//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: My Little Ponies // by JP Jackson //------------------------------// My name’s Jacob. I currently attend Northwest University of the Arts, where I’m double majoring in Theater and English. Yeah, I know, that makes me sound smart but trust me i’m pretty normal. In fact everything in my life is normal. I have a normal house, a normal part time job, even a normal school life. That’s why I’m looking to change it. If I can become a famous writer or actor, I’m set! that’s why I’m double majoring and bustin' my arse to get this degree that I’ll be paying off for the rest of my life. Normal that is, until after my firs day of Uni. *** The first day of school draws to a close and I wander out of my History of Theater class at 4:00. All this double major work had better be worth it. I find my way to my car and jiggle the key until the engine starts. I own a small, one floor house outside of the campus, it had once been my aunts, but she died and left it to me. It’s not much to look at, but it has a massive yard and working electricity, so it’s good enough. It’s also waaaay out in the country, so it’s nice and quiet. I park my car outside the garage, I still have yet to find a way to get the door open from the outside without heavy labor, and walk to the front door. In the dark, my foot hits something. I look down; it’s a small box with the words: take care of written on the side in black marker. I look all around, but I don’t see anyone who could have left the box here. Shrugging I open the door and lift up the box, grunting, surprised at how heavy it is. I place the box in the center of the floor in the living room, and examine it. It’s a big box, big enough to fit me, if I curled up into a ball. The bottom is strangely wet, like it had been dropped in something. And it has small holes, as if there’s something alive inside. I grab my letter opener and plunge it into the top to cut the boxing tape holding it together. When I do it lets out a little squeak like a frightened animal. I pause then, losing all semblance of my carefully contained patience, I rip open the box with my hands. I cannot believe my eyes. Inside are six brightly colored baby ponies. (Normally I can’t tell a squirrel from an alligator, but I somehow know these are ponies not horses), I real back in horror, realizing now why the box was wet on the bottom. One of them, a yellow one with wings and a pink mane and tail, has a small gash on her shoulder. Realizing that the cut is my fault and seeing the heart wrenching expression of fear on its face, I immediately feel like the worst person in the world. Even Satan would be like: ‘WTF man, why’d you shank this innocent little pony!?’ I reach to take her out of the box, but another one, with wings, a blue coat and a wild rainbow mane, steps between my hand and her. “Calm down,” I say, (hopefully soothingly). “I’m not going to hurt- OW!” It bit me! The little blue one freaking bit me! I pull my hand back and examine the bite; it doesn’t look to bad, nothing I haven’t gotten from a cat or squirrel. I get up and walk to the tiny bathroom to put some antiseptic on it. On the way I think: who on earth left six rainbow colored ponies (two with wings and two with small horns) on my porch, with only the cryptic: take care of written on the side. I shake my head and wrap a bandage around my hand. I return to the living room to find that the ponies have escaped their cardboard Alcatraz and have begun to wander around the room, exploring. The mean blue one is hovering a few feet above the floor, zipping back and forth across the carpet. Another one, one of the horned ones with purple mane and coat, is beginning to climb up my book case but suddenly falls! I dash under and grab her just in time. But not in time to save the small glass doll that sat on the shelf, which shatters on the floor. Whatever, those things always scared me. I place her back on solid ground and she gallops off the join her friends. I count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… where’s… suddenly a thud echoes from the kitchen. I sprint into the closet that masquerades as a kitchen to see a small pink pony gallivanting about on the counter. I look to see a broken bowl on the floor. I groan and take the pony off the counter, how did she even get up there!? She squeals and wriggles in protest but I keep a tight grip on her. Just then another crash echoes from the hall. “NOT AGAIN!” Two hours later, the six are peacefully sleeping on my war torn sofa snuggled together under a blanket, they are actually quite cute. I sit down exhausted, what am I going to do with