“Any last words, Mr. Stanton?”
“Fuck you, fuck everyone, and fuck this shitty system?”
Tied down, strapped to a chair, in a nice pleasant hospital room with a guy next to me who pretends to be a doctor, readying to turn the valve to send a fuck ton of barbituates into my bloodstream. Not my best moment.
I’m in a prisoner’s outfit, of course. Last meal all taken care of. (I said lobster just to make it hard for them to get.) My family hates me, the news hates me, and all the people who love and care for me are afraid to speak because they’re next. Why?
“Are you sure about that, Mr. Stanton?” they ask, pretending like they’re human beings, not fucking monsters who murder innocents and still somehow sleep at night.
“No, sorry, just gimme a minute to think,” I say in my rough baritone. I’m kind of pudgy, not horribly overweight, but not exactly a prize catch if you know what I mean. I suppose it could be worse. I could live long enough to lose my hair, and get osteoperosis and cancer and shit. At 43, I didn’t have many more good things to look forward to in life. And now I’m gonna die. I’d say I’m scared, but I stopped being scared of death back in my 20’s when I was flirting with suicide, because nobody would ever love me, and they’d all try to kill me if they ever found out what I liked.
Back then I realized that we’re all already dead, since life’s just a tiny flicker in an endless blackness, and all this injection is gonna mean is I’ll stop moving, and thinking. 23 years later, I’m caught, condemned to death, and all I can feel is disgust, that this is how this shitty world was going to do away with me.
“You aren’t allowed to stall, Mr. Stanton,” the guy in the uniform says, pretending that he’s not a fucking sadistic murderer, because he can blame it on his commanding officer who can blame it on his commanding officer, all the way up to that asshole of a president who wouldn’t pardon me, because fuck that guy.
“I know, I know,” I say in frustration, “What am I gonna do, enjoy another five minutes of life strapped to a chair with only you to keep me company?”
He just frowns at that. So I sigh, and give him an honest answer.
“When I fucked Susan, it was a mistake,” I say with some regret, “Her parents were just using her to extort guys like me. I thought she loved me, but they were the ones forcing her to say that stuff, and yes I know I can’t prove it so don’t argue with me these are my last words, Jesus!”
The uniform guy closes his mouth, and I say, “I don’t even care if you’re recording this or not. We’re all dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Susie’s still in the care of the parents who told her they’d make her sorry if she didn’t spread her legs for me. I don’t blame her for not testifying against them, but Jesus Christ, Susie, get out of that house.
“It was a mistake to keep all that kiddie porn,” I continue, “All that wonderful art of little foals fucking and *one* folder of humans that I barely even remembered about. And it was probably a mistake to try to argue with the judge that it’s a good thing to fuck a 12 year old when you’re not the one traumatizing her. Or to give those fuckheads of parents she’s got exactly what they wanted with court battle after court battle, and finally telling them that I didn’t regret it, that their daughter’s cunt was the best thing that ever happened to me, and if I could, I’d fuck Susie until she was half my age, then marry her. I just wanted to get her out of their hands. I just...”
The uniform guy raises his hand, but I hastily tell him, “I’m almost done. Just gimme one more minute.”
Sighing, I lean on my chin strap and say, “I said the right thing, instead of what would save my tail, because I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of living without any chance at happiness. I’m sick of not having a childhood, living in fucking Cleveland until I was 20 and it was too late. There’s nothing good about you, me, or any god in heaven, because you’re gonna kill me for no reason other than I made a little girl feel really good, and nobody’s gonna greet me on the other side. I don’t get heaven or hell or anything, because that’s all there is in death. Nothing. You’re gonna turn me into dirt, and then you’re gonna rot next to me. So I don’t even fucking care anymore. That’s my last words.”
After he turns the valve, I also say, “Oh also you’re all worse than murderers, because at least a murderer does it because he wants to. Why don’t you go kill yourselves? Sickos.”
