Migraines

by SwiperTheFox

Chapter One Part One

“Something has to happen!” shouted a skinny foal with a dark blue mane. His father glanced over the top of his copy of The Canterlot Times. The foal made his characteristic sneer and mindlessly rapped his front hooves on the café table.

“What something?” the father asked. He wore a light white doctor’s jacket complete with a golden lapel marked ‘Doctor Wright’ and a gray stethoscope over his tall, lanky body. He had the same flowing, dark blue mane— albeit with more grey hairs then he’d like to admit. He looked back at the paper when he heard no response, but after a few seconds he asked again. “What’s the problem? I’d think you’d be jumping for joy by now. No school, no plans, no worries… no problems… nothing going on…” He trailed off.

“That’s it!” the foal hollered, “I’m just sick of it. Everything is too pure, too perfect. The grass is all green. The sky is all blue. Everypony is smiling. Everypony gives you a polite ‘hello’. All of your patients have nothing worse than a toothache.”

“And this is why you're complaining,” Wright said under his breath. His mood changed as he gazed over at his son's face. “Heh, there it is. That excitement. That hunger. That drive. That need for adventure. You’re just too much like me at that age. It’s almost painful to see.”

“But it’s like— like— like— life is just a picture frame. It’s so phony. It’s so forced. And we’re walking through it,” the foal went on.

“That’s nice, sure,” Wright said, losing attention fast, “Very… nice…”

“Dad… Dad…” the foal said, this time building his voice gradually, “Dad, seriously?”

“What?” the father asked, shifting forward in his chair. He looked out to see his son pointing way over down the street to the right. Wright glanced over. He immediately dropped the newspaper and popped out of the seat.

“Is that… that… cotton candy…” his son muttered to nopony in particular. Both of them stared dumfounded as thick, pink smoke poured out of the side of an office complex. The material seemed to flow in and out of the walls— almost like a gigantic ghost was devouring half the building. In just a few seconds, this deep heat appeared inside the smoke. The air waved as the heat singed the brick walls.

Wright was reminded of the fancy restaurant he went to last Friday where the waiters used some kind of blowtorch to cook his dessert right on the plate. Only that wasn’t a dessert. It was a building filled with dozens and dozens of ponies. He stood up and began moving over.

“Dad, hang on a minute… Dad I just…” the foal stammered, “I just want you to thin—”

An enormous explosion brought both father and son to the ground. Wright immediately sprang back up. Half the building crumbled off of the side of the other half. The doctor thought about all of the ponies inside. He started to feel angry— really angry. “Stay here! Just— STAY HERE! Stay with Rainbow Rose!” he shouted back behind him as he trotted towards the disaster.

A dozen or so ponies had already congregated at the scene. Wright’s training kicked in within seconds, and he began barking orders. He sped from hunk of remains to hunk of remains, listening intently for victims. The other ponies helped him get eight of them back on their hooves. By some miracle, all of the survivors seemed little worse for wear. He knew he had to be on the safe side, though, and he shuffled them all towards a cart commandeered to head for the hospital. He mentally kicked himself at how far the hospital stood from them.

Then, he came upon the other victims. He cradled a bright white mare that had been slammed black and blue. The doctor shouted at the other helpers to help him carry her. He found another mare that was only barely conscious. He took a few steps and brushed up against tiny foal just a few feet away. He felt almost as if he couldn’t breathe at the sight of the foal and all the little streaks of blood going down her fluffy pink mane. The doctor cradled her in his front hooves and kissed her softly on the cheek.

He knew that this shouldn’t be happening. He just sensed that something had changed his very world— that something had happened that couldn’t be. It wasn’t just the worst thing he had ever seen. It was the worst thing he had ever heard about, ever.

Wright screamed out further orders. Over a dozen victims had been moved out of the rubble alive. The doctor forced the thought of petrified horse corpses out of his mind. He started moving deeper and deeper, calling upon more help. A pack of big, burly stallions lifted a wall of bricks. Wright let out a ‘Praise Celestia’ as he sent off two more colts with only minor injuries. He moved even deeper. He took a step, paused, and then did a double-take as he saw something pinky-brown sticking out under a broken window. He sped over. Somehow, at a second glance the appendage looked different.

