• Published 5th Nov 2012
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Hope and Changeling - FrontSevens



A novice changeling undertakes a journey back to his own world.

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Chapter 3 - Flour Sack

“How did you do that?”

“What, are you stupid or something?”

“You changed… into me. How did you do that?”

I had no idea what was going on. Taff’s grandfather just turned into me out of nowhere. I wanted to know how the heck that happened.

Taking a closer look at me, he asked, “Are you even a changeling?”

Wasn’t I? I sure looked like one… “I’m pretty sure. Now, what’s going on?”

He sat down. “Dude, where have you been? Did you miss out on life? Do you not live at the hive?”

“Yeah, I did. Live at the hive,” I amended.

“Are you for real? I don’t want to have to spell it out for you, dude!”

Yes, please do. That’d be nice. I sat down, patiently awaiting an explanation.

He threw his arms in the air. “I can’t even take you seriously right now. I’m leaving.” He turned around to take off, but not before adding, “You’re welcome for saving you, by the way. Don’t get left behind.” With that, he flew away to the north, muttering something indiscernible. Still in need of answers, I yelled, “Wait, come back!”

Was he flying to the hive? Why would he do that? Could someone… Oh…

I don’t think that was Taff’s grandpa. That lived at the hive. So, somehow, it had transformed to look like him. Some sort of freaky magic that I couldn’t...

…Couldn’t I? I was a changeling, after all… Oh, now I get the name. But, just being a changeling might not have granted me changeling powers, too. It’d probably be something I’d have to learn, like a card trick.

I looked around and sighed. I was abandoned, and didn’t know where to go. Already back at square one.

Did I want to return to the hive? I could learn that shape-shifting trick, but everyone probably knew it by then. Maybe 6 F 26 could teach it to me, although it was unlikely he’d be willing; he didn’t seem like the altruistic type.

Did I want to test my luck again in the city? I could pull together another disguise. It had worked for the most part, although I hadn’t tested it in normal conversation. That “changing” thing would be more useful…

I sat down and looked up, watching a wispy cloud roll by. I had wings. Maybe I could just fly back home. Could birds talk too? I could ask them for lessons…

…Did I just hear a sneeze?

I could’ve sworn I heard a sneeze.

Who followed me? Were the police still after me? Maybe Taff’s real grandfather, or Taff herself, followed me here…

A bush rustled nearby. Should I take a chance and introduce myself, or get a running head start? I was leaning towards the latter.

But, I didn’t have to decide. A white horse darted out and ran back to the city. Another frightened resident, I supposed. One frightened resident…

A phrase I heard in a psychology class came to mind… “People are stupid; individuals, however, are smart.” A crowd would’ve (and had) panicked, but maybe I could’ve convinced one…

Half running, half hobbling, I began my pursuit. Knowing I couldn’t catch her, I called out, “Hey! Wait up!” It’d have been easier if she tripped or something…

She glanced behind herself, and collided with a low branch. A wave of bliss was immediately followed by self-chastise. I was terrible to wish for that; she could have hurt herself! But, that was my chance…

“Are you alright?” I asked when I caught up to her. Her pupils were reeling so much I was afraid that her eyeballs had come loose!

Her sight refocused, and, looking up at me, she squirmed to get away. I held her down; the opportunity to convince someone that I wasn’t me couldn’t be passed up.

“Calm down! I’m not like other changelings,” I assured her in my scratchy voice. “I need your help. Please, help me.”

At “please,” she relaxed a little, and her big, pink eyes settled on mine.

“I’m lost, and I need help getting back home.” I was a little resentful of ponies, but becoming my normal, human self again was worth swallowing a little pride. “Now, I’m going to let you up, so… please don’t run away.”

To prove my trustworthiness, I backed away slowly. She carefully remounted her feet. I expected her to start running again, but, to my delight, she didn’t. She nodded towards the road and said quietly, “Let’s go.”

I did as instructed and walked with her along the forest path.

You know, if she turned out to be a changeling, too…

~ ~ ~

Eight.

The whole trip must have been an hour long, and she only spoke eight words. Well, ten, including “Let’s go.” And eleven, if that sound she made when she hit the tree branch counted.

She didn’t answer my straightforward questions of what she had been doing there, or how much she had seen, or what she knew about changelings, or if she knew anything about portals. I didn’t expect her to answer the last one, seeing that she wasn’t a unicorn, but it was worth a try. Eventually, though, I had to resort to a normal conversation.

