• 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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Experiments And Experiences

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

Chapter 6
Experiments and Experiences


I was in a dream: alone, bored, and temporarily a mare with literally nowhere to go. What could I do? What else had I left to do than delve into that which very few males ever admit to having? My masculinity was protesting my idea of exploration. Since I wasn't outwardly a male in this lucid dream, though, what should masculinity matter? Why shouldn't I be free to enjoy the opportunities this body could grant me? No one would ever know of what I'd do here unless I told. If there was ever a ripe time and excuse to disregard gender guidelines, it was now.
I was that bored.

I drew in a wavering inhale, holding it in me as I rose to a sitting position, then expelled some of my quaking with an equally quaky exhale. I closed my eyes, head tilted down as I waited for my nerves to settle. I wasn't angry, afraid, or embarrassed, only unsure. I had to steel myself. I had to be brave. I'd have to be braver than a guy standing on a speeding car. Never done that, though, and would probably never dare to. Too risky. What was riskier than that? Several things were, but in here? I had nothing but myself. What could I do with myself? I had magic and a mare's body. Both of which I'd lose when my dream ended. What could I do with both? What could I do to myself?

Conjuring forth my magic, its mystifying presence immediately blanketed everything in a five-meter radius. I could "feel" the stones, patches of moss and lichen, numerous leaves, a dozen twigs of various length, and myself sitting in the middle.

Using my magic to read my surroundings wasn't the same as perceiving the world with my eyes; it was as if I was "feeling" the shapes and colors of objects in a short radius around me. With my magic's help, I could tell my mane and forelock were so detestably disheveled as to resemble a crashing, sidelong wave originating from my right ear. Along my neck was a hairy path of brown and pink scrunched to a compact mess, some jutting in every direction like wrinkly rags. In contrast, my tail was remarkably prim. I decided to correct the disparity.

Thinking I could simply use magic to fashion my mane into a presentable shape, I directed my invisible touch at myself; however, the attempt halted short of my body, as if I was attempting to force two identically charged magnets together. Undeterred, I located and levitated a sturdy twig towards myself, an indirect application of magic that met with success. The twig delved into the hairs along my neck and, with some difficulties at first, soon opened the hairy knots. With that part of my mane unfurled to hang down to my shoulder, the makeshift haircare tool proceeded up towards the top of my head where it untied more twined hairs and straightened twisted locks to the best of its ability. After a few more touches, the strong gale on my head was pacified to a moderate breeze.

My disembodied awareness panned around me, evaluating my looks. I would've provoked a high-class pony like Rarity to give me a disdainful eye, but at least I no longer looked like I had completely disregarded my coiffure. I evaluated my manestyle to be a mixture of Rainbow Dash's scruffiness and Twilight's . . . straightness? Though my forelock was too thick to adequately replicate the lean, curved, and finely cut awning she had suspended over her forehead. Not that I'd want to imitate her style; I'd almost found my own. I tried to look up at my shaggy bangs, but as soon as I opened my eyes, the magic ceased and the twig fell.

Alas, since handling hair with a gnarly twig couldn't hope to produce anything refined, I had to settle for the slightly-better-than-bedmane style. Regardless, the hair was no longer obscuring my vision, and even I could tell that its new appearance was an improvement.

Feeling vivacious, I turned my head to the side and lifted my foreleg to meet the back of my hoof with my chin. Smiling, I cast the immobile twig a half-lidded sidelong look. I tittered as I imagined my pose from a third-person perspective. I wasn't one hundred percent comfortable with what I was doing, but I was relieved I had mustered the courage for it. Would I ever have another chance at this? Probably not. I had already done a few minor excursions motivated by dire rather than desire. Now that I had crossed the threshold, it shouldn't be a giant leap to do it for my own amusement.

I planted my leg back on the ground and thought of something cute. I chose puppies and kittens. And cartoon ponies. And ferrets—that was original! With those in mind, I did my best to channel their cuteness into my ingratiating expression. With my head inclined and sporting a (hopefully) sweet smile, I rolled my eyes up and envisioned a person standing before me, his or her heart melting as they caught the sight of my irresistibly adorable poise.

