//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Switch 
// by RainbowDashian 
//------------------------------//

	"Why, hello, my pretty." The stallion says, walking towards me.
I spit in his face. "What do you want?" I ask.
"I have a drink for you." He says. He holds up a bottle full of a pink liquid. "I wouldn't try anything feisty. Those chains on you are electrically charged. I can zap you whenever I want."
"I'm not going to drink that." I say.
"Oh really?" He says. He turns on the power. My hips arc skyward as electricity races through my body. When I open my mouth to scream, he shoves the bottle between my lips and shuts off the machine. As the liquid slides down my throat, my vision gets blurry and I can feel my sanity slipping away. "See?" He says. "I told you. You can't resist." He holds up a knife. "Want a haircut?"
"NO!" I scream, grabbing the pony next to me. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. I'm at home in bed, holding onto my husband, screaming. It was just a dream. And a recurring one, at that.
"Kailee, what's wrong?" James asks, looking into my eyes. "Was it the dream again?"
"Yes." I say. "It was." I often have a nightmare about the events of nine years ago, when I lost the use of my back legs. After James graduated from medical school a year ago, I married him. I am still unemployed, but he earns enough money as a doctor to keep us going.
The blood red streak in my hair still hasn't faded. If anything, it's become more prominent. My back legs are still useless, and I have to use a wheelchair. And I still don't have my cutie mark. I'm twenty three. According to the archives at the palace, the oldest known pony to get a cutie mark was twenty four. I'm about to break the record.
"How long did it last this time?" James asks.
"Longer." I answer. "Up to the point where he picked up the knife."
"This is bad." James worriedly says. "The psychologist said that if the dream continues to lengthen, you should see him."
"I know." I say dejectedly.
"Do you want me to take you?" He asks. "I could skip work today."
"No, I'll be fine." I say. I glance at the clock. "You're late anyway. You overslept again. Go, I'll get there myself."
"Okay." James says reluctantly. "But I'm coming directly home when I'm done with work."
"Okay, that's fine." I say. "I'll have the mailpony send a letter to the shrink. He can probably get me scheduled sometime this morning."
"Good." James says.
"Goodbye, you mean." I say, pushing him out of bed. "Go, you're late."
"Fine." James says, kissing me on the forehead. "I love you."	
"I love you too." I say. When he leaves, I scoot over to the edge of the bed. I move my flank into my wheelchair, then pull my hind legs along with it. I propel myself over to the kitchen table, where the remains of a hurriedly eaten breakfast sit. I scoop them up and put them in the trash can. Then I write my letter.

Dear Doctor Timothy,

The recurring nightmare about me almost dying has lengthened. It has come to the point where, if it occurs a few more times, I will, in fact, die in the dream. You said to contact you if the dream lengthened anymore. Well, that's what I'm doing right now. Please schedule an appointment for me as soon as you can, today would be best.

Signed, Kailee

I fold the letter up and place it in an envelope. I rolled outside and caught the attention of Derpy. "Hey, Derpy?" I ask.
"Yeah?" The mare says, one eye looking at me, the other at the ground.
"Can you deliver this letter to Doctor Timothy?" I ask. "It's urgent. I'll tip you an extra five bits if you send it to him right away."
"You got it, Kailee!" Derpy says, clumsily taking the letter and flying off. I reenter my house, and go to my drawing board. Without a job, I spend most of the time drawing things. I've had an unfinished drawing for four years now. It's a self-portrait of me. It's missing both a cutie mark and my back legs. I brush it off of the board, too sad to look at it.
I take a piece of paper and a pencil off of the board, and then go to Sweet Apple Acres, leaving a note at my door for Derpy. It reads: Gone to Applejack's, be back soon. I arrive at the orchard in a few minutes, and sit down on a bench to draw the apple trees. After about ten minutes, I hear a voice beside me. "Beautiful trees, aren't they?"
I jump and look to my left. An orange mare is sitting beside me, gazing at the orchard. "Oh, I'm sorry, Applejack." I say, collecting my things. "I'll just go."
"Whoa, there, nelly." She says, stopping me. "What do you have to be sorry about?"
"I'm trespassing on your property." I say.
"No you're not!" Applejack says, stunned. "Anypony is welcome at Sweet Apple Acres, anytime. So long as they don't steal any apples. In fact, that drawing you're making is looking mighty fine. I might just buy it from you once you're done."
"Really?" I ask, elated. No one's ever bought any of my drawing before.
"Yep." Applejack answers. "But the harvest's been a bit rough this year, so the most I'd pay is five bits, deal?"
"Deal!" I say, shaking her hoof.
"I've got to get back to applebucking." She says. "See you soon!"
"Goodbye!" I say. She leaves.
I'm halfway done when Derpy appears in front of me. "I've got your mail!" She says.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Derpy, I left my bits at home." I say. "Can I pay you back tomorrow?"
"Sure thing, Kailee." She says. "Bye!" She flies off, hitting the barn on her way. I open the letter. It's hastily written and almost illegible. It reads:

