• Published 3rd Nov 2011
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First Pony View - Suomibrony



Some dreams you might never want to end… …but what happens when the dream really doesn't?

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Pony, Meet Human

First Pony View
A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fan fic
By Suomibrony

Chapter 4
Pony, Meet Human


With caution marking my steps, I wandered from my home. The concrete walls and wooden doors were effective insulation, presenting my hoofsteps with an environment where they could echo pristinely. The floor was harder than in my home, and I was astonished at how audible my steps were. My subconscious still perceived my forelegs as arms that should have had dextrous digits, and I was naturally bewildered as I experimentally tapped my hoof on the floor a few times.

I pitched my neck down and raised my leg to get a closer look at my hoof, gazing at it in a strange mixture of awe, disbelief, and delight. When one has spent more than twenty years as a human guy, a dramatic but temporary change like this was a challenge to comprehend.

Deciding to just roll with it, my next task was to focus my magic on closing the door as gently as I could. With the beams of sunlight denied entry into the corridor, only the faint, stubborn orange glow of the button for the lights to my left remained.
I was now beyond the safety of my home.

Along with the emerging concern for my dream's authenticity, the multitudes of scents entering my nose were making me nauseated. It'd only take a moment before I'd fully adjust to my acute sense of smell, but to fight my own doubts would require more than time.
“Remember, this is a dream!” I told myself, my nervousness detectible in my own tone.

I started as the corridor became bathed in the pale yellow that was cast by the ceiling-mounted lights, soon followed by a low droning entering my ears. Another human was using the elevator. I hoped that whoever it was wouldn't venture to my floor, not with the way I was looking. The paranoid side of my mind chucked out a few chilling concepts to my mouth, from where they slipped intermittently.
“What if I'm wrong . . . ? What if this isn't a dream . . . ? What if this is real . . .?”

A few seconds passed, and I heard the elevator come to a stop at the floor it was called to, then resume its journey. Listening attentively to the machinery moving the mobile room, I approached the corner cautiously, stopping so I could peek my head around to see the elevator door to my immediate right. The gray monolith of steel with a rectangular column for a window stood tall and imposingly, much like everything else around me. The sensation of diminutiveness it instilled in me wasn't helping the instinctive fear that caused me to hold my head low. I didn't want to be wrong, I really didn't, but if I was—

The droning came to a halt, and as the door opened, so did my respiration. Intending to bolt back into my home, I rotated around in an instant, but in my anxiety, I had completely forgotten the door was closed. Too disarrayed to utilize my magic, I stared at the door in agape consternation. In desperation, I curled down to a small pile on the floor, the trapped air furtively exiting through my nostrils as I did my best to hide myself in plain sight.

An unsettling silence soon befell the corridor: a few steps emitted from behind me, but no keys jingled, no home door opened. Nothing. The hairs on my back stood up like spikes, and the air became sealed in my lungs again. I was petrified; not even my eyes were blinking. At any moment, whoever was near me would grab me and—

“You, uh, okay there?”

It was the voice of a male, and he sounded concerned and confused, a stark contrast to what I had feared to receive. My dread left me with a sigh, my apprehension vanished, and my breathing returned to normal.

“Did something happen to you?” He might have misunderstood my sigh as a sign of grief, although he wasn't entirely wrong.

Apart from a couple of positive moments to break the pattern, this entire morning had been plagued by very stressful incidents: the shock of being a pony, the denial of my sex and the difficulties accepting it, the paranoia of my dream being the genuine reality, ridiculous theories I almost believed in, unwanted mannerisms, implausible memories.

Again, to my disappointment, I had discovered that my belief in my dream being genuine was dangerously flimsy, demonstrated exemplarily by my recent, but thankfully short, panic of encountering a fellow human being. I had expected to be treated as an alien at worst and had prepared to meet hollow caricatures at best.

“Do you need any help?” He was undeterred by my silence, forcing me to abandon my deliberation. With newfound faith in my dream, my confidence made a remarkable recovery. At long last and in spite of everything I had gone through, it was time to have fun!

“Um, I'm . . . fine.” I mimicked Fluttershy's unassuming tone. Only the tiny smile I had betrayed my internal snickering.

“Come on,” he encouraged softly. “I'm pretty sure something bothers you.”
He didn't know it, but he was right; however, I wasn't about to pour my heart out to the imaginary man. Why would I? That wasn't the joy I was looking for, if it even could count as something enjoyable. I craved to let loose in this fundamentally unreal playground, and its population would serve as my playthings.