They'd kneel down, and I'd keep my innocent eyes locked on theirs. Kind words would bring a blush to me, and I'd turn my head in modesty. Hands would reach for me, gentle cooing would carry to my ears, and I'd comply silently, permitting the nimble digits to gently caress my mane and body. Fingers would run along my hairs and slightly tickle my skin, soothing me. I'd enjoy the affection I had received, and everything would be at peace.

It was a delight forever left unfulfilled, I realized, when my vacant surroundings and untouched hide finally broke my daydream (in a dream) by their sheer passive presence. I sighed forlornly, my eyes downcast.

I glanced around with a modicum of longing. The cold walls around me and the impassive flora beyond the river gave a horrible sense of abandonment. Even the birds had quieted, and nothing but the sound of the wind was picked up by my ears. I might not have many friends, and on some days I never left my home, but I had never been truly alone before. I was constantly aware of being near another human, be it above, below, or outside, and I always had my cell phone nearby.
Not here, though. I had nothing but myself as company.

A small band began to coil itself tighter around my heart. It was the unpleasant feeling of complete loneliness. Had this imaginary realm now removed all life from it but me? Abandoned me on a desolate outcropping from where I dared not to escape? Could I brave my fear? Leave my prison? Risk waking myself up?

With great hesitation, I took myself to the edge of the gradient, but the sight of the stagnant river far below was brief, for my head became light, and I had to turn away as I released a weak moan of indisposition. Spotting a fairly sizable patch of moss, I rested down on it and tried to think of comforting things.

Some welcome peace came to me as I posited a busy road and town not too far away, the droning of their presence merely camouflaged by the dull wail of the wind. I further reasoned that I wasn't completely alone; I simply couldn't perceive another living being from my current location.

To my relief, a pair of small birds fluttered past me in an erratic aerial dance. The duo crossed my location in a span of seconds, soon followed by the low roar of a jet plane from somewhere far away. My ears were the first to align themselves at the distinctive sound, locking towards the left side of the pine forest on the horizon. I oriented myself at the origin of the sound as well, hoping to see the mechanical avian elegantly transit the sky. Disappointingly, its slender frame was entirely obscured by a blanket of gray. Judging by the sudden emergence of its distinguishable sound, I surmised the aircraft had recently departed from an airfield and was climbing up to cruising altitude. If this dream's geography was anything like the real world's, then I was roughly ten kilometers from my abode. I knew a smaller town was situated along the river about fifteen kilometers upriver from my home, which meant I would be about half of that distance from it now.

The jet plane's droning gradually vanished over the course of minutes, and I resumed striking a few more demure poses. I quickly began to long for a mirror.

If only I could brave my fear of water and, by some miracle, survive the plunge into the river without breaking out from my dream, then perhaps I could see my reflection in the water. The thought inspired me to picture a vivid scene.

Sitting on the river embankment, I'd admire my visage smiling in tranquil joy back at me, the setting sun's beams glistening on hair and water with captivating luster, mane neat and prim—a special gift for my birthday.

“Huh?” I snapped out from my odd reverie, hearing a voice call me by a name. I was left stunned, my brows wrinkling as confusion transitioned through disbelief to irritation.

“Oh, you,” I said, directing my glare skywards. “So that's the pony name you've assigned to me?” Of course, I wasn't entitled a response of any kind, so I gave up the pursuit. The name circulated inside my consciousness like an airplane on a holding pattern, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw it in my mind's eye, written on a card addressed to somepony. There was another name there, but my dream lord was courteous enough not to divulge it. Not that it mattered. It was yet another nonsensical memory. I know how those played out. In a normal dream, I'd fall for them in a heartbeat, but as I was aware of being in a dream, I saw past the unconvincing folly. Regardless, now I had a 'name', and it wasn't exactly the best name for me. On the positive side, I wouldn't have to reveal it, and it wasn't a gender-corrected version of my real name. Fortunately.