these guys? I can’t keep them, can I?! I look at the yellow one snuggled up next to its vampire pony friend; after they calmed down, it finally consented to have its shoulder bandaged. I can’t just throw them out! I think what kind of jerk would do that! I let out a deep sigh. “It looks like I have roommates,” I say. *** I wake up next morning to a light weight pacing over me on the bed. I groggily open my eyes to see a pink blur two inches of my face. It appears I have a bed mate. As my vision clears I make out the frizzy mane and joyful face of a little pink pony. Last night’s adventures come rushing back to me. I sit up and groan, sending the helpless little equestrian tumbling off my moth eaten blankets. But, spunky as ever, she gets up and starts trotting around my room. I get up and exit my room. When I leave the small bedroom and step into the wood floored hall, I immediately step in something wet. Without looking down I take off my damp sock and navigate my way around the accident. The other five new house guests are romping around, happy as you please, the purple one is even… no… she can’t be reading… HOLY BIG BRASS BALLS! DID SHE JUST MOVE THE PAGE WITHOUT TOUCHING IT?! She does it again; a glow surrounds the small horn on her head, the page glows, and then moves! This is getting weird… Remembering the stain in the hall I usher the six little fillies outside. Luckily enough the house came with 10 acres of (fenced in) land, plenty for the tikes to romp around in. I turn back and stare at the yellow puddle in the middle of the floor. “Well, I certainly don’t remember THIS in The Guide to Surviving your Roommate.” I get the sponge and get to work. Half an hour later, I’ve obliterated the puddle (and another small present one of them left on the sofa). I look at the old grandfather clock, 5:45, add an hour… I still have awhile ‘til my first class starts. I amble over to the big glass doors that separate the back yard from the rest of the house. I watch as the little ponies frolic and play with each other in the large yard, you know, they’re actually quite cute when there’s not an imminent threat of puddles on the floor. I stroll into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee and notice something on the table. A small piece of construction paper placed on the table, cut into the shape of a heart. I pick it up and examine it. It’s roughly cut, like your average preschool Valentine’s Day craft project. The product is covered in glitter and has what looks to be a hoof print in the center of the paper. This is strange to me until I realize… I don’t own any glitter! *** I drop the fillies into my car and drive over next door (in the country, next door is about seven or eight miles) to my friend Jon’s house. Jon owns a horse ranch, if I can drop my ponies off there, then I should have no problems! I drive up the gravel drive and pull up next too a beat up 4x4 truck. Jon is standing by the fence he looks over to me and nods. “Howdy, what're you doin’ up so bright ‘n early?” “I have a small problem, six to be exact.” “I can’t loan you any more money.” “It’s not that, but I do want to talk about that, come over to my car.” “You kill a hooker?” “NO!” I show Jon the six little ponies in the backseat. “Well, this is by far the weirdest thing you’ve shown me.” “Can you take care of them?” He reaches in and tries to grab one, needless to say, Rainbow take’s the opportunity to demonstrate her jaw strength. “GAWDDAMNSONOFAMONKY’SUNKLE!” He pulls his hand back and rubs the bleeding wound. “You try, they might trust you.” “No, the same thing happened to me!” “Just do it.” I look nervously down at the little technicolor horses and carefully reach to pick one up. Amazingly, though the rainbow one looks humiliated as I pick her up, my hand remains unscathed. “I recon they like you.” “Why’d they bit you though? you work with horses.” “I recon they see you as their dad.” Their dad!? I fold my arms and hold the rainbow like you hold a baby and she rolls over and falls asleep. Jon smiles.part but “I can help you on the raising part but, I recon they have to-” “Jon," done playing along. "You’re from Detroit, stop.” “Whatever!” Bloody Theater major. “Anyways,” he continues. “You’ll have to keep them at your house, I don’t think they’ll behave if you left them here.” We both watch as the former assailant slowly snores in my arms. “You gonna’ name them?” I look down at the pony, I think about the way she dashed over to protect her sister, that way she zoomed six inches off the floor on miniature wings. I look at her colored mane and brush a red strand out of her sleeping face. “Rainbow Dash,” I say finally.