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>Be Anon.
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>Be at the park.
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>11:00 a.m.
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>Sunbeams filter through the tree branches this Saturday.
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>They mottle the forest floor with sunlight and shadows that dance when the wind blows the tree limbs.
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>Thank God for the wind.
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>If not for it, your shirt would be sticking to your skin with sweat soaking the fabric.
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>Fortunately, the coolness of the summer breeze saves you from that world of humidity and wet heat.
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>Instead, today is a warm, clean, Saturday at the Whinny-Huston Ponyville Park.
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>The trail you walk is one less taken by most ponies.
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>There are more bushes on the trail path’s sides, but none tall enough to obscure the scenery around you.
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>You can still see all the spaces between the trees, see the little burrows dug by busy groundhogs.
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>It has character, this trail, hence why you take it.
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>Well, that and the last time you took the main trail was quite the event.
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>You were walking in a fur coat that day for it was Winter.
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>When you returned home, a picture of you in the coat at the park was in the newspaper.
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>That itself was alright-- you are beautiful, after all, like Mamanon said -- but it was the paper’s headline which struck you with great unease.
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>It read: “EVERFREE BIGFOOT MENACE *STILL* HASN’T LEARNED!! ANGRY MOB TO MEET TONIGHT!”
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>Quite lovely.
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>There was also an ad for pitchforks and torches, all 50% off, from the Apple family.
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>It was so fun to explain the truth to the mayor that night, standing in front of the angry mob gathered around town hall.
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>It was also fun having the mayor and the mob follow you home so you could show them the fur coat as proof.
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>And it was the most fun of all when they screamed at the coat and threw their pitchforks and torches at the gift from Rarity while you held it.
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>So.
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>Much.
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>Fun.
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>:')
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>But hey, at least you got a new collection of pitchforks in the front yard.
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>And a torch for 50% off.
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>Gotta watch out for dat Bigfoot menace, ya know.
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>While your current chances of false identification as an elusive, bipedal ape are slim these days, you’ve grown accustomed to this trail from the original one you took.
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>It gives you a sense of security.
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>It’s quiet, peaceful, tranquil-- the good shit.
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>As you continue to walk along the trail path, you eventually come to spot a bench.
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>It faces a clearing through the bushes and greenery to your left that leaves a view open for you to admire through a small pond and the wildlife that inhabit it.
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>Deciding that it is a good place to ponder and reflect, you accost the bench and set your rump upon it.
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>It is a strong bench.
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>A strong, old bench with wood that is dry and pale and chipped, yet no more brittle than steel, or sturdy as a redwood tree.
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>It’s not too uncomfortable, either, and despite most other benches in town having a smaller stature to accommodate the needs of ponies, this one is surprisingly fitting for your size.
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>A good bench to rest upon, you feel.
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>Gosh, what a sight.
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>The sunlight shimmers in the pond with each small splash from each small creature while, at the shallower end, a log sticks out of the water where upon sits a line of five turtles, each one bigger than the last.
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>The smallest sits at the tip top of the log, no doubt the youngest, moving his head about more than his kin, looking at the world with a child's curiosity.
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>You lay back further into the bench with a yawn.
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>“Um, h-hello, Anon.
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“Hello, talking bench.”
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>“Um, are you watching the little turtle too?”
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>You nod your head, smirking at the small shelled reptile.
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>Seeing four others behind it, larger than the ones before each other, makes their placement seem almost intentional.
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>But nature is like that, you suppose.
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>After all, turtles and tortoises tend to represent--
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>Ahp.
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>Wait a minute.
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>Benches don't talk.
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>You split your legs apart where you sit, looking down at the bench's wooden seat.
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“Uh, hello?” you say, a curious upward inflection in your voice. “Did you just say something?”
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>“Oh, um, I-I was just saying hello and wanted to know if you were watching the cute little turtles too. I didn’t mean to disturb you. S-sorry...”
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“Eeeh, that’s alright. You’re good.”
