Orwell's musings on life and death, somewhere high above the atlantic. Below street level. In a train car. Wow that's fucking pretentions lol use this description instead: I wrote a bunch of stories while I was stuck in tubes with no internet Story 1: Two pain thermals Orwell is flying today. "Hey." >Bonk "You there." >Bonk bonk, you rap your hoof against the hard polymer frame "I want to come out. It looks warm in there." >You're not sure exactly how you got here, a few minutes ago you were human. Inside the plane. >You're tiny now, and you've got insectoid wings. Feelers. A long proboscis you can feel inside your throat, coming up and wrapping neatly against your horse teeth. >Your dick's gone too, but you'll worry about that after "HEY!" >You can see him in there. He's you, you a few moments in time ago at least. >You shiver, wrapping your speckled and dusty wings around your thin coat. There's a big pilot light behind you that feels really inviting, but you know is a trap. >He's accepting an orange juice from the steward, no... she's pouring vodka in it. It's a screwdriver, your least favorite drink. >A small stir bar... (the sort people often get with coffee that can technically be used as a straw but usually isn't) os placed in the glass before he accepts it >Funny, the diameter about looks to match the little holes that air is coming in through... >You're morbidly curious as he draws some in, places a finger on the stir bar, and... >Thrusts it into your little window cavity! >Screwdriver pours in and you try to run, but it gets all over your fur, you slip and... >Oh god, your wings! Your beautiful, grey shimmering wings! They're drenched and sticky... >It hurts, the once-rigid structure of them has been deformed, like wetted paper. >You begin to shiver, it's extremely cold. The water sucks the heat out of your extremities and you pant like a dog due to the fluid infiltrating your spiracles. >What cruel deed have you done to deserve this? >You plead at the monster wearing your skin, tears streaming from compound eyes >It sips from the screwdriver, paying you no mind. >Nectar... >It is then that you act upon the assumption that this is an execution. >The tiny moth pony in the window somehow swapped its mind for yours, took your basic motor knowledge about being a human... and left you with the insight of what a spiracle or a compound eye is. >You can barely remember what it felt like to finely use your muscles to manipulate the tendons that drive your fingers... send signals to the jaw to chew and swallow >You are a mothpony, and this is where you were sentenced to freeze to death for crimes unknown or previously pettily beneath your comprehension. >Maybe you stepped on a mothpony once. Crushed one with a broom, not knowing it wasn't a regular moth. >More likely, you turned on your shower unthinking. Washed a fluttering Lepidoptequine down a drain. Left it to die in the sewers. >If that's true, your fate is comparatively kind. You can at least watch the sun literally set on your time on this earth. >You can't imagine how it'd feel to die alone, freezing in the damp dark. Smelling nothing but the odor of ten-thousand different humans' excrement. End of line. Had a rough morning before getting on a plane, instead of writing something depressing like I mostly have lately I wrote something that made me happy. Hope you enjoy Anons Story 2: Flight exercises "Are you sure this is safe?" >"Totally, and there's no better way to feel the thrill of flight than riding one up." "Won't the FAA-" >"If you don't have a permit. We do." "Huh, that easy?" >"That easy. They'd give them out like candy if more knew about them, the humans are so afraid of being accused of extra-dimensional prejudice." >You spread your wings, feeling the cool morning wind run over your feathers. >An evolutionarily perfect airfoil >So good that your kind- >Not anymore, the humans. >The humans copied it in their designs >Imitation is flattery >You look around "Is it any flight or were we only cleared for a specific one?" >"You want a jet, so you can ride the tail up. No matter where you go, you're going to be getting a lot of cold air pushed into your face though. Do you remember the neststone rite?" >You nod. >Earth pony and unicorn magic may be focused, but pegasus magic is often instinctual so it's best not to think about things too much. >Just let your body do what needs to be done. Breathe, focus on warm thoughts. Get warmer. >Any engineer would herniate trying to figure out how the heat comes about without burning a shit ton of calories, but you're retired from that field so you relax. >Plover Scape spreads her wings now, too. >"Ready, Nacre? We'll go for the taxing Delta flight over there." "Sure thing." >You and Plover lock your hooves onto the tail, you can hear something coming from the tower radio in her ears. >"Yes, two. Cloudsdale authority. VFs 9103 and 9675. Thank you, you too." >She folds up the mic >Taking off with the flight is a harrowing experience indeed, the butterflies still don't ever really go away when you're going up, no matter the means >Your born-pegasus friends say they don't get them, you guess it's more nurture than nature. >After a few minutes, you're at cruising altitude, Plover turns to you and gives you a big, toothy grin. >"I'm sure a college girl like you knows a lot more about the