Becoming Fluttershy

by Hope

chapter 7. Sunrise

I wake up to the soft static of the fan cooling our room. When did I fall asleep? I must have nodded off to the sound of my music around 10 or so, since I usually sleep 9 hours and it is 6:45. I close my eyes for a moment, thinking that I can get back to sleep, but when this pony wakes up, she means business. My hooves start getting antsy and finally I drag myself out of bed, looking around at the still dark room.

I have never been a morning person before but this body seems rearing to go at this early hour, which is a little disconcerting since I don't really know what to do with myself.

I casually drag some things that will be nice to bring, such as a sleeping bag, tent, and my work backpack with laptop in it out of the closet, but after that I sort of sit there fidgeting.

Finally I decide I need to be outside, the house feeling stuffy and too dark.

The crisp air outside wakes me up further, a very gentle breeze wafting over me. I sit on my porch for a while, watching cars drive by in the early morning, their engines humming or growling along through the darkness. The sky begins to grow ever so slightly lighter, shade by shade. How many months had it been since I was up this early, I wonder? My habit of seizing an idea and draining it of life until I am too incoherent to think has always kept me up so late that the sunrise is scant hours away.

This sort of busts up my “humanity is fueled by hate” theory. Not entirely, but I can’t help but wonder if fear isn't a better driver. I have always been afraid of losing my mind, losing what makes me, me. I thus put every thought I have, every inkling and pondering down electronically or on paper. Heck, I even bought a parchment book and quill to do my more serious writing with, because I was afraid.

War is a practice in fear, who can fear the most? Who can be so paranoid as to outguess the enemy and destroy them, ensuring that they can never, ever hurt you again? Technology is fueled by our fear of being inadequate, science by the fear of the unknown.

Fear is the shadow we stare in the eye and dare to move just by living.

So does that mean that a person without fear is lost, or found? I don’t presume to know that, heck this theory is fueled by an overactive mind and a beautiful sunrise, although marred by a neighbor’s tree.

I decide I want a better view and look up to the roof of our apartment. It will just be a really high hover, right? As long as I keep telling myself that, I shouldn't panic at least.

After a few false starts, I make the 30 foot vertical climb to the roof of our apartment building, and settle down on the edge of the tar paper expanse.

Much better.

This sunrise may not be pulled from the depths of the night by Celestia, but it is beautiful, perhaps more precious for being a cosmic coincidence. I look upon the brilliance of the day starting itself and my gaze follows the rays of light down to the city below.

The city is alive.

Slowly awaking from its restless slumber, cars begin to move at a more aggressive pace through the arteries and veins of concrete. I watch an elderly woman walk out of her house in her bathrobe and let her little dog scamper about on the lawn before wetting a patch of grass and fleeing inside.

The woman stands for a bit in the morning light, her eyes half closed and a tired expression tugging at the corners of her mouth as she smokes a cigarette, polluting the air with the solemnity of an undertaker looking at a long list of measurements and names.

She will pass away some day. This is a fact, as sure as the sun that just rose and the air that tugs at my mane. But she gets up every morning, she lets her dog out, and she enjoys the world.

Fear cannot drive such actions, fear cannot drive a terminal cancer patient to open their eyes and smile when the doctor walks into the room with bad news.

Fear can certainly drive us to some things, working at a dead end job for years past its expiration, driving to work every day knowing you will come home in a more miserable state than when you left, I have been there. The stench of poverty hangs heavy over this city, over many cities I would imagine, but as a child who has soiled themselves and looks to their parents with shame even though they have done nothing wrong, all this city needs is someone to hold its metaphorical hand. Or hoof.

With a sigh I lay my head down on my forelegs.

That whole train of thought sort of fell apart at the end, didn't it? I suppose that's what I get for comparing a city to a toddler.

But the point of all this, as I start up the gears in my head again, I remember it was hope. We may be driven by fear, on occasion it may be all we feel, but the smallest glimmer of hope is always there, and when we really need it, it can pull us up out of the darkest moments.

I spread my wings and leap off the building, gliding in a wide circle out over the street, over my car, and back to my porch.

A tapping sound heralds my landing and I beam in pride of my first successful almost-flight.

After depressing the lever of the front door and shimmying it closed again I make my way upstairs, to see Julien packing a large duffel bag full of things.

“You get lost on your way to the restroom?” He asks jovially.

“Har-de-har, I watched the sunrise.” I explain, before realizing that I really did have to use the restroom. “Be right back.” I turn and trot across the hall to the bathroom, closing the door on Julien’s laughter.

Hovering makes the whole thing easy, I simply hover onto the seat and nothing else really changed. Except toilet paper and no hands. Right, how did I forget that?

I reach out with a hoof and paw feebly at the toilet paper, unraveling a long string of it onto the floor.

The rest of the operation involved tweezers, a blowtorch, and a calculator.

No, I’m not going to detail my embarrassment for your amusement. Deal with it.

I emerged with a victorious smile and ignored the mountain of toilet paper on the ground as I enter my room.

