Thud
Thud. Thud.
The door was solid steel, and streaked with dried blood. Deep dents peppered its lower half, each the same semi-circle the size of a pony's hoof. It clung to its hinges, immobile, a stubborn barrier designed to withstand the worst a human could throw at it. Light spilled out from under the warped frame, the single source of illumination for the tiny prison cell.
Thud. Thud.
The cell itself was a typical design and could have been built anywhere in the world. A concrete cube, with a single bed, sheets not included; a steel toilet with no accessible parts; and a sink with special rounded tap. There was no window, there was just a single, broken, light and a lone door that lead to the outside world. Before the bloodied door a pony stood.
Thud. Thud.
He was a strange specimen. Far too small to be a real horse, the stallion had a deep blue coat. Muscles rippled down his flank as he lashed out with both hooves, slamming into the door with a powerful buck. Thud. Blood stained the ground beneath his hind legs, trickling down from the cracks in his hooves yet he showed no signs of pain.
Thud.
His name was Michael, or maybe that was just a stolen memory. He certainly didn't remember being born as a miniature horse, and it wasn't like turning into a pony was a normal thing to happen to a human. People didn't get their pony license on their sixteenth birthday. They weren't allowed to change on their twenty-first. It was ludicrous. Insane. Laughable.
Michael was still a pony, though.
It was funny how little common sense affected reality.
Thud. Thud.
The cell was far more familiar than his new form. Michael didn't have a problem with drinking, he was quite good at it. The consequences of drinking tended to bite him in the arse, though. Still, sometimes it was easier to deal with a crappy week by obliterating a Friday night than trying to solve problems at the office. He knew his limits. He wasn't hurting anyone. He wasn't like his dad, who had a home and a kid to screw up. So what if Michael ended up in the drunk tank on occasion? That was his right. It never hurt anyone.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Blood continued to seep from his hooves as he bucked the door. He didn't even have to think about the motion any more. He'd come a long way from his first, hesitant, stumbling steps. His hooves blurred as he lashed out at door, the impact echoing through the tiny room. There was no sign of the panicked human in the wrong shape any more. Just grim equine determination.
Thud.
Michael had thought he'd crossed a limit when he'd first woken with hooves. He'd never touched anything illegal before, that wasn't his poison, and it wasn't like he had the money to have those kinds of habits. The comforting thought it was just an acid trip hadn't lasted long, though. Acid wore off after a few hours and it had been days. Or maybe a week, it was hard to tell. The only time the light had changed was when he'd broken the lamp.
Thud. Thud.
He'd been near inconsolable that first hour. Screaming, kicking, raging at the door which kept him trapped in the tiny cell. The fire had burned its way out pretty quickly. It's hard to rage against silence, and Michael had never been a dedicated man. Screams had turned to tears, tears to pleas. Eventually, there had only been silence and his own ragged breathing.
Thud. Thud.
There are few times in a man's life when he is truly alone. So Michael waited. There must have been some agency to his predicament. There must have been. It wasn't logical for a thirty something male to turn into a pony for no reason. It was an experiment, or a hallucination, or some strange dream, but help would come. Be it coma, or catastrophe, someone always came to help.
Thud.
His conditions weren't awful, after all. He had a bed, and a toilet, and drinking water once he'd figured out how to grip the awful smoothed tap with his lips. The room stayed warm, and dry and the light kept burning. Michael could endure such conditions, until help came.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Help never came, of course. There had been no scowling jailers, no friendly doctors. There had been not a sound through the solid steel of the door, no matter how hard Michael had strained for even a whisper. He would have killed to hear the familiar tread of boots on concrete, rather than the alien clop of his hooves.
There had been no food either. He didn't know just what a pony ate, but he doubted it was water alone. It was strange what hunger did to a mind after a while. Little things began to grate. The fact the whitewashed walls had not taken their coat evenly. The slight lump in the mattress. The way his tail would scratch against the plastic coating. The infernal buzz of the halogen bulb that built to a crescendo until the pony was screaming in rage at the incandescent tormentor.
Thud.
He'd smashed the bulb in the end. It was in an insane thing to do, pungling him into the twilight gloom that had been his only companion since. For his own sake, at least light kept leaking in through the cracks in the door, or else he feared the madness would have kept its grip on him. Not that the berserk fury that gripped him truly left. It warped upon seeing the shards of glass twinkling in the half light. Michael had scooped one of the larger shards up on his hoof and stared for a long while at the cutting edge.
