I wake up in the dark, curled up in a bed quite a bit too short for me. After moving a few of my appendages around, I find that the pain has about halved since that fateful morning.
Something funny smelling sits atop my forehead.
I lift it off and see that it’s a damp washcloth, full of a peculiar scent. After considering its usefulness, I throw it to the side, not about to have some alien remedy poison my forehead. Step 2, I think as I try to sit up. My head throbs, but it is bearable. I know that Step 3 will take a while to build up to, so I just content myself with looking around.
Up on a shelf to my left, I see a golden harp resting, its features mirroring my ugly disheveled face. I can’t help but think of my inferiority in this place. All ponies I’d seen so far lacked acne or any other particular oddities that served to tarnish beauty. My broken body, with its broken soul has no right to dirty up the lives of this pony folk. In fact, when I think about it, none of these “ponies” look anything remotely like an equine. Their faces are too round, their bodies too petite, their legs too thick. This has to be a dream...but where have I seen things like this? Ponies that look nothing like ponies, yet so pleasing to the eye. The answer comes to me.
“The Bronies,” I groan. Their obsessions looked oddly familiar to the ponies I’d recently met. What the heck am I doing here? I don’t even like My Little Pony! My masculinity does not permit this sort of daydreaming! I shake my head to get out of this infectious world, for fear that I’d lost my sanity.
It remained.
'Cause of you-know-who.
“What are you doing?” she buts in.
“Nothing."
“You’re just hurting yourself. Don't shake your head like that.”
“I knowww...but you’re a daydream, I need to get out.”
She cracks up, “Yeah right. And I’ve been imagining you all day long too."
Stupid…stupid pony. I didn’t need her help anyways…
“Alright, so, seeing as you’re my temporary pet,” Lyra’s eyes glint with delight at “pet,” “I’m gonna have to feed you and water you and—“
“I can handle myself!” I respond, losing my temper. My head throbs in response. I will not be subject to these idiotic…cute…things.
“Now why are you angry at me? I just saved you. The pet thing was just a joke in case you couldn't get it through your thick skull.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
Lyra trots out, slamming the door behind her.
I sit back and stew for a bit. However, I immediately start to regret blowing up on her. Why was I even angry at her? She saved me. She was willing to save a wretched looking thing like me.
I hear pots and pans clang together as one of the housemates does dishes. Are they really that different from us? Apart from their perfect complexions? And…well…their pony forms?
The door opens and Lyra brings in a tray of breakfast foods.
Lettuce, and tomatoes...
Lyra sees my disappointment and asks, “You don’t like this?”
“Bacon and eggs suit me better,” I respond.
“What’s bacon? And wouldn't eating eggs be silly? First of all, eggs are chickens about to be grown. You'd be a monster if you stopped that from happening. Second, well, I don’t see how eggs shells wouldn't cut your throat on the way down.”
“My mistake,” I grumble. I forgot, they’re herbivores. I roll my eyes.
“Well, here you go. We don’t have much else, so you’ll have to make do with this. Bon Bon buys all the groceries, so if you want something, you'll have to let her know.” Lyra sets the tray down on my stomach.
“Thanks.”
A pause.
“Can I pet you?” she asks.
“No.”
She sits down, her eyes gleaming with vitality.
I just—I just want—no. That’s not right.
I'm about to tell her to buzz-off, but something stops me. I’m lonely…in a world where everything is frighteningly different. Beds too small, doorways too low, rooms claustrophobic. Oompa Loompas could offer better hospitality.
I lay there, actually enjoying Lyra's gaze. It makes me feel…accounted for, worthwhile. It’s been forever since I’ve felt that. Her attention makes me happy...yet my brutish self refuses to apologize to her for being so abrupt.
“You haven’t eaten yet. You're not hungry?”
“Oh, I—just—uh,” I stumble over my words. “I was thinking. That’s all.” I start eating my food.
She eagerly watches as I take a grimacing bite of lettuce.
I feel very self conscious. “Could you stop that?” I say, a little exasperated.
“Stop what?” She looks from the lettuce to my mouth, as if watching a tennis match.
“You’re staring at me. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Lyra looks down. “Ok."
I go back to eating that damned lettuce leaf. After finishing, I look up to see her staring at me again. “For crying out loud,” I clench my hands on the tray in my lap and look at her. “Why do you keep doing that?!”
Her two large pupils, surrounded by golden irises, contract in response to my harsh words.
“Sorry, I just…can’t help it.” She walks up to the side of the bed, where she can get a close-up view of me. “You fascinate me.”
“Just great, now how am I going to eat in peace?” Once again, I start to regret my harsh words.
“You're making a big deal about it. I wouldn't mind it in the least. I mean, how hard is it to chew while somepony's looking at you...don't tell me you're actually allergic to my stares.” A smile faintly surfaces as she ducks her head to hide it.
I take a deep, deep breath. I’d come to the end of my patience and was afraid that I’d say something emotionally scarring. “Could you just leave…please?” I ask.
“Ok." Glumly, she leaves, the immaculate white stripe running down her green mane swishing with her footsteps.
Slowly, hesitantly, she closes the door; I already regret telling her to leave. The room infects me with its dark, depressing atmosphere. At least I get to eat in peace now.