“I, um, only had a rough morning,” I summed up my emotionally tumultuous experience, anticipating the topic to be changed.

“Look, if you want to talk about it—”

“No, I don't,” I curtly interrupted the insistent man, the brief burst of irritation carrying to my tone. He might've been genuinely worried for me, but I wasn't. I desired to have a merry time, not blabber about my immediate past, let alone think about it. I looked toward the future now. However, my gruff reply was uncalled for.
“I, uh, I'm . . . it's nothing,” I said in an apologetic tone, fine tuning it to match the tender pegasus whilst I began to lift myself from the floor. “Just one of those mornings when—”

“When your hair refuses to fall into place?” he interjected with a lighthearted comment.

I produced a small laugh to compliment his jape, straightening my forelegs to bring myself to a sitting stance. “Oh, yes, I think you nailed the head on that,” I replied through my smile and glanced up at what little I could see of my unkempt mane.

“Hit the nail on the head,” he corrected with mirth in his tone, embarrassing me to some degree. Delaying for a moment to allow my blush to fade (at least I think I had a blush), I raised myself onto all fours and finally turned to face him; instead, shock and surprise filled me as I ended up looking at his forest green plaid shirt and dark blue jeans.

The middle-aged man stood perhaps about a meter from me, yet I had to pitch my head to make eye contact with his sparsely-haired counterpart. It's one thing to have estimated my height to be in the range of one meter, but it's an entirely another thing when he was twice as tall as I was. As a human, I would've been as tall as him, but now as a pony, I was so . . . tiny.

“To be honest,” he said as I backed by a few steps, “if something's on your mind, I'm all ears . . .”

“I-I, um, I, uh . . .” I mumbled, my sights falling on his unimpressive brown shoes as my mind tried to overcome our size differences. Retrieving some of my composure, I decided I didn't want him to suspect I was about to unload a boulder off my shoulders, so I hastily opened my mouth to say pretty much anything I could think of. Poor choice on my part.

“I, uh, yes, um . . .” I stammered at the giant, drawing a puzzled expression out of him. I gawked in silence for a few seconds until my brain finally surmounted the disparity and constructed a sentence for me. A small smile of relief emerged on me as I spoke it without much thought. “Well, yeah, many things are on my mind.” Almost immediately following my reply did it dawn to me I had only dug my knees deeper.

“Good to hear! So what's nagging you?” he said with an expectant yet kind tone, his relaxed visage a contrast to the blank expression that successfully concealed my shock. Rather than roll out my inner issues, I began to process a method out of the unpleasant situation that wasn't a hasty goodbye and a rapid dash into the elevator. I deemed I could turn this conversation into something else than an impromptu psychotherapy session. As I pondered for a solution, my vision drifted around aimlessly, eventually halting on the gray plastic shopping bag he carried in his fisted left hand. It was bulging with wares, and I inspected it intricately for an idea.

“Well I, uh, have this . . . um.” I stalled for time as my brain worked its synapses. In sudden revelation, something I hadn't considered at all ventured into my thoughts. “I, uh, have a very, very, serious question.” I spoke quietly, and my sights detached from the bag and rolled down to my forelegs. It was a very serious question I had conjured. Very serious. Terrifyingly serious.

“Shoot,” the man said casually.

I hesitated for a second, eyeing my forehooves with a mix of fear and desperation. “What do you see?” I whispered timidly. It was a question aimed as much at him as it was to myself.
‘I see a pony's forelegs,’ I answered the question. ‘But that's what I see. I could be crazy and only hallucinating myself as a pony. This man could open my eyes to the truth and free me from my supposed psychosis.’

“Pardon?” he said to my surprise, and I returned my eyes on him to see he had cocked an eyebrow. Despite my unease, I repeated my question as calmly as possible, small beads of perspiration beginning to meander between the hairs of my coat. I hoped it was my coat. Hoped hard. Hoped very hard. I was, frankly, scared out of my mind. The longer the uncertainty of my shape prevailed, the more stressed I'd become . . . and I had a low tolerance for stress.

