punishing me with an unreasonable amount of pain receptors, well, it was still worth it.
Oh, by the way, the knees (the back ones) also said hi and filed a complaint, for they did NOT enjoy having to suddenly support that much more weight. And being unbent like broken staplers too, shit, why not. It was most unnatural for them. Too bad. Suck it up, knees! We powered through worse cramps in our life!
I was working against every instinct in my body – this impostor of a body. It begged, begged for me to just slump down and take a breather, but I was the one in control, not it. I was the boss, and if walking on two legs was good for the morale, then we could afford to take a hit or two. Nature could go suck my cock – the one I no longer had. I was born human, and humans were A) egotistical, B) prideful sons of bitches, and C) constantly working against the grain. I just did what I did because I’ve been programmed to do it. As long as I retained memories of two decades atop two legs, then I’ll honor them until I collapse from exhaustion.
I reached the end of the railing, clearing the last step with a tinge of delight. And then, I saw it: The brown cabinet. Laden with clothes, one would hope. It looked like an antique, beautifully carved by an artisan and all that. With two large doors in the front. That’s what we wanted, baby! It was time to put my shame to rest and rummage for a pair of pants.
The only problem was the few tens of feet I had to cross to reach it. For you see, it was resting on the opposite wall. And unfortunately, that meant I no longer had any railings on which I could slouch when the discomfort became too much. I’ll be on my own, faced with my greatest challenge yet.
Come on, man, not the time to give up yet!
I took a deep breath.
“LEEERRROOOOYYYYY!” I shouted, preparing to make a run for it...
And then off I went.
“JENNNKKAAAAAAARRGHHHH!”
Okay. Two things happened there.
One: Never shout legendary memes with the voice of a twelve years-old girl. You’re just doing the internet a major act of disrespect, and the cringe will taunt you for years to come.
Two: Holy mother of balls, this hurt. This hurt, this hurt, this HURT! I never had a power walk as excruciating as this one. I felt my torso bending more and more to be parallel with the floor. Soon, the angle would be too acute for me to bounce back properly. So I decided to go Super Saiyan, and just like how mothers could miraculously lift cars in a burst of adrenaline to save their endangered children, I drew all that I had, and made myself as perpendicular as I could. I was straighter than an arrow. Posture of an athlete, yo. The fact that my hip bone felt hotter than the sun went without saying. The fact that I had to clench my teeth and stop my breathing due to how hard I winced ALSO went without saying.
Only a couple more steps, and I would reach the goal line.
Only a couple more... Stop it, tears! Couldn’t you see how close we were? Recede back to my eye sockets!
Just a teeny-tiny final push. A few measly inches that needed to be traversed. Mere crumbs of distance in sight.
Annnndddd, theeereeee, weeeee, GO! WOOT! SCOOOOORRREEE!
I collapsed on the floor, having succeeded at the monumental task of telling quadrupedalism “up yours!” My entire back was pulsating with pain spots, as if the local mafia smacked me a bunch with baseball bats. But touching my side was unquestionably the wardrobe. My best friend the wardrobe. I triumphed; I crowned myself victorious.
“You’re cuckoo,” is all that Spike had to say about this, turning a claw to the side of his head.
“I don’t care, I win,” I moaned, sobs drowning my voice.
Well, this whole little fiasco sure distracted me from how boned I felt earlier this morning. But the reality of the whole affair sunk in deeper than the American debt when I noticed how bare this wardrobe turned out to be. Friendship over, traitor.
Seriously, where were the underwear? The footwears? The jackets? Heck, I’d even rock a raincoat at this point. Shit, I’d kiss a pair of Crocs if I could. But yeah, all I could see there was, like, three dresses. Extravagant ones, too. I was not having any of this shit. I had to weight my options. Killing my pride by going butt naked, or killing my masculinity by making myself look like a pwetty pwincess?
I wish I could have taken a shortcut and opt for a hidden third option.
Mmmmh, maybe I still could. Maybe?
“Spike, are these the only clothes we have?”
Because yes, surely, there was more to this house, right? That right there was just the closet of falsehood. I had yet to reach the real walk-in, chock-full of cloth and denim. Scarfs and hats and shoes for days, hahaha!
Spike was busy dusting off this bedroom (which maybe was “mine,” I didn’t know anymore). He lifted his scaly head, took a quick look at me, then returned to the task at hand. I was still a recovering lump on the floor, by the way.
