Cheerilee pressed her nose against the glass, fogging it slightly as she watched the hail bounce off of the street and rooftops. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be letting up anytime soon. What are the pegasi thinking with all of this? Sighing, she turned away and sat at her kitchen table once more.
It was still there, waiting for her.
Frowning, Cheerilee flipped it over, shuddering at its texture: Hard on one end and overly squishy on the other, with the softer end glistening slightly. When she touched it, it oozed.
Nope, she thought, getting up again and turning her back. I’ll just wait. Moments later, she winced as her stomach growled loudly. As she ran a hoof along her belly, she could feel it churning. “Okay, let's check the pantry again, “ she muttered as she trotted across the kitchen. “I must have missed something!”
Twisting the pantry’s knob, she opened it and stepped back to inspect her options. “Flour… pepper… cinnamon sticks… vegetable shortening.” Growling softly, she pushed the meager ingredients back and forth, hoping that this time she’d spot something new. Something remotely edible. Just like the last three times she'd checked, she found nothing.
Cheerilee slammed the door, glaring as the calendar pinned to the back of it flew off and landed in a heap on the floor. “Oh, how did I let this happen?!” she said, retrieving the calendar. Flipping it open, she scanned until she found today’s date. “I mean, it’s right there! ‘Hail until late evening.’ How could I miss it?!” With a disgusted sigh, she tossed the calendar onto the counter and began opening drawers and cabinets.
Half of her kitchen floor was filled with pots and pans before she sat, clutching her mane in her hooves, staring at it all. Get a hold of yourself, Cheerilee! she thought, bonking herself lightly on the forehead. The teacher craned her neck straining to see out the window from around her kitchen’s island range. Outside, the hail continued to hammer Ponyville. I’ve been through worse. I’ll just run. She winced as a branch fell from a nearby tree. Really, really fast, I guess!
Taking a deep breath, Cheerilee rose and trotted to the door. Retrieving her umbrella, she loosened its ties and shook it open. She wanted to be able to get it above her immediately. Swallowing hard, Cheerilee opened the door.
The noise was deafening. Clunks of ice slammed into the ground with breathtaking force, exploding into razor-sharp shrapnel that spoke of torn pony flesh. What are they doing up there?! she thought, glaring up at the clouds. What possible use is all of this?!
Cheerilee’s knees buckled as the hunger rolled through her again. Beginning at her stomach, the pain moved out in waves, driving her forward into the storm. She barely had time to put up her umbrella as she stepped out onto her stoop.
The effect on her muscles was immediate. One second earlier, they’d agreed with her stomach that something had to be done about the hunger issue, and that outside was just the place to do it. The next, they’d propelled her back into the house, gasping and smarting from dozens of bruises. Wide-eyed, she stared down at the umbrella she clutched in her shaking hoof. It was a shredded, unrecognizable mess.
Kicking the door closed with a hoof, she scrambled away from it. “Well, okay,” she said, breathing heavily. “So outside’s out of the question.” Slowly, she turned to stare at the kitchen table.
It was still there. Waiting.
Cheerilee drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her legs around them. Resting her head, she tried to keep from crying. “You survived on floating algae and seaweed for weeks. You can do this!” Somehow, it didn’t seem to help.
Her stomach propelled her into motion again. Where once it had offered up a strong suggestion that food might be in order, it now ratcheted those requests into full blown demands. Cheerilee cried out as the cramp gripped her, twisting her abdomen into knots. I’m going to kick those cops in the face next time I see them! she thought miserably. Detaining me! ME! The hostage! On the one day I had to go to the market! Unable to stop herself, she trotted back to her chair.
Sitting once more, she pulled the plate closer. “This won’t be so bad. At least it’s not curried durian.” Tentatively, she lowered her head until her nose was almost against the plate. Swallowing hard, she sniffed.
“Oh, Celestia!” Cheerilee rocked back, her mouth involuntarily working to spit out what her nose had convinced her she’d already eaten. The smell had been complex. Inscrutable. It had barreled across her mind, thundering through her senses and leaving her bewildered. Like a pony staring after a receding hurricane, she sat, too stunned to makes sense of it.
“No,” she groaned, pushing the plate away. “Yes,” she said a second later as her stomach twisted. As if attached to an altogether different mare, her hoof shot out, dragging the plate to her again.
Why is it green on this side? she thought as she nudged it back on forth. I-it definitely shouldn’t be this color. Moving in a close as she dared, she squinted at the bizarre hue, but couldn’t fathom it. Is it mold? Do they just grow like this?
Sitting straight again, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, slapping her face lightly with her hooves. Opening her mouth slowly, she forced her hoof into motion. Before she could lose her nerve, she popped it into her mouth.
Chewing started out as ‘difficult’ and quickly moved up to ‘heroic’ as she felt her stomach and tongue waged a fierce battle. Cheerilee's gut demanded food, but her tongue insisted on spitting this vile thing out immediately. Locking her lips shut, she covered her mouth with a hoof.
Cheerilee found that it somehow managed to be both unpleasantly mushy and nearly impossible to chew at the same time. The fruit gave without breaking, like chewing a small leather ball filled with pudding. With each mastication, a slimy syrup coated her tongue. It tasted the way dank things look. It was rot flavored.
Summoning up her full will, the teacher swallowed, feeling it slide down her esophagus in fits and starts. It moved slowly, reluctantly, the way congealed grease runs off of a pan. Shuddering, she ran for the sink and stuck her mouth under the faucet, sucking down huge mouthfuls of water.
After several minutes, she turned off the faucet and sat on the floor, staring out the window again at the churning storm. Like an unwanted and unpleasant houseguest, the taste still lingered on her tongue.
“That,” she said as she willed her hooves to stop trembling, “was the worst date I’ve ever had.”