(Revision on top, first draft on bottom)
 
 You open your front door, and that’s when it hits you.
 
 No, literally. You opened your front door and just got hit by something. From what you can see in the split-second blur, it’s gray and blue. The flying object lets out a high-pitched yell as it collides with you. From what you can feel it’s soft, but that doesn’t lessen the force of the impact by much; anything can hurt a lot if it hits you hard enough. Just ask the crew of the Columbia.
 
 As you fall over backwards, your eyes are open just long enough to stare directly into two big, bright golden eyes. They look just as surprised as you feel. Time moves in slow motion, the two of you tumbling downwards in a tangle of human and pony limbs. The wind is knocked out of you as you hit the ground, landing on your back in the middle of the rug. The pony bounces off your chest, ensuring that your lungs have been completely deflated of air, and a hoof clips your nose as the pony inadvertently performs what you can only describe as a mid-air cartwheel-somersault.
 
 You smell blood and taste feathers.
 
 You assume your skull hits the ground at the same time her body does, because you only hear one *thump*. Either that, or she’s damaged you enough so that you can no longer hear anything save for the pounding of your own pulse in your skull.
 
After that incredible demonstration of Newton’s first and second law of motion, you try your best to regain your senses.. You writhe on the ground, gasping for air. Your lungs, for some inexplicable reason, simply won’t work, leaving you oxygen-deprived and panicking.
 
 “Oh, Celestia! Are you okay?” you hear someone ask from a few feet away.
 
 No, you’re not okay! You just got bowled over!
 
 The voice, while definitely belonging to a mare, has a funny kind of pitch to it, making it sound just a touch deeper than normal. Sort of tomboyish-sounding. She trots over to you, a nervous look on her face as she stands over you and watches your fruitless attempts to breathe. “Oh, my goodness! Oh no, not again! What do I do?”
 
 ‘Not again?!’ Does she mean to say that this has happened before?!
 
 At this point, your lungs have gone from completely collapsed to partially-inflated balloons. Relief washes over you as you begin to take in the sweet, sweet air, your lung capacity growing little by little with every breath.
 
 You feel a snout nudge its way underneath you from behind, trying to push you up into a sitting position. You place your hands on the ground beside you, and with the support of the gray mare, you work your way up until you’re sitting upright.
 
 “Just take small breaths, okay? It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.” The little gray mare hovers around you anxiously, circling you and looking you over again and again as you do what she says.
 
 Now that you have a better look, you can make out the features of this horse. She’s a blonde pegasus mare, her mane looking like it had been hastily brushed this morning. She wears a blue mailman—er, mailpony outfit, albeit missing the cap, and a half-empty saddlebag rests over her back. You’re guessing that the other half of its contents have either arrived at their destinations, or have been strewn across your living room carpet.
 
 Your nose feels clogged, and a warm liquid runs down your upper lip. You take your forefinger and dab it, revealing to you that you have a bloody nose. Upon seeing this, the pony gasps. “I—I am so sorry!” she cries. She looks around the room frantically, searching for something to give you to stop the bleeding. She sees her blue cap lying on the ground, and attempts to give it to you. “Here, use this for now. I can always wash it later.”
 
 You shake your head, refusing it. “No, there’s some toilet paper in the bathroom,” you say, by now being able to breathe normally. “I’ll just—”
 
 Before you can even get up, she’s already darted off into the hallway. You hear a loud thump and the windows shudder, but she returns rather quickly with a roll of toilet paper in her hoof.
 
 “H—Here,” she says, now sporting a nosebleed of her own. You hesitate a few seconds before taking the roll from her, now a bit concerned that she may be more banged up than you are. You tear off a few pieces of toilet paper and stick them in your nose, then hand it back to the mare.
 
 “Thanks,” she says, taking the roll and mimicking your actions. You notice a slight shakiness in her as she tries to use the toilet paper, which both interests and concerns you.
 
 It takes her a few tries to finally get ahold of the tissue and roll it up, and when she finally does, she ends up jabbing herself in the eye with it. That particular eye waters up, drawing attention to the one detail that you’ve failed to notice the entire time.
 
 Her eye is looking in the wrong direction.
 
 You blink a few times, making sure -you- are the one seeing correctly. Sure enough, her lazy eye—no, this exceeds a lazy eye, this is like it was put in backwards or something. You can’t remember where you were going with that train of thought, but by now you’re pretty convinced she hit the ground a lot harder than you did.
 