“Yup. Why’d you ask?”
“What, are you serious!?”
Spike sighed. “Yes, Mrs. Memory-Loss-Pony, I’m serious.”
“Fuck...”
Spike jolted, then did the quickest one eighty I’ve ever seen. “Did you just cuss!?”
“What? No I didn’t, I just said ‘fuck.’” Spike gasped super loudly, hiding his dislocated mouth with his hands. “I wanted to go outside to find my way home, but there’s no way I’m going out without something decent to wear.”
Spike tapped his foot. “Twilight! You know you shouldn’t cuss like this!” he scolded.
Wait a minute. Did he just completely ignore what I said? Why did he care about a modest F bomb? What was he, a kid or something? If it took him this little to preach for censorship, then I bet he would have a field day with the lyrics I wrote, ha!
“Oh calm down, what’s the big deal?” I scoffed whilst waving a hoof.
“... It’s okay for anypony to cuss, but when I accidentally do it, I get the soap treatment, s’not fair...” I heard him grumble lowly.
“Spike, focus please. I...”
Well, what was the plan, big guy? You needed clothes, but you couldn’t go out because you HAD no clothes. It was like the paradox of calling a tech guy to tell him your phone line wasn’t working.
Maybe, just maybe, Spike could do me a solid? The little dragon didn’t mind not being draped by shirt and pants, and why would he? He was a dragon. Dragon wearing clothes, now how silly was that? Now I, on the other hand...
“You don’t think, um. Maybe you could do me a favor? Maybe? You can say no if you want to!” I immediately tried to make it clear that he didn’t have to indulge my hectic ass.
His grumpiness seemed to have waned down. “Oh, sure! What can I do you for? Do you need more tea perhaps?”
“No, no, I was thinking, maybe, you could sort of kind of go out and buy some clothes on my behalf? I’d pay you back, I swear!”
I tapped my left pocket as if to prove I’d honor my words, but as it turned out, it’s only my bare hip that I was tenderizing. No sweet ca-ching ca-ching to be heard. Which meant-
...
Shit shit shit.
Shit.
And another one for good measure: Shit.
I didn’t have my wallet. I didn’t have any cards, any means to access my savings. No liquid assets of any kind on me. No cash and no credits made me a dull boy. Crap! And my driver’s license too! Uh oh. That wasn’t ideal. That one prospect seriously limited how I was going to seize the day from there onward.
“Crud...” See? I said ‘crud’ instead of ‘shit.’ Spike had no reason to give me the belt now.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have my wallet. I wouldn’t be able to pay you for the errand. And that goes for your, um, maid services too. I don’t think I have the means to give you a salary,” I said, ashamed to exploit a free laborer.
Well, that didn’t seem to have phased him too much, given that he was simply chuckling to himself.
“Memory loss at it again, got it!” he said, strangely amused by my ‘condition.’ “We’ve got the bits down in the vault downstairs. I’ll just grab a couple of ‘em, no biggie.”
Bits? I hope he didn’t mean bitcoins or anything. Cryptocurrency was too volatile for my tastes. What store even cashed them in anyway? Oh well, I shall let that one pass, seeing as I had too many other problems to juggle regardless. Let’s just pretend he said “dollars” instead.
“So, why do you need new clothes anyway? You goin’ somewhere fancy? I thought you said you couldn’t remember stuff and yaddi yadda.”
“No, none of the sort. Merely want to go outside, you know?”
“And somehow, you need clothes for that?” he said with mild disapproval.
“What the-? Yes, of course! Look- Do you want to help me or not?” I replied, my patience tried.
“Alright alright, don’tcha explode on me, Sparkle. What d’ya want?”
“A bunch of stuff...” I sheepishly smiled.
He rolled his eyes and moved toward a little storage cabinet not too far from where we were.
“I can take a hint. ‘Spike, take a note!’” He tried to mimic my new voice. Ugh.
He came back with a parchment and a quill, ready to take my order. A parchment and a quill... how quaint. I could just imagine him strolling in a thrift store and herald shoppers around with a buisine, going “HEAR HEAR!”
“Alright, lay it on me!” he said, pointy tip of the feather eagerly tapping onto the fibbers.