It would have been easy. It would have been logical. It would have been sweet, and spiteful end. When they came back for him, for they had to eventually, they would find nothing but a useless corpse. Perhaps it was a petty vengeance, a paltry revenge for costing him his form, his life and his hope. It would have been his choice, though. One final act before he went the way of his father.
THUD!
Michael's hooves smashed into the door. He stood there, panting, his sides heaving as he stared at a spot of blood on the far wall. His hooves were agony. An empty pit had opened in his stomach and it was clawing at his insides. His mouth was dry and his vision swam. Part of him still wished he had the glass. It would have been swift at least, rather than dying by inches, but Michael figured he would have botched it. He'd botched everything else.
Thud. Thud.
Maybe he had done it. Michael was in enough pain to believe he was in purgatory. His dad being right about that would have been too much irony to stomach, though, so he soldiered on. Life was all about survival in the end. Whether his form was a fever dream or some twisted machination of an alien mind, he refused to lie down and die.
The glass shards had vanished down the toilet. It had been the wrong choice, but the one he was stuck with. Ironically, the water had stopped just a little while later.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The dents became deeper and deeper with each strike. A little more light crept through. Freedom came a millimetre closer.
Thud. Thud.
Michael had not really considered what was going on beyond his four walls. He'd clung to the belief that someone was out there. Someone was coming to help, or at least bring a change to the monotony of his imprisonment. The water failing had been the final straw, however. Water didn't fail. Power flickered, servers dropped and cars failed to start, but the water always kept flowing. It had been a slow realisation, but one long overdue. There was no one coming to save him. He had to save himself.
Thud. Thud.
And so he did. Just stood there and started kicking. Something would fail eventually, be it steel or flesh. Michael intended it to be steel.
Thud. Thud.
There was no other option really. Rescue wasn't coming. The water was gone. Even the scraps in the toilet bowl.
Thud. Thud.
Survival boiled down to kicking a door.
Thud. Thud.
Michael would succeed at that.
Thud. Thud.
Or die trying.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Crack.
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Well... that was... horrifying. And Dark. And one of those thoughts I had in the back of my mind while reading the main story's premise. When everyone disappears, suddenly, the world starts to crash. And an innocent, just sentence becomes an indefinite hold with no one to save you. Damn. That's a really scary thought.
Now, huh, I sort of imagine Michael as an earth pony, for simple lack of descriptions (this is a rather straight forward and yet subtle one-shot) of wings or horn. Honestly, I hope that last thing was not his legs, but I don't know. Starving magical animal vs steel? I really don't know who came out on top, and that's sort of brilliant in its own way. You ended things at just the right place.
I like it. That was well-done.
I knew this was coming.
It was what I feared.
You did well with it, though.
...
Ugh. Your writing couldn't get more claustrophobic.
Good work. *shudder*
Yep. This is one of the darker side stories. Darker even, in a way, than D's story. His situation has nothing to do with choices he's taking building up, his situation just is what it is. Ponified in a locked and secured room with no one around to let him out. And that cliff hanger... You can't help but feel it for him.
well.... that sucks
6157121 I partially disagree. While he does start in a crappy and hopeless position, he made some choices that led up to the moment described in this story. Breaking the light, and then flushing the glass shards. That means he made the choice not to take the easy way out, and he sacrificed his senses to not have to withstand the annoyance of perpetual light and buzzing. Also, he made the choice to kick at the door rather than the concrete wall, and he might have had more luck kicking the wall.
But... yeah, the whole thing absolutely stinks for him, and he did the best he could considering the circumstances.
This story is now my favorite PaP fic. Nice work, Billy, being an actual professional writer you managed to bring some dark light into this niche community. Congrats on being the first to decide to write a short instead of a novel.
(and what's the deal with the Alternate Universe tag?)
6156730 My guess it was the door that broke or this would call for a tragic tag.
Wow, dude! Congrats on making it to the homepage of FimFiction, seeing as this was published just today! That's incredible!!
Great job!
The image reminds me of presentable liberty.
