A day like many others
Me? I’m not that special. I’ve got a brown coat, a brown, shaggy, short mane, a darker pair of brown eyes, and a quill under a magnifying glass as a cutie mark... Well, I mean, except for these big horns sticking out of my head.
Hmm? You want to hear how I got them?
It was a day like many others, as days go in Manehattan. You'd get up in your cramped, lonely, undersized room they'd call your 'home', which really wasn’t more than a bed, a small kitchen area, a table with a two chairs (the second of which remaining untouched for long) and a toilet. I’d make myself a simple breakfast consisting of a daffodil sandwich. Then I’d put on my trusty press hat, and go out for work.
I used to work in journalism. I used to be the type that would spend any and all effort in order to squeeze in the tiniest details out of any pony of interest's lives. This is how I developed an eye for detail, and quite the memory. Once, after noticing the tiniest detail and, because of that, having my article chosen as front page article for the first time, my cutie mark finally landed on my blank flank, so I at least have this job to thank for that.
The way journalism works in an office environment is quite odd. Let me give you the clearest example: Our typewriters. You'd set up the typewriter on your desk of preference about torso-height sitting down on a stool. You'd prepare the typewriter: feel if the buttons are lubricated enough and responding with the correct letters, put in a blank sheet of paper in the paper tray and an ink ribbon to the side, and then, once you're ready, you'd mash the two buttons in a varying order that magically produces different letters of our 26-letter-alphabet.
I tried to understand them once. The way to make them work is that you absolutely have to believe in that the next character will be exactly what you want it to be. How it decides, I have no idea. After all, I am but an earth pony, and I completely fail to understand how enchanted objects work. Thankfully, that is also none of my business.
I'd walk into my office, readjust my hat that never fit quite right on my head, calm down, clear my mind, focus on the story of today and start typing. Usually, right after my boss, a grey-furred grey-maned grump of a pony, finishes his grilled cheese and hay sandwich up and around 12:34 (± two minutes, nothing more, nothing less), he'd stretch his hooves into the sky, rub his eyes (First his right, then left), look around the office, and go for a walk around the block.
This signified my two-and-a-half hour self-declared break, as nobody checks on my progress for that time anyway (I followed him via our office windows once, by the way. Usually he'd shop for his next day groceries, but the other day I think I saw him stop by Roseluck's stall when she was in town, and buy a red rose carefully packaged in a manner for later distribution to any lucky mare he's got his eye on. I couldn’t tell who, yet).
In any case, let's go back to the specific day I initially got started on. I tend to get... sidetracked, to say the least. Call it conditioning.
I put down the paper I was working on so far, picked up my company-issued camera and announced to my co-workers that I'd be going out for some more juicy details, as usual. That they always gobble up that excuse is beyond me, for I never actually come back with any photos, but I think they care just as much about it as I do.
It was, however, a stressful day. I had to just get away from the city, even for a little while, as opposed to putting my muzzle in other ponies' business again. I decided that I'd make up something about an extra-big scoop, and that's why I was gone for a longer period of time than usual. I wanted to calm down for a while, and take in some fresh nature air. On a whim, I took a train to Ponyville.
Unbeknownst to me, apparently, a mythological creature possessing of chaotic magic had recently passed through the area, which would have made for a GREAT scoop if it were not for what happened to me that day.
Getting away from the ponies, again, I decided to take a walk in a nearby forest to just have some silence for a while.
While carefully looking for paths left unwalked, I took in the oddly-well-choreographed singing of the local birds, the vibrant green trees, and the apparently-unaffected-by-this-warm front cloudless sky, and truly lived stress-free in the moment for a while.
In the distance there was a glimmer, a shimmer, a sparkle. A glass object had managed to perfectly catch sunbeams coming through a clearance of the leaves above me, and beam it right into my eyes.
Curiously, but slowly, for I didn’t want to disturb my self-created peace of mind for just a little while longer, I got closer to inspect.
It was a glass of chocolate milk.
That was all it took. A glass of chocolate milk, sturdily half-embedded into the dirt ground, and despite the angle, the contents failed to leave the container.
In all of my foolishness, I touched it. Like I said, I was, and still am, completely ignorant on the topic of magic.
Unfortunately, this object seemed to have an inherent uncontrollable magic embedded in it, which, in hindsight, should have been more evident to me right before I touched it, due to its physics-defying properties.
Upon being disturbed by my careful hoof-touch, it unleashed. The magic surged through me (which actually wasn’t all that painful) as if I was struck by lightning. Then, I felt a painful pressure right above my temples, and passed out for a while.
Don’t know how long it took for me to wake up, but as I slowly opened my eyes, all that I saw in front of me was only an dirt hole with my press hat and camera knocked into it.
A breath entered my muzzle.
A breath escaped my muzzle.
A certain pressure now exerted itself upon my head, and a headache built.
I remembered the transmutative properties of chaos magic, for that tends to be great scoop, and considered my situation.
I thought about living in blissful ignorance, but the other ponies would inevitably notice the difference, so I decided to feel around for damage control around my head.
Thunk, my hoof sounded, long before actually reaching my head. It felt sturdy, and hoof-like. Something is around my head!
Suddenly unconcerned about the time or achieving a zen state of mind, I picked up my hat and camera.
I had to do a double-take at my hat, before I continued. It looked a lot more worn than when I put it on this morning: The edges of the hat were frayed, almost charred, and the sides were now roughly dented outwards as opposed to inwards, with the right side of the hat having a complete circular tear through it. Thankfully, the camera was fine, but what is going on?
Thinking quickly, I galloped towards the nearest body of water in the forest.
I looked at my reflection, and saw what I obtained; a curling pair of ram’s horns, sprouting out from above my temples, going back around my ears, and curling forward again towards my cheek, finishing with a final jut upwards which would point forwards if I tilted my head right.
I’m going to be the scoop of a lifetime.
No thanks.
I didn’t return to work that day. I took the train back home while avoiding all eye contact, and ignoring all gazes. I called in sick and stayed in my now-suddenly-seeming-a-lot-more-comfortable apartment, and considered a career change.