“you look way too happy. Thats just indecent.” Julien quips, moving a black plastic case into the bag.

“I succeeded in... Is that my pistol?” I ask in a slightly higher voice than normal. (and thats saying something)

“Yes.” He answers simply, popping open the black case to show the 9mm semi automatic ruger with two full magazines.

To explain why I own a pistol, for those of you who may be less than inclined towards weapons, I once worked for Ruger. Ruger manufactures firearms and although my time there was fairly short, I became proficient in that model’s use, maintenance, and I daresay I like the look of it.

So I bought one a year after leaving the company. I keep it around for home defense, and every great once in awhile I practice with it, but largely I just keep it working and it provides me memories of a time when I was fresh out of my parents home. Living alone, scared. and starting to figure myself out.

“Why are you bringing that?” I ask curiously.

“You are an adorable and well known fictional character, that some less decent people would be eager to try and abuse. I have made jokes about selling you off or whatnot before, but as your friend and a general all around not insane person, I’m not going to let that happen.” He says darkly, closing the case and stowing it away.

“That's... admirable but I don’t have hands, and if its in the trunk the whole time, it won't be on hand for you either.” I point out.

He thinks for a moment before he takes it back out of the bag.

“I will stow it under the front seat then.” He says triumphantly.

I can tell I’m not going to dissuade him from this, and I don't mind the extra bit of protection even if it is extreme, so I leave him to his packing which is far more thorough than mine.

Socks, shirts, shoes, shorts, pants, underwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, three pillows, two blankets, a folded up tarp, three flashlights, extra batteries, a small stuffed dragon, iPod, two jackets, playing cards, soda, water, crackers, four MRE’s, first aid kit, a lighter and matches, hammer, a pocket knife, extra toilet paper, another hammer (mallet, technically).

“I like hammers.” He says defensively.

The duffel bag looks like it is going to explode with all the stuff he has stuffed into it.

He grabs a much smaller bag and into it he tosses two brushes, one of which is a boar hair brush, a few my little pony figurines, and my favorite blanket.

“That's your bag.” He explains as he settles it on my back between my wings.

“You ready?” He finally asks.

As I nod, Derek and Dakota peek into our room.

“What are you guys... things... doing?” Dakota asks in a very tired and very grumpy voice.

“We are going on a cross country adventure to keep you all from meeting the same grisly fate as I have.” I say with pride.

“God damned ponies.” Is the only answer I receive as they leave to their respective beds on the assumption that “Cross country” means “no longer making noise”.

Comments

[MyLittleBurger]

Huzzah what could possibly possible go wrong.....

[jakol]

This fic is... odd...
MMMOOOOAAAARRRRR

[TundraStanza]

1520752
Everything.

[Red Bomber]

No, I’m not going to detail my embarrassment for your amusement. Deal with it.

GOOD! I don't want to hear about it in the first place. ^^; It's almost like going into detail about how about someone's father killed himself because he slept with his stepmother, in which my expression will be the same as Snake's and Raiden's of "No one didn't need to know that," expression.

Other than that packing scene was funning, Erica flying for the first time was fun to read, and I really like finding more of Erica's personality in Fluttershy's body.

[no longer on]

I reach out with a hoof and paw feebly at the toilet paper, unraveling a long string of it onto the floor.
The rest of the operation involved tweezers, a blowtorch, and a calculator.
No, I’m not going to detail my embarrassment for your amusement. Deal with it.

You know, I don't even want to know in the first place...

[Pinklestia]

I found this chapter better than the rest.

[SoulboundAlchemist]

Who can be so paranoid as to outguess the enemy and destroy them, ensuring that they can never, ever hurt you again?

Is this an Ender's Game reference I see?

[BronyCrystal]

awesome story so far loving it. Read all night so half a sleep now. Soooooo nighty and Fluttershy say night to and time next time
Have a Derpy day

[Nightshade Dawn]

“Yes.” He answers simply, popping open the black case to show the 9mm semi automatic ruger with two full magazines.
To explain why I own a pistol, for those of you who may be less than inclined towards weapons, I once worked for Ruger. Ruger manufactures firearms and although my time there was fairly short, I became proficient in that model’s use, maintenance, and I daresay I like the look of it.
So I bought one a year after leaving the company. I keep it around for home defense, and every great once in awhile I practice with it, but largely I just keep it working and it provides me memories of a time when I was fresh out of my parents home. Living alone, scared. and starting to figure myself out.

I aggree it is a beautiful weapon but I have to say in my opinion that the M1 Garand is so much better looking.

upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/53/M1-Garand-Rifle.jpg

[GameHunter]

4198082 You're comparing a small side arm to a relic of a rifle.

Wat.

[Neerg Nerrad]

There is no courage without fear.

Just as courage imperils life, fear protects it.

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

“God damned ponies.” Is the only answer I receive as they leave to their respective beds on the assumption that “Cross country” means “no longer making noise”.

Dude, it ALSO means "no longer paying rent."

You may not miss a roommate's noise, but for me the $ has sentimental value.