The Slow Transformation of Oliver Sanderson

by libertydude

The Stallion in the Mirror

The flight back home was as mundane as expected. Shorter lines, given the oncoming Conversion caused many to think twice about traveling, but otherwise no different than any other flight. I tried to spend the flight either sketching or reading a copy of Walden I’d brought, but the seat was too cramped for a good hand position, and Emerson’s musings stimulated me about as much as drying paint. So I just stared ahead at the television embedded in the seat in front of me, tuned to the National Weather Service and a Hispanic man pointing at the oncoming Wave off the coast.

“The Conversion Wave, as of now, has reached about three-quarters across the Pacific,” the subtitles read. “Civilians on the West Coast are ordered to stay home and be prepared for physical discomfort for the Wave’s landfall, now expected to be within the next five hours. We’ll provide updates as they come in.”

“Ain’t that something?” Dad said, shaking his head. “We missed it by just a few hours.”

“It is certainly something,” I said. “Would you call it good or bad luck?”

“Depends on how you view it all.”

Three hours later, we landed back in Orlando and drove back towards UCF. The ride was quiet, the two of us stirring in our own thoughts the whole way. We hadn’t talked beyond brief sentences since the Pittock Mansion incident, not so much out of resentment as a realization we both needed time to cool down. But after flying over a whole continent and the Knights water tower closing the distance, I decided to break the silence.

“Nell’s worried she’s going to die.”

“I know,” Dad said.

“You heard us last night?”

He shook his head. “She told me today, while you and Summer were sorting things out.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you tell her anything? Say she didn’t have to worry about it?”

“Sort of.” He shifted to the right lane, propelling ever further down the road. “I asked her if worrying about whether she’d die would make her any happier.”

“You think she’ll be alright?”

“As alright as anybody can be with this.”

Soon, the dorm grounds came into view and Dad turned right into its entrance. The soft, white buildings greeted me with a comforting familiarity, and after a few speed bumps, we sat outside my dorm room. I hopped out and wandered to the rear, grabbing my suitcase and backpack from the luggage compartment.

“Be safe, son,” Dad said, leaning against the car while I closed the trunk. “Don’t do anything too strenuous when that thing comes along.”

“Alright,” I said.

“And be sure to drink plenty of water. I hear the turn makes you really thirsty.”

“Sure,” I said. Then I leaned against the car, scratching my jeans, now uncomfortable in the Florida heat. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

Dad shrugged. “On the trip? Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“The trip, college, Summer. Maybe even the last twenty-three years.”

He shook his head. “Don’t go thinking like that. Everybody gets better with a little bit of time. You may have a stick up your ass, but you’ll get it out someday.”

I chuckled. “Alright then.”

“Alright then.”

“See you when it’s all over.”

“Sure thing.” With that, he got in the car and drove off. I thought about waving, but I just stared until he pulled beyond the trees and back onto the road.

I grabbed my bags and entered the dorm. Still dark. Neither Nate nor Harris had come back from their dalliances either. I flipped on the lights and made my way to my room. I tossed the backpack on the floor, shoved the suitcase in my closet, and flopped down on the bed.

It’ll be over soon, I thought. I’ll be a pony and so will everybody else. Everypony. Everypony else. Better get used to saying it.

After a few minutes, I sat up and walked over to the bathroom. I turned on the light and looked in the mirror. A young man with a thin scar underneath his lip stared back. His brown hair hung loosely, curling in various directions wherever it grew out. His blue eyes stared at himself in a strange trance.

I blinked.

A pony stood there now with the same features. Same hair, same teeth, same beginnings of a beard on his chin. The only differences now were his body now covered in a dark red coat, and he leaned on the sink to keep himself on two legs.

I looked down at my hooves. No, not hooves. They were hands. Still human. So was the rest of me.

Back to the mirror. The man stared back once again.

I took a nice long look at myself. I looked until I couldn’t bear it anymore and sat down at the drawing board beside my desk.