Wright thought he saw the limb become transparent enough that he could even watch the rest of the rubble through it— a pinkish blob wrapped in a thin glowing outline. The doctor blinked his eyes. He then saw a round tube with a soft, very whitish purple color in front of him.

“Must be the nerves, must be the nerves,” Wright chanted to himself, hoping that the stress wasn’t making him totally lose his mind. He shoved the window to the side and grabbed the hoof. The doctor looked down at a large, tall stallion lying motionlessly on the ground. Yet something wasn’t right. Wright blinked again and surveyed the scene right front of him.

A hole about three feet deep shaped exactly like a five figure creature had been carved into the ground. The ground inside and right around the hole was soaking wet. A layer of what looked like frost coated the rubble all around the hole for several feet. Wright leaned over to inspect the stallion, and as he nudged the body a bit of smoke erupted right underneath it.

The doctor coughed and waved at the air. It smelled like some unholy mix of champagne and chemical dust that tingled all over his face. He smacked his head with his hooves to regain composure. He then examined the stallion. Something seemed very wrong. Wright cradled the stallion’s head, and he cried out, “No… no… no… This is not good. Talk to me. Talk to me. Talk to me. Please, please, just talk to me!” Wright felt all around the body’s face and neck— no heartbeat, no breathing, no nothing.

“Doctor, doctor!” cried out a short green filly as she ran to Wright, “The rest of us got the other survivors, we think. If there’s anypony else buried in there, the construction ponies ‘ll get ‘em.” The doctor ignored her as he pushed the stallion’s chest. Wright shoved again and again, and then he enveloped his mouth around the stallion’s chest. The body stirred slightly, letting out controlled breaths. A red film of blood splattered out onto Wright’s white jacket. The doctor curled his face as he tapped repeatedly against the stallion’s head. The filly just stood there, watching. “Doctor?”

“He’s in shock!” Wright declared, and he motioned the filly over. The two of them carried the stallion to another cart— by now almost totally filled. The doctor ambled up beside the stallion. His patient could barely breathe, let alone move. Wright was as sure of this as anything else in his entire life— he would make sure that stallion lived. He turned to the filly. “I’m not leaving him until we make it to the hospital. Now you’re in charge here. And don’t give up. Don’t stop combing the rubble. Don’t hold back. Do it!”

Wright saw the filly make a salute, and then she disappeared over the horizon. He kept himself focused on his patient. Wright held him close and managed to get his breathing into a regular pace, although he otherwise was completely out. The doctor’s instincts were going crazy. Something special was wrong with this colt. Wright knew it. The hospital popped up over the front horizon and ballooned into vision.

“I’m taking him in personally to operate,” Wright told the attending nurses as he bounced out of the cart. The rest of Equestria seemed like a blur around him. Ponies shuffled from room to room, many of them screaming. Wright suddenly found himself in a less occupied hallway. The nurses led him one quick ninety degree turn over through a bright blue door. The ponies all began putting on their surgical masks and other equipment.

Wright took a deep breath— still feeling like everything outside his head moved a mile a minute. He put a paternal hoof over the colt’s flowing dark purple mane. “It’ll be okay,” he muttered, “It’ll all be okay. I promise.” A nurse appeared beside him with a tray filled with potions.

Within just a few minutes, the doctor found that everything would not be going okay. “It’s not… it’s just…” a nurse beside him aimlessly muttered. Wright took his mask off and slammed his hooves on the floor tiles in pure frustration.

“It’s just like,” he said, speaking to the patient even though he knew he probably couldn’t hear a word, “It’s like… you’re not even a pony or something, on the inside. Pony on the outside but… It’s just… Like I’m operating on a dragon or something….” He rubbed the patient’s chest. “What is in there?” He gazed at the stallion’s frozen face. It had become so still, so soft, and so peaceful.

