Life has always been a series of decisions. At every waking moment you’re making a choice. Whether you’re eating, sleeping, defecating, even breathing...all the action is started up by that fat little organ resting in your skull. Even when you don’t think you’re making one, you are. By choosing not to partake in a certain deed you’ve changed the course of your life in some way. In such an instance one chooses not to choose.
No matter how small a decision may seem, ultimately the verdict affects not only you, but those in your environment. Because life, in general, is an intermittent chain reaction already ignited since the dawn of time. Your birth was the result of a series of decisions made even before you could have a say in it. You just hadn’t existed in the time when your mother was impregnated. It’s correct to note that your birthplace was also the aftermath of circumstance. Your mother had no say in her own conception, and the same goes for her mother, and her grandmother, and her grandmother’s grandmother. It continues to go back, back, back into that fascinating mystery we call the past.
We make a judgment call every single second of our lives.
Sometimes it may feel it as if you have absolutely no control in the choices you make. As if one’s surroundings serve as the omnipotent overseer, cradling you throughout your journey until the think tank up top finally drains out. But this isn’t particularly true. Free will does exist within the mind of the viewer.
You now have a choice to either continue reading this strange tale of a dragon in conflict, or to move on.
Take into consideration that what you decide to do next will affect you in more ways than one. And the magnitude of such consequence will prove unimaginable.
Spike’s Dating Simulator 3.0
When Spike awoke, he heard the soft ring of a bell. He found it soothing. The morning chime synchronized well with the choral callings of the birds. Though soon after his initial rouse the ringing grew sharper in key. As the seconds continued to pass the bell’s toll projected ever more loudly, startling the young drake into a dazed stupor.
Opening his tired eyes, Spike expected to face the same view of Ponyville’s Golden Oaks’ ceiling. Instead he was greeted with two clearly legible, bold lettered lines seemingly floating in midair.
1. Get out of bed
2. Stay in bed
Granted, at the time he was unaware of the significance of such a scene. So when he rose from his basket whilst rubbing his aching head, he didn’t notice the bold lettered lines vanish instantaneously. Yet he was vaguely conscious of the sudden silence that followed the once overwhelming resonation in his ears.
Strange, Spike thought to himself as he returned his gaze to the empty ceiling. He could have sworn he had spotted something earlier. And the brassy bell clanging he’d heard was just as mysterious.
Whatever it was his senses had picked up on was no longer present. At least that’s what the dragon reasoned before dismissing it for an ephemeral dream.
The following morning ritual went by without interruption. After taking care to bathe and groom his scaly physique, Spike exited the bedroom and proceeded towards the library stairwell. It was at this moment that two more bold lettered lines popped into sight, again staggering the dragon.
1. Go downstairs
2. Stay upstairs
He stood stock still, staring daftly at the confusing set of words. They hovered at about an arm’s length to his front, clear and obtrusive to his visual perception. On instinct, Spike flinched back, shooting his wrists over his face in defense. With tightly clenched eyes, Spike helplessly swatted at the unknown threat.
After a few seconds of random flailing, the baby dragon noticed his hands hadn’t made contact with any physical material. Opening his eyes with caution, Spike immediately noticed the bolded words remaining in their usual position as they directly faced him. There they were, floating idly in midair at the foot of the stairwell. Spike inched a few steps closer to the anomaly, cautiously inspecting the hovering characters.
1. Go downstairs
2. Stay upstairs
The more he stared at the set of texts, the more he learned. He realized the words followed his line of sight, as if locked onto an angled trajectory. The words would seem to disappear, but only at certain instances. He’d blinked and blinked and shaken his head, all the while playing games of peek-a-boo…hoping, praying that the bold letters would suddenly vanish. They never did, further bringing the befuddled little dragon into a state of self-doubt.
Obviously he was dreaming…right? Sure, he’d been raised in a society filled with nonsensical magic conjuring and ancient, reality-bending artifacts. Equestria was riddled with unknown forces and bizarre happenings; they were a given. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d finally entered the initial delve into madness. At times conceiving the worst case scenario readily abates one’s deepest fears. In this particular case, Spike wasn’t receiving any reassurance. For the words continued to taunt him, never ceasing to exist in plain sight.
“Go downstairs?” Spike read aloud in contemplation, scratching his chin.