Dear Kailee,

The contents of your letter scare me. This is urgent. Get to my office as soon as you can. It's a matter of life and death.

Signed, Doctor Timothy

I shove my unfinished drawing into the pouch on my wheelchair and rush to his office. When I open the door, he's waiting for me. "Kailee, you're here." He says, wheeling me in to his private room.
"What's wrong?" I ask, climbing onto his couch.
"Many things." He answers. "When a pony dies in a dream, chances are pretty slim that they'll die in real life. However, if a pony almost dies in a real life experience, chances are that their brain will construct a version with a much - darker ending."
"How dark?" I ask.
"The encounter with death will have an alternate ending." Doctor Timothy says. "In which the pony dies. If the pony has a dream of this version, they will most likely have a heart attack and die."
"What?" I ask worriedly.
"We're not sure whether the dream you're having is the constructed one." He says. "But if it is, we need to get it to stop."
"But how?" I ask.
"You have to be sure that its occurrence is impossible." He says. "However, that's going to be a bit hard."
"How?" I ask.
"In other cases, it was simpler." He explains. "One pony had an encounter with falling off of a cliff, so we built a fence. Done. Another pony almost drowned, so we taught him how to swim. Easy. But in your case, you were almost murdered. The only way that you could discontinue this dream is if you were sure that he couldn't kill you anymore."
"Can't the police just throw him in jail?"
"Ponies can break out of jail. A similar case a few years ago proved that, despite somepony's incarceration, the one who was almost killed will still see themselves as vulnerable. He has to die, or else you won't live."
"Well if he's caught, he'll be tried for attempted murder, right? And the penalty for that is death. So we just need to catch him."
"It's not that simple."
"How?"
"Well, we've been looking for him ever since he claimed his first victim twelve years ago. However, he covers his tracks well. We won't be able to find him anytime soon, that's for sure."
"What do I do?"
"Here, I'll prescribe some medicine used for things like this. It keeps you from dreaming. If you have any abnormal sleep patterns, contact me."
"Okay, you got it."
"Now, go home. I'll talk to the police and start a fresh search for your attempted murderer."
"Thanks."
"Farewell."
"Goodbye." I wheel myself home. I gather up my bits and go to the general store.
"Hey, Kailee!" The clerk jovially says. "What are you looking for today?"
"A knife." I say. "One that's easily concealable."
"Why?" He asks, a skeptical look on his face.
"I'm home alone most of the time." I explain. "I need to be able to protect myself."
"Well, let me see what I have." He says, going into the back room. He comes back out with a small metal knife handle. "Here." He says. "That will be ten bits."
"Wait." I say. "Where's the blade?"
"That's the cool part." He says proudly. "You see, when you press this button, a blade flips out." He presses it. Sure enough, a knife blade turns propels itself out of the handle, and, before I can say switchblade, it's a full-on knife.
"Wow, thanks." I say, paying him the money.
"Hope it helps you protect yourself!" He calls as I leave the shop. I grin to myself. This switchblade wasn't going to be used for protection. It was going to be used for something else.
REVENGE.