Disengaging from contemplating the abnormalities my dream imbued me with, I realized that I had time but no idea how to utilize it . . . until I recalled my lamentations concerning my telekinesis, and I hatched an idea on the spot. I hastily located the twig I had used recently.

“Test number one: have a direct visual on the twig and try to levitate it,” I stated with a hint of strictness; the displeasure of knowing my 'name' had yet to dissipate. As I expected, the twig remained grounded, my magic unwilling to manifest itself. I held a decaying glower on the twig as my mind dispelled its excess agitation.

“Test number two,” I said calmly, “try to levitate the twig without establishing a direct visual.” I performed a semi-circle, this time holding my eyes open as I focused on my magic. I "felt" a blanket of the magical touch radiate out to my immediate vicinity for a split second before wrapping itself around the twig. I knew where the twig was in advance, so perhaps that knowledge extended to my magic as well. My mane obscured the view of my horn, though I surmised it was coated in whiteness. The twig lifted off the ground without a trace of trouble, and I smiled in accomplishment. Initiating test number three, I carefully brought the twig closer to me. Its flightpath was set to cross overhead, and my magic constantly kept me appraised of the twig's approach.

I was prepared for the twig to fall the instant I had it in my view, but I hoped that I'd be able to retain my magical grip on it.

The twig, wrapped in a faint white glow, came into my view and immediately started to shake itself loose from my grasp.
“Comeoncomeoncomeonpleasepleasepleaseplease,” I pleaded frantically as the twig began to poke itself past its shimmering boundaries. I grunted in despair when the magic's tint began to flicker.

Right when I feared I had lost the battle, the tenuous aura brightened dramatically, and the twig's rebellion was quelled. My jaw wanted to dislodge at the sight as I stared at the pacified object.

I fixated on the suspended twig whilst I meticulously but cautiously restudied myself for clues about my magic. For a moment, I detected nothing, but soon I noted a minor tingling at the base of my horn. I had been so focused on using my blind method of telekinesis before that I hadn't thought on how it felt.

Delving deeper into my mind and nerves, I discovered that the power holding the twig was semi-independent of me. I controlled it, but the twig remained perfectly content inside its white wrapper even as my focus on maintaining the magic began to diminish as I contemplated it. Reducing my magic's intensity, the tingling and white glow gradually subsided until they faded completely, and the twig became an obedient follower of the laws of gravity once again.

I theorized that the brief slip of control I experienced as the twig entered into my field of vision was not a failing of my own, but instead, it was a sign of the twig transferring from one magical grip to another. Being a novice, I was unaware of this transition; any unicorn but me could've done it without breaking a sweat. I further speculated I had not one but at the least three discernible types of telekinetic powers: the 'blind' telekinesis, the localized bubble of 'visual' magic, and the most common and mundane one that I only now had learned to use. I wasn't sure if these abilities were standard or unique to my dream-self, though. All of this made me wish for a "Telekinesis For Dummies" book.

Based on the tingling at the base of my horn, I surmised that it didn't house my magic but instead behaved as a transmitter and amplifier for it. I had to direct my inner energy to travel into the horn, and from there, it would pretty much do the rest for me. Hopefully, concentrating my energy into and through my horn to wield the twig whilst it was within my field of vision would be no different from the blind magic I had become used to. I knew some form of concentration was required to maintain the controlling glow on the target, but once my grip on the lightweight twig was secure, I had to reduce the energy to near nothing for the twig to fall free. It was quite the contrast to the difficulty of achieving the hold on it in the first place. If the opportunity would present itself, I'd gladly run additional telekinesis tests on multiple objects of varying size and mass.

With chary expectation, I set my eyes on the twig again, this time not directing my will outwardly, but inwardly. It wasn't about me wanting to levitate something; it was about wanting my magic to levitate something for me.

I predicted a new struggle, but instead, I gawked in astonishment as the twig was more than willing to follow my command. The tingling in my forehead was faint, but the joy I held wasn't. In high spirits, I began to experiment with the twig. First, I tested my magic's range by levitating the twig upwards. It reached a strange border a dozen meters above me, where it then bounced gently up and down like a cork in water. I set the twig to orbit around me on a horizontal plane. Starting as a wavy and eccentric ellipsoid, it evened to a flat circle after a dozen revolutions as I became more adept at controlling the most common form of telekinesis.