And um... it’s actually taking a while, so I manage to say, “Heh... it’s not gonna work ‘cause I’m immortal. I’ve been god all along an’ never knew it, and you’re just figments of my...”
Weariness descends upon me suddenly, not like I’m falling asleep, but like I’ve been sleeping for a long time. I guess this is it. My eyes must have slipped closed, because all I see in front of me is blackness. The blackness which I’m gonna be, soon as my thoughts wind down. Shouldn’t take more than a minute or so.
A minute later, I’m getting kind of antsy. Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t remember them putting a blanket on me. Also the straps seem to be gone. I guess they unstrapped me and threw me into a morgue somewhere? Go figure, the afterlife is worse than I imagined. Just laying around in the darkness, fully aware for all eternity. I wonder how long it’ll take me to go insane?
It’s odd though, because my head isn’t covered. Don’t they cover your head when you’re a dead body? Curious, I slide open my bleary eyes and freeze in the middle of reaching up to rub at them. I just... moved? Rubbing at my eyes with the back of my... hand? it feels weird, like... hairy against my eyelids. opening my eyes, I see... eaves?
I’m looking up at eaves, honest to god fucking eaves of solid oak construction, a warm wooden ceiling, gently lit by the morning sun. this isn’t a morgue! I lift my head, and I’m in a bed, a plain looking bed, but not a prison bed, certainly not an autopsy table. My lower body is covered with blankets some sort of pattern of walnuts and leaves...
And my light purple hooves draped over them.
The sun dappled morning is greeted by the sound of a young girl’s high, fluting voice, shouting, “Goddamn piece of shit fucking dammit god fucking why you stupid piece of crap fucking hell in a boiling god damned fucking piss bucket stupid piece of shit god how could you do this to me?!”
There’s no answer, and I manage to get through, “Fucking flaming queerass cumguzzler!” before the door to the room slams open, and in it is standing... no. No.
“Are you alright, muffin?!” a large, grey pegasus known as Derpy Hooves exclaims rushing into the room in which I lay. Because of course she is. Because of course I am. Because some fart sniffer of a god decided that getting me executed was better than letting me know about something like this.
I’m in room with pictures of bunnies and squirrels hung up on the walls, and a honest to god pony. A golden eyed, wall-eyed pegasus is charging right up to my bed on four capable hooves, with broad, grey wings held tight against her in what must be complete, terrified alarm.
“It’s okay mom, I’m...” I tell her hesitantly, not sure if I should even call her mom. My voice isn’t my voice anymore. I sound so high and... and meek. I’m a—a fucking girl. I’m a girl, aren’t I? I know exactly who I am!
“I just... had a bad dream,” I tell her honestly, with a tremble in my voice and a weak smile. Was that really a... a dream? My whole life, just some nightmare? Fuck every god on earth for not letting me wake up earlier, but I’m... safe?
I can’t remember the last time that I’ve felt safe.
Derpy sweeps her surprisingly broad wing around my back, and hugs me to her side, laying her head on top of mine. “It’s okay Dinky,” she says soothingly, “It was just a dream. Mama’s here.”
H-how old am I? Am I fucking crying? I’m swaddled in her embrace, and she thinks I’m scared because I can’t stop trembling. The warmth of the grey fur along her neck and side pressed against me is so soothing. A sob wells up in me, and I don’t hold back. I just burst out crying into the fur of her shoulder. It feels so good. Why did I have to live that life of hell? Why?
God offers no answers, nor does Princess Celestia, Discord, or any canonical deity that I know of. But I’m sure as hell gonna ask, assuming they haven’t abandoned this world too. I calm down after a while, and Derpy lets me go, standing beside my bed with a gentle smile on her face. Her golden eyes go in different directions, and I don’t even care, because she’s smiling at me. She loves me. She loves... someone, at least.
“It um... it might’ve been worse than a bad dream,” I tell her sheepishly, still not sure how to do more than sit up in bed as this... foal I’ve become.
“Why, what was it about?” she asks worriedly, “Can you remember?”