“So, so what now?” another nurse asked, “It’s like, well, the only think I can think of is that he’s like Discord in there, all of these parts mashed…”

“I don’t care—” Wright began, “If he’s the spawn of Discord himself. I’m trying everything— WE ARE trying EVERYTHING— until he wakes up again. Understood?” He tried to concentrate. He had never lost a patient. He came close once, very close. That patient that pulled out right in the nick of time just so happened to be his son. Wright looked at the patient and somehow it clicked. He saw the same spirit, the same determination, the same hope, and the same everything else buried in that frozen face.

The horses sped back and forth throughout the room. The patient slid easily into a gigantic white machine, and Wright noticed something drop from the patient’s suit pocket. The doctor snatched it from the ground— only taking a second to notice that it looked like some kind of fancy lapel. “You’ll get this back,” he declared, “Back when you’re awake. Not ‘if’ you’re awake. WHEN you’re awake.”

More running occurred. “Oh… oh Celestia help me,” a nurse remarked, holding up a sheet of results, “This poor thing isn’t only not a pony! He also happens to have a head popped like Swiss cheese!”

“More internal bleeding!” the doctor screamed. They kept working on the patient, but somehow everything either seemed to have no effect or made him stir in deeper pain. The colt suddenly let out a low moan. It built up, louder and louder.

“Nurse, you’ve got to help me or this might be his last headache!” Wright shouted. They grabbed the patient and wiped off his head as sweat began to pour from it. Wright ducked onto the hospital bed and knocked his hooves on in frustration. He immediately popped back up with his eyes opened wide. “Of course, use THAT!”

The doctor hurled himself over to a cabinet on the far right side. He flung the door open and waved his hoof around, looking. He snatched an ominous looking inky black vial and then sped back to his patient. He opened it, and he couldn’t believe the noxious smell. The doctor and his nurses emptied the peculiar magical cream all across the colt’s head. A mysterious trail of bluish sparks shot across his face.

“Oh, that got it!” the doctor yelled. The patient seemed to stir, and then calmed down immensely. Wright could just sense in his bones. He’d done it. The patient would be opening his eyes any second now. “Thank YOU, Zecora!”

A nurse began, “Well, that wasn’t as bad as—”

The world seemed to cave in on them at the sound of a gigantic eruption. Glass smashed. Boxes toppled off onto the floor. Items flew through the air. The lights blinkered on and off. Part of the wall beside them seemed to bend in and out. The nurses let out bloodcurdling screams. Wright clutched tightly to his patient.

“What was… was that… was that part of what you said, Doctor?” a nurse asked in a semi-daze. The horses got back up, but they immediately fell back as part of the floor seemed to crack beneth their feet.

“We’ve got to get out of here, now!” another nurse shouted, “And I said NOW! I mean NOW! Blast it!”

“I’m not—” Wright hollered back as the room seemed to be coming down on their very heads, “I’m not leaving him! I swear! I’m not! I’M NOT!”

A heavy metal something smashed onto Wright’s head, and he keeled over. The four nurses all grabbed his hooves and dragged him to out the door into the hallway. Their situation wasn’t much improved. The hallway roof seemed to be edging closer to them every second. A nurse reached over to fling back open the door into the operating room— where the patient remained.

“What— what— what— Praise Celestia!” she yelled as the door didn’t budge.

“That won’t do any good, it’s locked!” yelled back another nurse.

“It doesn’t lock from the outside, or the outside! It just locks!” screamed yet another nurse, “You need a code to get—” They heard a series of rumbles. They let out angry moans in frustration for a moment before grabbing Wright again. They ran out towards the exit to escape the hospital before it completely collapsed.

“Whoever thought of that SHOULD BE FIRED!” hollered the original nurse. They just made it in time before a pile of bricks caved in behind them. The four of them took deep breathes as they wandered out of their wing into the outdoors. Dozens of ponies sped into carts to transport them to another hospital. The three nurses hopped right on along with other patients. In just a few minutes, the area had been completely deserted.

The nurses explained everything to the skinny and short green colt that drove their cart. He replied, “Look, when we have time, we’ll go back for him. I really promise.”

The original nurse looked back to the remains of the hospital and held up her right hoof to her heart. She said, “Celestia… protect him.”

