Untitled bootleg green


                                            >Twigs and branches whip past your face

                                            >Everything stings, everything hurts.

                                            >Your breath comes in painful gasps

                                            >It feels like you've been running for days.

                                            >Glancing to your side, into the dark between the trees, you see them.

                                            >Moonlight shines off teeth and bark and hungry eyes.

                                            >Timberwolves.

                                            >You're going to die here, that's all that you can think of.

                                            >And you can hear the many wooden footfalls of death's minions behind you.

                                            >You can barely keep your eyes open, everything is exhaustion and pain.

                                            >But you see a flash of red ahead of you, and before you can process what it could be you're out of the woods, and onto a stage.

                                            >In front of you, the tall red curtain, below you polished wood.

                                            >You turn around, and are nearly blinded by the bright yellow spotlights.

                                            >In the shadows beyond, you can make out a massive auditorium, seats upon seats reaching back into the dark, with a balcony above with more seats still.

                                            >And in the middle of said balcony, you can just barely make out a figure sat in the middle of it.

                                            >"Just in the nick of time, so it seems!" The figure rises.

                                            "What?" You squint.

                                            >"Catch!" The figure tosses something to you, spinning and slowly gliding out of the darkness to rest at your feet.

                                            >You pick it up. It's a taxicab-yellow top hat, with a black-and-white checkerboard pattern around the base of it.

                                            >You look back up at the balcony, and you see no figure there.

                                            >A feminine voice in your ear says, "did you miss me?"

                                            "Aaa!"

                                            >You stumble forward, dropping the hat and nearly falling off the stage, but are pulled back at the last second by something yanking at the back of your shirt.

                                            >You spin around, and the pony now in front of you releases her mouth's grip to quirk an eyebrow at you and grin.

                                            >She's a small purple mare wearing that taxicab-patterned top hat, with a cerulean mane beneath it.

                                            >Her golden eyes sparkle in the stage lights, and a tuft of white hair peeks out from behind her ear.

                                            >"The only answer you need to the question in your head is this:" she jumps to the side, with a hoof held aloft.

                                            >"The prettiest mare I may not be, but don't always trust the things you see."

                                            >"I belong in this place, I belong within you."

                                            >"I'm a mix of the old, with something new."

                                            "...the fuck? Who are you?"

                                            >"Who's to say? Nothing's set in stone, as of yet."

                                            "Did you bring me here, out of the woods?"

                                            >"Hey, you were the one doing the running. I just had to pop up in the right place."

                                            >"and speaking of running, I think our time's run out." She looks at her bare foreleg as if she were checking a watch. "Don't want to be late for the rest of your life."

                                            >She does a pirouette and a small hop, and as she touches back upon the stage-

                                            >CRASH

                                            >You're awoken with a gasp, as the trash cans in the alley outside your window are knocked over once again.

                                            >You sigh, then look over from your mattress on the floor to peer out the window.

                                            >you see something struggling amidst the shadows and trash bags below, then wander away. The local racoons are probably at it again.

                                            >Though racoons, of course, don't usually gallop like that.


                                            >You yawn, stretch, and get out of bed.

                                            >Today's looking to be yet another grey, misty day.

                                            >after a quick breakfast of oatmeal, you put on your shoes, shrug on a light rain jacket and hike up the hill to the lighthouse.

                                            >You don't know why they built the keeper's cottage so far from the building itself, but oh well.

                                            >You're just glad to be alone out here.

                                            >trudging in and closing the heavy oak door behind you, you climb the stairs to the light itself.

                                            >Every day the same, gotta do the basic checks

                                            >glass unscratched

                                            >oil reserve full

                                            >lenses cleaned and clear.

                                            >it takes you just under half an hour to do what needs doing - there's a reason your pay is barely more than room and board.

                                            >you exit the tower, and take a moment to just stand and enjoy the wind.

                                            >Looking down the hill towards the rest of the island, it's a lonely sight.

                                            >You're not completely alone here - there's a village to the south, you know - but the closest human being is a full half-day's journey by truck.

                                            >However, if you expand your definition of "company" to more than just humans, you're not completely isolated

                                            >There's a number of wild horses in the region, and you occasionally get them wandering up your way

                                            >You try to keep your distance, since you don't have any experience with wild horses

                                            >but watching them gallop about is still nice

                                            >you give a sigh. No horses to be seen today, unfortunately. Herd must be off doing, well, whatever horses do.

                                            >Eating grass and whatnot, probably.

                                            >You descend down to the cottage again.

                                            >There's certainly still things that need to be done today.

                                            >Your garden is just starting to produce its first harvest, and you're looking forwards to enjoying the fruits (or in this case, vegetables) of your labor.

                                            >You need to weed the few potatoes you managed to get growing, and check if the carrots are ripe

                                            >You'd like to become a little more self-sufficient out here, if you can.

                                            >Rounding the corner of the cottage, however, you do a double take

                                            >There's a mare in your garden

                                            >She's white like seafoam, and a bit shorter than the usual horses you see around here - more pony than horse.

                                            >She's turned away from you, and seems to be investigating your carrot patch

                                            "hey! No! Shoo, you silly horse."

