Not another One-Shot-Ober

by Admiral Biscuit

The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 2

The Stallion with Bows in his Mane, part 2
Admiral Biscuit

It took a long time for Emily to wake up, and when she did she was utterly disoriented.

As she slowly regained consciousness, there was already the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something wasn't right. It wasn't anything that she could really nail down; certainly, in her half-awake state, it eluded her grasp. But there was something amiss, that was certain.

She was logy and her brain was full of cotton. Her body ached and burned, like she'd fallen down a flight of stairs and gotten a fever when she landed. Feelings suddenly assaulted her from every inch of her body, and none of them were right.

It was so overwhelming that she passed out again, her head falling senselessly back to the uncaring earth. She wasn't quite asleep and wasn't quite awake, either. Her eyes were open, but they were glazed and blank, reflecting her mental turmoil. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and one leg twitched occasionally, only barely breaking the illusion that she was dead.

She lay there, unmoving, until a gust of wind touched her, and then she gasped and blinked, her eyes suddenly snapping into focus.

The first thing she saw was green grass on her left side and blue sky on her right. That wasn't what she ought to be seeing, she knew that. It wasn't her bedroom; it wasn't any bedroom. It was outside, and outside was not a place she should have been sleeping.

For a moment it came back to her, the flash of light, so bright that she could see it even with her eyes screwed tightly shut, and then it was gone, vanishing back into the haze that made up her memory. She didn't know where she was, and she was afraid that she didn't know who she was either.

She twisted around on the ground, moaning. Her voice didn't sound right. Then she stretched out, and her neck didn't feel right and her body didn't feel right and she was sure she was paralyzed. Her brain helpfully filled in the details; perhaps she had been in a car accident she was planning to go over to Sarah's house and that must have been what happened she was thrown clear of the wreck and the paramedics haven't arrived yet didn't they say that short-term amnesia was common among accident victims oh God I'm a victim I'm a statistic.

She tried to control her breathing, to avoid panicking. Panicking was bad. Panicking caused further injures. Caused the heart to beat faster, and if there was bleeding, that would make it worse. Stay calm. Help is on the way. Don't move.

Her body was numb. There was no pain. Maybe she was in shock. Probably.

She was so warm.

Too warm. She was burning up.

Small movements. A little here, a little there. Wiggle the toes.

No toes.

Wiggle them.

Nothing.

No, not nothing. Something. Something strange. Different. It's just shock.

Her nose.

Her nose isn't right.

It's . . . not right.

Who notices their nose?

It's just there but it isn't there or rather it is there but it isn't a nose.

It's . . . it's not on the ground. She crosses her eyes, tries to focus. Tries to process what she's seeing. It's not part of her, it can't be part of her. No part of her ever looked like that.

She moves.

She couldn't help it. She forgot she's supposed to lay still and quiet until the paramedics show up to avoid aggravating any injuries. She can't get the image of her nose out of her mind, it's an illusion, a delusion, a hallucination, all she has to do is touch it and then she'll know she was imagining it. She reaches up with her right hand, because it's easier, it doesn't have her body lying on top of it.

She touches it.

She's so confused.

She feels the touch, feels the pressure against the nostrils and that's all right but her hand something is wrong there it feels like she's wearing a boxing glove there is no tactile sense at all, yet her wrist says that there is pressure and she's trying to figure it out but it's so hard with a headful of cotton wool.

She's not scared. She's not.

She's terrified.

Breathe.

Slowly.

Move.

Slowly, slowly.

She lifts her head, just slightly. Off the grass. Not much. Not enough to worsen a potential neck injury. No, not that far. Just a little. It helps. Now she hasn't got grass pressed against her cheek, hasn't got that smell in her nostrils.

Her ear moves.

She felt it move.

She slaps her hand against her ear and is rewarded with burning pain. She can't feel blood, there's no wetness on her hand that doesn't feel like a hand at all.

Emily doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to know. She closes her eyes and lets her head drop back to the grass, thinking that perhaps there are worse things than dying on the grass.

• • •

How long she is there she does not know. She couldn't know.

The weird sensations have become normal.

Not normal.

But not abnormal.

She's started to accept whatever it is that has happened to her.

She doesn't know what. Her mind is blank. There was a flash, and then . . . this.

