The Shortest PoE Story Ever
Admiral Biscuit
I stumbled out of the forest and into civilization—at least, what I imagined was civilization. The roads were neat and tidy, and there were homes. It looked like a future version of Equestria, the kind of thing which only existed in sci-fi films, World's Fair exhibits, and Whinnyland.
Still, it was better than being in a monster-filled forest. I'd seen a tawny quadruped with a white tail and vicious horns on his head who obviously wanted to run me through, and the ivy on the trees made my tongue itch when I tried to eat it.
I scrambled over a wooden fence that separated me from civilization and went off to meet one of the locals. I'd seen them rushing down the road, and while I shouted at a few of them, they were too busy to talk to me, I guess. They'd just whip past, growling.
Everypony—everyone I'd seen so far outside of the miserable forest was brightly colored, with a hard, glossy coat. Their eyes glowed yellow or orange, which vaguely reminded me of changelings, but changelings weren't that big.
One of them was standing outside of his house. I wasn't sure what passed for cutie marks on these strange creatures, but he had a broad black stripe with a ram's head on his flank. I knew it was a he, because I could see brassy balls dangling under his backside.
"Excuse me," I began, but he gave no sign of noticing me.
I was having a really hard time picking out specific anatomical details. Some creatures didn't have very good hearing; everypony knew that. I didn't see any ears turning my way, so I gave him wide berth, and walked around to his front.
His eyes were dark, and his mouth was chrome. His nostrils were huge, and I wondered if maybe his type had poor eyesight and hearing, but made up for it with a big nose. I stood patiently in front of him, to let him get my scent, but he didn't respond.
Just when I'd given it up as a lost cause, I heard a noise behind me, and spun around. A weird pale biped was standing in the door of the house, holding a long stick in his hands.
"Hey—what are you doing with my truck?"
They're called trucks, I thought. That's good to know. "Nothing," I said reassuringly. "I was just trying to introduce myself."
He was taken aback by my declaration. The truck didn't say anything, so I went closer to the house.
"Don't come any closer," he warned, pointing the stick at me.
"Look," I said disarmingly. "I don't mean any trouble. If you could just tell me where I am. . . ."
"Man." He rubbed his eyes with a talon. "I'm seeing things and hearing things." He looked up and down the street, his eyes narrowing. "If you're real, you've got a name, right?"
"I do," I said proudly. "I'm Anonymous, but you can just call me Anon for short."
"Yeah." He pulled a silver flask out of his back pocket and put it to his mouth. "That's about the dumbest thing I ever heard. You're some kind of Commie."
"I don't know what that is."
He pointed to my ass. I turned, and looked at the red star and sickle proudly displayed thereon. "Oh . . . is that what you call nighttime reapers? If so, I am. Anon, the Commie."
"Thought so." He looked up and down the street again, then pointed the stick at me. "Any last words?"