“Well, I see you right here in front of me,” he said after a small pause, now with a smirk on his countenance. I suspected he was trying to camouflage his confusion . . . or worse, his mirth! He behaved like a human, not like a shoddy copy of one. If this was the genuine reality, and there were actually two humans present, I'd become quite mad. Mainly, it was because I'd be literally mad, but it was also because a voice in my head would come forth to scream 'Objection!' in fury if I wasn't a pony. It was very apparent that the possibility of suffering a highly humiliating experience had already chipped at my sanity. Swallowing hard first, I presented the unusually calm man a trembling question:
“Can you please be more specific?”

His brows contracted, perplexed, yet his smirk was intact.
“Well, uh . . . I see you, standing on all fours.”

“On all fours!?” I echoed the words with dread, my barely collected exterior deteriorating rapidly as I was becoming more and more stressed. Whether he was intentionally daft or not made no difference to me any longer. I had given him the benefit of doubt, but now, that had worn down to a thin membrane that would falter at any moment.

I glanced over my shoulder and tossed my tail. I believed it was my tail. What else could it have been? Was my mind deceiving me so convincingly I could feel the muscle that controlled my tail, the hooves at the end of my limbs, and the hairs on my slender frame?

“Yeah, on all fours,” he bounded the words back, looking like he couldn't possibly understand how serious I was. In fact, I couldn't understand how he could be so dense! It was as if he had deliberately lied to me! No! My senses couldn't possibly be tricking me! To believe I was currently a human, contrary to all the evidence I had, was unthinkable! I knew what I saw, I knew what I felt, I knew what I sounded like.
I was a young mare, not a human! Why couldn't the despicable scoundrel tell me that!?

‘Oh no,’ I snapped out of my ferocious insisting, ‘This stress is driving me insane!’ I cast a quick but nervous glance at the waiting man, then eyed my legs with the same look. ‘No, I'm not insane!’ I asserted. ‘I only want to believe I'm a pony because being told that I'm a human who is deluded into regarding himself as a mare would be so horribly humiliating that it would completely shatter my mind and I'd succumb to a primitive defensive reaction known as intense anger!’ That emotion then began to work into my thoughts, and my brows contorted. ‘Which, by the way, is already winding up to full gear. Oh yes, it is.’ Anger felt good, I noted. Humiliation would bring me anguish, but anger would please me.

With my panic converting into blind rage at a rapid rate, I realized I had two choices left how to deal with it. One was easy, the other was rational. Reluctantly, I decided to go for the difficult option, which was to cool myself in spite of the intensely aggravating situation. I knew that if I was calm, I could save myself from falling into my own paranoid theory, a theory I was more than willing to believe due to it being the most realistic explanation for everything that I had experienced up to now, but I was too perturbed. Somehow, I had to prove to myself I was in a lucid dream and not completely bonkers . . . and this man would be of the utmost importance in achieving that objective.

As a concession to my angrier side, I gave the arguably duplicitous man a stern look as I said sarcastically, “Thank you kindly for the astute observation.” Without removing my glare from his continually puzzled expression, I spoke again, but without the sarcasm. “Do you mind waiting with me while I ponder my next move?” He concurred by nodding rather nonchalantly. For a moment, I thought all would be okay. I'd cool down and realize what would debunk my theory for good, and then there'd be much rejoicing. However, when he started to turn towards what I suspected was his home door, my frail tranquility didn't shatter.
It vaporized.

“Don't you dare to walk away from me!” I released a great quantity of my internal blaze, and my ears flattened back; he had become my enemy. I didn't care whether he was honestly stupid or not—or if I were a pony or not—I wanted him to suffer! Had my anger been tangible, it would've boiled titanium.

He rotated his upper body, a very confused expression on him as he futilely tried to talk some calming words into me.
“Uh, hey, take it easy now. I'm only tak—”

“Shut your pie hole!” I commanded. “I didn't give you permission to leave!” To my frustration, the voice of a young mare didn't quite convey my inner drill sergeant. Because that's what I was! I was a mar . . . No, I couldn't let that urge become vocal! My humiliation would be complete if it did.

“Er- What?” He seemed to be taken aback by my flammable behavior. “Permission? What the he—” He jittered as a resounding clack erupted in the corridor, courtesy of my forehoof striking the floor. I swear, I couldn't have produced that sound by any other available means.

“You'll stay right here with me!” I said indignantly, my voice increasing in strength as I continued to speak. “I said I have to plan my next move, and your participation in it is absolutely mandatory and nonnegotiable!” I didn't know what I'd do to him, but I'd do something to him; of that, I was convinced.