Pleased by my improved skills, I brought the twig to hover before myself. Curious, I directed my hoof into the white aura, though it caused no discernible reaction. Watching my limb attempt to interact with the sparkling glow a few more times with no success, I pondered if the mystifying layer was composed of ionized gas.

Following a few more minutes of additional playing and practicing, I had honed my telekinesis to work without a hitch. “Hard to execute, easy to master.” I proclaimed proudly.

In respect for the twig, I granted it a mossy mattress as a reward. Once placed on its humble bed, I sat down and bowed gracefully to the inorganic assistant, then looked at my flank in anticipation.
“Oh, what a dreadful shame; I didn't receive a telekinesis cutie mark,” I said in mock disappointment. “But, really, what would a telekinesis cutie mark look like, anyhow?” I wondered, glancing at the twig quizzically. Smirking playfully, I leaned in very close to it and pouted.
“Aww, liwl' twiggy is so sweepy he can't answer my liwl' question,” I cooed, fighting to keep my lips from drawing to a smile. My composure fell no more than a second after my 'liwl' display, and an exuberant laugh earned its liberty. Instantly, I clasped my mouth shut with my forehooves, blinking in shocked disbelief as I slowly withdrew my limbs.

“Wow,” I said, my embarrassment affecting my countenance and tone. “That was unusual . . . not . . . like mine . . .” I looked around with flustered eyes, hoping my conduct hadn't been exposed to more than my pair of ears.

“Oh-kay, nopony but me here, so all is well.” I reassured my unnerved and abashed self after my visual sweep confirmed my solitude. ‘Just my typical laugh altered in pitch.’ I swiped the issue under the rug then summarily moved back to the topic of cutie marks.

I wonder if I would love carrying and manipulating things with my sixth sense so much that it'd manifest on my flanks as a cutie mark? Strangely, deep inside, I felt a longing for a cutie mark, but I dismissed that as another of my dream's ludicrous jests. Still, the capability of employing telekinesis in reality was something I would have certainly enjoyed having. Really, who wouldn't? It would be totally awesome!

However, if I had become a pegasus instead of a unicorn, I wouldn't be confined to this dismal rocky formation in the first place; I would've flown away a long time ago! Although, with how much effort it took to learn to use my magic, I might've crashed back to the soil the moment I had tried to fly. The Super Mario Bros. game over tune would have played, and I'd woken up in my bed, angry and disappointed at myself for being so eager to fly that I had forgone testing my wings in the safe environment of my home.

Feeling boredom settle in again, I was about to attempt a new pose when something hit me. Just a little tap at the end of my muzzle. Soon came another tiny tap on my back, then another, as well as several tiny taps around me. A quick glance at my general area revealed small discolorations on the rock, with more appearing every passing second.
“Rain?” I presented and answered my question simultaneously. I gazed skywards with incredulity and received more confirmation in the form of water landing on my lips. In no dream that I knew of had it ever rained.

A mischievous drop fell into my eye and I grunted, turning my head down. I lifted my limb to rub at the stricken photoreceptor, but the appearance of a hard extremity before my unharmed eye made me abort the instinctive action. Resourcefully, I discovered a softer area behind my hoof and used that to treat my closed eye instead. 'Pastern'—that word throbbed in my head as I gazed at my . . . pastern. Funny how the mind digests concepts and words unconsciously, then spits them out at a whim. My headache still throbbed, although it had subsided greatly by now.

In regard to the natural phenomenon, my coat would provide protection from the chilly autumn rain, but for how long? What would happen once my coat's integrity was compromised? Under normal circumstances—as ridiculous as that sounded—I'd begin to freeze; however, this being a dream, I had no idea if it applied here as well. I guess only time could tell.

