A Cartoonist in Equestria

by Autismo555

Chapter 2: Where Am I? (Re-Re-Edited)

“Where am I?”

These three simple little words ran through Harold’s head as he lied on the flower bed, waiting for his strength to slowly return. His eyelids closed themselves over his eyes, blocking the unforgiving rays of the sun from straining his eyesight. At the moment, Harold's eyes, lungs and brain were the only parts functioning in his body, as if it was a factory slowly regaining power after a blackout. Harold wriggled his fingers and curled them into a fist, the simplest step into his ability to move his muscles. He started off shaky at first, but his hands acted like a weight while Harold pushed himself up off of the ground and into a sitting position.

“Good Lord from above, what happened?” Harold thought to himself.

Suddenly, a throbbing pain surged inside of his head, his palm instinctively covering his his forehead and shielding his closed eyes. Already, the bright blue shy and the sunlight had created a severe migraine, as if a nuclear bomb was threatening to explode with a brief moment of pain. The ringing in his ears was just as loud as it was painful. He felt he was about to go deaf while his senses struggled greatly to rehabilitate themselves to normal.

It was fortunate enough that the pain had lasted five minutes, what seemed like painful hours to Harold. Hissing his teeth in synch to the throbbing pain, Harold's pain eventually subsided, giving him enough strength to think over the slight headache he unwillingly earned. He reviewed what happened to him last night, or however long he was passed out for.

He recalled what happened to him during the night he passed out. First, he had to pull over into a grassy field, staying there for the night to eat and rest so he would prepare for yet another burning day of bike-riding. He pulled over into the tall grass, made himself a cheese sandwich, turned his iPod on and began to sadly reminisce all of the times he spent with Lana; he even remembered the last few moments he spent with her, images and sounds that would never be easily drained from his mind. He remembered breaking down and screaming into the sky and asked for a sign. He didn't remember much else, except for the winds changing unexpectedly.

That's right. Harold remembered now.

There was that tornado. That big, dark funnel of doom had touched down in the fields, one mile behind where Harold was trying to settle in for the night. Harold remembered feeling so scared that he got on his bike and pedaled it down the highway, pouring all of his strength and speed so he would outrun that swirling vortex of death. But it was no use. Harold remembered feeling himself being pulled inevitably into the storm, beaten mercilessly by the breakneck winds until he blacked out, both from exhaustion and multiple injuries. When he came to, he found himself lying in a bed of flowers.

But where exactly did he find himself in?

With no other but to face the light, Harold removed his hand from his forehead and unshielded his eyes, letting the sunlight shine onto his eyes. His eyes fluttered open, and his field of vision was met with a plane of blurriness. Eventually, Harold’s blurry vision eventually cleared up for him, allowing him to see the area he found himself transported to. At first glance, he didn't believe what he saw. After gently rubbing his eyes, Harold looked around and found himself in a state of shock and awe.

He saw himself sitting in a flower bed among a great green field, filled with luscious colors of green, purple, white and dots of yellow in the centers. A line of trees on the far side of the field stretched on for miles, bordering the snowcapped mountains mounting up to the vast blue sky. The celestial blue sea was abundant with fluffy white clouds, some of them creating a white fluffy ring around the two of the taller mountains. The fluffiness of the clouds was nothing else that Harold had ever saw before in his life.

As a matter of fact, this whole field was nothing like Harold saw in the pictures at home. Everything about the field seemed so peculiar, the appearance and height of the mountains catching Harold's growing suspicion. Although Harold scored a "C+" in his grueling geography class, he could easily tell that the field and the very flowers inhabiting it did not appear in any map, brochure or digital photograph. Crossing his arms and huffing with disapproval, Harold came to a theoretical conclusion.

"Oh great, now I'm playing the part of Dorothy," he said to himself.

References to "The Wizard of Oz" aside, Harold took another good look around the field, tapping his finger on his crossed arm with patience. He turned around behind him and looked the second half of the scenery. There, he saw a slightly dense forest where the fourth row of trees became less visible no matter how much Harold squinted to see it better. Then he noticed a single tree stump sprouting from the ground, sitting in the clearing a good distance away from the forest. What leaned and lied on the tree stump were two items that caught Harold by surprise.

“My backpack! My bike!”

Feeling a rush of energy moved within his muscles, Harold got up and ran towards two of his beloved items, nearly staggering when he finally jumped to his feet. He unzipped his backpack and quickly rummaged through all of his stuff, bringing them all out one at a time and assessed the possible damages done by the tornado. To his complete surprise, there were no damages to be found. His bike had no dents, scrapes or scratches on the metal, though his tires were still a little flat from the continuous riding. His backpack had no found rips, exposed material or broken strings. The food content, his sketchbook and his drawing tools all remained in one piece.