I don’t have much time, I told myself. I whipped out the charcoal and began to create a face and body, the figure’s legs walking in some nondescript landscape.

Better enjoy this while it lasts.

Comments

[Mix-up]

Well this was a nice story, I would have liked to see more of the aftermath, but I won't complain about it. I hope you will keep on writing then.

[libertydude]

9756064
As I said before, I was more interested in what Oliver was feeling during this period of his life than what comes afterward. There's definitely a good story idea there with a post-transformation tale, but it's not really something I want to write about. Plenty of other authors have done that idea better and with more conviction than I could muster, so I'll leave those kinds of stories to them.

[FanOfMostEverything]

Fascinating. An angle on the subgenre I've rarely seen, with layers of existential dread both explicit and implied. The silences are deafening, and poor Summer has to be the representation of the inevitable when she really does just want to meet new friends. They all do.

It's just that it would have been nice if they had asked first. But then, it would've been nice if they'd had the option to ask.

Excellently done. Thank you for it. A shame the backlash is still so strong.

[libertydude]

9930191
Thanks for your comment. Yeah, I feel bad for Summer too. She's not evil or xenophobic, just a poor soul caught in a terrible situation like Oliver. It's also not a case where the ponies purely benefit from humanity's conversion; they still lost their homeland and are causing a sustained societal breakdown in their new home. I think that's more compelling than the usual "good vs. evil" a lot of TCB stories come down to, and one of the main reasons I wanted to write this story.

And I won't lie, seeing all the initial downvotes was hard. This was the story I put the most effort into for the Endings collection, partly because it was tied so closely to my own life (relatives in Portland who took in foreign exchange students) and touched on a certain hopelessness I think everybody goes through (dealing with an unescapable change to their lives). My guess is a lot of people saw TCB mentioned in the description and dismissed it outright, or read it and weren't pleased with the rather defeatist and internal take I gave to the concept.

I'm glad the story worked for you, though. Hope I can someday write something just as strong.

[keroko]

9931789
Mostly the former, I wager. A very rare few exceptions aside, TCB stories still seem to get downvoted on principle.

[libertydude]

10002812
To quote JC Denton, "What a shame". I think for all the flaws TCB has as a story, the general concept is quite interesting and can be used in a myriad of ways. It's all just a matter of finding a different lens through which to tell the story. In my case, I wanted to show how a normal person would see the changing human/pony society, without the usual factions fighting or a 'chosen one' human/pony hero a lot of other TCB stories feature. I also wanted to show both humanity and ponies as victims in this process, which I felt was more nuanced than the 'one side is good, the other is evil' route many other stories took.

Either way, I hope those who did read the story got something out of it.

[Chatoyance]

10620316
I know, I know. It's just that right now, with all the covid deniers and a seditious siege on the Capitol, and a third of a million dead in the US, I am just so goddamn tired and weary of anyone telling me how super great earth is, you know? I've lost people I know, who died still claiming that covid was fake because Trump said it was a hoax. The TB stuff just hit a little too close to home.

It's fine as a story beat, truly it is. Intellectually, divorced from reality, it is fine as fiction. it's just that reading it in a time when people are actually dying of an incurable, barely treatable disease (just like TB once was... and with some strains, still is) around you... it hits like an insult. Does that make any sense?

[libertydude]

10620552
Sure. Though you must remember this was written back in 2017 (and published in summer 2019), well before a lot of these problems appeared or were considered as prescient an issue. It's more a case of a story accidentally lining up with reality rather than a purposeful attempt to yank a reader's chain.

[Chatoyance]

10620968
Oh! I didn't even notice the date!

"In writing, everything is fun and games, until a third of a million people die" - Old Quote that nobody ever said

[Inkpot1]

It's only controversial because a lot of people don't know how to perceive this section of fimfiction.

[Alden MacManx]

Fascinating tale. I would like to know more about how this state of affairs came about. What did happen two years ago when ponies first came to Earth? How did the Conversion start?

Will do some hunting a bit later. Long Covid is a real pain in the life.