 To your astonishment, the mare simply frowns and begins rubbing that eye. She blinks a few times and it’s in its correct spot. Aside from the slight red tint it now has, it looks as if nothing had ever happened to it in the first place.
 
 It’s your turn to ask: “Are you okay?”
 
 Your voice comes out nasally and the makeshift tissues vibrate in your nostrils. It’s a little annoying, but you’re more concerned for the little gray mare.
 
 When she hears you, she shies away a little. “Y—Yeah, my nose has bled before. It’s no big deal.”
 
 What? “No, no, I mean—Your eye, something’s wrong with your eye!”
 
 As soon as you say that, it rolls out of place again. She sighs and looks at the floor. “I know. I was just going to leave, so if you don’t like looking at it I’ll make sure to hurry.”
 
 What the hell?! Confound these ponies! “No, that’s not what I meant! Did you hit your head or something?”
 
 You facepalm as you realize just how badly that could be misinterpreted. Her mouth hangs open in shock and tears well up in her eyes.
 
 “I—I’m not stupid!” she cries out. “J—Just because my eyes are like th—this doesn’t mean—” A gulp interrupts her sentence. “—you have to be m—mean!”
 
 “I’m not trying to be mean!” you argue, doing your best to keep an even tone. “I thought you were hurt! That’s why I’m asking.”
 
 She looks confused now. A few tears still brim her eyes, but she blinks most of them off. Confusion is better than crying, you suppose. “W—What?”
 
 You’re walking on eggshells here. It’s extremely hard to think of anything other than ‘I thought you hit your head’ or ‘EYE’.
 
 “I thought maybe you got injured in the crash. Your um…” Do you say it? “...your eye is… your eye’s kind of looking the wrong way.”
 
 She hiccups, staring at you intently. Then, a smile begins to spread over her face. It starts small, but soon stretches the expanse of her cheeks. Soon enough, she’s giggling, the hoof over her mouth doing little to muffle the sound.
 
 You’re not sure whether to be nervous, mad, or just laugh along with her at your own expense. Through her chortles she asks, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
 
 You feel a little offended by this, mostly because it’s true. A—And because she’s acting like that’s a bad thing. “Yeah, I just moved into this house a few days ago.”
 
 And if the hairless, skinny bipedal doesn’t ring a bell, she should feel safe to assume that you’re new.
 
 She continues to giggle but nods, confirming she’s heard what you said. “Oh, okay, that makes sense. And to answer your question, no, this wasn’t caused by the crash.” She points to her eye, which looks to be slowly straightening itself out. “I get into crashes a lot -because- of this. My eye’s been this way as long as I can remember. Probably since I was born.”
 
 Now that you think about it, she seemed aware of the fact that her eye was skewed, just not too bothered by it. Well, besides the fact that it caused her to run into a wall, jab herself in the eye, and is probably the reason she crashed into you in the first place.
 
 At least you and not the door. You shudder to think about what would have happened had it been the door.
 
 By now she’s settled down a bit from her laughing. She looks at you, eye corrected this time, and smiles. She doesn’t seem to be thinking too hard on it.
 
 You begin to slowly rise to your feet, your bones groaning from having to work right after the mistreatment they received. With a well-done backcrack, you address the little gray mare. “Well, Miss—uh…”
 
 “Ditzy,” she says, seeming not to notice the irony behind her own name. “Ditzy Doo.” Again with that bright smile. She extends her hoof and holds it out to you expectantly.
 
 “Oh. Uh, I’m Anonymous,” you say, taking her hoof. “Pleased to meet you.”
 
 She shakes your hand, but you can tell from the way she very slightly tilts her head that something’s bothering her. Nevertheless, she remains outwardly cheerful. “Anonymous. Pleased to meet you too, Anonymous.”
 
 “Yeah. So, um…” You look around at the mess in the living room. Hundreds of envelopes litter the area, making somewhat of a trail out the front door. “I need to get to work soon. Can we start…?”
 
 “Oh!” Ditzy starts piling heaps of letters together and throws them into her bag, no doubt smudging a few with nosebleed. “You go on ahead and wash yourself up! I’ll be out of here really fast.”
 
 You watch the mare for a moment, then shrug. You were going to offer to help her recollect her things, but she seems to want to take care of this on her own. Anyway, you really need to get to work soon. You leave her alone in the living room to go clean yourself up in the bathroom.
 
 By the time you return she’s gone, the door shut and the place looking as if she never crash-landed through your front entrance. She even left the toilet paper on the counter.
 
