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>Unfortunately, the paper bag isn’t enough to fit a whole alicorn’s body.
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>It’s now all crumpled and tattered. Typical of Rob to give away dumb crap like that. And to think you were so happy about it. It’s a miracle it can hold your groceries. It’s also a miracle he didn’t notice to charge you extra.
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>Calm down! You need to get the pony home.
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>You wonder if carrying him on your back is not that bizarre of an idea anymore; it’s not like anybody would stop you.
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>If you saw someone walking around carrying a horse on their back, you wouldn’t question it.
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>Let alone an alicorn.
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>In fact, you’d probably smile or even laugh. It would make your day.
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>So you sweep away mane hair and move your hands around his loin to secure a grip.
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>You think you notice something on both sides of his haunch, but it just looks like a sprawling bit of grime.
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>Awfully symmetrical.
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>Whatever.
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>You lift him all the way up so he sits on your shoulders.
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>His neck rests on your head, and his long mane is now all over your face, you can’t see anything.
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>You use one hand to get the tangles out of the way but you feel him slipping.
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>You grab both hind legs and lean forward to try to stabilise him, which works. Then you shuffle his body down your back so it’s like you’re giving him a piggy-back ride.
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>Maybe one day you’ll give him one when he’s conscious.
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>It sort of feels like he is: his breathing rocks strands of your hair forwards and back, and if you focus, his lungs expanding and retracting push you ever so slightly.
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>Your clouded mind clears, you’re no longer cussing out Rob when you face the two brown bags.
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>This state eases the pony’s position. His head slides down your hair and onto your shoulder, causing his pointy horn to waltz into your peripheral vision. Your fingers melt to comprehend the feeling of his hind hooves.
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>Well, there is not much to comprehend. They’re just cold and very rough, but you’ve never seen or felt animal hooves before.
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>They’re soon wet too, as rain starts to fall down from above.
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>You worry a bit again; this is still really strange. You decide that the best thing to do is to put the empty paper bag over the equine’s head.
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>It either looks like you’re carrying a stuffed toy for a child or a dead body on your back. No one will ask either way.
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>So, with one arm holding your foodstuffs, and a hand holding a leg, you trek home in the downpour.
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>You try to formulate a plan for what you’ll do when you get there, but you can’t secure your attention. You keep thinking about how his coat feels. How it’s still there.
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>How, with time passing, it’s getting more and more real.
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>You almost overshoot the walk.
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>It’s funny, you looked at your row house with the light open and scoffed. Then you realise that’s yours.
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>Looking forward to the bill. Ouch.
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>You put the groceries down and reach for the key.
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>You feel his breathing getting faster. You look to your right but he’s not awake.
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>When the door opens, you kind of kick the soaked bag into your home. Everything spills out and the bag splits.
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>Most food lands inside, so did the bag. But an orange or two rolls into the abyss. You don’t bother.
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>You step inside and get the alicorn off your back. You remove the other soaked bag and place him next to the clutter.
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>You close the door and lock it, then hang the key along with your coat and hat.
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>You hear a bit of shuffling.
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>You notice his forelegs moving, then his hind legs, and finally, you meet the unique purple hues again.
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>These small movements increase in speed and vigour as he quickly formulates a mistaken understanding that he’s in peril.
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>He rears up and flares his wings, flaps them twice, causing the pendant lamp above to swing and a meaningless painting to be knocked off.
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>He does not look at you, instead around him: the walls now too tight, the ceiling constricting, and the light blinding. He moves his forelegs in any direction he can while now fixing his eyes on the swaying lamp.
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>Oh, he’s not moving them randomly. He’s actually holding them up to his face in defence, with his head to the side, his wings still flapping involuntarily to maintain balance.
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Stop!
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>His nostrils widen and lets out a whinny.
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STOP!
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>The flapping of his wings increase in frequency. He accidentally lifts himself off the ground, which scares him more. He shifts his body weight and snakes upwards. Then his tall horn punctures through the delicate lamp shade all the way to the other side and scars the ceiling. He yanks his head to the left, and then down, and up, and back down again. The pendant lamp can’t take it - it frees itself from the ceiling. The pulled wires dance around with him, all holding each other’s sparky hands.
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>It’s so dark but the liveliness proves itself luminescent.