I wish I could forget it. “No, that’s the pr... pr... bad thing,” I tell her, stumbling over my words for some reason. “It’s all I can remember. I think it gave me...”
It gave me that... thing where you forget stuff. What’s it called again?
“If you tell me about it, it’ll help,” Derpy assures me, “Even if you’re still scared, you’ll feel better. Always works for me!”
“O-okay,” I tell her uncertainly. “I was a... creature with two legs. I had to grow up all alone, and then I was old and couldn’t be... friends with anyone who was young. And everyone who was old was different from me, like real, actual grownups. T-then I got in trouble for p-playing with somepony lots younger than me, and they... they yelled at me in the... police place, and then to punish they...”
Frowning in confusion at my own words, something’s not quite right here. I really do sound like a little girl, so... I guess it’s my voice that’s bothering me? “They tied me to a chair and killed me,” I conclude. Oops.
Derpy’s face goes from warm sympathy to jaw dropping horror in ten seconds flat.
“I-i-it was just a needle!” I tell her hastily, “I mean, a... little bendy straw that goes into your... blood thing, and it just had some... poison but it feels good and I just woke up then, so it didn’t hurt!”
“Dinky, that’s horrible!” Derpy says in astonishment, wings half spreading, “How did you even learn about stuff like that??”
“The... library, I guess?” I ask hopefully. “I didn’t really... I mean maybe it was a dream monster. Like the ones Princess Luna keeps us safe from?”
“Princess Luna?” Derpy asks with her muzzle twisting up in confusion, “Who’s that?”
Oh boy.
I have trouble the first day. Getting out of that bed is... tricky. I always dreamed about being a little pony, ever since I learned of that blessed land, but you can’t really prepare for the odd experience of having hooves. Plus the fact that I’ve kind of usurped some pony child’s life. Yeah that’s... not a good thing, I think. Fortunately, it’s pretty much physically impossible for us to have switched places, so all I can conclude for now is that I’m a little filly who just had a very, very, very bad dream. I don’t expect other ponies would be quite as understanding though. I’ll have to approach this issue very... cautiously.
Sliding off my bed butt first lands me flat on my feet, which are now my haunches. My hands don’t quite reach the ground, my palms at least, but it feels like the tips of my fingers plant down in front of me very squarely. Derpy has since said she’s going to start on breakfast, as long as we’re waking up early, so I have about... ten minutes to learn how to walk. Yep, no problem. Noooo problem at all.
I spend a few minutes testing the stability and “give” of my new front hooves. Giant fingertips doesn’t quite do justice to these stiff half cylinders whose squishy frog is all too responsive, and useful. Then I look back, and I’m captivated with the sight of my own butt. I mean it’s a pretty enough butt, a lovely lavender color, with a brushlike blonde tail bursting out from the top of it, but it’s fascinating how I can just turn and look at myself like this. I shift to my side, sticking out the upper hind leg, and extending it as far as it can go, which actually isn’t very far. My knee’s pretty much locked to my ankle back there, with very little freedom of movement to bend my ankle. All my attempts to do so just curl and uncurl my toes back there. ...toe.
Pulling my legs against me, I rock to stand on my feet again, which feels... like I’m resting on the backs of my legs. My feet don’t feel like feet. This is weird. But I lift up on my toes, like I was wearing high heels, and my rump stretches right up into the air. I can kind of feel the tension as my tail hangs in a cheerful arc up there. Okay, now for front legs.
Those are easier, because if you get into the position to do a pushup as a human, then raise your wrists so you’re balanced on your fingertips, it’ll probably hurt a lot, and possibly damage your fingers. But in my case, when I try that, my wrist just... smoothly lifts, and I’m standing there on four legs.
Wow.
Everything’s so real around me. The dresser that must be my dresser is painted lavender just like the color of me. My bed is behind me, with the rumpled blankets that I just messed up, upon awakening. I can hear Derpy humming and clinking in the kitchen. My mom, I guess. I really hope my memories aren’t gone for good. I’ll be in big trouble if all I can remember is being a 47 year old pedophile.