Harold was thankful that his possessions weren't hurt by the tornado. If would've been a real tragedy if anything of great value were to be destroyed. Suddenly, a shocking realization swept across him. He had nearly forgotten about the well-being of his most beloved treasure!

“Oh no! My locket! Please tell me it’s not...” Harold stretched the collar of his shirt out and thrust his hand inside, groping the inside of the cotton garment until his fingers felt something cold and metallic. Gently gripping it and pulling it out, Harold looked around his locket and sighed with relief, seeing his beloved trinket devoid of scratched, dents or dirty smudges.

“Oh. Oh, thank God you’re alright. Thank God,” Harold said, heaving heavy breaths of relief before he threw his back to force a giggle out. Then he took his shirt and rubbed the golden texture of the locket, wiping away any possible smudges from its refined beauty. After giving it a few firm, gentle scrubs, Harold hugged the locket to his cheek and kissed it lightly before he tucked it away, safe in his shirt to avoid it being spotted by any possible thieves or muggers.

That was when something puzzling flashed across his mind.

Harold jerked his head around, taking in the view of the field again while many conundrums jumbled inside of his mind. Something didn't feel right. A tornado of immense size and wind power had enough power to kill a single human being in a minute, and yet, he was sitting down on the stump, feeling very much alive as the next guy. Harold specifically remembered his stuff getting torn apart by the swirling winds, and now they were somehow unharmed and in one piece. He was biking down the endless, barren plains when the tornado happened, but he found himself stranded in the middle of a field with mountains, trees and flowers. No trace of any trailing destruction left behind.

What was going on here? How did Harold and his stuff end up in this unknown field? More importantly, how did they survive such a terrible ordeal? Was he in a dream, induced by sever head trauma that lapsed him into a coma. Did he... die? Was he finally in Heaven?

Harold huffed a worried sigh, looking up to the blue sky, his fingers nervously drumming his arms. This couldn't possibly be what Heaven looked like. If this was Heaven, then he would've met with the spirit of Lana right about now. Not only that, but Heaven was paradise riding among the clouds, so Harold quickly dismissed his death theory. If this really was Heaven, the lands would actually be an endless plain of clouds looking over the mortal people, unaware that a higher force was watching over him. So this had to be some sort of dream. There was no way a tornado that powerful would fling him all the way out here and expect that he and his stuff remained as good as new. Who knows; maybe he did survive, but a blunt force was applied to his brain, so he fell into a really long coma.

Harold nodded in accord to his own theory. It seemed highly plausible; after all, the human teen had vivid dreams about being out in the warm ocean, only to wake up to find his bed wet and smelled like pee. So, if this was a dream, then Harold would have to try some measures to assure that he was alive and well in the material world. Harold reached over and pinched his fingers on his forearm, wincing and grunting with pain. When he released his pinching, Harold opened his eyes and found himself in the same field.

Now, Harold wasn't one for masochism and accepting the theory of an unknown phenomenon right off the bat. But, in this case for the bewildered teenager, Harold would have to pinch his arm again, adding in more time to hold his skin and applying more force to the pinch for better results.

Harold took his arm again, pinched it for about fifteen seconds and then released it, grunting in pain once more. When he looked up, he still found himself sitting in the same field like before. Harold pinched his arm again, holding it again for about thirty seconds. He looked around, and still, he was in the same field. Harold tried once more for about forty-five seconds... one minute... one minute and fifteen seconds... one and a half minutes... and he was still in the field.

Harold groaned with disappointment and fell on his back, looking up to the sky as his arms marked the diameter of the stump. His arm was bruised red, the mark of a failed wake-up experiment. Rubbing his arm, Harold thought of another way to ensure that what he saw and felt was all a dream. Then he perked with an idea. Usually, in the cartoons he read and watched, in order for the main character to escape the dream world, he would have to sleep in the dream world and wake up in the real world. It seemed like a long shot, but what other choice did he have? He needed to wake up so he could fulfill his promise.

Harold gently closed his eyes, his eyeball muscles still a little bit sore from the strain. Three minutes slowly came and went. Harold lied down on the stump with his eyes closed hoping to see if he would wake from this strange but wondrous "dream." He doubt he would now, but he was sue that someone might spot his immobile and send him off to a hospital somewhere. Hopefully it wasn't like the money-grubbing HMO hospitals in New York City. He would have hell to face with his father if he ever returned home.