Back inside the hospital wing, the patient stirred. He began, slowly but surely, to wake back up. His mind, body, and soul seemed trapped in some kind of stasis. Everything in the universe felt like a pure, enveloping white light to him. He felt like he was the only creature in existence.

Then, he was able to feel something specific for once. It seemed almost as if he had floated down in a huge cloud of tiny bubbles, touching and tickling him all over. He tasted something light and fluffy— almost like cotton candy without the flavor. Then, he had the sensation of something slightly cold and slightly ticklish. A tiny shudder went through his body, and he felt a blanket rubbing all over him. He took a deep breath and sucked in the noxious chemical scents.

He felt his heart racing, and his subconscious mind racing. He sensed that his arms were right on top of his head. He opened his eyes again. He saw what seemed like a round tube with a soft, very whitish purple color in front of him. He shut his eyes again, and he felt the sensation of his glasses atop his face. He took another deep breath, gathered his strength, and then he tried to sit himself up.

Suddenly, he found himself thrown lying back down— this time on what seemed like cold, hard tile. He nudged himself gently backward, feeling a chill on his back. He then stared in front of him. He knew it was some kind of emergency room. He had been through this before just a few years ago. Yet everything seemed off, somehow. It wasn’t just that all of the equipment and machines had been torn to the ground.

He looked up. He saw nothing but a blank white ceiling— not a single fan or anything else. Were you expecting a wormhole? I guess that would have made sense. He looked back blankly at the flat couch-like thing that he had been sitting on. What happened?

He tried to stand up. He tumbled over on his back facing upwards like a turtle. He tried to move his arms and legs. Nothing seemed to happen. He knew something was wrong— very wrong. He shut his eyes tightly and then made a loud snarl. He opened them again, and he saw what had been his hands. They were now these round tubes with soft ends almost like oversized marshmallows. He had the sensation of moving around his fingers, but he saw the ends of these tubes bending slightly.

“These are… mine,” he squeaked out. He paused, and he noticed something about his voice had changed. “That’s— This is— Holy— I sound… I sound… Better! This is MY voice?” It was a moderate, subtle change. Yet somehow he heard himself with less of that flat, measured Walter Cronkite voice that he knew so well. He sounded more of the voice of an Americanized Paul McCartney.

“I… I am not… I’m not… I am…” he stammered. He also sounded somehow cuter, somehow higher-pitched. He looked back down. He saw those tubes— with their disturbingly alien colors of bright white mixed with light purple— obeying his every command. What the hell are these? Hooves or something?

“These can’t be my ARMS. These can’t be my hands,” he whimpered. He flipped himself left and right, but he remained stuck on his back. He made a loud whine.

He then scrunched forward, and he flipped himself hard straight backward. He suddenly found himself on all fours, with what used to be his hands and feet all on the ground. He stared straight down at the tile, and then he moved his head up. He spotted a small pool of water about twenty feet away filling up a corner of the room. An exploded water main, maybe? What is this? A war zone?

He ran towards it. Then, suddenly, he paused at the edge. “Hooves,” he said flatly, “I walk… I’ve walked… with… with… hooves… I’m on all fours with… my… HOOVES.”

He felt a deep, sinking feeling in his heart. He leaned toward the edge at the simmering water— feeling as though he could burst out crying at any moment. “I’m not going to like what I’m going to see,” he whispered.

The pool stirred for a moment— leaving the reflection a shimmering mess. Then, he saw himself. A huge clump of thick, curly hair colored a purplish black sat atop a face with a pair of big, purple eyes and a round snout. Small black eyeglasses rested on the nose. A large set of ears drooped over the sides of the mane. The face also had a prominent chin and a wide mouth with a rather dejected expression on it. The skin had a soft, very whitish purple color as if the pony was a great big lavender rose.