That crack. I'm like, "Is it the door or his hooves? Ack, the cliff-hanger, it's killing me!
" But you did one great job doing this... yikes.
minature
Is good. Weird premise, but eh.
Amazing work. Very dark and entertaining.
6158855
"Minute" is a legitimate word choice here. With long vowel sounds and emphasis on the second syllable rather than the first (sounds like "my-NOOT"), it's a synonym for small.
(What am I, a dictionary?
)
6160039
Never heard of that usage before, always thought "minute" with that pronunciation was more refering to a short period of time, or amount. Like, a "minute amount of liquid" or "a minute amount of time passed." A "minute rock" sounds strange to me, but if its an actual usage, then alrighty then.
6156730 6156927 6157049 6159784 Thanks guys. I don't write much dark fiction, but I really liked writing this one. Glad you enjoyed it.
6157259 Eeup.
6157121 Yeah, it's very much the survival situation pared down to the absolute minimum. Limited resources, a do or die goal and it all hindging on inginuity and resolve. In this case, very much resolve.
6157523 Thanks d-, it was a fun challenge to fit the setting down into such a tiny story. I'm so glad to hear it worked.
6158116 Alas it seems the moment in the sun didn't last long. Ah well, it's not a surprise, these in universe stories tend to lack mass apeal.
6158386 Thanks, always leave them wanting more.
6160039 6160260 Minute would probably work, but miniature was what I meant to write. Ammended.
Some of the prose rather tell-y and heavy handed, but overall this is a good read. I especially liked the bits referencing how his water ran out.
Is there any reason why he randomly turned into a pony? Did I miss something along the way, or is it intentionally vague?
6166734 this is a spin off from an existing story The Last Pony on Earth. Humans disappear but the ones that remain are transformed and they have to try and survive as a new species.
It's pretty good, I'd recommend it!
So did the door break or his leg/legs? Because I could see the latter as more likely.
Well then. It's weird to start off reading the main story, and then come on by this. Certainly shows how things in that situation can be a hell lot worse then what it originally started out as.
So. I don't suposed this will get a sequel?
Reading this hurts in all the right ways.
Sweet Celestia man, the cliffhanger... i cant take it
what happend??!!
I keep coming back to this wishing I could do more than favorite and like it. I mean seriously, I love this one. It got me interested in the genre.
cool.
coolcoolcool.
Ambiguous endings tick me the hell off. Thumbs down. A shame I can't give multiple thumbs down.
6335674
On the contrary, that is a very effective ambiguous ending. You're left wondering if Michael has finally shattered one of his hooves or if the cell door has finally surrendered before his Earth Pony strength.
In the end, how you interpret the ending is as much revealing of the nature of the reader as it is the nature of the story. I, for one, like happy endings, or the closest thing to it that is possible. Others might take a darker route. In the end, it is our inner reality that ends this tale for the author, which is the sign of a good artist who knows his craft.
6343125
That is precisely why it FAILS as an ending. There is no resolution to the story, only a guessing game left with no definitive answer. That kind of stuff ticks me off. IF you like it, well jolly good for you but as I said, I'd give the story multiple thumbs down if I could.
God I hate that. Is that him finally kicking the dog, or the door (or the cement holding the door in place) giving way?
Regardless, considering how this ended, it deserves a sequel, no doubt about it.
That is, if he succeeded in escaping.
Noticed something really weird today. Thud and my Tyra B share (apart from the same tags) the exact same word count of 1461.
Great story. Thank you.
Sequel. Calling it now
I wish there was more context within the story. I wanted at least some indication of why he was a pony and in a prison cell, or where the people who had done this to him were. And then I come to actual story and find out it's part of some setting I've never heard of. Which, y'know, explains things, but I couldn't shake that feeling of missing things.
6617747 That's because this is a spinoff of a much larger series.
6627218
6627605 ... Well there's egg on my face.
... I don't like eggs.
6343819 I stand with you half on that one! I loved the story, but hated the ending. I wouldn't go and add zeros to the number of dislikes, but I don't really like the ending. With the way it was worded and the word "crack" I think poor Michael broke his legs. Doors of steel don't "crack."
Classic ending. Nice read
Well, that was.. kinda super depressing. Very well done, but.. *Shudders* That ending.. >.> Ooowww
6893818
But steel doesn't crack.