In general, conversations are not my proficiency. It had been too long since I actually made casual chitchat with another human, let alone a pony. I worked as a programmer. If I wasn’t in front of my computer for seven hours a workday, I was enduring the mindless chatter of my coworkers. It was kind of ironic how things turned out.

I tried everything I could think of, from the weather, to the birds, to the flowers, to the lack of clouds, to the birds... The only reaction that could have almost been mistaken for a response was when she blinked when I complimented her gold-blond hair. Barring that, she was impossibly hard to read the entire way. Eyes straight ahead, mouth closed, and an expressionless face (maybe tired, if anything), if I was reading horse faces correctly.

My efforts were not unfruitful, though; I at least discovered her name, Wheat Flour. …Really? Changelings’ names have numbers, and ponies’ have food? Surely, there had to have been humans around here somewhere…

Since she near refused talking, I didn’t have much to think about the rest of the way. Instead, thinking practically, I studied how she walked. It was hard to study, though, without looking like I was staring at her awkwardly. She probably felt really uncomfortable, come to think of it. Eventually, though, I had figured out the basic walking cycle. Left foot, left hand – or, left other foot – right foot, right other foot. It took a while, but I got the hang of it.

Also, it was hard not to notice the flour sack tattoo on her hip. I understood that it was related to her name, and her job, but it seemed too… permanent, and limiting. Oh, well. It was her choice, I guess.

Our journey ended at a small farm. A faded sign arching the entry deemed the land, “Buckwheat Range.” The buildings were small, humble, and, in my opinion, a bit dated. They were a dull shade of sandy brown, and showed a few signs of wear. Wheat Flour stopped me at the gate, and continued inside.

The property was bordered by a wooden fence. It seemed that every square foot of land within that fence that wasn’t taken up by the barn, silos, or farmhouse was wheat. Rows upon rows of wheat. At least it matched the décor.

A little dog came out to meet me. Scottish terrier, I think? He yipped at me like I was a rabbit or something. When I reached out a hand to scratch him with, he calmed down. I had a couple of dogs when I was a kid, so I knew all the sweet spots.

“What do you want?”

I looked up to greet the voice’s owner. She was slightly taller than Wheat Flour, with crimson hair and yellow skin.

“Wheat Flour led me here. She said she could help me out,” I told her plainly.

She squinted at me. “And what, exactly, would you need help with?” I could practically smell her distrust, from the way she looked at and spoke to me. Could’ve been the dog, though.

I looked down to see him panting happily at me. “Getting home.”

Before she could ask any more skeptical questions, Wheat Flour returned with another horse. It was violet, with wildly curly green hair and bright red glasses. Upon its approach, it strained its eyes and exclaimed with a strong, southern belle accent, “So! My little Flour tells me we have a visitor!”

Scarlet-hair rolled her eyes, and I replied, “Yes, ma’am. I need to find some-“

“Say no more, darlin’! I could always use another hoof on my ranch! Besides, Wheat Flour here won’t mind havin’ a stallion around, won’t you, hon?” At this, she nudged Wheat Flour with her elbow. Her cheeks flushed, and she retreated to the house.

Red-specs chuckled. “Oh, she’s always shy around the young bucks. Can’t never find her voice amongst the city folk.”

She brought a hoof to her cheek. “Goodness, where did my manners go? I’m Millie – or Aunt Millie, if you so desire – and this is my neice, Whole Grain. You already met her sister, Wheat Flour. Pleasure’s all mine, mister…”

“S-” Shoot. I hadn’t thought of a better name than 6 F 25 yet. “Uh… um…” I stalled. What was a somewhat believable, food-related name? I looked down at my feet. “Swiss, ahem, Swiss Cheese.”

She licked her lips. “Swiss Cheese? Well, it’s mighty nice meetin’ ya, Swiss. Stay as long as you like, hon! Extra help’s always welcome on my farm! Now, Grain darlin’ here’s gonna get you set right up with a little work. Aren’t you, hon?”

The yellow pony seemed to have no such desire. “Yes, Auntie, I am.”

“Fan-tastic! I’ll see y’all at supper, Swissy!” Aunt Millie waved me off before sauntering back to the residence, leaving me with a grumpy-looking Whole Grain. For a couple of uncomfortable seconds, she glowered at me.

“Well, it’s nice to-”

“No talking.” She said bluntly.

