Chewy Finch
Once upon a time there was a pony named Crunchy Pigeon. She was a third-eye doctor who worked in Los Pegasus. She helped other ponies see the truth. But could she see why kids love the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch? I don’t know; you should ask her sometime.
Anyway, she had a huge crush on another pony named Writing Utensil Motion, who definitely had a very unique name not based on anypony else’s name. She wanted to shag nuzzle him, but first had to get his attention! This is the story of how she went about doing this, sort of. Let us begin this tail (horse pun!) with a look at what Crunchy was up to last Tuesday evening. It appears she was… oh my.
Crunchy Pigeon was very disappointed, as she peered through the fourth wall.
The fourth wall of Writing Utensil’s house. Specifically, an opening in the wall--a window to be precise. It was his bathroom window. He was taking a shower, his somewhat lanky form glistening under the water. He was naked. I mean, ponies are usually naked, but damn girl, you be hella creepin’. Anyway, she was disappointed because despite her repeated banging on his window with her hoof, he wasn’t noticing her. Also, she was disappointed because she was in a rated teen story as opposed to a “mature” one, and thus all she could see down there was a crotch bulge, as opposed to fully fleshed out genitalia. Alas, he finished his shower, toweled off (not even a little seductively, but it was still pretty cute.), and disappeared deeper into his house, bound for destinations unknown, but probably, were I to make an educated guess, his bedroom, on account of it evening. Inasmuch, Crunchy went home and masturbated by herself.
~Later, I guess? Like, probably the next day, unless Libraries are open really late in Equestria~
She sat on her porch, wondering why she expected this to turn out any different. Considering which deranged and decrepit soul was narrating her tale, it was surprising that nothing worse happened than him deeming the plight known to her as her love life a fine topic for narration. Speaking of narration, she could see the words describing her. As she watched the words appear on the book before her--known as the Google One Drive--she shook her head.
Then she realized she was dreaming, for ponies do not have Google yet. Unless, she thought, perhaps I have been transported to the future! But lo, was a future without Writing Utensil Motion one worth living in? Neigh, were this truly the future, she would have to travel back in time to woo the adorkablest pony in all of Los Pegasus.
Alas, it ‘twas a mere dream, for soon she awoke in her twin bed, covered in sweat, these thoughts racing through her mind. She thanked the old gods (for whom she performed blood sacrifices every night) that Equestria was not yet in the digital age, for then some deranged lunatic might believe it a fine idea to upload this to the collective consciousness that would one day be called the internet.
How queer a description of the internet: a collective consciousness. This is not unlike how the hive mind of changelings is described. Perhaps even as they change to become like us, we are changing to become like them?
But lo, it is you.
Yes, you.
You there, reading this, who is a queer description of the internet.
She looked outside, through her window. A fine day for a bicycle ride, she thought. She ate a small breakfast, quickly downing an entire pot of coffee. After this, she went outside.
Then she got on her bicycle, and she flew to the library.
It was a bit hard to fly while carrying a bicycle. She was a very odd pony, perhaps a bit touched in the head. Or maybe she just ate large quantities of magic mushrooms. This being Equestria, they actually were magical. Perhaps they should have been called magical mushrooms instead of magic mushrooms, just as we often say “alternate” when what we really mean is “alternative”. Such are the vagaries of the ever evolving Equestrian language. At any rate, I guess what I’m trying to say is that she was to Los Pegasus what Ditzy Doo was to Ponyville.
.
For some unexplained reason that may or may not get explained later, she had this previous paragraph of narration projected into her thoughts. This caused her to laugh maniacally, while flying and carrying her bicycle, all the way to the library. All the ponies in the streets below her looked up, and thought,
I guess this means it’s gonna rain on Friday.
Now, Crunchy is about to arrive at the library, and I feel like I should describe it to you. It’s a large art deco building in downtown Los Pegasus. Thanks to budget cuts brought on by the fact that most Equestrian bits are being melted into gold to fuel the underground economy, its hours are always changing so nopony ever actually knows whether it is open or not, so eventually they stop going and just visit a local branch. Also, they turn the lights off to save a little more money. As I said, money’s tight. The point is, it’s a spooky place.