“Pony… pony… pony…” he stammered as he leaned a little bit closer to the water. The reflection showed a pony with a flamboyant bouffant hairstyle as well as matching thick chest hair that stuck out of a very smart and very sharp looking creamy white tuxedo with matching side pockets. The pony also wore a jet black undershirt and creamy white pants with a matching creamy white belt. The pony carried nothing except for— no wait, he had nothing. He sensed that his lapel was gone. The lapel— made of a banner of gold with a very reflective gem inside that was shaped and colored like a raspberry— seemed to be the last thing he could remember. He had held it in his hands. Hands… I don’t have hands anymore... The pony in the water seemed to glare at him.

“I see you… and that’s you,” he said to the reflection. He saw the reflection say the same thing back to him. “And that can’t be me. It can’t be. No way. It just can’t be.”

He jumped up in the air and landed in the water, with his hooves about three inches in. He went on, “It can’t be.” He splashed around. “It can’t be. No way, no how. It can’t. It can’t be.”

“IT CANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN’T!” he screamed, bucking up on his hind legs. He looked down and saw the rest of his body. His hind hooves twisted frantically in the air. He flung his head back up at the ceiling, and then he shouted with all of might. He screamed mindlessly until he felt as if he was tearing his lungs out.

He jumped out of the pool back onto the tile. He shook his head violently, and then his whole body shuddered. He bent down and began digging into a clump of broken tiles until he reached dirt. He hopped up and down again and again while squealing and moaning.

He suddenly stopped, and then sat himself down. Tears dripped across his face. His glasses were nowhere in sight. He twisted his head about— looking at the blurry blobs of everything— and then smashed his head against the floor. He shut his eyes tightly and panted. That’s it. That’s just it. I can… and I am… I’m a… one of those. I’m done for.

He reached down between his legs and flailed his hooves around. He felt nothing. NOTHING? There’s nothing down there? This can’t be happening! Please! This is worse than my worst nightmare! At least then when the zombies or ghosts or demons or anyone else came for me I still had my damn manhood! He went to reach to pull his pants down, but then he stopped. No, no, no… just leave it ambiguous. Just pretend it’s there. It’s like Schrodinger’s Cat. If you don’t check, then it’s kind of really there. Kind of.

He pressed his hooves against his stomach, and then his chest. What do I eat? What do I drink? How do I even go to the bathroom? What am I even breathing right now? How do I breathe? He rubbed his hooves against his chest. I… I don’t have a place to live here. No house here. No job here. No family here. No, nothing… So, I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I don’t know anything. I might as well be dead. This is… worse than death. He groped on his chest where his lapel had been. I don’t even have that anymore. Back when I was wrapping it up for… Mom. Oh, no, MOM! What would… how would…

“Mom,” he moaned, patting his head over and over again, “I’ll never give that to you. I’ll never see your face again. I’ll never see my brothers’ faces’ again.” He took a deep breath, and then he tried to steel himself.

He opened his eyes again. He started at the layer of clunky boxes at the edge of the pool. He slowly got back up and began walking back over. He suddenly heard a soft clicking sound, and he lifted up his right hoof. He spotted his glasses, fortunately no worse for wear. Before he knew it, they flung themselves upwards back up to his face.

Wait, what? Did that just move without me even touching it? Of course not! I’m just losing it, I guess. He frowned at having to look through a layer of wet film over the lenses. Suddenly, the glasses moved off his face, and wandered through the air. He glanced down, and he saw his glasses— now coated in some odd purple aura— rubbing itself upon his suit.

“Oh… my… God…” he said, “Is this… magic?” The glasses abruptly plopped back onto the floor.

“I just have to think it and it happens?” he asked himself. He stared down at it, and then he closed his right eye. He grunted as he tried to concentrate. The glasses, sure enough, floated upwards and then nestled itself onto his face.

“Oh, my,” he said, “Oh… wow… I just…” He put his hooves to his head and spun his head all around. He stood in a pile of items scattered on the floor— with lots and lots of things that he could possibly try magic on. He looked back over at the edge of the pool. He noticed a particularly huge hunk of tile.

“Well, hello there,” he said. He flung out his right hoof in that direction. A purple aura enveloped the huge chunk, and it shot up about three feet into the air.