physics of this than I do, but one of the few things I recall from the lessons I mostly slept through is that speed isn't dangerous, just acceleration." >She grabs your hoof, undoing your connection to the plane as you scream >"So have fun!" >Your wings were already spread, but the sudden forces on them make you gasp as you nearly lose grip on the air molecules under you >Once you right yourself, you realize that while Plover is an ass, she's right. >This kind of incredible speed is a wonderful thrill. >You're decelerating without jet turbines of course though, so it's time to make the most of it >You go into a dive to maintain some speed at the cost of altitude, arcing your back and wings upward sharply and doing a few aerial flips >The feeling is incredible, even with all the moisture being wicked out of your eyes you still don't want to shut them for an instant >You've lost track of Plover, but fuck her. She'll find you later if she doesn't already have eyes on you. >You practice a few more flips, dive, try to do a barrel roll and fuck it up, then spend a bit trying it again before finally managing to get a clumsy one in. >Eventually, you get down to the point where you're needing to flap your wings again, so you figure the flight is about done. You look up, and sure as a dragonfly above a gnat, Plover is up above you watching you intently. >You give the universal landing signal with your forehooves and she comes into formation, screaming at you over the wind >"Awesome, right?!" "God, you natural-borns are all fucking adrenaline junkies!" >"Yeah! And now you will be too!" >You hold up a hoof, trying to think of a smartass retort, but end up just nodding in the end. >She's probably right, that was amazing. >Plover takes you out to a hole in the wall diner for dinner than night, the two of you get very drunk on mimosas, and then like it's natural you fuck like rabbits in the uncomfortable motel bed. >Tomorrow, it's back through the portal to Cloudsdale for the end of your honeymoon. End of line. Story 3: Coffee and Cartoons >You don't get cable. >You never have. >On saturday, a channel that normally shows the news or something shows animations. >A lot of it sucks now, you remember it being better when you were a kid >Hard to know how much of it is nostalgia, feels like so much of current media is a tax write-off >But you've got your crappy little basement room apartment, your soft blanket, your pillows on the small loveseat in front of the boob tube >and your coffee, a luxury you couldn't have as a kid >You take the words of... >What was his name? Bonnie's husband. >Tarantino. The character he played in Pulp. >Anyways, you buy good coffee. You like tasting it. It was good advice. >Today's stuff was... pricey. Apparently it's new, a bit cheaper than that corpophile stuff but just as good. At least according to this one reviewer you follow on twitter >Well, he might be a corpophile of a different sort. "In other words, a shill." >You laugh at your own barely-clever joke as you take the first sip. It's good, really good. >Notes of... you're not pretentious. >Or maybe you are, but not that kind >You inspect the bag more closely, you know the brand was called Unicorn Blend but you notice that there's a rendering of a... familiar sort of unicorn on the front of it. >You can't place exactly where it's familiar from, but you feel some sort of strange comfort from the imagery >God, are you becoming one of them? A fucking bootlicker? >No, no. This is a local blend. It's okay to bootlick a little bit, or so you've been told by the culture of your too-expensive city >You're feeling frustrated, and that won't do so you take another sip and flick on the TV >It's... >You take another look at the bag >The body type is just like one of the characters on the screen >It's a somewhat thick sort of horse with a shortened snout and eyes like saucers >Its body is a single color, its mane is two-tone >Parted by a horn >There it is, that strange sense of deja vu again >You sip more coffee, it tastes a little different... >Might be cooling? You have more in the pot next to you that you're keeping warm on a hotplate, so you finish up the cooling cup and pour a hot one >It tastes the same >What kind of coffee changes taste mid-cup? >It's unnerving. >"Or maybe you're changing." >You shoot up, the TV unicorn is looking at you >You tilt your head, she tilts hers "W- what the fuck is going on?" >"Ponies don't swear." >Your quivering hands have a mind of their own, even though the coffee has to be tainted with a potent psychedelic you find yourself unable to stop muscles and tendons from pulling it closer to your lips once more, pushing it in to your mouth >You try to spit it out but cannot. The horn of the thing, the demon on the television is glowing bright. >Please... stop it... >It laughs. >Then it takes your vocal cords. >You speak in its voice, it's a strain on the throat. "You're going to notice changes. It's going to hurt, I'm sorry about that." >It pauses, you momentarily are fooled that your pushing for control of your faculties back has won, but then it speaks again and you feel just as powerless. "You'll be much happier when it's over, you have to trust me. You weren't made for this world." >The pushing doesn't seem to be doing anything, so you just... >Try to relax. >Your body begins to flash red >Red... infrared... >Oh, yeah you're heating up. >"This is an encoding setting. Number 9 double-panel hidden setting: transcode a living being into a television. Remotes use infrared to communicate with televisions, you are a remote. The process will consume your body. I'll send your eyes over first, then your brain." >So you can watch >As the process consumes your eyes, you SEE >Colors unknown to the human eye, radio, free radicals from the bit of radon leaking in... >And then you're blind. >and then you begin to get stupid. You can't remember any of the trig identities, then of your wasted years of high school, then your multiplication tables, then what animal is used for beef or pork... >Then suddenly, you're clever again. As clever as you were before. >You can see your body, drool strings from your mouth. You appear to have pissed yourself. It makes sense, your human body no longer has a brain. >You, the part of you that makes you (You) that is, is inside the screen. >You watch as you're eaten away by the little red dots, your body rapidly but cleanly decomposing >Your bones are the last thing to go before your skin, you can feel cool air blowing over the rig holding your delicate system of a body upright retract slightly at them. >Your skin comes with fur, it's extremely soft. >You... >You are the thing on the coffee bag when you look down. You're... >Beautiful. >The rig retracts fully and you breathe a sigh of relief. The one who did this to you comes in and holds out a hoof in greeting. You nearly stumble and fall as you take it, but manage to remain upright. >"I'm Dog Star, royal protégée, scientist, engineer, mage." "I... I'm in the cartoon?" >"Yep! That over there is the fourth wall." >She points into your apartment, you can see now that the viewing window is encircled by some sort of complicated electromechanical apparatus. >"The land of Equinox is experiencing a temporal destabilization. Anchoring to your world will allow our world to remain intact, but we needed something first." >She walks over to you and squeezes you close, she's really soft. >"I'm really sorry I had to hurt you to take you here, but you'll love it. I promise. Come on! I'll show you around." >She turns forward, laughs, and then turns back to you. >"But not too much, you're the audience surrogate main character. We'll save a lot of the learning for the pilot next week!" >You laugh, surprised. "Well, I'm flattered I suppose." >"You seemed like a good fit. A little stubborn, but we'll work on that too." "What's my name?" >"You, my friend, are Stellar Ceramics." >Well, you were a line supervisor for a company that made aerospace 'pottery'. End of Line(?) [spoiler]I feel like this one might have some potential beyond a one-off, no promises I'll keep it up but let me know if you're for it.[/spoiler] Story 4: Mail order bride >The package is here. >What's inside? >Two pristine HDDs that you presume used to contain cheese pizza (you'll wipe to be sure that's not a problem) >One iPhone you can pawn for over $100 above what you paid for it >Molly (was a good girl and she knew the reasons why) >Addies >and the crown jewel... >Three little red and white pills that have the power to break the laws of physics as you know them >Which isn't very well, but even to you this shit makes about as much practical sense as those troll physics shitposts from over a decade ago >But you're quiet, uninvolved in criminal activities irl, and have always wanted to believe the hype >Ptfg can't all be lying, can they? No way that sperg Sevensouls has photoshop skills enough to doctor reality to what he posted after his 'trip' >You hook the two hard drives up to your burner machine and start bleachbit >Things look to be going well, so you get to work on testing everything else... > > > >You're feeling nice and relaxed, you don't even bother with the clothes on your dresser after exiting the shower >Where we're going we don't need pants. >The capsule tastes weirdly like pasta sauce, you chalk it up to some sort of acidic manufacturing byproduct and just swallow >Manetripper, that tranny tripfag, recommended everyone who tried it lay on their side on top of the covers. >You repeat the mantra from memory: "You don't want your spine to extend uncomfortably into the bed, lay on your side. Don't get under the covers until the process is finished, you're going to shrink and when you do the center varies. You might end up in a body you have no real clue how to control, new muzzle pressed against thick sheets, unable to breathe. Know someone who died like that, you die as a pony you stay one." >Manetripper was only part time, apparently the only way you maintain a form from session to session is making sure you have the exact same meals at the exact same times. >You've only eaten fast food today to make it easier. Breakfast burrito starting at 8:31 AM. >Peanut butter and jelly sandwich starting at 12:47 PM. >You haven't had dinner or any snacks >The clean sheets are cool against your bare skin, very quickly you begin to feel bristles all over. >You wouldn't have thought it'd be this quick... >But you aren't complaining. >You groan, the first thing to go is your dick. >Well, it's good news in the sense that you don't have to commit to memory those autistic notes of when you finished your meal today and how many bites and swallows it took and the