Arriving at the library steps, she cast aside her bicycle, and crawled up that stone pyramid.
She knelt at the door, weeping, and beating her hooves upon the concrete, pleading with the great entity known as the library to allow her to sample one of its many fruits of wisdom, as this has been the customary way of obtaining entrance to the library for over a hundred moons now. Don’t ask me why. I’m the author of this horrible abomination of a story and even I don’t know. What hope does a lesser mortal such as yourself possess for understanding such arcane rituals. Truly, such knowledge is beyond your ken, and ought to stay that way, lest you wish to wake up one day with a horse’s head in your bed. As opposed to a horse giving you head in your bed. That would be quite alright.
Her tears ceased, when the heavy stone doors slowly creeped open. The doors screamed in protest, as the stone ground upon stone. Hmm, head in bed...that rhymed...You know who I want to give me head in--dammit, dammit dammit! Her brain snapped back against itself as if she had to fight against some brainwashed conditioning. Curse you narrator...and the many moons of inappropriate comedy.
She rose to her hooves, and slowly stepped into the sinister shadows of the library.
Are we doing this? Ok, we are doing this, she thought, as the darkness closed in around her. She gave no thought to who she was referring to with the word we.
She stood still, her eyes darting around the dark entrance hall.
What do I do now?
Hello?
Horse God?
Are you there?
It’s me, Crunchy Pigeon?
Now what, Horse God?
………………
MEANWHILE…
Super Trampoline was happily humming, watering his petunias in the warmth of the Ponyville spring, wearing sunglasses because he was a bat pony. He still is a bat pony, actually. Suddenly, his super-sensitive and adorable fluffy ears picked up the faint sound of a friend in distress calling out for help. He had to go help her, for a true true friend helps a friend in need, even if said friend lives really fucking far away.
---------------
Back inside the library, you know the one filled with forces that cannot be named, Crunchy Pigeon’s ear twitched. He has heard the signal. He has read the signs. He knows what I know.
It approaches.Knowing in her heart that help would soon arrive, she now had the courage to venture deeper into that forsaken hellhole known as the library.
One could find many dark and powerful spells and sigils in this library. One could do many things by applying the knowledge it contained. One could make another pony fall in love with you. Just picture him, helplessly slaving over your every whim, hopelessly devoted to you, making sweet sweet love to you every night, in multiple posi--
“CRUNCHY!” Super Trampoline had arrived, having flown straight from Ponyville.
“Crunchy, were you going to use black magic to force Writing Utensil Motion to fall in love with you?!?” Super Trampoline questioned angrily. He pulled a newspaper out of his mane and started whacking her vigorously with it. *whap whap whap!* “Bad pony! Bad, bad pony!” he admonished. But Crunchy was a kinky submissive, so this just turned her on.
But no, this was not her plan. Though it may surprise some, not all her actions in this life, were the will of her carnal desires. For if the gods had given you the cursed blessing of being able to see into her thoughts, you would not know what to do.
You would be lost amidst that vibrant void, and the things you might find within would possibly cause you to run down the nearest hill screaming at the existential terror that is the mortal life we all blessed to lead, as Crunchy Pigeon does at each full moon. Flap your hooves menacingly at passers by, for they cannot understand. They have not seen what you have seen. They cannot have seen what you have seen. You should not have seen it.
Go outside.
Leave the prison that is your home.
Tear your eyes away from your neon masters.
Run down that hill.
Scream while you do it.
It is ok.
No judgement will come to pass.
Here, we are all your friends.
Scream until it is all gone.
Run until it is all far behind you.
Let it go.
You are safe now.
Let it all go.
It cannot harm you.
Let go.
Let go.
Let.
Go.
Super Trampoline escorted Crunchy out of her weird drug-fueled existential stupor and back to her house. He hung out for a few hours before flying back home, leaving Crunchy to her own devices. The rest of what happened that Wednesday cannot be described because this story is only rated teen. So sorry.