• Published 26th Oct 2012
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Becoming Fluttershy - Hope



A philosophical and comedic story of becoming one with my inner pony.

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chapter 9. Buck

Shortly after finishing off the pizza and paying for it, one of the kids finally approaches with her mother in tow.

“Hello, can I help you?” I ask, much happier and friendly than I was a moment ago.

“Hi. My daughter thinks you are a cartoon character called Fluttershy.” The woman says with a bit of edge in her voice.

“Well... I sort of am, my name is Erica but I woke up like this and we are traveling to New York to figure it all out.” I try to explain, scratching the back of my head with one hoof.

“She wants to hug you.” The woman rolls her eyes as though the little kid is being stupid. I frankly think that the woman needs to get over herself.

“I don’t mind.” I say, spreading my forelegs in a welcoming gesture.

The kid runs up to me and with the aid of the chair we are roughly on the same viewing level. She has a sparkle in her eyes that I recognize, something that makes me chuckle a little as I embrace the bouncy little kid. Hope. Once again, hope overcame fear to bring two people, or ponies, together. Today is really turning around. A few minutes later we are walking out of the restaurant, nodding and waving to the now fairly friendly patrons as we depart.

“I feel a lot better now, I want to try flying again!” I say exuberantly.

“Oh no you don’t, I don’t want to find out what a hospital would think of you. You can try that later.” Julien says as he grabs my ear, pulling me along towards the car.

I can’t get a good angle for The Stare so I settle with just whining.

“Please! I promise to be careful! We can lay out pillows!” I plead.

“Tonight, when we get to the campground, you can try to fly.” He tells me, opening my door for me.

I hop in with a grumble and the door closes behind me, just after I pull my tail in behind me.

“Fine.” I agree after he gets me into the passenger seat.

Our tires rumble across the rough side street until we regain the main road, once again making our way east.

“So you’re not going to have a panic attack with the window closed, are you?” Julien asks, his eyes on the road.

I don’t answer. He finally tears his eyes off the ribbon of black ahead of us and glances over to me, I am passed out already, curled up in a little pink and yellow ball on the passenger seat. When I awake an hour later, he is all too eager to show me the pictures he snapped on his phone of me snoring away. Apparently my snoring is no longer bothersome because its too damned funny to get upset over. As we banter back and forth about my insistence that he delete the audio clip he had recorded, the slight greenery suddenly and sharply gives away to the flat dead white of a true desert. The playa stretches on into the distance on every side of the road, and the eerie silence of the tires on the nearly perfect straight road stops our conversation as surely as a blanket thrown over us would. It is an impressive sight, to look out on the void of nature and see this solitary silver speck that is our car zipping across it with determination. I roll down the window again and stick my head out, feeling the rush of adrenaline as I feel the roar and chaos of the air force my ears back flat against my head. After my head has gotten so cold I start to shiver I pull it back in and close the window, grinning.

“Having fun?” Julien asks, clearly bored with the plain surroundings.

“I see why dogs do it, a nice rush of sorts.” I say as I get the brush out of the back seat, the squishy handle soft on my teeth.

“Ah shudn do i’ oo mush.” I spit out the brush and sandwich it between my hooves.

“I don’t want to have to brush my mane out every ten minutes.” I explain as I start straightening the again tangled mess.

“Yeah...” Julien seems lost in thought and I don’t want to pester him, so the last few hours of our sunlight and our drive peter away to the tune of some blues station we found.

We arrive at the campground at 9 PM, paying the gatekeeper $10 to give up a grassy spot away from others. The gatekeeper looks me over and obviously has questions but the beauty of humanity is that most people will put aside all but the most pressing oddities in the face of cash and a smile. We park and set up the tent, as I bounce around, trying to get forward momentum out of my hover. Flying really isn’t like swimming, that’s a terrible comparison. I think a far closer simile would be skipping. As my wings move, the rest of my body moves in response, you get up a good skip of the wings against the air and each time you start to fall, your wings return you to equilibrium. Though by my failures at it, I’m not nearly as talented at it as I am at skipping. During the following hour, Julien gets the tent set up, gets me a soda with a straw, and lays out the bedding in the tent. During that time I only accomplish a collision with a small tree, getting grass stains on my hocks, and getting yelled at by a squirrel as I try to run away. Julien rescues me from the squirrel (see: doesn't run away from it, and the squirrel felt outnumbered) and we sit down in the tent with a flashlight and our soda.

“Scary campfire stories?” Julien proposes.

“Meep!” I reply between sips of non caffeinated rootbeer. For those of you from other countries, rootbeer is sassafras soda, and it is the best soda that doesn't have caffeine.

“How about we just sleep?” I suggest.

“Blasphemy! you may have suddenly changed your sleeping schedule, but I am still used to staying up until 4 in the morning.” he reminds me.

“I however am very tired.” I counter, laying down with my head on one of his pillows since I had obviously forgotten to bring one.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try to force myself to sleep.” Julien sighs, before laying down with his back to me.

“Goodnight.” we both chime, before I close my eyes and drift off into the darkness.


I awake some time later, still quite dark out, but with an arm around me. I don’t know how to feel about my new life as a teddy bear, but I can’t exactly complain when the cold outside is seeping in through the tent walls, making the prospect of being without a blanket daunting. We happen to be laying on all the blankets, to make the ground easier to rest on.

I drift back to sleep with the arm over my side, and return to my dreams of flying.


Finally I awake to the sound of chirping birds, quite a change from a buzzing alarm clock. I attempt to get up but am impeded by Julien’s arm, which I suddenly realize is a stark white in the early morning light.

I turn and come face to face with Shining Armor.

This raises the delicate question, as I wait for him to wake up, who the buck is going to drive the car?

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