Pedophile. That’s the first label even I give myself on reflex. Not human being. Not loser. Not gas station attendant. Not chantard. Was I really a... pedophile? Or was I just really unlucky, and had to be the only guy on the planet who ever got seduced by a twelve year old girl?
Yeah, I guess pedophile would be one of my qualities. Though frankly, I didn’t even enjoy it a lot. She was just doing it out of obligation, so she wasn’t enthusiastic about it at first. It was only when she confessed to me what her parents were doing to her... to us, that she really started to enjoy it. Because she knew I was committed, I guess. But seeing that flat chested kid riding my thick, adult cock, I just... y’know, wished it was someone my age instead. But of course everyone my age was already married, or just didn’t like me. Or thought I was a fucking pedophile.
I think I would’ve been okay with it, if I was her age, if we could come of age together. Even then though, I had to be the guy fucking her, and potentially impregnating her at a young age. If things could be different... that wouldn’t have to be my fate, young or old.
I came inside Susie, I mean. It would’ve been impossible not to. We were pretty much desperate to get her pregnant by the end. Yes, “we.” She knew what was gonna happen to me once her parents realized I was teaching her to escape them and their extortion racket, and that fear made her outright hungry for my babies. I held that little girl in my lap, and told her how lucky I was to have my seed in her womb. That if something happened to me, she was already growing my baby inside her. That at least I got to have a... child. I told her I couldn’t believe she was willing to risk that, to get pregnant at such an early age, just so that part of me could live on. And her response was to pull down my pants, and use my penis to push aside her panties, so that she could swallow me inside that amazing passage between her legs.
It’s been ten years. Ten years on death row, most of it in solitary because the other prisoners wanted to rip me to pieces. And I still remember how good it felt to feel that deep, moist, hot passage around me, as I climaxed, hoping with every squirt that she’d grow fat with my child in there. I wanted to... cum inside her, and I wanted to make her give birth, because it sounded so amazing. I was so envious that she could just... do that, experience that horrible and amazing experience. I wanted to at least give that to someone else before I died, even if I could never get pregnant, myself.
Is this why I’ve been transported here? Am I in some kind of pedophile heaven? It doesn’t seem like it could possibly be anything else, but... if I’m in heaven, then why am I breathing, and what do I have to do to find whoever God is? I still have to punch his lights out, and I won’t let being a little girl pony stop me.
Or, maybe I’m in hell, and soon as I go outside I’ll get gang raped by stallions with big penises for all eternity. The old “See how you like it!” petty vengeance sort of thing. I can’t stop the smile from growing on my face, because whatever god decided to condemn me to that fate didn’t realize when I was fucking that little girl, how much I wanted to be her, instead of a 32 year old male.
“Dinky?” Derpy asks in a worried tone, trotting up to my door.
“Yeah?” I reply, and suddenly I’m not myself anymore. My clear, sweet girl’s voice rings out, and I don’t have to be a dead man, I don’t have to be a male, I don’t have to be a pedophile, hated by the entire world. All my terrible history full of sorrow just evaporates at the sound of my voice, not because I’m magically forgetting it or anything, but just because I don’t sound like me. I don’t have to be me anymore. I can be Dinky! Cute little Dinky, whoever she is. I can be... whoever I want to be.
“Breakfast is ready,” she chirps, “Hurry up you don’t wanna be late for school.”
Oh. Uh oh.
“Okay m-momma,” I say giving her a cautious look. Derpy looks surprised at that, but smiles and says,
“Don’t take too long, muffin. Your toast is getting cold.”
Breakfast is... wonderful and terrible. I don’t even question where Ponyville gets orange juice. It tastes wonderful with their hearty toast. But I have to watch Derpy to see how to bite a glass to drink out of it, and I still spill juice everywhere trying to do so. She helps me get my bags ready, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I walk part of the way, but Derpy ends up having to carry me on her back, as I can’t seem to figure out how to trot just naturally.