 Huh.
 
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
(First draft)
 
 You open your front door, and that’s when it hits you.
 
 No, literally. You opened your front door and just got hit by something. From what you can see in the split-second blur, it’s gray and blue. From what you can hear, a high-pitched yelling is emitted from the flying object. From what you can feel it’s soft, but that doesn’t lessen the force of the impact by much; anything soft can hurt a lot if it hits you hard enough. Just ask the crew of the Columbia.
 
 As you fall over backwards, your eyes are open just long enough to stare directly into two bright, big golden eyes. They look just as surprised as you feel, time moving in slow motion as the two of you tumble downwards in a heap of human and pony. The wind is knocked out of you as you hit the ground, landing on your back in the middle of the rug. The pony bounces off your chest to ensure that your lungs have been completely deflated of air, and a hoof clips your nose as she inadvertently performs what you can only describe as a mid-air cartwheel-somersault.
 
 You smell blood and you taste feathers.
 
 You assume your skull hits the ground at the same time her body does, because you only hear one *thump*. Either that, or she’s damaged you enough so that you can no longer hear anything save for the pounding of your own pulse in your skull.
 
 A body at rest stays at rest. Your body sure isn’t going anywhere. You writhe on the ground, gasping for air. Your lungs, for some inexplicable reason, simply won’t work, leaving you oxygen-deprived and panicking.
 
 “Oh, Celestia! Are you okay?” you hear someone ask from a few feet away.
 
 No, I’m not okay! You just bowled me over!
 
 The voice, while definitely belonging to a mare, has a funny kind of pitch to it, making it sound just a touch deeper than normal. Sort of tomboyish-sounding. She trots over to you, a nervous look on her face as she stands over you and watches your fruitless attempts to breathe. “Oh, my goodness! Oh no, not again! What do I do?”
 
 ‘Not again?!’ Does she mean to say that this has happened before?!
 
 At this point, your lungs have gone from completely collapsed to partially-inflated balloons. Relief washes over you as you begin to take in the sweet, sweet air, your lung capacity growing little by little with every breath.
 
 You feel a snout nudge its way underneath you from behind, trying to push you up into a sitting position. You place your hands on the ground beside you, and with the support of the gray mare work your way up until you’re sitting upright.
 
 “Just take small breaths, okay? It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.” The little gray mare hovers around you anxiously, circling you and looking you over again and again as you do what she says.
 
 Now that you have a better look, you can make out the features of this horse. She’s a blonde pegasus mare, her mane looking like it had been hastily brushed this morning. She wears a blue mailman—er, mailpony outfit, albeit missing the cap, and a half-empty saddlebag rests over her back. You’re guessing that the other half of its contents have either arrived at their destinations, or have been strewn across your livingroom carpet.
 
 Your nose feels clogged, and a warm liquid runs down your upper lip. You take your forefinger and dab it, revealing to you that you have a bloody nose. Upon seeing this, the pony gasps. “I—I am so sorry!” she cries. She looks around the room frantically, searching for something to give you to stop the bleeding. She sees her blue cap lying on the ground, and attempts to give it to you. “Here, use this for now. I can always wash it later.”
 
 You shake your head, refusing it. “No, there’s some toilet paper in the bathroom,” you say, by now being able to breathe normally. “I’ll just—”
 
 Before you can even get up, she’s already darted off into the hallway. You hear a loud -thump- and the windows shudder, but she returns rather quickly with a roll of toilet paper in her hoof.
 
 “H—Here,” she says, now sporting a nosebleed of her own. You hesitate a few seconds before taking the roll from her, now a bit concerned that she may be more banged up than you are. You tear off a few pieces of toilet paper and stick them in your nose, then hand it back to the mare.
 
 “Thanks,” she says, taking the roll and mimicking your actions. You notice a slight unsteadiness in her when she tries to use the toilet paper that both interests and concerns you; she keeps missing.
 
 It takes her a few tries to finally get ahold of the tissue and roll it up, and when she finally does, she ends up jabbing herself in the eye with it. That particular eye waters up, drawing attention to the one detail about it that you’ve failed to notice the entire time.
 
 It’s pointing the wrong way.
 
 You blink a few times, making sure -you- are seeing correctly. Sure enough, her lazy eye—no, this exceeds a lazy eye, this is like it was put in backwards or something. You can’t remember where you were going with that train of thought, but by now you’re pretty convinced she hit the ground a lot harder than you did.
 
