>The first clue that something was wrong was the uncomfortable pain in your back, as if someone had replaced your mattress with concrete.
>Looks like you got wasted last night… it wouldn’t be the first time you decided to rough it outdoors. The wonders of alcohol…
>You idly trail a hand along the ground, your eyes still shut tightly. You’d just find a good grip, and haul yourself up…
>Your eyes shoot open as your hand hangs in the air beneath you.
>Hesitantly, you take in your surroundings, panic clearing the exhaustion from your system.
>Above you towered a canopy of leaves, strangling the sunlight that battled to break through. A matrix of branches, twisting and intertwined, supported this vast blanket of foliage.
>With the reluctance of a cat being dragged into water, your gaze drops downwards, and your stomach somersaults in your chest.
“Oh fuck!” you finally splutter, clasping the nearby branches in terror.
>You had somehow managed to get yourself perched up a tree, easily 50ft off the ground.
“What in the goddamn…” you mutter to no-one in particular, your mind struggling to comprehend the situation.
>Was this a dream? This had to be a dream, you know for a fact that you being up this tree was a physical impossibility. For a start, you were loathing of heights, and even when drunk you’d refuse to come up this high. And that’d beg the question of how a drunken man climbed 50ft up a tree…
>Your train of thought is cut off as the branch, which had valiantly been keeping you supported, gives way underneath you.
>All logical thought processes give way for reflexes as you flail out, desperately grasping a perilously think branch.
“Ok, j-just a little slip… no need to panic…” you whisper breathlessly, failing to keep your instinctual fear under control.
>Ok Anonymous, time to get your shit together.
>You steel yourself, before looking back down at the deceptively far ground below you.
“Ok, there’s a whole bunch of branches all the way down… If I just stay calm, and don’t panic, I can make my way down…”
>You gulp, before tentatively stretching a free-hanging foot down to the branch below. You tense in anticipation of failure, but to your relief the branch holds your weight.
>Reaching an arm down, you prepare for grasping the branch with both hands…
>Your lurch is cut short as your shirt catches on the branch behind you, dragging your backwards.
>Your composure shattered, you flail about, suspended in the air by the scruff your neck.
>Cursing your feet as they hanging uselessly behind you, you try to think up an alternative plan.
>The heavy weigh in your trouser pocket suddenly inspires hope in you once more.
“Of course, I can just ring for help!”
>You cautiously fish your cell phone out of your pocket, cursing it during the agonizingly slow start up time.
>A single cry of frustration is let loose into the air, as the phone screen mocks you with its message.
“No signal… of course! Why wouldn’t there be any damn signal! It’s not like my life depended on it or anything!”
>Your tirade is met with silence, save for the gentle rustling of the treetops in the wind.
>With nothing better to do than hang by the scruff of your neck, you begin to think over your situation.
>You wouldn’t be able to get your way out of this one easily. You might be able to slip out of the shirt but it’d make you fall straight downwards… could you grab a branch on the way down?
>If you messed it up, you wouldn’t be walking away. And if you’re in a place with no phone reception and no recollection of how you ended up there, then the chance of a friendly rescue is low, if not nothing.
>Resigning yourself to your fate, you unbutton your shirt, preparing yourself for the drop.
>As you free one arm, the shirt suddenly tears with a sickening rip, dropping you down into the branches below.
>The last thought that passes through your conscious is one of disappointment: everything seemed to have turned against you at the critical moment…
 
>Pain.
>Coursing through your mind like a raging stampede, the pain anchors you to the world of the awake, dragging you from the depths of your blackout.
>Groggily, you raise your head from the dirt, dazedly spitting out earth and soil.
>You clutch the ground with both your hands, confirming that you still had control over them.
“Good… maybe this isn’t so bad after all…”
>Your weak hope is promptly crushed as you attempt to move your legs.
>The silence of the forest is shattered by your agonized screams, as you attempt to budge your equally shattered legs.
“Ok, j-just some minor breakages… oh who am I kidding, I’m so fucked!” you wail, teeth gritted against the torturous feeling.
>You close your eyes to the world, sniffling in self-pity.
>Why you, of all people? What did you do to deserve this…?
>You could find no answer on the hard, unforgiving floor of the forest.
>The minutes drag on and on, compounding your pain and frustration.
>Eventually, with a sigh of despair, you start to drag yourself along the forest trail, hoping that you were making your way out of the forest and not further into it.
>You briefly consider what creatures lurk the woods, before promptly shoving that thought from your conscious. You had enough to worry about already…
>Right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand… the agony and disorientation blur into a sense-dulling repetition, as exhaustion seeps into your muscles.
>After an eternity of agony and crawling, you finally pause, your arms burning with the physical exertion.
>Your eyes gently close, as you prepare to pass out. A little nap never hurt anyone…
>A noise in the distance causes you to weakly raise an eyelid, as blurry figures approach.
>It looks like 6 people all bright and colourful… Had your rescue party arrived?
“Hello?” you try to call out, but only a hiss escapes your cracked, dry lips.
>”Pinkie, are you sure you know where you’re going?” an impatient voice asks.
>”I’m absolutely certain, Twilight! We’re so very close!”
>Pinkie? Twilight?
>If you weren’t in crippling disarray, then you might have made a remark on the oddity of those names.
>The figures continue to get closer to you, and you limply raise an arm to signal your presence.
>Through your hazy vision, you see the six figures recoil in surprise.
>”What in Equestria is that?” the person who you presumed to be Twilight asks. “I’ve never seen anything like that before… Fluttershy?”
>”Neither have I, Twilight… I don’t think it’s legs are meant to bend that way though…” a kind voice replies.
>All your pain is replaced with frustration in that instant. Can’t they see you’re fucking crippled? What the hell are these women doing?”
>”Are we sure it’s safe?” a boyish voice inquires.
>”Pinkie wouldn’t have brought us out here if we were going to be in danger…” Twilight responds, her voice much closer.
>With the last remaining energy you could muster, you slowly open your mouth.
“Please… help me!” you cry, tears streaming down your bruised cheeks.
>”Oh my word, it can talk!” an upper class voice exclaims.
>”Who cares if it can talk? Didya not hear it? It’s clearly in agony!”
>”You’re right Applejack; we’ve got to get this thing to the hospital!” Twilight exclaims.
>The figures rush over to you and your jaw hangs open.
>Was this a near death hallucination, or were your unlikely saviours… ponies?
>Your brain finally decides to give up, and you pitch forward into the dirt.
>”Don’t worry big guy, you’re going to just fine!” a voice exclaims with a mixture of pity and excitement, and a pink haze fills your final gaze.
>You hang onto that comforting statement as your mind spirals into darkness.
>Everything’s going to be fine…