Emily shifted around restlessly. There is no pain. She can't—things still don't feel like they should, but her legs moved. She felt them move. And something just above her butt, but she doesn't focus on that, she doesn't want to know about that. The important thing was that all four limbs were functioning.

She opened her eyes. She could still see the grass out of her left eye and the sky out of her right eye and the furry brown thing between them. The thing that didn't belong but yet felt like it belonged to her.

Her ears twitched.

She had to get up. Get her cell phone. Call for help. Nobody was coming, she knew that now. The sun was lower, she was sure the sun was lower and she couldn't be here when it went down. Couldn't be lying on the ground out here, wherever here was.

She pushed herself up, slowly, carefully. Each movement was calculated, ready to be curtailed if there was pain, but there was none.

It felt right to be back up, even if the world looked strange and shorter than it used to.

A lock of brunette hair fell across her vision, and she automatically brushed it aside, forgetting for the moment her rule about planning every action.

It didn't move.

She missed.

She missed her own hair.

And what was that that just crossed in front of my face?

She needs to know. Emily doesn't want to know, because it could be a dream, yes, that's it, a weird dream, but she must know she must.

Why is she kneeling? Why can't she stand up?

It's a hoof.

It's attached to a furry limb.

The furry limb is attached to her.

She knows it is.

She can feel it when it moves. She can shake it and it responds.

Her mouth drops open in an O of surprise.

Things are beginning to make sense.

Things don't make any sense. Her mind tries to grasp what it knew that she was a person, a human, a girl and her parents were too and so was everybody but she can't deny what she saw. It wasn't a hallucination, it was too real and she's a rational per—pony so she picked her hoof back up and waved it around in front of her face, getting used to the idea.

She's a pony.

She's got hooves.

She's got a mane, yes, it's not hair, it's a mane. She touches it lightly, gets a feel for it. How it flowed down her neck in a narrow band, nothing like how a human's hair would fall. She turns her head, examined her body. Certainly a horse, a pony, there is no doubt.

Her ears move, she felt them move. Her tail—that was the feeling above her butt.

She had a tail.

It's weird, it's new. No amount of imagination had prepared her for having a tail. It was like an extra limb back there, but not necessarily a cooperative one. She can't figure out why it flicks and swishes like it does, but memories of horseback camp came back to her and maybe she was annoyed.

Yes, annoyed.

That was it.

She was annoyed.

She'd been minding her own business, doing human things and then there had been a sudden flash of light and . . . and then she was a pony.

She laughed, and there was a touch of madness in that laugh.

She lifted a hoof, then set it back down and lifted another. It felt weird, but right somehow.

“I am Emily,” she announced. “And I am a pony.”

. . . That felt right.

Proper.

She was a pony, but she still knew who she was.

Emily stretched her neck and stuck her head against the ground. There was a strange feeling in her belly which was probably hunger, and since she was a pony it was okay to eat grass.

She sniffed it, and it smelled good. Her stomach rumbled, and she tore a patch of grass loose, hoping to sate the beast in her belly.

It smelled good.

It tasted good.

Before too long, there was a bald patch in front of her, extending as far as her neck could reach, so she concentrated and moved her legs, one-by-one. They moved, and so did she.

She felt an odd sensation around her hind legs and as she leaned down to get another bite of grass tilted her head even more downward, wondering if she'd perhaps brushed across a sapling.

For a moment, it didn't register. And then it did.

Poor Emily had dealt with a lot already, more than any girl could reasonably be expected to cope with, but this was the last straw, the final indignity.

Between her hind legs dangled what was unmistakably a penis.

She screamed.

Author's Note:

Thank Topaz for the idea; blame me for the execution.

Comments

[badninja]

Well that must sting, not only polymorphed but gender flipped.

[tsaukpaetra]

Finally! There are just not enough of these from this point of view!
Keep going! ;)

[Sunny]

Haha, you right bastard

[Alex Prior]

Pfft.

[MrZJunior]

A bit of a more realistic approach to the TF/TG genera. I look forward to more.

[Topaz Moon]

I plead the 5th.

Nice small chapter.

[PresentPerfect]

Well, I didn't expect that. o.O Part 3?

[Admiral Biscuit]

7594139
October is coming up, so maybe.