 To your astonishment, the mare simply frowns and begins rubbing that eye. She blinks a few times and it’s in its correct spot. Aside from the slight red tint it now has, it looks as if nothing had ever happened to it in the first place.
 
 It’s your turn to ask: “Are you okay?”
 
 Your voice comes out a little nasally and the makeshift tissues vibrate in your nostrils. It’s a little annoying, but you’re concerned for the little gray mare.
 
 When she hears you, she shies away a little. “Y—Yeah, my nose has bled before. It’s no big deal.”
 
 What? “No, no, I mean—Your eye, something’s wrong with your eye!”
 
 As soon as you say that, it rolls out of place again. She sighs and looks at the floor. “I know. I was just going to leave, so if you don’t like looking at it I’ll make sure to hurry.”
 
 What the hell?! Confound these ponies! “No, that’s not what I meant! Did you hit your head or something?”
 
 You facepalm as you realize just how badly that could be misinterpreted. Her mouth hangs open in shock and tears well up in her eyes.
 
 “I—I’m not stupid!” she cries out. “J—Just because my eyes are like th—this doesn’t mean—” A gulp interrupts her sentence. “—you have to be m—mean!”
 
 “I’m not trying to be mean!” you argue, doing your best to keep an even tone. “I thought you were hurt! That’s why I’m asking.”
 
 She looks confused now. A few tears still brim her eyes, but she blinks most of them off. Confusion is better than crying, you suppose. “W—What?”
 
 You’re walking on eggshells here. It’s extremely hard to think of anything other than ‘I thought you hit your head’ or ‘EYE’.
 
 “I thought maybe you got injured in the crash. Your um…” Do you say it? “...your eye is… your eye’s pointing the wrong way.”
 
 She hiccups, staring at you intently. Then, a smile begins to spread over her face. It starts small, but soon stretches the expanse of her cheeks. Soon enough, she’s giggling, the hoof over her mouth doing little to muffle the sound.
 
 You’re not sure whether to be nervous, mad, or just laugh along with her at your own expense. Through her chortles she asks, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
 
 You feel a little offended by this, mostly because it’s true. A—And because she’s acting like that’s a bad thing. “Yeah, I just moved into this house a few days ago.”
 
 And if the hairless, skinny bipedal doesn’t ring a bell, she should feel safe to assume that you’re new.
 
 She continues to giggle but nods, confirming she’s heard what you said. “Oh, okay, that makes sense. And to answer your question, no, this wasn’t caused by the crash.” She points to her eye, which looks to be slowly straightening itself out. “I get into crashes a lot -because- of this. My eye’s been this way as long as I can remember. Probably since I was born.”
 
 Now that you think about it, she seemed aware of the fact that her eye was skewed, just not too bothered by it. Well, besides the fact that it caused her to run into a wall, jab herself in the eye, and is probably the reason she crashed into you in the first place.
 
 At least you and not the door. You shudder to think about what would have happened had it been the door.
 
 By now she’s settled down a bit from her laughing. She looks at you, eye corrected this time, and smiles. She doesn’t seem to be thinking too hard on it.
 
 You begin to slowly rise to your feet, your bones groaning from having to work right after the mistreatment they received. With a well-done backcrack, you address the little gray mare. “Well, Miss—uh…”
 
 “Ditzy,” she says, seeming not to notice the irony behind her own name. “Ditzy Doo.” Again with that bright smile. She extends her hoof and holds it out to you expectantly.
 
 “Oh. Uh, I’m Anonymous,” you say, taking her hoof. “Pleased to meet you.”
 
 She shakes your hand, but you can tell from the way she very slightly tilts her head that something’s bothering her. Nevertheless, she remains outwardly cheerful. “Anonymous. Pleased to meet you too, Anonymous.”
 
 “Yeah. So, um…” You look around at the mess in the living room. Hundreds of envelopes litter the area, making somewhat of a trail out the front door. “I need to get to work soon. Can we start…?”
 
 “Oh!” Ditzy starts piling heaps of letters together and throws them into her bag, no doubt smudging a few with nosebleed. “You go on ahead and wash yourself up! I’ll be out of here really fast.”
 
 You watch the mare for a moment, then shrug. You were going to offer to help her recollect her things, but she seems to want to take care of this on her own. Anyway, you really need to get to work soon. You leave her alone in the living room to go clean yourself up in the bathroom.
 
 By the time you return she’s gone, the door shut and the place looking as if she never crash-landed through your front entrance. She even left the toilet paper on the counter.
 
 Huh.