When five minutes finally passed, Harold opened his eyes and looked up from his lying position. Apparently, the theory about sleeping in the dream world was also a hoax, so that meant he wasn't dreaming at all. Regardless, Harold felt distraught as he kept lying on the tree stump, heaving out a stressed sigh. Where exactly was he? Was this really reality and not some top government experimental dome that monitored his every move? How did he get here? The most important question was one that Harold had to know: where exactly was he??

Suddenly, Harold felt his face assaulted by a tabloid newspaper. Harold squawked surprised as he tried to fight off the paper covering his entire face, smacking the paper off before he grabbed it to examine the news of the world. He needed to know where he was and what day it was since he woke up from his blackout, so it was convenient that a stray newspaper was flying with the breeze. According to the newspaper, the date on the top center of the newspaper said March 15th, 2014.

The date sated Harold's question about what day he woke up on. The previous day was the 14th of March, so this was the fifth day since he ran away from his home. Harold read the newspaper, trying to get the answers he needed; where he mysteriously landed, if there was any civilization nearby, the whole nine yards.

As he looked through the newspaper, Harold only found himself growing confused with every passage misspelling the names of cities, like "Manehattan," "San Flanksisco" and "Trottingham." The pictures published in the newspaper depicted strange buildings, and horses dressed in tuxedos, high-class dresses and tattoos plastered on their flanks. The more Harold read through the paper, the more agitated he became. The nerve of these people subduing their horses to clothing and tattoos! What sort of newspaper was this anyway!?

Harold turned the pages to the front page and read the title.

Equestria Daily.

TING!

That’s when Harold first felt it, like something cracked deep within his brain. A deep throbbing began to thump in his brain, cold sweat trickling down his forehead and slight dizziness taking him. Harold didn't know what caused this strange sensation... this strange "sense" as he would call it. It felt like something forgotten had been unlocked, and the name of the land he was in was the figurative key. Equestria... why did sound so familiar to him?

With his hands losing all sense of feeling, the tabloids were released from his grip, drifting away with the spring breeze.

==================================================================

In the heart of Equestria, just southwest of Canterlot Mountain, there was a small town called Ponyville. The town was mostly lined with timber-framed cottages, thatched rooftops providing those buildings with cover and display. Local shops brightened the town with various odd shapes and colorful patterns, lighting the town with its most beautiful splendor. A great circular clearing stood around the center of Ponyville, and in that very center, a tall round tower rose up over the buildings to symbolize the heart of the prospering village. Ponyville's history, friendly townsfolk and its apple farm were among the many highlights of the village's culture, but that was only half of what it was famous for.

In one part of Ponyville was a gigantic tree that stood out from the rest of the village, hollowed out to be used for as a home and the public library. The Golden Oaks Library, a landmark considered by the citizens, featured two floors and a basement, a kitchen, a bathroom and the main library lobby built and expanded on the ground floor. The upstairs floor featured another part of the library, adding in a pony-sized bed and a balcony where an astronomical telescope was placed to observe the stars. The glass windows on the upper floor were framed specifically to resemble patterns of branches. On the front door was an image of a lit candle while the sign out front depicted an open book.

Sure, the Golden Oaks Library looked like an ordinary library, carved into the interior of a tree. But, if a local from Ponyville would overhear from another pony that it was just another boring place to read books, then that local would scold him or her about saying such stuff to the library. It wasn't because the tree had a longer history than the town Ponyville ever did, but because the library was a residence to Equestria's newest and youngest ascended member of Equestria royalty: Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight Sparkle, and her baby dragon assistant, Spike were both taught and raised by Princess Celestia herself when Twilight was only a unicorn. It was with the Magic of Friendship that Ponyville's premiere librarian had recently ascended into an alicorn after she finished an incomplete spell cast by Star Swirl the Bearded, Twilight's historic hero and the strongest unicorn who had ever lived.

Twilight's coat was colored a lavender color, a dark purple mane and tail streaked with brilliant pink and regular violet stripes. The mark on her flank was a raspberry six-pointed star, layering over a white six-pointed star while five similar but smaller stars surrounded it. The golden crown that she wore on occasion reached behind her ears and in the very center was a magenta jewel, greatly resembling Twilight's starry mark.

Twilight's horn emitted a similarly colored aura, levitating the books in the air as she carefully skimmed through the books from the history section of the library. She closed the book and let it fall to the floor, then turned her attention to the center of the ground floor. “Spike, where are the books I requested on the complete biography of Star Swirl the Bearded?”

“Right here, Twilight.” Spike, the baby bipedal dragon, carried about seven books in his arms which contradicted with the strength of his young draconic muscles. He barely stood taller than an average sized filly, but his height was enough to reach up to the base of Twilight's neck. His scales were pale color, his underbelly, ears and spines a lime green shade and his pupils like reptilian narrow slits. When Twilight magically lifted the books out of Spike's grasp, the struggling weight took its toll and the baby dragon's arms deflated with exhaustion and dropped like expired party balloons.