“’Kay, so I want: A pair of straight fit jeans, a leather belt, a logo-less black t-shirt, a jacket with a checkerboard pattern of the color of your choice (except purple), a pair of socks, underwear, a Philadelphia Flyers flat brim cap, a pair of aviator shades, size 11 running shoes, and OH! Maybe a cane or crutches to help me walk or something, if you can find any? That’d be pretty swell.”
I didn’t know if I was demanding too much, or if I was being eccentric, but Spike looked up from his list with a long cold sweat running down his forehead. Panic was clearly visible in his quaking eyes.
“I uh, ah...” he droned, his fanged mouth slightly opened.
“Ah don’t sweat it. And wing it for the size, I don’t care. Just go to a Walmart or something and get as much as you can.”
“A wall what now?” He shook his head. “No Twilight, it’s just that, I don’t think I quite understood half of what you asked for. And undies? Eee-ewww, I ain’t touching that!” he stuck out his tongue.
“Fair.”
“And also, not that I should judge your fashion choices, but aren’t some of those items a bit… masculine in nature?” he arched an eyebrow.
Ding ding ding! We had a winner, ladies and gentlemen. My little fairy tale creature figured it out. I wasn’t no stinkin’ lady. And if that made me a tomboy, then so be it. I needed to sport something that made me comfortable. The way one dressed spoke volume about their character. And I wanted MY character to be more in line with myself, my true me, that was for dang sure. I was not about to put on a skirt to play my fake role better. Sorry to disappoint you, destiny!
I raised my shoulders. “So? What about it? Iiiisss that a problem, or...?”
“No but-” He put two fingers on his forehead and rubbed it. “Unngh, I can’t wait for tomorrow already.”
Same, buddy. Same.
“Alright, Imma go then. I pretty much finished cleaning this room anyway; I’ll do the rest this afternoon.” He then mmmh’d, pensive. “Maybe I could give this list to Rarity, I’m sure she could patent something on the spot.”
“Ayyy, you do you, little buddy!” I tried to finger gun but failed.
Yeah, by the by, I had no idea who or what kind of store Rarity was, hahaha. But somehow, the idea of going there seemed to have enthralled Spike, like he suddenly became that much more excited to execute my needy task. Oh well, as long as he was happy about it, it was a big thumbs up from me. Get it? Because my freaking hoof was nothing but an inflated thumb.
Before he made his exit, though, we had to be intelligent about this. I was already lost enough as it was. I didn’t want my situation to worsen because we weren’t thorough with our plans.
“What’s your number, Spike?”
He blinked.
“You know, so I can ring you if anything happens?”
He blinked again.
“On the phone?”
Blink, blink, blink.
“We don’t have a phone, do we.”
He slowly started to make his way to the door of this room.
“Errr, take it easy, Twi. I’ll be back before you know it,” he simply stated. “You rest that puzzled brain of yours, m’kay?”
The door shut itself.
“Fuck.” This time, I whispered it, so that my TV-Y friend wouldn’t start bible thumping me.
Spike left 30 minutes ago. I was done being laxed on the floor like a useless mat. I brought that deformed body of mine back on its hind legs. Until I figured how to walk without strangling my spine in all the wrong places, I did the next best thing: I slinked against the wall. Like Solid Snake. The wall was good support; the wall was kind and benevolent. The door handle gave me a run for my money, but luckily, I got that sucker to open. If it had been one of them rounded handles, then I would’ve had that much more to complain about.
When I was greeted with yet more stairs, it took me a lot of mental fortitude to not raise the white flag. And yet, another 30 minute later, and I had vanquished my slanted nemesis. Tche, stairs. How tall was this house, or library, anyway? Verticality seemed to be omnipresent, and that did not spark joy for me. I hoped my misadventure would end with this new room I found myself in, and perhaps it was so. Because that to me looked like the kind of central hub worth its name. If this wasn’t the main room, then you could nick my left ball. Hehehahahaha- oh. R-right...
Aaaanyway, yeah. The room. T’was circular. You know, just to keep in check with the rest of the gaudy architecture. In the center was a work table of some kind. All around me were bookshelves. Soooo many bookshelves! Not a space was wasted; everything was filled to the brim with colorful tomes. Suddenly, this place truly put the “Library” in “Golden Oak Library.” It was almost a relief knowing Spike didn’t make that bullshit up.
I really woke up in a darned library. How and... just, how? Again, I didn’t have a night of debauchery yesterday evening. In fact, I simply came back from my killing work shift, browsed the web, abused my Spotify subscription, practiced this pseudo power ballad Stacy started to write, and then I crashed like a sack of rocks. I didn’t even have dinner or nothing. How could such an unassuming evening have brought me to a library of all places? In a pony suit too, let us not forget about that.