“Well, uh, but—”

“Silence!” I snapped, and his eyes spread wide open. My glare locked on him, and I launched into a vehement tirade. “Since you're obviously of limited intellect and can't comprehend why I'm so furious at you, I'm left with no choice but to explain it to you: I asked you a very simple question, and you failed to answer that question. To unshroud it further, I'm in complete disbelief at how you could be so incredibly imperceptive that it was outright impossible for you to discern what you saw before your own two eyes!” Probably due to my choice of words, he looked quite lost; I continued ranting regardless.

“How difficult can it be to tell to me what I really am!?” My tone bore a trace of incredulity and despair. “Does honesty give you an allergic reaction or something!? I mean, have you ever heard of the words 'straightforward', 'unambiguous', or 'frank'!?” My incendiary tone came back. “Well, now you have! Just so you know, those were synonyms, or in other words, they mean the same thing, but I'm fairly convinced the repetition was necessary to ensure the concept would sink into the raisin that pretends to be your brain!” Incendiary became vitriol. “But hey, you should congratulate yourself! Due to your stellar performance at being a marvelous example of striking ineptitude, your astonishing inability to entitle me with a clear answer to a basic question has spectacularly devastated my mood! I hope you are proud and content because I definitely don't share your sentiments. At! All!” Two hoof stomps emphasized the final two words.

“However, against my better judgement, I have to warn you: if you decide to do anything to worsen my mood any further, such as talk or move . . .” I paused, but only to draw in air and rear up onto my hind legs. “I'LL FORCE YOU TO REGRET IT!”
With my rant over, I slammed down my forehooves as I returned to the quadruped stance, myself wheezing in fury and eyes locked on his perturbed face.

“. . . Look, I'm not sure wha—”

“What is your major malfunction!?” I shouted piercingly, tears of rage in my eyes. “I ordered you stay put and silent, yet you persist!?” A subsequent exasperated huff aimed at the floor vented a big portion of my tempest, but my strict glare was quick to return to him. “Or do I have to imprint that vital directive into you?” I threatened. “Because I assure you, I know how to subdue you, and you'll cry like there's no tomorrow if you don't desist from being a bothersome oaf!” I audibly struck my hoof to the floor. The shocked man was wise enough not to speak again, but I wasn't done with him yet. I wiped the few drops from my eyes into my furry forearm. I hoped it was furry.

“For your information,” I said with serenity, “I regard you with nothing but unending contempt, though I suspect you know that already. That said, I fully expect you to cooperate from this moment onward. If not, then the educative imprinting shall commence.” I tapped my hoof a few more times to give him a clue. Indeed, I had conjured an arguably efficient method to incapacitate him, and I was ready to put that plan into motion when he finally nodded his silent agreement to keep his trap shut and his legs rooted to the floor.

“I'm glad that you have at last accepted your most humble and submissive position.” I said, a pleased but malignant smile on me. Right as the man seemed to relax, I shook off my calm exterior to billow an insult. “You balding baboon!” He unhinged his jaw to roll out a possible retort. Or else he was agape at hearing me insult him so suddenly; it didn't matter to me.

“Ah-ah-ah,” I reproved him whilst shaking my head, a smug smile on my lips. “No talking, no moving.” He promptly sealed his cranium cavity, and I chuckled mischievously.

“Say, isn't crying your ultimate wish?” I taunted him with insidious encouragement. “So what's stopping you from having a go at it, hm? Come on, do it! Fulfill that desire! I can help you achieve it!” It was quite obvious I was high on an exhilarating power trip of which I was not ashamed. “All right all right, I admit it,” I relented, laughing. “I do know you don't want to cry, but, well . . .” My vivacious tone became ominously serious. “I can't always be right, now can I?” He didn't say a word, his expression frozen in confused consternation. A wry smile emerged on me. “Good boy,” I said softly like he was a canine trainee.

For the time being, our one-sided play had come to an end. So had that insistent desire to declare myself a mare to him; of that, I was most appreciative. I knew my mind was that of a male human, but to have been revealed to be one in appearance while in the immediate vicinity of another human . . . I would've died out of shame.

Despite the ruckus made, no prying eyes had come to watch the commotion. Perhaps the walls and doors were just that effective at blocking sounds from accessing the abodes. Or maybe most homes, if not all homes, were vacant as it now was, seemingly, a Friday noon.