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>You look back up at the pond and--
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“Hey! Wait a minute! You just did it again!”
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>“Did what?”
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“Talk to me! You just fucking talked to me!”
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>“Oh! I’m so sorry! I-I just didn’t want to seem rude or anything... Um, would you like me to, y-you know.../not/ talk to you?”
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“You’re damn right I want no talkin’ bench in my park!” you say to it, but are quick to lean close to its arm-rest and whisper, “Did the Bigfeet send ya here? You their spy or prisoner or something? Look, I can get you out, you just gotta wait until I put my coat on and--”
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>“Um, Anon...?”
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“Yes?”
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>“I’m...I’m not a talking bench.”
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>Ah.
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>Shit.
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>It’s going to be one of /those/ days, isn’t it?
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“Ah. I see. You haven’t reached self awareness yet, have you? Okay, so, listen: technically, you’re not really alive as a bench, but that doesn’t mean--”
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>“Anon? Um, I’m not a bench.”
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“Well, you certainly might /believe/ that, but y’see, free will and sentience is, uh...It’s like...well...uh, it all starts in ancient Greece...”
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>Wait, shit, Greece isn’t canon in horseland.
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>You sigh, shoulders slumping to your side.
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“Ugh, God, this is why I joined that philosophy class in college. You know, dear little bench with dreams, I knew this would happen to me one day. Really, I did! But did I pay attention in class? Noooo! Cause Mom made me drop the damn thing because the school threatened to sue if I went through with the...UGH!”
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>“Um, Anon?” says the little gay bench. “Could you, maybe, look up from your crotch? And, um, now look next to you. No, y-your right side. Um...maybe your /other/ right side, please?”
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“Oh. You.”
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>You scowl at the...the FIEND sitting next to you.
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>Fucking.
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>Fluttershit.
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>She smiles that half-wince smile she always makes, the one with her neck lowered as if she were hiding from someone throwing rotten food at her admittedly cute pony ass.
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>They should be throwing crucifixes.
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>And torches and pitchforks, now that you think about it.
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>A pink curtain of mane obscures half her face.
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>Good.
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>The less you see, the better.
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>Unfortunately, she still reeks of weakness and flowers.
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“When the fuck did you get here?” you ask, folding your arms with a huff.
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>“Um, I was already sitting here. D-didn't you see me?”
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>Uuuuuh......
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“Oh! Yes, you totally were! Of course. Yes. Totally. Hello there. Hi. Hello. So, uh, whaddya doin’ over here? Gonna kill yourself? I can help you with that.”
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“Oh, nothing...”
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>orly.jpg
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“Nothing you say?”
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>“Yes. Um, n-nothing...”
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“Not gonna try and kidnap me?”
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>“No.”
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“Not gonna stand up and reveal that the bench turns into a cage and take me to your basement?”
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>“Nuh-uh.”
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“Not even gonna try and knock me out? Do somethin’ weird and ask me for my fetish? Tickle my sexy boy taint?”
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>She shakes her head.
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“Huh.”
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>You stand up from the bench with a yawn.
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“Well, uh, later faggot.”
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>“O-oh! Um, goodbye, Anon.”
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>...
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“Fuck you.”
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>You kick the bench over by surprise, knocking it back with Fluttershy.
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>You hear the butter-colored pegasus squeak in shock (like a little biiih), then watch her scramble up onto her legs.
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>“R-rape me, p-please!” she screams while stammering.
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>You have just the answer for her.
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“ＲＥＥＥ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ Ｅ！！！！”
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>With your dominance screech’s power, Fluttershy goes skedaddling into the bush, a warbling cry of indignity, self-pity, and worst-poniness echoing off the trees.
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>You snicker like a basedboi and carry on like a wayward chum.
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>Fucking Fluttershy.
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>Kek.
anonfluttershyanonymous/flutterrape//aie/anon in equestriafunnyflutterapebigfoot menaceanonymous in equestria
by Beans4U
by Beans4U
by Beans4U
by Beans4U
by Beans4U