Love Us, Owen
Owen awoke to a cockroach giving birth on his nose.
It was a horrifying sight to see. The back end of the cockroach was split open, thousands of tiny white, nearly translucent cockroach larvae spilling from the back end of the cockroach, their tiny little bodies squirming and wriggling all over his face.
As you would imagine, this was a completely terrifying experience. Owen’s fight and flight instincts had a lively debate about who would take this event, and decided to settle on a third option: Freeze.
The bugs exited their mother, frolicking and happy to begin their new lives on Owen’s face. The small grubs writhed and squirmed all across the great fleshy expanse, landing on his bedsheets and scuttling away to forage for food.
“Isn’t nature fascinating?” came a small voice. Owen, his flight instincts now kicking in, threw his blankets off of him, and bounced horizontally out of bed, screaming the entire way. He landed on his bedroom floor, hard, directly on his back. The birthing cockroach, which was perched precariously on the nose, fell into Owen’s screaming mouth, and was promptly swallowed. It’s a good thing cockroaches are high in protein.
Shivering in disgust, Owen slowly rose to his feet scraping is sneakers against the floor. He always wore sneakers to bed, because he was one of the cool kids. All the cool kids wear sneakers to bed, it’s a scientific fact.
Owen looked around his room. His eyes finally came to a rest on his headboard, where a tiny yellow pony with small wings and a pink mane sat, at a perfect position to observe him through the night.
“What the fuck are you?” Owen exclaimed in horror. It looked like a child’s toy... only alive, and somewhat more... cartoonish. Something like that shouldn’t exist in the world!
His flight instincts won over once again, and Owen ran screaming from his room, tripping over an anvil that was placed right in front of his door. Falling over the blacksmithing tool, he rolled uncomfortably down the hall, and fell down the steps painfully. He cried in pain each time a part of his body smashed into a step painfully, falling down the 180 steps that lead to the ground floor of his home. At last, he crumpled to the ground at the bottom of the staircase, where his father was sipping coffee.
“That’s payback for taking the last donut yesterday,” the vengeful parent said. Looking down at his drink, he muttered to himself, “I don’t even like coffee,” and poured out the drink into his son’s face.
Owen groaned, pulling himself off the floor, and walked clumsily to the kitchen; a good breakfast was what he needed. Reaching into the fridge, he pulled out a half-empty gallon jug of 2% milk, and walked over to the cabinet to acquire a glass. Once such a glass was in his hand, he poured the milk into the cup. As it poured in, he heard a loud plop, and he set down the glass on the counter. Staring into his milk, his eye twitched as a tiny figure made its way to the surface.
The little hooves of the figure reached up and grabbed the rim of the glass, and she pulled herself up onto the rim of the glass. Milk dripped down her mint-colored coat as she looked around, blinking cow lactation from her eyes.
“Hello there!” She said happily, waving her hoof up at Owen, who stared down in horrified disgust. “You must be the human!”
Owen shrieked, flailing his arms widely, and accidentally sent the glass of milk careening off the counter, and down into the floor where it shattered. Owen had no time to cry over spilt milk, however; he had to scream in horror and retreat to the living room. Once there, he sat down on the couch, in front of which was a coffee table. The table contained three magazines, a TV remote an acceptance letter to Fifi’s Pornography School that was addressed to Owen, and a fly swatter.
Trying to calm himself down, Owen’s teeth chattered and his eyes darted around the room in intense paranoia. Attempting to forget about his troubles, he reached for the TV remote, but a large, grey fly-type object swooped past him, distracting him.
Not even beginning to hesitate, Owen grabbed the fly swatter and smashed the creature down. Looking at the bloody mess, he deduced that it had been one of those tiny ponies, with wings like the first one. This one had had a blonde mane and a grey coat, not that it mattered to Owen. All that mattered was the very valuable information he had just figured out; they may look like tiny horses, but they squashed like giant bugs.
Giggling like an idiot, he stood up, still grasping the fly swatter, and walked back towards the kitchen. He passed through the dining room while doing so, and noticed something odd. There was a small replica of the inside of a courthouse on his dining room table, and there were all the non-smashed ponies from before, plus two new ones he had never seen. One was a purple unicorn-type thing, and another seemed to be a combination of a unicorn and a winged one with a white coat.
The white one was sitting in the place a judge would normally go. She banged a gavel on the gavel-bainging place, and cried, “Love Vs. Owen will now begin!”
Owen watched in terrifying fascination as the ponies carried out a full fledged court case, eventually reaching a verdict that Owen was guilty of wanting to love them. The boy just stared, before finally uttering a single word.
“Fuck.”
“Love us, Owen!” the ponies cried in unison, bundled together in a group hug-type thing. The boy with the flyswatter continued to stare down at them, before picking up the larger, white one, and threw her against the wall, where she ruptured, splatting gore that would take weeks of cleaning to remove. The other ponies were too stunned to do anything, so Owen took this time to use his flyswatter and nabbed two of them; the minty one, the yellow one.
This left the small purple unicorn, which was now attempting to flee. Owen picked her up, dropped her onto the floor, and crushed her under his shoe, the pony making some horrible squeaking noise before being silenced for good.
Sighing in relief now that the terror was over, Owen returned to the kitchen, and went into the pantry. He looked at his choice of breakfast cereals: Cinnamon Toast Crunch, or Rice Krispies. Settling on the Krispies, he grabbed the jug, which was still on the counter, and descended into the cabinet and retrieved a bowl. Pouring the milk in first (because everyone knows that only loser farquaads put their cereal in before the milk), and smiling a relieved smile as no tiny pony emerged, Owen opened up the Rice Krispies.
The tiny little pieces of cereal began to move, and soon a whole swarm of baby cockroaches was engulfing Owen, enjoying a delicious breakfast.