Judging by the man's slight fidgeting, he wasn't comfortable being quiet and idle near me. If I truly was a pony, which I had no desire to doubt, I should've been about as terrifying as a fluffy pillow. I was quite bemused by my success at intimidating him into submission.

Although I was poised to educate him in a rather brutish manner, deep down I wasn't the violent type, and I might come to regret the decision to attack the man. Might. My anger had attempted to coerce me to incapacitate the plaid-shirted numbskull and force tears from him by applying blunt force to his groin. Repeatedly, if necessary. Even the toughest guys will weep when their twins are being rendered into elongated disks, I surmised. Thankfully, I had never been subjected to such cringe-worthy pain. The closest to it was a minor bicycle mishap when I was a child. The top tube is unpleasantly hard, I had learned.

I had kept my waning glare on the restless man for a while, my relaxing expression concealing my indecision on whether to dismiss him and then collect myself in solitude or if I could still find a purposeful use for him. After much deliberation, I concluded it was best to keep him in my vice as he could still prove to be instrumental in verifying my equine form and lucid dream. To put it lightly, the possibility of them being refuted was highly unwelcome; however, if that were true, I had to keep myself in check and accept it with humility if possible. With my inner inferno doused, I also began to search for the significant clue that would further aid me in my quest for affirming my physical status as a pony and my mental status of wakefulness, or rather the lack thereof.

Suddenly, everything became black—although much later than I had anticipated—as the lights went out; their inbuilt timer had counted down to zero. For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence in the darkness, until I let out a little self-satisfied chuckle as I noticed (by ear) that the surmised neighbor wasn't taking his chance to escape from me. Did I really scare him into petrification? After all, I was quite sure I bore the appearance of a harmless unicorn who lacked a cutie mark and proficiency in his own telek— Wait! That was it! That was what I had failed to see earlier! If I could utilize telekinesis and generate a supportive reaction from the man, then my favored theory would receive the crucial backing it so greatly needed!

“I pressed the button!” I exclaimed with pride and in mild awe as the lights came on. A partially visible tin can in his bag drew my immediate attention, and I deftly employed my telekinesis to quickly but gingerly carry the metallic object to the ceiling. Without doubt, this display of magic would cert—

“You goddamn horn-headed mule!” His enraged shout caught me by surprise, and my eyes snapped open. The item dropped, but I regained my senses and saved the cylindrical container from its harsh meeting with the floor in the nick of time.

“What's wrong with you!?” he demanded, his face turning red. “Is this a funny game to you!? I'm not a toy you can play with, and I really don't care what kind of sorcery you— Arrrgh—!” He abruptly hunched, his free hand clutching his chest as he groaned with a fierce grimace.

Before I could deliver a proportional response for his insubordination, I became concerned for his health. Regardless of whether he was real or not, I couldn't retain a good conscience if he died of a heart attack before my eyes; my idea of fun didn't entail accidental or purposeful death. I closed the small gap and came to stand almost next to him, a pang of intense guilt and concern coursing in me.

“I-I'm terribly sorry, I really am!” I apologized. “Will you be okay? Do you need help?” I offered. Although I couldn't entirely shake the feeling I was talking to an illusion, I did my best to show sincere concern for him.

“Urgh! I have . . . a heart condition . . .” he strained to talk, coughing throatily. His shopping bag slipped from his hand and came to an upright position next to his feet. My concern for him ascended to a higher level. “But no . . . I'll be fine,” he tried to reassure me weakly as his posture began to fall.

“No, you won't be fine! Please, you can't die!” I protested, then looked about at the doors in my vicinity as my sweat glands began to work in overdrive. “I-I should get you some immediate he-AAAGH!” My startled yelp was due to him abruptly wrapping his hands around my forelegs and hoisting me up. Next thing I knew, I had my back and forelegs pressed against the wall, my hind legs dangling in the air and his furious face so close I could feel his pungent exhales brush my facial fur.

He had a feral look in his eyes, like he was seconds away from tearing into his captured prey. I dared not to talk nor break eye contact, let alone attempt to free myself. Dream or not, pony or not, I considered my well-being to be more valuable than an act of brave defiance.