Questions that would remain unanswered, I’m afraid.
I slid my bum to the wall some more, keeping to the circumference of the room. As I said, this was the only way I could move without resorting to the lesser option. I spotted pillows near the center of the room, so with a bit of a struggle, I launched myself on one. A big fluffy cushion. Neat. My purple posterior likey. I took another ten minutes, just to rest my sore tendons, and my sore lungs.
So, a plan. I needed a plan. What was my next move? How would I play my cards? Spike was going to bring me my clothes, and you know, yippee and all that, but what then? Could I even jump in my Camaro with this kind of body I had? How could I reach the gas pedal and turn the steering wheel?
Wait.
Was my vintage ‘72 ride EVEN around? It probably wasn’t, was it not? I had left it by the curb of my apartment complex, and unless it too teleported neatly parked in the parking lot of this old-timey library, then I was shit out of luck. The other option would be to call for a taxi with the phone we didn’t have and pay the driver with the money I didn’t have. Yeah, ok. To imagine that such... unnecessary problems could arise in the information era, yuck. My life was not a series of peripeteias: My life was simple and grounded in routine. Why did everything have to be so complicated all of the sudden?
Erf. Maybe I could hail a cab outside. I dunno how it worked in Ponyville (goddamn, that name), but if it was anything like the metropolises of good ol’ US of A, then I wouldn’t have to look very far. Maybe I could even bug a pedestrian to borrow their smartphone for a minute or two and call myself an Uber.
That is, if anyone was willing to give attention to the freak I now was. I’m pretty sure my body would instill panic, right? Civil unrest, triggered by a man turned pony. Government officials, men in black, bringing me to the FBI headquarters to brain scalp me. My organs on display in a museum. They’d have every right to treat me as such, too. I was a monster, after all. A purple menace. Who would give me the time of their day? No one, that’s who. If I was someone else and faced the new me, I sure as hell would bolt the other way.
I know I’ve said it before, but it couldn’t hurt to reiterate: Fuck my fucking life. Maybe I’ll write a book about what happened to me one of these days. Heh, maybe this library would even sell it. That was a funny thought in a situation that was oh so not funny.
A sigh of melancholy escaped my mouth. If the clock face on the wall rang true, then it was nearing eleven o’clock. I’ve been swapped for a pony for less than half a day, and still I ended up feeling nostalgic for my old human form. But uh... c-chin up? As Spike said, everything would revert back to normal tomorrow, right?
...
Right?
Knock knock knock, answered the door.
Someone was knocking at the door?
Crap, this couldn’t be good! Why did I have to leave the seclusion of the bedroom?
I remained utterly quiet. I wished really hard for the intruder to move along. Wait, the intruder, or the customer? This- this was a library, was it not? A public one? Duh, of course it was a public one, dumbass! What kind of library isn’t opened to make a profit? What would be the point?
But then, if it were so, why did the stranger knock instead of, y’know, simply walking in? This was not a private property, my unseen client. Not that I was unhappy about the hesitance. Maybe that person was polite to a fault?
In any case, my lips were sealed. Theirs, however, were not.
“Hullo? Anypony there!?” said the stressed voice.
Okay, first of all, that sounded like a she. A young she. Second of all, she said “anypony,” which was just hilariously insensitive, given my new form.
As for my answer? It was a no-brainer: I kept my mutism. Not a word would escape my mouth. Not a twitch would move any of my body parts. I would remain as loud as the quiet ambience. I would not allow a human to see me as I was. I made up my mind on the matter. Sorry for being rude, but some of us have been transformed into naked ponies.
Oh, how I wish Spike were there. I’d tell him to answer and have him relay to the young girl that the library was closed for errr renovations or something. But he was gone, and I was home alone. Weren’t the circumstances of my torment just so epic? Me being the most unfortunate lad on the planet didn’t sound like doomer speech no more.
“Twilight? Twilight? Are ya in there? Ah need ya, Twilight!” frantically resumed the voice.
More desperate knocks.
I almost picked a southern accent there. Georgia or Texas was at the door, so it seemed. And-
Hang. The fuck. ON.
D-did...
Did she say “Twilight?” As in, the nickname Spike instinctively gave me?