Under the belief that minimizing contact with open air and the rain would reduce the feeling of the theorized loss of warmth, I lay prone on my mossy mattress. To further ensure my body heat would be contained, I pulled my legs close to my body. Then I waited, and waited, and waited.

The light drizzle turned to a heavier downpour, and the world became darker. My forelock, heavy from the water, drooped over my eyes.

I waited some more. What else could I do?

The consistent bombardment eventually whittled down my coat's defenses, and the cold water began to withdraw body heat from me. My fascination with experiencing rain in a dream wore off entirely.

“I'd appreciate a team of weather pegasi about now,” I hoped half-jokingly, wiping my drenched forelock out of my face. I had begun to shiver, and I became concerned that I'd truly wake up if this discomfort became severe. I speculated that I had kicked off my blanket in my sleep, and the resulting loss of the warm pocket of air was now being reflected in my dream.

“Okay, you can cancel the rain now,” I complained to my disassociated side. “It's not funny, and I mean it. Those odd memories and the things you made me say, somepony and the likes, they were within acceptable limits, but you're seriously pushing your luck now.”

A cranial knock to the rock would beam me out from this dream. Leaping down into the river would garner the same result. The gradients were impossible to climb, at least for a pony. My only feasible option was to wait.

“So, what's the fun in this?” I dourly asked my overlording subconscious, who had beset me with the dissatisfactory conditions of my limited playing field and this troublesome precipitation. “I'm freezing here. Get that? Freezing. Trembling. In a dream. Are you trying to prove a point with this? Because if you are, it's entirely lost on me. Or is this retribution for my calling you a jerk? For your information, I don't regret that remark.”

My forelock continued to soak up water and slipped back over my eyes. I felt as if I was enveloped in a freezing, irremovable, waterlogged, and encompassing rug. The coldness bore into my bones like drills made of ice. I wasn't in pain, but my discomfort was extreme, and I had no way to alleviate it. I felt absolutely awful, and I wouldn't allow it to last for a minute longer. I had to do something.

I fumbled with my forehooves to push my soaked hair out of my vision. Hooves being hooves, and the hair being more soaked than before, my shivering and bad mood further compounded on me, and I found it troublesome to displace the bangs. After a few poor attempts, I groaned in exasperation and tossed my head up. My forelock folded haphazardly onto my head, and I had a clear vision of the world again. I possessed a fury that mixed into my trembling but gave me no warmth. What it did give me was absolute bravado.

“That's it!” I shot up onto my legs, yelling at the sky. “I've had enough! I wouldn't think it would come to this, but I! Am! Leaving!” I emphasized my message with fierce hoof stomps. Peering at the darkened realm, I saw the contours of the river. Fueled by seething determination, I began to propel myself towards the body of water. I was actually galloping, but I paid little attention to how I was managing it. My fears had been quelled by the burst of rage, and I launched myself over the precipice. As soon as my legs left the solid ground, my rational side reasserted its place in my consciousness, and my fury dimmed.

Regret. Sadness. That was what I felt. So many things I still desired to experience. It had been, despite all the problems and hardships, a very fascinating journey. I wish it hadn't ended like this. My gallop hadn't even been all that impressive; I'd barely managed to clear the edge of the embankment with my leap.

A splash—everything became dark and all sounds were muted. I was floating with nothing under my hooves and feeling unusually peaceful. The water was chilly and surrounded me on all sides, but I wasn't trembling anymore. I held my breath, waiting to be thrown out from . . . wait? Oh no!

Instinctively, I began to push water with my limbs. I had no idea how to swim as a pony, and that only made my fear grow more severe. I had to find the surface, the bottom, anything in the lightless void that I could use to regain my bearings. The little oxygen I had stored in my lungs was depleting at an alarming rate. Bubbles were flowing out from my nostrils as my diaphragm began to relax, and I was afraid that my dream was getting the last laugh by forcing me to suffer a very authentic drowning. My heart was racing and my mind was consumed by fear, but I wasn't waking up! If I hadn't been underwater, I would have screamed in horror.