The dragon’s train of thought then screeched to an abrupt halt. The familiar chime of the morning’s bell brought Spike out of his intent pondering. Slow and evenly paced ringing caressed his eardrums, pacifying his nerves. There it goes again, he thought to himself. Yet as he tuned his attention towards the source of the ringing, he soon comprehended that something was a bit off.
Where was the sound coming from? Now that Spike was fully conscious and aware of his surroundings he noticed the bell’s toll was not coming from within the treehouse. Neither did it come from the outdoors. The clarity of each cling and clang resonated in his eardrums. The gradual increase in volume startled the dragon, coercing him to shift his gaze in random directions as he desperately searched for any object resembling that of a bell.
He didn’t find it. And as each second ticked by the rings grew louder and sharper. The measured tolls never sped, but their projection rose to alarming levels. Within a matter of seconds Spike found himself pressing his palms over his ears. Yet his attempts at muting the powerful clangor were unfulfilled.
Without warning, the bell’s toll began to stab at his cerebrum, begging to be heard just one more time. It screamed echoes at every knock of its tongue.
“Agh, what is-?” He couldn’t hear himself speak.
The young drake continued to clasp his palms over his temples, stumbling a few steps before catching himself. The ringing hadn’t stopped; the bell’s call jackhammered at his brain unforgivingly. Painful throbs bounced around the inside of his skull, giving Spike little opportunity to grasp his current predicament.
“Just...stop!” Spike screamed out in a panic. His legs moved on their own as they conquered each descending step of the stairwell. It wasn’t until his foot had made contact with the floor below that the ringing finally stopped.
The silence was pure. It was his caretaker. His escape from torture. Spike breathed a great sigh of relief at the ensuing calm and stillness. It was a miracle he hadn’t tripped on a step during the cacophony.
The sensation was horrid, like steely pins amassing punctures into his cerebral cortex. But things were finally calming down. It was a golden opportunity to collect his thoughts.
He nervously scanned the room, chills creeping from underneath his scaly shells. The mysterious apparition was gone. There was nothing masking his full view of the library treehouse.
It didn’t seem anything was out of place, at least to his knowledge. A scattered assortment of books lied atop a wooden coffee table. The old ladder was still leaning on the bookshelf in the exact same position he’d left it. He’d grown so accustomed to this room.
Dread overcame him. Waking up to a strange image was one thing, but having his skull split in two halves was a bit much for comfort.
So what the buck was happening?
One thing Spike was certain of: he was in a dilemma. Still, he recognized that having awareness of one’s quandary did not equate to an immediate solution.
Imaginary ding-dongs burrowing into your eardrums? Okay, that’s a little crazy. Airborne texts following your line of sight? He may as well have started devolving into an unrecorded subspecies.
Living as a flightless dragon? Now that’s just plain cruel.
“Twilight? You there?” Spike called out, pricking an ear up.
No response. She was likely off on regal duties, completely hounded by her praise-happy fans. Typical, the young assistant thought. The one time he anxiously needed her vast knowledge of all weirdness! No, instead she was probably off flying giddily into the clouds. He imagined the cool winds washing over her, swiftly passing through her feathered wings.
The thought of flying irritated him. In the end it was pointless scoffing at the will of the cosmos, so he opted to focus on the mess at hand.
Steeling his nerves, Spike crept forward. Mornings usually started with gems and jewels sinking into his stomach. Yes, he did just experience incredibly harrowing hallucinations. But he was hungry, damn it! Fill the stomach, then he’d get back to work. It was the best game-plan he could come up with on such short notice. Nothing beat relying on base instinct to take your mind off of the world’s pressures.
After entering the kitchen, shock stunned him in place, his pupils squeezing into tiny pinpricks.
“Wait.” He managed to utter. “What about my breakfast?”
Unlike before, three lines of text had materialized inches from his snout.
1. Find Rainbow Dash. Save the world.
2. Find Applejack. Save the world.
3. Find Twilight Sparkle. Save the world.
And the bell’s toll made its presence once again. Dumbfounded as he was, Spike knew all too well what was really going on. His subconscious had sensed it the moment it’d received the foreboding chime of fate’s instrument. It was a sensation most familiar for the mind of the dragon. A sensation inherently programmed to send one message to the brain.
FIND HELP NOW.
The gravity of the situation hit him hard. Perhaps too hard.
His legs gave out from under the weight. There was a dull thud as Spike’s cranium banged against the edge of a nearside counter. He toppled over, his body now a limp noodle.