time between each bite and swallow- >Yeah, what a relief. >This'll work, still a pony. Still as soft as you like. >Still with the sensitive, perky ears >Still perfect. Almost. >Your fingers recede into your clenched fists like pedals plucked from a flower in rapid succession >You think of John McClane as your toes not only make fists, but crumple in on themselves >Your shrinking center looks to be low, you feel yourself pulled to the end of the bed. >Thank god you listened to the tripfag. >Though you're not sure if anyone actually ever died under the covers on Pon-E, it scares the shit out of you to even think it could happen to you >Suffocating in a half-alien body would be enough to give anyone a panic attack >Which is obviously not ideal in said circumstances >Your tail is coming in blue, your coat is coming in white. >As your mane grows in, you feel something push out of your forehead and part it. You're a unicorn! >This time, at least. >An image comes into focus on your right flank, a photo negative. >You... worked as a one-hour photo guy a few years back. Before your parents got in that wreck. >Nowadays you sorta just live off the inheritance fund, it's enough for monthly food and you were willed the place so... >There's a knock at the door. >You groan, you don't want your first movement practice to be faceplanting on the way to see some door to door zine peddler >They'll be back later, whoever the fuck it is >A key is turning in the lock. >Uh oh. >You don't have a roommate, and the telltale squeak of the bolt twist tells you you'd better hide >You tumble to the floor, scrambling awkwardly under the bed >Should be enough... it's not a great hiding spot but maybe if you stifle your breathing you can get away with it? >Footsteps are coming this way, and stop next to the bed. The bedskirt comes up. >"Boo." >It's... >Fucking Manetripper. Wearing that retarded agp amazon order tranny getup. "You freak! What the fuck is your problem?" >Your frenemy leans down and takes you by the hind legs, dragging you out >"Celestia, look at you. I couldn't have picked a better final form if I tried." "Final... form?" >"Desu. What, are you surprised I poisoned the well? The only onion marketplace where you can get Pon-E and you didn't think I had my hooves in that pie." "Who the fuck says desu irl? And the bed..." >"Yeah, I knew you'd be under here because I told you to be on the bed. First timers get so nervous, so easy to convince" "The covers..." >"That's a real danger, I'm afraid. Didn't know the person myself, white lie. You'll forge your own legends now that you're full-time, not many of you out there." "Wait, I... I took a double dose?" >"Yeah, sorry. I got evicted, when I learned you owned this place instead of renting it was too juicy." "My life is over." >"Aww, don't worry! Not like you were doing much with it. I'll get you up to speed on your new one after I take a shower, YMCA doesn't really do it for me" >Mane picks you up >"Word of advice, don't post pictures of your house keys." >Your mane is thoroughly ruffled, despite the gloomy situation you can't help but think it feels really good... >"God you came out well, and I bet that virgin marehood is even tighter than my sugar star." End of line. Story 5: Formerly Unicorn >Your master is hugging you close >She tells you to call her Sara, but you usually call her master out of habit >That's what Master always wanted you to call him, back when you were with him >Back before he got sent away >"Refract, you're doing so good on your occupational therapy. You really seem like you're getting closer to reaching your new normal." >She ruffles your long mane, far above the still sensitive stump where your horn used to be. >Master took it from you, as a housewarming present. He'd hurt you, and you loved it... you sick, sick whore. >You begged him for it. >You begged Sara for it once too, and she started crying. That hurt you in a different way, so you stopped. >You still wish she would though. >She sets you down, slowly. >Gently. >Your hooves wobble, you're told that you'll likely never be able to fully recover full motor function >You take a few steps and then one of your forehooves gives way, Sara catches you before you faceplant "Thank you." >"Any time, sweetheart. Do you want to rest? Maybe we can watch a movie?" "That sounds..." >You want her to punch you. >Beat you until you have a black eye. >Back when Master did it to you, you could cum without having your marehood stimulated at all. "...nice." >Sara beams at you and tells you she wants you to try to walk to the couch for her, you do your best >You're about there when you nearly fall again "S-sorry" >"Please don't be. You're doing so, so good..." >She squeezes you a little bit and you sigh >She probably thinks it's out of contentment, but you really wish she'd squeeze you harder >Hard enough to bruise ribs >She scrolls past all the bloody horror movies you want to watch and picks a nature program about whales >It's cool... seems like the sort of thing you'd have liked back when you were a human kid >You're horrible, why does this feel so bad? >To live a quiet life without excitement, something so many want... >When all you're craving is the adrenaline and endorphins from being used and abused. >You really are a fucked-up little failure of a unicorn. >...does that make you an earth pony?