As he continued to glare at me like an animal, I quickly theorized that he may have feigned the heart problem in order to seize and then subjugate me to whatever cruel retribution he was now concocting in that raisin of his. I also surmised that either he was stronger than his figure implied, or I was lighter than I had estimated. Or both. It didn't really matter. What mattered was that I had to think of a way to survive this sticky situation, preferably unscathed.

His deeply unsettling glower going on and on with no end in sight to my restrained predicament, I finally devised an unorthodox scheme to dissuade the brute from potentially inflicting bodily harm upon me. Namely, I took advantage of my appearance, and by that, I mean I did my best to display pleadingly big eyes and a sad pout, even whined a tiny whimper in hopes of melting his icy heart. It felt . . . wrong . . . to go for that angle, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

For a moment, he was unresponsive to my imploringly apologetic and wounded look, but when he drew a vicious smile on himself, my apprehension returned to my countenance.
“Good girl,” he murmured sinisterly.

Without warning, he released his grip and I gasped in shock. My unprepared body almost collapsed completely when my hooves landed back on the floor. Only my hind legs took the fall less graciously, and I slipped onto my haunches, thankfully without injury.

Trembling and breathless, but also relieved the extremely tense situation was over, I watched as he then took hold of his bag and approached the rightmost door of the two that were to my right. He opened the door without as much as looking behind himself, and once inside his own dwelling, he drew the door shut so fiercely I was certain a pressure wave rebounded more than once in the corridor.

With the door sealed, my subdued aggravation announced its grouching comeback. “That oversized orangutang. Of all things possible, he chose to call me a gi—!” My intonation caught up to me and cancelled my aggravation's performance. My mood passed through momentary confusion before reaching impassivity.

“Oh . . . right. I guess I am . . . ” I said flatly, omitting the final but obvious part of the statement, followed by a nonchalant shrug—or at least that was what I tried to do. Since I was supporting myself on my hindquarters and forelegs, I didn't shift my shoulders and forelegs in a normal shrug. On the contrary, my entire body slouched. Again, I became briefly perplexed.

Moving on to more meaningful matters than being bemused by bungled body language, I reviewed the interaction I had with the man in search for clear signs of my presence in a fictional world. First and foremost, I wasn't seen as something alien but as a person who bore the shape of a pony. A real human would've not started a peaceful conversation with me; they would've done the contrary, maybe gasped in shock, but definitely not socialized with me like I was a common sight. At any rate, the dullard had eventually, albeit disparagingly, affirmed I was a unicorn.

Secondly, I had utilized magic—telekinesis to be precise—in the presence of the berk, no less, taking his precious tin can and introducing it to the ceiling in a most gentle manner, which was apparently the final straw for him. I should've just launched the tin can at his weak spot upon being assaulted by his verbal volley, but the situation took an unexpected turn before I had the chance to counterattack. With the entire ordeal over, I could've also taken a moment to review my own (mis)behavior, but all things considered, that was now unnecessary. To sum up, he indirectly called me a pony, and he lost his temper when I applied magic to his belongings, not to mention he called me a gi . . . yeah.

“Finally,” I said in tranquil joy, my forehooves doing the best imitation of fingers placed vertically flat on each other. “I have absolutely nothing to worry about. This is a lucid dream, and nothing but a lucid dream.” I raised one foreleg up in glee. “Dream confirmed!” I cried out in imitation of MythBusters. Pity I couldn't replicate Jamie's or Adam's voice. Kari's, then? Maybe. I wanted to bounce up and down in circles like an automated spring whilst cheering in a most unmanly way, but the constrictive nature of my male gender rules persuaded me to tone down my celebration by a great margin.

As I began to lift myself up, my left hind leg nudged a mystery object. In curiosity, I oriented myself to get a look at what it was, and to my surprise, it was the sealed and undamaged tin can.

I was quite sure its owner wouldn't mind if I were to procure it for myself. He definitely hadn't noticed its absence yet. Therefore, I was hasty to inspect the label. I would've been disappointed if it was tuna, ground beef, or some other indigestible dead animal. To my joy, the blue-tinted label featured images of pineapples. That was all the information I needed, and I became spellbound, which I ultimately broke free from when a sizable bead of saliva squeezed itself past my lips. The elevator had to wait; a meal to consume was now my fate!

Feeling a tad unsafe where I was, I ventured to the corridor's opposite end where I would be as far away from the nasty neighbor's door as possible. If he still existed, that is. Being a fictional creation, he could've vanished like ash into the wind the moment he closed the door.

