• Published 18th Dec 2015
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Awkward Conversations And Other Stories - No one is home

A series of disjointed, interconnected stories about people and ponies. There are many conversations. All are awkward.

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Day Two (Ki): Enter the Plague

Breakfast consisted of a somewhat bland but not distasteful combination of eggs, sausage and toast with decaf coffee and two of the little 8 ounce foil-lidded juice cups that you only see in schools and hospitals.

Beneath my tray there was the usual menu for the next meal, already filled out of course. Mental patients don’t get to choose their own diets. That sort of thing is decided in our best interest by the hospital staff. Chicken salad sandwich, mixed fruit and…

~Stop lying to yourself.~

I jumped back, knocking my chair over, and drawing the attention of the orderly.

“Is there a problem?” the large, usually friendly, black man frowned slightly as he walked over.

“No sir,” I assured thinking fast, and pointing to a bit of black thread, I laughed a little “I thought that piece of trash was a spider is all. Can’t stand spiders.”

“Ah,” the big man laughed a little himself, accepting my lie at face value, “Well, just be more careful next time, I can’t have you upsetting the other patients. You’ve been co-operating well enough so far, so keep it up and we’ll have you back home by the end of the weekend.”

Lies. I’m not going home. I’m not ever going home. I was trapped in this damned loop, just waiting for the writing on the wall to send me back to horse-country.

~Is that what you think is happening?~

The words just hovered there on the bulletin board for few seconds before fading away. This was getting weird. I knew what was coming. I knew how this worked. The words always came on the fourth day. Not the second. Not the third. It was always on the fourth day. It always sent me to Ponyville. Pinkie always caught me eating out of the dumpster. And then things went varying degrees of wrong in varyingly spectacular displays of self-destruction.

The last was almost embarrassing. Equestria couldn’t have given me an easier time of it. I was greeted by an ambassador, put up in temporary lodgings with Pinkie Pie, and told to stay out of trouble while a job and more permanent accommodations could be made available for me in Pony-Canada.

So obviously I immediately ran out and partied myself to death and got kicked out of the universe again.

“I’d never kick you out, Ki!” Pinkie's hurt voice came from somewhere behind me, and I spun around to find myself facing an empty hallway. This was definitely different than usual. I may be (and often am, in fact) bat-shit crazy, but I don’t see things and I don’t hear voices.

I was pulled out of my musings by a sudden panicked screaming and the sound of gunfire. Unintelligible codes blared over the intercom and the orderlies began trying to herd newly panicking patients, many with only the most tenuous grasp of their own facilities.

“Mr. Steen, I need you to clear the hallway,” the big friendly ordery from breakfast had a hand on my shoulder, as much a threat as a sign of reassurance. He was letting me know in no uncertain terms that I would comply, one way or the other. And that’s when it hit the fan.

I don’t know what I expected. Terrorists? Some crazed gunman? Pretty much anything but a three headed pony. It looked as if someone had pressed the CMC together into one conglomerated mess and then grew it up to about the size of a buick. The thing splintered the security doors like they were balsa-wood and turned to look directly at us.

“Get behind me,” the orderly pushed me back, reaching for the taser inside his jacket, although I’m not sure what good he thought a taser would do against that… thing.

It turned out to be about as useful as I suspected, and the thing bowled over him with vacantly cow-like smiles on all three of its faces. It then proceeded to… well… let's just say it was at least trying to be friendly. Very, very friendly, and it didn’t seem to care what the orderly thought of it.

Hospital security ran through the remains of the broken door with guns drawn, sending the poor creature to the floor in a hail of bullets. The orderly was stammering and shaking like a leaf unable to make an intelligible words from his experience.

Chaos erupted throughout the ward, doctors and nurses trying to restore order in vain as patients panicked, several slipping out the shattered security door to make dash for freedom. One, a nice enough girl whose name I had never intended to ask who mostly just walked the hallways verbally abusing herself, spooked one of the security guards and caught a bullet.

“Jesus, Mark!” his team-mate swore in shock, “What the hell was that?”

“S-she was trying to escape,” the guard (I assume Mark) said shakily, “You saw her, she was making a run for it.”

“God dammit man!” a third guard turned on him, “These aren’t psycho killers! These are the people we’re supposed to be protecting!”

They debated a little too long and didn’t see the orange monstrosity until it was too late.

“Bad humans!” the orange coated pony-thing lashed out with what I could only describe as tongue-tentacles coming out of it’s mouth, easily lifting three of the guards off the floor and using them as human shields as the fourth guard emptied his weapon uselessly into his compatriots in his panic.

He tried to make a run for it, but the creature was squarely blocking the only exit and proceeded to… well better not to think too hard about what it was doing with the tongue-tentacles. While it was busy playing with it’s human toy, I dragged the orderly out of hallway.

“Are you okay, man?” I asked, shocked to see blue fur sprouting from his face and ears.

“I’m turning into one of them,” he sobbed, “I’m turning into a fucking were-horse!”

“Keep it together, dude,” I tried my best to sound like I wasn’t panicking, “We’re gonna get out of here.”

“Man, how fucked do you have to be when the best help you’ve got, ten minutes ago couldn’t be trusted to wear pants,” He actually laughed a little, which I decided to take as a good sign.

“Can you walk?” I asked him, receiving a quick nod, “Good let's blow this cartoon. Don’t suppose you got the keys to the locker?”

“Naw, man,” he shook his head, “Head of staff has the only key, and she was at gone for lunch when the shit went down,”

“Well, I guess pants are optional for the apocalypse,” I laughed a little. Everybody always assumes I’m joking when I say pants are always optional in my world.

Author's Note:

Just what is going on with our semi-functional human protagonist? Is this real life? Is it just fantasy? :pinkiecrazy:

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