“…Okay.”

Sheesh. I wasn’t sure if this was the best place to be, either. But, nobody had screamed so far, so… might as well stick with it.

I followed her to the barn, which was larger than it had looked on the outside. In the back, numerous bags were orderly stacked to the roof. If there was a wall there, I couldn’t tell. The rest of the area was taken up by various pieces of equipment. I assumed it was all for working with grain, somehow. That seemed to be the theme here.

Whole Grain directed me with her hoof to a large stone wheel. It was hollow and turned on its side, like a life-sized hamster wheel. “It’s real simple. You stay in this wheel. Walk when I tell you, and stop when I tell you. Got it?” From her terse tone, I had the feeling she didn’t like me.

“Ok.” Even though I broke her law, I had to convey my understanding.

I jumped in and awaited instruction. She positioned herself in front of the wheel, atop a small stool. She adjusted an apparatus that looked ready to grind meat. I hoped she wasn’t going to go all serial killer on me. She seemed like the type that would, too. “Go,” she ordered.

As I walked, I could hear various gears and rollers spin and squeak. After I started walking, Whole Grain turned her attention to a little door in the barn wall, no bigger than her hoof. She opened it a little, and seeds started pouring down a chute. They fed into a funnel, and through a series of rollers. At the bottom, beige powder flurried down into a container, which was sunk through the floor and into a basement.

Of course, we were making flour. What did I expect? Oh, that’s right, meat pies…

~ ~ ~

I really needed to find a wristwatch.

Seriously. It wasn’t vital, but it would’ve been really nice to know the time.

It’s not that I didn’t mind the walking; all the more practice for four legs at a time. It was just tedious. I wouldn’t have kept going if I didn’t have the feeling I’d actually get something from it. The grey panel constantly moving down and under me lulled me into a trance, at times. There was a little black spot on the stone, and I began counting the number of times it went past. I lost track at around 800. Had it been one hour, or two?

This’ll all be worth it, I told myself. Somehow…

I had to find a way to break the monotony, even if it entailed breaking Rule #1. I learned, though, that not much leeway is given past that rule. Iron Fist seems to hate a friendly chat more than anything (except, probably, me).

“So, what’s the dog’s name?”

She focused a death stare at me. “No talking, remember?”

No, of course not. Why haven’t I talked for the past two hours? Although tempted to nod and carry on, I was growing a little annoyed of her lack of cordiality. “Your dog has a name, right?”

She merely frowned deeper. I could sense the impending storm, but I didn’t care. Bring it on. I’m bored. “There was this one dog I had; his name was Oliver. He was a golden retriever. Got into trouble sometimes, but boy, was he so much fun. Loved to play with the Frisbee; we’d take him out to the park every other day in the summer and-“

Smack! A yellow hoof hurtled past me, millimeters in front of my eyes, and planted itself firmly against the wheel. I immediately halted, and turned to see a very stern-looking Whole Grain. She spoke slowly and calmly, but firmly.

“It’s great that our Aunt is generous enough to offer you work here, isn’t it, Sissy? However, if I hear one more word come out of that grotesque mouth of yours, I’ll buck you so hard in the face that your eyes will pop out the back of your head.” She leaned in close, drilling her stare into my soul. “Got it?”

I nodded silently, suppressing a cough to avoid that punch landing on my face. After emphasizing her seriousness through several more seconds of glaring, she returned back to her post. “Go.”

Despite my reluctance, I started rolling again. I wasn’t in the mood for smashed-in teeth. Three years of braces would have been wasted…

If only I had come into this world as a pony. We’ve already been over this, I reminded myself. Stop wishing and find a way home already! Patience, brain. Maybe the best plan of action was to earn this family’s trust…

And, boy, had I done a good job of that so far. Why’d I have to be such a wise guy? Shut up, I commanded. Shut up now. No more trouble from now on.

For the time span after that episode (I really needed a watch), I wanted to apologize to Whole Grain. After her reinforcement of Rule #1, though, I wasn’t up for breaking it again.

Finally, supper came. I was kind of hungry, not having eaten since… the previous day! Aunt Millie had prepared a miniature feast, with green beans, corn, mashed sweet potatoes, and fresh bread. She said tonight was special; they weren’t used to having guests over.