"Thank you, Spike," Twilight said nonchalantly, opening up the books and immediately examining them.

"Hey, Twilight? I don't mean to sound so skeptical about this," Spike said, massaging his burning forearms. "But why are you so interested in researching this guy in the first place? I know he's the guy who made those spells that you practiced, including the one that turned you into the princess you are now, but haven't you already read up on him when you first began your studies in Canterlot?"

"That was different, Spike," Twilight said, focused intensely on her books. "When I first studied under Princess Celestia, I only read up on his spells that he conjured up before the founding of Equestria. But ever since I've learned to control my magic, I wanted to research on Star Swirl the Bearded's life so bad that I made it my own personal project to write my own biography on him."

"Okay, I get why you want research the guy, but why do you want to do it today?" Spike asked. "Doesn't Princess Celestia have any royal duties for you to do?"

"Princess Celestia hasn't assigned me any royal duties today, Spike. We would both know she's assigning me any duties if she sent me a letter through you." Spike couldn't argue with Twilight's statement; he knew exactly well when Twilight was correct. As a newborn dragon, Celestia enchanted Spike's fire to magically transfer parchment scrolls and anything attached to those notes between her and Twilight. As of today, there weren't any notes that Spike recently belched out worth mentioning. The baby dragon could never argue with that.

"But there is a plus side to this, Spike. I haven't been able to catch up on my research since I first moved here, so this may be one of the only times I have to continue my assignment." Twilight quickly skimmed the pages and examined every highlight of each chapter. Then her face grew contorted with confusion, an eyebrow cocked up to display her reaction.

"Hmm? Well this is certainly strange," she said, looking back in her book.

"What? What's strange?" Spike asked.

Twilight quickly moved another book towards her, skimmed the pages for their highlights and moved on to yet another book. "These books never say exactly how Star Swirl became the greatest unicorn that Equestria ever knew. All they keep saying is that Star Swirl was a regular old unicorn who conjured and perfected every known spell in the book; but when Princess Celestia and Luna became princesses, his fame became well known across the whole land of Equestria and nothing else. This doesn't make any sense."

Twilight quickly skimmed through the contents of her last book for any important information, only to find herself disappointed with unsatisfying results. She slammed the book shut, let it fall on the meticulously stacked books and turned to her dragon assistant. "Spike, could you go into the basement and find some books relating to Star Swirl the Bearded? One of those books has got to have information on how his name was really made around the world."

Spike lifted his index claw. "Um, Twilight, don't you think that looking through those books might come up with the same result?" he asked. "Because if you keep trying to find answers you want, you'll just end up obsessing over the same thing until--"

"Spike," Twilight interjected. "Books. Basement. Star Swirl. Research. Now."

Spike grunted, turning to the staircase deadpanning. “And here I thought my arms wouldn’t get any more sorer than they already are.”

All of a sudden, Spike clutched his stomach and his cheeks inflated, feeling a rising pang inside. He belched out green flames that magically transformed into a scroll, sealed in a red ribbon and a gold seal with a horseshoe engraved in the piece. “It’s a letter from Princess Celestia,” Spike stated as Twilight levitated the scroll to her. “So what was that you were saying about not having any duties?”

Twilight gave a deadpanned look to Spike, who grinned under her gaze. She rolled her eyes and unraveled the ribbon, opening the scroll for her to read. Twilight's eyes traveled along the written text, thoroughly traveling along to the paper before she shot them back to the left side corners of her eyes. She gasped when she fully read the growing crisis stated by her former mentor.

My former faithful student, Princess Twilight Sparkle.

You and your friends must come to Canterlot as soon as possible.

A few minutes ago, Luna and I sensed the presence of an all-too familiar threat somewhere in Equestria. The bringer of this threat is a creature not from our world. I cannot give you anymore details through this letter, Twilight, for I fear it may draw the attention from our old foes.

I need you and your friends to assemble in Ponyville square. I have already sent chariots to escort you to Canterlot Castle. They will arrive shortly. Tell nopony else, especially Spike, of what I am about to tell you today.

Sincerely,

~Princess Celestia

"Twilight?" asked Spike. "What's wrong?"

Twilight sighed as she magically rolled up the scroll and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket with her magic. “Spike, help me gather the girls for Ponyville square," Twilight said, her voice becoming serious and direct. "Princess Celestia needs us in Canterlot, pronto!”

Comments

[Yemynameidubbz]

shit just hit the fan

[theshinobistallion]

This is not going to end well