I had distanced myself from the produce by a dozen meters upon relocating myself, but a magical moment brought us together again. I was quick to note that my magic's range had increased, but I had more pressing matters to attend to than researching my telekinesis.

I gave my surroundings a quick look, priming my ears to be alert for the sounds of opening doors, just in case. Justin Case. I'm sure somepony out there had that name. I mean, some human. I had assumed my contemplations to be free from the 'ponyisms', but it seems I was wrong. Sure, it was fun once in a while, but to have it be constantly present both in speech and mind?
Seriously? Seriously.

Regardless, I was now alone with the delicacy. My beaming expression couldn't possibly tell how strongly I imagined the taste of the golden sweets in my mouth. With my magic lifting the pull tab, the can's top opened and detached with a satisfying rip and snap. The loot was in plain sight, and my joyful smile turned to a grin. I licked my chops, restraining myself to simply gaze at the exposed fruits and teasing my appetite all the while. Ultimately, the unshackled scent of the fruit ventured into my nostrils, and I was at liberty to deal with the appropriated food.

The can wasn't wide enough for me to simply dive my muzzle into it, so I had to blindly levitate the rings to my mouth. That didn't hinder me at all from eating the fantastically flavored fruit and then drinking the delightful nectar in unashamed ardor. Never in my life had ordinary pineapple slices and juice tasted so incredibly good, although I noticed a slight tang of sorts in them. I attributed that sensation to my equine taste buds; however, I had for some reason begun to experience difficulties in thinking. Difficulties in thought? Thought difficulties? Never mind.

Once I was done with the goods, I found something funny. Not a physical object, but a mental concept. It was funny. I think it was elation. Yeah, that was it! Pure elation. It was so powerful I started to giggle in a very girly-girly way. Very unlike me, really, but that didn't bother me much now. In this dream, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted. So what if I behaved out of character? Or was that in-character? I had this not-really-a-thought in my head that said, 'Yo filly, you've been a pony ever since you were born.' I responded with my yes-really-a-thought, 'Sure, whatever, let's go with that, because while you are über wrong, I don't care to argue since I'll wake up eventually, and then I will be a dude again, so boo-yah!' Besides, who'd judge me? This was a dream, not a court of law. My dream. It's mine. All mine. Mine mine mine, down down down! Silly black-feathered waterfowl. Daffy Duck deserved what was coming to him.

So, anyway, every negative thought, feeling, and memory was replaced with pure euphoria. Well, not exactly, but that thought sounded nice. That thought that I thought. It was nice. Sounded nice. I didn't say it, so it didn't sound literally, but figuratively. I think. Yes, I could think, and all by myself. How about that?

Then out of nowhere this familiar tune exploded (BOOM!) into existence inside my head, and I wanted to bounce to it hyper-energetically. It had beepyish sounds and synthezetors. Okay, I knew the word, but I didn't care to think it right, and the music wasn't really playing in my head like there was a physical radio inside. Also, Zetor was a tractor, but whatever, I was having a laugh. Wait? Having a laugh? Like I held it physically? Never mind. Since I was obviously very happy, I launched up into the air and onto my legs, my cheery grin as wide as something that's very wide and grinny. And cheery. Simultaneously, I had realized something very extremely fascinating.

“Ohmygoshthisisasupergreatfeeling!” I spoke very rapidly and in a tone matching Pinkie Pie's. I think it was a close match, if not a precise match. Not match match, but the other match. The one that doesn't burn. And pitch as in voice, not that viscous dark substance and not airplane attitude. Would be kinda cool to be an airplane, though. I'd be a Cessna 152! Then I'd fly free like an airplane, though I wouldn't be able to fly upside down. Gravity-assisted fuel system would mean engine goes 'I pass out now,' and wings unfit to support themselves when inverted would be all 'adios amiga!'. Or was that 'adios amigo!' instead? Never mind! Because I'd be wingless and falling and crashing, I'd be a very very sad Cessna 152. And very hurt.

So I drifted, I mean, my mind drifted. Drifting is what cocky teens dream of doing with their repurposed front-wheel drive family sedans, which are oh-really 35% faster than normal because they have shiny rims, suspension so low they can't drive over speedbumps, and the gaudiest spoiler that money could buy. Psh!