No.
Shit no, this wasn’t happening. Thom Yorke was right after all. ♫ I’m not here... this isn’t happening~ ♫.
“Twiiii-liiight, pleaaasseee!” she moaned.
Shit shit shit, what do I do? What do I DO? She was looking out for me, that much became obvious. The name she said couldn’t have been a simple coincidence. Unless Spike decided to have a giggle and orchestrated this, which I highly doubted. For a dragon, he didn’t seem to be the kind of person to be so evil. But why then? Why was she so insistent on barging into this place? Couldn’t she leave me alone? I had enough stress, life. I didn’t need to share it with another person.
I heard a sob, then some sniffles.
She was crying.
My alias of a name was called a few more times, quieter and quieter, as hope dwindled from her broken voice.
Good.
Cry your life, kiddo. I couldn’t give less of a fuck if I tried. Gaze upon then barren fields of fucks I gave! Your resignation made me safe and sound.
And before I knew it, I was on my legs, all four of them, approaching the door.
What in the goddamn WAS I DOING? No no no, stop this! Body, you were acting out of line! You were not to toss yourself out of the oven and into the frying pan. Bad pony body, BAD! T-the kid, she was merely acting, you gullible moron! You were going to straight up spring a trap card, fool! Now stop prancing like a repulsive farm animal, and return to whence you came.
In the end, my empathy won over my enraged brain. I cracked the door open, letting the faintest amount of light in.
“H-huh... yes? Hello?”
“Twilight!” Oh man, the sheer happiness in her voice could’ve cured cancer.
What happened next had me confused for a moment. The door flung open, not by my doings. It knocked me out a bit, making me move backward, dazzled. I saw in the corner of my eyes something make its way inside the library uninvited, dashing so fast even NORAD would've failed to catch it. The door was slammed shut thereafter. As I was rubbing my muzzle, a pain spot having formed there, I felt something bounce by my feet, excitement blooming out of the darned thing.
A custard yellow, Spike-sized bouncing little ball of energy.
She had a red ribbon tied into a knot on top of her head, she had amber irises, she had a reddish mane flopped on her forehead, and she was a pony.
Much smaller than me, but pony nonetheless. With the same sort of alien features I bore (disproportionate eyes, unrealistic animal colors, animated facial expressions, etc.). She was as much of a caricature as I was. A noteworthy difference was her lack of “horn” on her head. I guess that confirmed that I had an anomaly on me; that perhaps I truly was terminally ill. Her eyes had dried tears, and her smile was large and wide, full of enthusiasm. All and all, she looked like she came straight out of a pumpkin patch on crack.
She was still vibrating like she downed four cans of Rockstar. “Oh thank you thank you thank you Twilight! Ah really need yer help! Sumethin’ terrible happened to mah sister, an’ I, an’ I-”
“E-excuse me, but who are you?”
That visibly shook her. Her exhilaration subsided a bit.
“Oh no, not you too, Twilight!”
“What? What!?” I held my hooves up, as if I was trying to get her to spill the beans.
Just strike me dead already, God. I had enough of these mind games. The last thing this enigma needed was more puzzle pieces. Too taxing for an underachiever like me.
“Did you get transformed into this too?” I worriedly asked the child.
“Wha-? Twilight, we dun haf’tha time for games! Applejack’s in trouble!”
What followed was even more incomprehensive blabbering between the two of us. She couldn’t understand what I wanted to know, and I couldn’t understand her cries for help. As far as I gathered, she wasn’t under a malevolent spell as I had been. She was straight up a talking pony, who had been born as a talking pony, and who would live the rest of her life as a talking pony. Oh, and also her name was Apple Bloom. I managed to extract that information out of the overexcited ankle-biter. But yeah. Horses using English like it was the most normal thing ever. Just like Spike did...
I knew today wasn’t going to be kind toward me. I was so lost and confused. I just kept getting more lost and more confused. At the end of the day, they’ll have to keep me strapped onto a metallic bed and shove handful of painkillers in my mouth.
“Now ‘nuff foalin’ around, Twilight! Mah sister’s in danger I tell ya!” she ordered, pushing my bum toward the front door with her head.
I put the breaks on. “Now hang on a minute. What’s going on with her exactly?”
It wasn’t my battle to fight, but I sure was forced into it for reasons that escaped me.