“YES!” he shouted, “Oh yeah, I’m cool. I’m bad.” He bucked back onto his hind legs, closed his eyes, and rotated his hips while circling his hoofs— as the tile flew through the air straight at him. “Oh, yeah. I’m cool. I’m magic, BAB—”

*TWACK* He let off a ‘honk’ after the tile smacked him upside the head. He keeled over. Minute after minute went by as he lay out cold.

“We-he-he-ell, partner,” said a voice, “Looks like you had some kind of nasty stumble there, didn’tcha?”

“I guess I did… I mean, I don’t know the first thing about this place. About what I am. About what I’m doing here,” he moaned. He tried to get up and open his eyes. Yet something stopped him. Something odd was happening. He left as if some invisible force or energy coursed through his body, immobilizing him. It didn’t feel restrictive to him at all, though. It actually felt almost protecting and caring— like the close cradle of a parent.

“Why, we always know where we’re meant to be, partner. And what we’re meant to do. You always feel that feelin’ deep inside as instinct at least, whether you want to admit it or not,” the voice went on.

“Okay…” he replied, remaining still with his eyes shut. What the hell is happening here?

“And instinct, why it’s almost like an IMPRINT, ain’t it? Only you imprint your OWN damn self, oftentimes. And that’s good, since after all— who wants to spend their life bound up by just what they’re told? I sure as hell don’t!” the voice said, “And I know you do too, partner. You think for yourself. You have some good taste in life— particularly in food and in music as well as in where you want to go. I see you love everything to do with raspberries.”

“Oh yeah, I love them, everything about them,” he said, “I love the band. I’ve got their cd right there in my backpack. I love the fruit. I love the taste and the shape and the color and… everything…” Why the hell am I staying face first on the ground right now?

“We-he-he-ell, partner,” said the voice, “I know you do. Where you go, you go well dressed. And you know you’re definitely the smartest one in the room. You’re destined for somethin’, somethin’ BIG… You feel that imprint inside of you, that instinct, right Mister Raspberry?”

“Yes,” he answered. He just felt that voice pouring into his ears, going down through his veins, and flooding straight into his heart. He felt so warm. He felt like he just had to agree with what that voice told him. He seemed so loved, and he had this overwhelming desire to be ready to obey. “I know… ”

“Need a hoof, Raspberry?” the voice said.

Raspberry opened his eyes, and he jumped back upwards. Yet he didn’t see anyone near him. He surveyed the room, nothing. How… the hell… was I touched without being… touched? He then noticed a shade moving about in the door window in front of him. Raspberry sped over and jiggled the knob. Nothing happened. He yelled, “It’s locked on my side!”

“It’s locked on my side too, partner,” the voice said from behind the door, “Just listen.” Raspberry heard clicking to no avail.

“Oh, please, sir, please,” Raspberry squeaked out, and he threw himself at the door in frustration, “Help me get out. Rescue me, please. Save me.”

“Savior?” the voice repeated with a bit of a surprised edge.

“I’ll do… whatever you want…” Raspberry hollered.

“Oh, it ain’t what I want, not really,” the voice replied with a chuckle, “It’s what you want. Or I should say, what you’re going to have soon enough.”

The door suddenly seemed to slide sideways, almost off of its hinges. Raspberry was knocked back onto the floor. The door didn’t even seem to have hinges anymore when Raspberry glanced over. He spotted something, and he grabbed the dark gray hoof in front of him. Raspberry stood back upright.

The colt before him seemed like the combination of a cowboy, a preacher, and a metalhead biker. The colt wore a Stetson hat with notched silver studs, huge, totally-reflective aviator glasses, and a tight fitting vest with a flowing robe-like undershirt coated in little chains. The boots in particular looked as if they had been just nabbed off of a Nazi officer. Everything was either in a strong jet black or a stark gray. The only exception was the colt’s unicorn horn, which looked as if it had been made from pure marble and shimmered in the light.

Comments

[SwiperTheFox]

Holy Cheese and Crackers, importing the text is difficult...

[ArtyTheReader]

What is this I dont even.... VERY confusing and hard to follow, blame it on my intellect if you will but so far its very very very convoluted.