Anyhow, my mind drifted to . . . what? Was it pineapples? Oh yeah, it was pineapples! I began to wonder if Pinkie ever baked pineapple sweets, like pineapple muffins, pineapple cake, pineapple donuts, and lots of more pineapply yummy stuff! Why did I wonder that? I didn't know. I had never met Pinkie Pie. Well, I thought I hadn't, because if I did, I'd know. Unless I forgot. Which I didn't. So I knew I hadn't forgotten I hadn't met Pinkie and . . . Wait, what? Yes. No, I meant, no. No to what? I didn't know. Know what? I didn't know I knew I didn't know what? I didn't know what what? What was what what? Never mind! It was happy time in honor of happy time! “Yay.”

Hey, I know what I could do now! I mean, I had honed the tone, but now, I had the correct voice for it, too! “Yay.” It was perfect! I was in stitches! Not literally but figuratively, because if I was literally in stitches, then that would've meant I was . . . in stitches? Injured and stitched? Inside stitches? Never mind! Off to the elevator, I was! Happy time!
“Yay.”
More stitches!

So I utilized my horribly and regrettably impaired magic (Boo-hoo!) to open the big, boring, heavy, steel door like it didn't even exist. Probably it didn't, dream thingy whatnot, yeah that! I zipped inside and I had already pressed the button for the bottom floor a trillion zillion bazillion madeupnumberillion times before the door closed because I was superduperquickfast!

That beepy happy music was still playing, which I could totally turn off on a whim because it was imaginary music. Yeah, really! Music off, then on, off, on, off, on, off, on. Then I got a little agitated because I hated skipping music. Anyway, I rocked back and forth to the tune, but that was because I was a poor dancer. I couldn't remember the lyrics too well, either.
“We look for relaxation; so the only explanation!”
“. . . and music everywhere!”
“Watch the yellow screen!”
“Go-go-go-go-go . . . ”
“. . . here they come!”
“And drop the bomb!”

I met Jim! I kissed him! Did he like it? I know he did! I mean, I think he did. He wasn't the talkative type, so I couldn't tell really. Kinda weird that he looked different from what I remembered him to look like, and I'm not even sure he was named Jim. Or that I knew him to begin with. This dream was so weird. I think I had a wonky memory again, and that was confusing me. Or else, the eeeehvuuuhl dream lord had changed him, too! Dumb dream lord, playing with my memories and Jim! Oh, wait, I wasn't supposed to fight the dream lord because I had surrendered to him. Oopsie daisy!

Anyway, it was very nice (very nice!) Jim was in my dream. Pity me and him couldn't wander together in this dream. It would've been difficult since I was a pony now. That sparked a weird memory, but it was too confusing and made no sense.

Maybe if I wasn't a pony, then maybe me and Jim could've been together? Maybe. I could've been a chain link fence, instead. That would've made this a super duper lame dream. Anyhow, I had to go without Jim. I was sure he understood my decision. He didn't say anything at all about it, though. So typical of him.

So where was I going, then? Out into the world wide world, of course! I'd be on the beaches and on the hills! Some important but grumpy old man in history said something about fighting on the beaches and hills. Strange, grumpy old man. I bet he was incontinent and very fighty. I didn't go to beaches or hills, though, but to a meadow.

Grass wasn't tasty, so I didn't eat much of it. I tried to find some of the tasty plants I ate when I was a foal. Wait? How did I know they were tasty? I only saw memories of me eating them but knew not what they tasted like, only that I ate them because they were tasty. Wait, what? How did that make any sense? Confound these phony pony memories; they were driving me into confusion!

I tried to find the tasty plants regardless, but when I didn't find any, I became sad for 3.14 seconds. The next digit was what now? Digit of pie? What? Pies weren't digits! Were they? Never mind! More fun time! “Yay.” Stitches!


Where . . . Where did . . . the time . . . go?

Not sure . . . where I've . . . gone to either . . .

Stuck here . . .

Couldn't climb out . . . River . . . Scary water . . . Woozy head . . .

Tried to . . . think where . . . I had been . . . Very spotty . . .

Were . . . the pineapples . . . special pineapples? Had a . . . weird taste . . .

Saw more . . . memories . . . pony memories . . . Phony pony . . . memories . . .

Like copies . . . of my . . . memories . . . but . . . just . . . as real . . . and . . . very . . . pony . . .

They . . . confuse . . . me . . .

So . . . tired . . . now . . .

Yay . . . Stitchy . . .

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