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>Some wire pats the horn on the back a couple of times. He whinnies again in pain.
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>Now you’re bewildered, so you aim for the switch and slam it off.
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>He doesn’t seem to calm down at all. You see that his horn is charging up an energy with a familiar purple colour.
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>You rush towards him.
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NO!
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>He pauses for a very brief moment to shoot his irises at yours.
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>You leap up to match his level and extend your arms to drag him down.
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>He squeezes his eyes shut to brace for impact and releases the stress from his horn.
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>You both hit the floor with arms around each other, watching the magic bounce around the room.
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>And then bounce around the rest of the house.
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>Some lamp-lights are awakened.
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>An unlucky fruit in the kitchen absorbs it and vaporises into hot embers in its bowl. Could have been you. Could have been the sorcerer himself.
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>You look at each other wide-eyed in amazement for a little bit.
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>”Aargh!”
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>His mane flies at you and he takes a hoof off your torso to rub his head.
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>You move the hair and slide out of his clutch. He uses the other hoof to hold himself steady. He still wobbles.
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>You crawl away to distance yourself and assess the damage, but his second groan inclines you to help.
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>You don’t know what to do at all.
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>You guess he has a headache.
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Um, do you need help?
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>He slowly comes to look at you, and squints, almost angrily.
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>The squint to a blink, and another, until a full close and a total loss of body strength leads to a sigh. Fainted again.
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>Looks like that energy ball took everything he had left out of him.
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>You look in all directions to make sure you’re up to date with the action.
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>None left around.
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>You take your shoes off and put them on the rack, then you start clearing up the mess.
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>Painting gets hung up again, milk goes in the fridge, so does the bread and eggs. Keeping the salami and olives out, might do something with them.
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>You turn your head to the alicorn, still on the floor with the lamp stuck to his horn.
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>You have a very basic knowledge in electricity, so to stay as safe as possible, you grab a pair of wooden tongs and use it slowly to make contact with the wires.
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>Nothing exploded.
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>You pick up the lamp and slide it off his horn. You walk over to the kitchen and drop the lamp in the garbage. All with the tongs, of course.
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>You wonder if you’d look silly in front of an electrician.
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>Whatever! You’re just staying safe.
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>Tongs go back on the table.
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>You pick him up and look around to find somewhere more comfortable for him to lie on whilst also minimising the amount of things he touches.
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>He’s filthy and smells awful. His hair is tangled and theres patches of filth all over.
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>You eventually decide to put him in the living room. The floor is wooden but a grey carpet lies in its centre. You make sure he’s far from it.
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>You open your laptop on the sofa and look up:
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>”Can horses take panadol?”
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>He is sort of a horse.
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>Apparently, it’s ‘an effective pain treatment in equine medicine.’
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>Good enough.
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>Back to the kitchen again. You take out a small bowl from one of the shelves and look into the large bowl where one of the apples got pwned.
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>You determine that the surrounding apples are still safe, so you pick one up and wash it under the sink, it’s a little hot.
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>You cut it up into eighths with the seeds still intact, he can probably eat them.
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>You gaze at the salami and head to the laptop again.
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>”Can horses eat salami?”
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>No immediate answer, so you scroll down a little bit and read the link titles.
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>”Horse meat found in salami”
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>…
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>You scroll all the way back up and click the first link. It takes you to a list of things horses can and cannot eat. You soon find out that horses are vegetarian.
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>It makes sense, but you’re surprised.
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>More for you.
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>You start reading the list.
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>You read pretzels, which you happened to have picked up from the little trip. You head back to the kitchen, open the bag and scoop a handful out and into the bowl.
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>You open a drawer with various medication in it. You shuffle around to find the panadol, stab a pill into one of the apple slices, throw it back in and close the drawer.
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>One would probably be enough, though you usually take two. He’s a little over half your height, and when he reared up, he was as tall as you.
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>No use looking up the dose rate, he weighs practically nothing.
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>You take the bowl to the living room and put it in front of him. You pet him once: a hand that journeyed from between his ears all the way down to the end of his neck.
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>You switch on the TV for some background noise. The volume is already low. The channel doesn’t matter.
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>Perfect.
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>Now to shower and change.
by Fish
by Fish
by Fish
by Fish