“Ah found her in front of tha farm this mornin’. She was up real’ early to buck sum apples, but instead, she was on tha ground mournin’ an’ weepin’. Ah thought she was hurt, but ah couldn’t make sense of what AJ was cryin’ about. She seemed scared, sayin’ that she’d been cursed or sumethin’. That’s why ah rushed to see ya as soon as ah could! Oh, an’ ah left Big Mac to watch over her,” she rapidly explained, the words meshing together.
The fact that she left a McDonald’s burger as a makeshift sentinel notwithstanding, I just couldn’t help but wonder how this little family issue had to involve me somehow.
“Uh, sorry about that, kiddo, but what do I have to do with this? Why did you come and get me specifically?”
“Du-uuh! So ya could work yer magic to make tha curse go poof!” she rolled her equally big eyes, then tapped her forehead for an inexplicable reason.
Work my magic uh. Well sorry to break it to you, young one, but I was no therapist. In fact, I grew up as a lone child, so I had no idea what to do to comfort someone with mental issues other than going “there there.” Sibling issues were out of my domain.
“Listen, Apple Bloom. I appreciate the sisterly solidarity, but I’m really not your guy for this situation.”
“Your guy? What’re ya-”
“Yup. Have you tried talking to an officer perhaps? A policeman or anything? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to assist you. Y’know, ‘serve and protect’ and all that.”
“I... whaaaaaa?” she said, tilting her head and making a funny face.
“How about your parents? Have you tried talking to them? I’m positive your mom and dad are more than capable to help Applejack. That’s what loving parents are there for, right?”
...
...
I think I’ve said something wrong. Oh so very very wrong.
The little filly, that little firework of cheerfulness, now turned sullen, backed away from me like I suddenly turned into a serial killer. Her four legs trembled, as did her jaw. She pulled the saddest, gloomiest puppy eyes I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life. Christ, even her ribbon drooped. No longer in control of her limbs (and her emotions), she fell onto her rear, her head completely locked on my eyes. It’s as if I had just told a child that Santa Claus died from hating them so much.
A couple of muffled sniffs later, and Pandora's box was opened. Huge streamers of high-pressurized water leaked out of her eyes. Large rivers of tears endlessly flowing, and flowing, and flowing. Niagara Falls would’ve told her to take a chill pill. She could’ve filled the entire room with these tears. I had to do something before I drowned!
“W-wh-why... why w-would...” She chocked on a big hiccup. “Why wo-ould ya say tha-a-a-at!” More tears. Infinitely more tears.
“W-what? I didn’t- I’m sorry!” I panicked. “I’m super duper sorry! Sorry to the max! Sorry to infinity and beyond! I didn’t mean shi- stuff! I didn’t mean stuff about anything! I apologize! Mea culpa, mea culpa!”
I somehow fell on my knees and welded my front hooves together in a poor display of a prayer. But the little filly was not appeased. The fuck did I do? Did I say something ultra taboo? Come on dude, you had to fix this! You hated to see kids crying, you knew that! That’s what made you answer the door in the first place!
“O-okay, okay! Imma go with you! We’re going! See? I’m walking!” And I was. Slowly. “I’ll help your sister, I promise!”
She wiped a big wet spot from her scraggly cheek.
“P-pinkie promise?” she said with a worn-out voice.
“Sure! Anything you want!” I begged.
“Cross mah heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in mah eye!” she beamed.
“Gesundheit?”
“Ya hafta say it!”
“Why?”
“Say it! Ya made me sad!”
Ahhhh! Oh shit, she was threatening to resume her crying session if I didn’t comply. Dang kids. Always made us adults hold the shorter end of the stick. Blackmailing with emotions; not cool.
Unnnnghhhh. As far as lyrics went, these were terrible. I could write better ones in my sleep. I really didn’t want to taint my career with this stupid nursery rhyme. MVK and Stacy would exile me out of their life if they found out. The band would collapse; everything would be done for.
Sigh. Come on, bro. If anything, do it for your ears. There were just so many tantrums you could take in one day.
“C-cross my heart, uh, hope to fly, and then, um, s-stick a cupcake in my... eye...?” I repeated with the excitement of a teenager forced into doing their math homework.
Still, it worked. She jumped up, her smile returned, the sun shined once more, and she trotted past me.
“Yay! Now c’mon, let’s go to tha farm!”
Yeah. Let’s go to the farm. And if I'm lucky, I’ll find a rope and a stool on our way there.