I have to say nothing is as mundane and wonderful as riding another pony. The continuous contact, the living body moving beneath you, the uncertain touch of friendship that grows in confidence every day we live tegether. And... then I have to go to school. I toddle into the classroom on my short little lavender legs, and immediately my cover is blown. I have no idea where I’m supposed to sit.
The desks don’t have name tags, but they do have drawers, with various ponies’ stuff in it. Some students are sitting, but a lot of desks are still unoccupied. So I just... I mean I died admitting that I fucked a 12 year old girl without regrets, so dishonesty is kind of not something I’m all that good at. So I just give up and go to the teacher. I wanted to talk to her anyway. It’s been so many years since I heard her wonderful voice on TV.
“M-miss Cheerilee?” I ask hopefully, as the plum pony ceases writing what look like spelling lessons on the chalkboard. She puts down the chalk in her mouth and turns to me with a smile, making it all worth it when she says,
“Hello Dinky! What can I help you with?”
Heaven. This can’t be anything but heaven. “I m...” I try to say, my eyes tearing up as it hits me that this might just be real. She might be real. “I missed you,” I tell her, trying not to break down right there.
“Oh honey, what happened?” Cheerilee says, sitting on her belly near my trembling form, and the whole class can see. I’m probably humiliating myself.
“I had a really, really bad dream,” I tell her, “A-and you were gone forever.”
“R-really? I mean... a bad dream?” she says uncomfortably. I have got to get ahold of myself.
“It was a really, *really* bad dream,” I tell her, and wiping at my eyes with a foreleg is easy enough. It’s convenient to be covered in fur sometimes. And oddly enough a laugh threatend to bubble up in my chest as I admit, “And it made me forget where my seat is.”
“Dreams can’t make you forget where your seat is, Dinky,” Cheerilee says testily, “Do you want to talk about this later?”
“Yeah but... I really don’t know where my seat is,” I reply, “J-just can you tell me which desk is mine?”
“Are you okay, Dinky?” she asks with concern.
“...no, I’m not,” I tell her, sparing a glance at the other students who may be looking at us curiously, “But we can talk about this later.”
“Okay then, you usually sit on the left in the back, over by the window,” Cheerilee says warily.
“Thanks, Miss... ehe Miss Cheerilee,” I say giddily. I don’t know if it would be appropriate to hug her, so I just turn on my hooves and waddle on over there. I curiously poke around in the drawer of the desk, and what I find is... interesting, if disturbing. Not disturbing because of what I find, but disturbing because this is some wonderful stuff from a life that I can’t even remember anymore.
I find an eraser and a pencil, both separate from each other. A few textbooks of basic math and reading. And there’s a notebook full of writing in there that I never wrote. I manage to wiggle out the notebook with a hoof, then curl over to pick it up from where it fell down to my seat. I hope some of this stuff will be familiar somehow.
Cheerilee takes the lesson and my odd behavior in stride, going right into “Okay class, today we’re going to be studying how to spell...”
Luckily ponies use Ponish just like in my old life, so the spelling is actually pretty easy. All the letters and symbols I know already. Mostly it’s just... sitting there dazedly, in that idyllic situation, where the classroom activity is the only sound other than birds chirping outside.
I look through the notebook, workbook really. Mostly it’s... crude attempts to do long addition, and some notes on grammar like “i befor e except afr c” but nothing that rings any bells, and certainly nothing personal. There is one note in the margin saying “Diamond Tiara is mean to Aurora again I hate her very much,” but it’s all scribbled out, so I’m not sure what that means. Taking a look at the situation it does look like Diamond Tiara’s in this class with me. Fortunately she’s in front of me, rather than behind. Considering I’m as far back as desks will go, it makes sense, but it’s nice not to be on her radar, at least in class. She was always too strong for me.
Later, Dinky has to fall in love with her own cute round butt in the mirror, posing for it, imagining getting fucked.
Tootsiepop