                                            >You open the gate to go rescue your precious carrots.

                                            >You don't know how she got in, either - normally the little fence you built is enough to keep most wildlife out.

                                            >She turns around, and her eyes light up

                                            >she gives a little nicker, and happily trots over to you

                                            >You look down at her, hands on your hips.

                                            "A garden is no place for a pony. Agh - don't step on those!"

                                            >She steps back - and off of one of your potatoes.

                                            "How did you get in here, anyway? If the bigger horses were never able to jump this fence, how did you manage to do it?"

                                            >She just blinks at you, horsily.

                                            >Look at you.

                                            >Talking to a horse.

                                            >you chuckle to yourself.

                                            >Maybe you've been out here by yourself for too long.

                                            >You open the gate and stand aside, and she trots out with no resistance.

                                            >You close it behind her, and go to check on the carrots she was investigating.

                                            >She'd already dug one up, somehow - but other than a few bite marks it seems fine.

                                            >And ripe, too!

                                            >Looks like you've got some carrot-picking to do today, after all.

                                            >You hear a whinny, and look over.

                                            >The mare's gotten up on her hind legs, leaning her forelegs on the fence and looking (hungrily?) at the carrot she "harvested."

                                            >You give a chuckle, and walk over to her.

                                            >Normally you would never go so close to these wild mares, but this one seems friendly enough.

                                            >You offer her the carrot, and she happily starts crunching away at it.

                                            >What you find very odd, though, is the situation - normally you never see one of these horses by themselves, when one is around there's always more.

                                            >Is she a lost filly? That would explain the size.

                                            >She doesn't seem gangly like a filly, though. Just a regular-proportioned horse, but smaller.

                                            >The mare trots off, carrot in mouth.

                                            "Have a good one, you silly little mare."


                                            >Anon dreamed.

                                            >He was at the top of the hill, where the lighthouse was - but there was no lighthouse, only him.

                                            >And the horse, the mare he saw today - she rose out of the water to meet him.

                                            >But she was a unicorn.

                                            >Her mane was slick and heavy with seawater, and her white coat shone in the moonlight.

                                            >Indeed, the moon was particularly bright.

                                            >she rode up on the water, the tide taking her all the way to where he stood - and she kissed him on the lips, gently and gracefully.

                                            >When she opened her eyes, she had the same bright gaze she had in the garden, when stealing his carrots.


                                            >He woke up to a noise outside - the creaking of the garden gate.

                                            >The cottage was still dark, it was still the middle of the night, or perhaps early morning.

                                            >Sighing, he got out of bed. Must've not latched it properly after that last bit of weeding.

                                            >The wind was just going to pull it back and forth the rest of the night, if he didn't latch it properly now.

                                            >shrugging on a sweater and shuffling out the door, the source of the noise was revealed.

                                            >In the light of a bright waxing moon, was a certain little white mare sniffing about his garden.

                                            >Upon hearing the front door open, her ears flicked towards him, and with a flick of her tail and a slow half-turn in his direction, she raised her head to look back at him.

                                            >In the shadows cast by the moon, he swore she wore a knowing smile.

                                            >His heart fluttered, though he couldn't fathom why.

                                            >It's just a horse, Anon.

                                            >An overly friendly animal interested in your vegetables.

                                            >she gave a breathy little nicker, like a chuckle.

                                            >Suddenly, she didn't seem so much like a filly anymore.

                                            >Cunning eyes - and a subtle lick of the lips.


                                            >Anon shut the cottage door as fast as he could, locking it behind him.

                                            >His heart was still beating a mile a minute, his fingers were shaking, and his trousers were suddenly feeling a little tight.

                                            >'What the FUCK is going on here.'

                                            >'Am I still asleep?'

                                            >'Why am I afraid?'

                                            >His mouth felt dry.

                                            >He stumbled through the dark cottage over to his sink, and got a cup of water.

                                            >His hands were still shaking, and he felt out of breath, but at least his throat felt a little less parched now.

                                            >He heard an amused whinnying outside.

                                            >'Can't deal with this shit, right now.'

                                            >Anon crawled back into bed, and fell asleep to the sound of the crunching of carrots.


                                            >The morning came far too soon.

                                            >Checking the garden for any harm done, it seemed his midnight encounter hadn't been a dream - a few carrots were indeed missing, though oddly enough the gate was latched closed, rather than left open as he expected.

                                            >Had the wind blown it... shut, after she'd had her fill?

                                            >Anon sighed - better to not ask too many questions. Best get a lock for the gate, instead.

                                            >And fortunately, today was the day for beginning the process of obtaining such a thing.

                                            >Once a month, a truck and its lone occupant would make the half-day's journey up to check in on Anon.

                                            >He'd load Anon up on canned goods and other miscellaneous living items, and take any requests for the next time he came around.

                                            >Then, after giving the lighthouse a quick glance, he'd get back in his truck and go on his way, leaving to the north - apparently there were other lighthouses up that way, though Anon had never seen them or their lights.

                                            >It was often his one social interaction for the entire month, overly friendly mares not included.