First thing; I’ve noticed that ponies grabbed things with their mouths. Made sense, considering no one has fingers, but it seemed a little unsanitary to me. I tried working a serving spoon for the corn into my arm and scooping some, but Whole Grain and Wheat Flour gave me odd looks. However unhygienic, I, too, began gripping the spoons with my mouth.

Speaking of silverware, there wasn’t any. Instead, they just ate directly off of their plate, kind of like… horses. Oh, duh. Oblivious, much?

The table was silent. Whole Grain was busy loathing me, Wheat Flour was busy maintaining her ever-reserved face, and Aunt Millie was busy eating. I was bearing Rule #1 in mind, but I wanted some sort of conversation going. If I was going to get any help from these people, I’d need to earn their trust. Although, considering Whole Grain’s attitude, maybe silence was the best option.

Aunt Millie brushed some green hair out of her face with a hoof and began, “So, Swissy, where again did you say y’all were from?”

“Oh, uh… far away. Very far away,” I replied.

“Oh, really? And what, if you don’t mind my askin’, brings you all the way out to Vanhoover?”

Van… hoover? “Don’t you mean Vancouver?”

“No, I’m fairly certain I said Vanhoover!” She adjusted her glasses. “I trust your ears are still attached to your head since last I saw you?”

“Oh, uh, yes.” Vanhoover? Did they just put “hooves” into “Vancouver”? Oh, how I hated puns…

“So?”

Oh, right. “Um…” Think think think. “…I just wanted to visit. The coastline is so wonderful, and I really enjoy the weather here.”

She nodded slowly. I glanced at Whole Grain, and could tell she wasn’t buying it. Heck, she wouldn’t buy it if it was free. Millie continued, “So, where you stayin’?”

“I, um, uh…” Making up a story is much harder to do on the spot… Eh, might as well tell the truth. “I’m not staying anywhere, at the moment…”

“Oh, aren’t ya? Well, I reckon we could fix up a spot for y’all in the barn! Wheat Flour, dear, after supper, could you sit’iate a spot for our guest to lay his head for the night?”

“Oh, no, that’s totally fine-”

“Nonsense!” She held her hoof to her chest. “A Wheat family guest shall never spend a night w’thout a roof over their head!”

Well, was that actually a bad thing? How much was there that I could do at night? “Thank you.”

Wow, was she nice. She reminded me of my own aunt, who was equally sweet. I spent a lot of time at her ranch when I was a kid. She was always so friendly, and seemed so happy. In the winter, when it was too cold to go horseback riding, she’d make my sister and I hot chocolate, with little marshmallows on top. That’s my best memory of the ranch, I think: how warm it felt whenever I was there.

After dinner, Millie sent Wheat Flour out to the barn to prepare me a bed. I had offered to assist her, feeling a little guilty that I had caused her the trouble. There were a few bales of hay in the barn, so she took some hay in her mouth and brought it up to a small platform. It was gross, but I couldn’t see any other practical way of doing it. I followed and, fairly quick, we formed a sizeable pile. She then spread the hay out in a rectangular shape.

I wasn’t sure how well hay would do for a mattress. Out of curiosity, I tested one of the flour sacks, but it was rock hard. The hay was at least better than nothing.

Wheat Flour began to take her leave. I felt like I had to say something: maybe to thank her, or to apologize, or to ask her why she had decided to aid me in the forest…

“Wheat Flour?”

She turned around, looked at me with her soft, pink eyes, and waited quietly.

“Uh, um… thanks. And… good night.”

She nodded and left, closing the barn door behind her.

I thumped my stump against my head. Someday, I would know what to say, and be able say it in an intellectual manner. Maybe I could’ve hired a speechwriter. Heck, I could’ve organized a cabinet for all the help I needed.

Cabinet-forming could wait. I had had enough of this world for the day: too much walking and not enough portal-hopping. It was time to hit the hay- ugh. That one was my fault.

Although it could’ve used more hay, my bed wasn’t that bad. It was somewhat soft, seemed to be the right length, and didn’t ooze. It would do for the night.

I lay awake for a while, looking out at the night sky. It was a deep, deep purple, with the stars twinkling happily. It was beautiful, even for a cartoon.

Was there really a way to get back? Was I stuck here, forever imprisoned in a children’s cartoon? I certainly hoped not…

Maybe, when I’d wake up the next day, I’d wake up as a human again. It was a silly thought, but, if it worked one way that morning, what was to stop it from happening in reverse?

Please let this be a dream…

Just a dream…