I was spinning in every direction when my hind hooves finally touched something hard. Instilling a speck of rational thought, I brought my second set of hooves onto the solid boundary; then, I launched myself in the opposite direction from what I sincerely hoped was the river floor. As I journeyed through the liquid, my throat convulsed for a split second, and I breathed a small amount of water.

A strange warmth and peace descended into me. My scared heart joined the tranquility, and I ceased my struggling. Maybe drowning wouldn't be as bad as I had feared it to be. How about that?

Air. I breathed air; my head had popped above the surface, and my instincts did their task valiantly. I coughed water, frantically pumping my legs in a dire attempt to keep me from slipping back underneath the rippling river. My forelock had again fallen to obstruct my vision; a brisk shake took care of that issue.

The opposite river bank was perhaps two dozen meters away, not tall and not too steep, laced with moderately-sized rocks and exposed soil—definitely climbable. My paddling soon found a rhythm, and it became easier to swim, but I gave it no thought. My goal was simple, and my eyes were locked on the inviting safety of rocks and grass. As I neared the boundary of water and earth, my bliss became stronger, ushering my fear of water to the sidelines.

“I can't believe it!” I said, laughing. “I can't believe I made it!” My hooves touched the soft soil a few meters before the shore. “I survived the fall!” My swimming transitioned to a lively gait. “A second chance at my dream!” I planted my legs on the earthen gradient and began to ascend the moderate slope. “It's so unbelievable, I could just cheer to my heart's content!” I reached a rock just beneath a protruding part of the meadow and lunged up to plant my forelegs on it. “I think I'll actually do that once I- WHOA!”

The brittle soil I had placed my forelegs on crumbled as I placed my weight upon it, leading me to slip off my legs . . .

“Oooff!”

. . . and slam hard onto a large rock, knocking the wind out of me. With my balance lost, I tumbled back down into the river, where I lay resting sideways and partially submerged. Dazedly, I picked myself up and trudged up to the meadow.

“Ah-oww,” I moaned as I came to a secure stop on the grass, my wits coming back along with an unpleasant sensation on my barrel. “I hope I didn't break a rib,” I continued as I timorously twisted and arched my back, trying to diagnose my pain. When I didn't feel anything poke at my skin or innards, I surmised I had sustained nothing worse than a nasty bruise.

Before I could retrieve my joy, something dreadfully alarming dawned on me. I had felt pain. Not discomfort, but pain. Authentic pain! If that . . . then . . . I . . . No! It couldn't be! It was impossible! This was supposed to be impossible! I . . . It . . . No . . . Oh no . . . Oh no! NO! I couldn't lose it!

“Come on! I can deal with this!” I began to reassure myself in desperation. “Just because this is real doesn't mean it's permanent! I can't think like that! This could be over in a few hours!” My voice began to fade in tandem with my declining hope. “Or a couple days, or in a week . . . a month . . . a year . . . never be over . . .” I trailed off, and an unimaginable bleakness enveloped my mind. Every bone, nerve, and tissue turned against me. I didn't want them! I didn't want to be in this body! I wanted out! I had to escape! Run! Flee! HELP!

“No! I can't panic! It doesn't solve anything! I can't escape this no matter how hard I try! I just have . . .” My voice began to shatter. “To accept it . . . consider the worst . . . could be . . . forever . . .” I whimpered and . . . and . . . I feared so horribly. The panic, I was succumbing to it . . . NO! I couldn't allow it to win!

“I refuse to submit! I won't panic!” I yelled, my voice wavering in terror. My eyes were layered with tears and my entire being was shaking, but behind it all, I was fighting tooth and nail. “I can calm myself! Be rational! Fight it! I can fight the panic! Defeat it! Crush it! Eradicate it!” Defiance began to crease my lips into a fierce grin. “Yes! I can fight this! I can win! I won't lose to the pitiful panic! Ha-ha! I laugh in its face! I won't take this lying down! I will prevail! I'm a strong girl! I can- What the hay!”

I froze. I had called mys- . . . It made no sense! It made no sense! I . . . I couldn't breathe . . .

I HAD TO ESCAPE!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

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