Fever Dreams of a Trampoline:

My name is Princess, and I like short skirts and explosions. Today's story includes a little of the first, and a lot of the second. Bad ponies are doing bad things bad things with poison joke, and as long as Cadance's checks aren't bouncing, it's my job to stop them.

Read More

Zoey groaned. How many more times was she going to wake up like this? Even with her eyes closed, she could sense the bright light around them.

…Wait. Light.

“Lisa?” she turned her head, opening an eye. Her voice was still hoarse from the screaming.

No Lisa.

Zoey shot up with a heave, propping herself up with an arm against the grass beneath her.

Grass?

Read More

Read More

Thunk.

The floor creaked beneath her feet. Distant, metallic screeches echoed through her skull, almost drowning out her muted humming. Her small fingers tightened around the fragile glass of the cup she held, unwilling to let it come shattering to the floor. A dim corridor terminated her path ahead—three doors. Faint voices echoed from behind the one to her left.

Read More

I don’t know what I’m smelling anymore.
I smell wood. There is no wood. Just air. It makes me sick.
I wish there was wood. Then I wouldn’t feel so lonely.

I smell leaves.
They’re new. Except they’re not. They’re dead. They’ve been dead. They crunch under my feet as I walk.
Crunch crunch. Like chips.
I wish i had chips.

Walking is dumb. Flying is better.
I try and fly. I scrape my knee. It hurts. I watch the blood run down my leg.
I don’t feel it. It’s just there.

I hear voices.

Read More