>This can't be death, can it?
>You cup your junk, slapping your balls a bit.
>Your equipment would be gone in Heaven or Hell, for purity and torture reasons, respectively.
>Right?
>You aren't in constant pain.
>Right foot stamps down.  Okay, that's not true.
>The pain was still there, anchoring you.
>No, you were very much alive.
>You feel like shit.  This was the one thing that you really wanted, and it had slipped away.
>Fuck this gay...
>Wait.
>You open up the door again and look at where you came.
>It’s a damn mess; it looks like your bathroom was ripped right out of your house.
>The aluminum siding still sticks on near the window and you can see pipes and wiring cut off cleanly all over the place.
>You're dumbfounded.  How the fuck is that possible?
>Short answer: It isn't.  Long answer: you don't really give a fuck either way.
>You're in the middle of a damn field.
>At least you had kept your shoes on after getting home.  You weren't a time waster.
>Hobbling, you leave the bathroom behind, there's nothing there anyway.
 
 
>In fact, there's nothing here at all.  It’s just a field.  You don't recognize the flowers, and you know just about everything there is to know about flowers.
>The shape and colour aren't anything you've seen before.
>You pick one, and examine it absentmindedly before you stumble across a pathway.
>Left or right?
>You remember a game you played as a kid, and pick off the petals of the flower.
>Not "she loves me", "she loves me not", just "left", "right", will do.
>Pluck.
"Left it is, then."
>You limp one foot in front of the other, whisking your cane along with you to stabilize your right side.  Your bad leg stung, but it was a nice day.  
>That lessens the pain a bit.
>You hear something off in the distance.
>You stop.
>Sounds like chattering.
>No, chatting.
>You crane your neck, trying to listen.
>You suspect whatever it is must be around the bend up ahead.
>"And then my tail went twitchy-twitch!  And shuddering!  You remember the shuddering, right?  It was a doozy!  And the twitchiness!  A doozy must have fallen!  A biiiiiiig doozy!"
>Your eyes widened.  You heard a sigh, the voice kept squeaking at a thousand miles a minute, something about twitching and shuddering and doozies.
>You obviously can't run away, so instead you just lean on your cane and wait.  You were nothing if not a tough, grizzled bastard.  Fuck running away.
>Then they turned the corner up ahead.
>A half dozen horses round the bend, their heads comically large with huge eyes, bright coloured crayon skin, groomed manes of various Crayola colours, and a weird but unique tattoo splashes each one's flank.  
>You guess they're about half your height.
>You feel your eyes widen even more, they might fall out.
>There's a weird rustling inside your ironclad jimmies.
 
 
>You stand stunned into silence, the group ahead similarly stunned.
>The pink one reacts first, jumping straight into the air with impossible hang time, gasping theatrically.
>Without even landing it shoots across the 30 or so feet separating you with blinding speed, coming to a stop right in front of you.
>"Himyname'spinkiepieareyounewaroundherebecauseiknoweveryp0nyinp0nyvilleandi'veneverseenyouaroundbeforethatmeansyoumustbenewandifyou'renewthatmeansyoudon'thaveanyfrie-"
>You step the fuck back.
>This shit cannot be real.
>Talking pastel horses.
>Your mind wallows in despair realizing that your attempted suicide must have driven you into an abyss of madness.  There is truly no justice in the world.
>The pink horse scoots up to you again.
>"What's your name?" she asks, you can understand her this time.
>You shift the grip on your cane, pondering.
>You have no idea what you're looking at, how you can understand it, or even where you are.
>Fuck that gay earth.
>Madness is better than death.
>"Weeeeeeeeeeell?" she presses, her head tilted sideways.  A fluffy mane shoots every which way.
"Anonymous."
>"My name's Pinkie Pie!" she shouts, turning back to the others behind her.  "Seeeeee?!  I told you we'd find something!"  This is met with mixed reactions, from cautious warnings, to similar 'I told you so's', to disbelief.
"Just... what are you?"
>"You silly filly, I'm a p0ny!  Buuuuuut," she pauses, poking you with a hoof, "what are you?  You look silly!"
"I'm a--HHRRRRGN" she poked your bad leg next.
>You nearly shit yourself from the pain shocking your system.  Of course you dropped like a sack of pussy bricks.
>"Pinkie!  What did you do?!" another voice cries out.  Your vision swims as you dismiss the pain as best you can.  There's a bit of an argument, you can't make it out over the scream in your ears.
>Pain, the one constant in your life.  You'd gotten good at getting rid of it.  After a few moments, you've recovered enough strength to sit up.  You wipe the exceptionally manly and not pussy at all tear from your eye.
>You come face to face with another horse, a soft yellow this time.  Pink hair encapsulates her face.  You realize all these horses look female.
>This one has wings.
>Winged horses?  Pegasus?  Really?
>She lets out an 'eep' and retreats from your stubbled face, still twisted slightly in pain.
>"Uh-um, are you okay, m-mister Anonym--"
"Anon, please."
>"Uh-oh-okay, mister Anon.  Are you hurt?"
>She's meeker than... than... you can't even think of a good metaphor.
>You look down at your leg, massaging it with your hand.
"Yep."
>A group of dark stares descend on Pinkie Pie.  Her previous energy and positive attitude deflates, her chaotic mane literally dropping to each side of her head like a popped balloon.
"Not her fault, though."
>The group once again looks to you; you're roughly eye level with them now.  They're a lot more expressive than other animals you're used to.  They're clearly confused.
"She obviously didn't know I was already hurt," you explain to them. "To answer your question: I'm human."
>They seem to toy with the word in their respective heads.  Each one comes up empty.
>"I ain't heard of no hyoo-man before," the orange one says.  You note the stetson and comic southern accent.
>"Neither have I," the purple one adds, scratching her chin with a hoof thoughtfully.  This one has a horn jutting from her head.
>How do hooves scratch?
>Fucking unicorns?
>Not the time.
>"My, my, ladies! You forget your manners! Dear Anon here has introduced himself and you don't even give him your name!" a white hors--p0ny... says as she shoulders past the others.  Another unicorn.
>She bows down slightly.  "I am Rarity," she tells you.  A certain air of... sophistication, elegance, and grace seems to follow her.  You smell something like a perfume emanating from her.
>"This is Applejack," she says, pointing to the orange p0ny.
>"Twilight Sparkle," purple.
>"Rainbow Dash," cyan, also a fitting rainbow mane.  Also wings.  This one reeks of overconfidence.
>"Fluttershy," yellow, she avoids your gaze like you're Medusa or something.
>"And you've met Pinkie Pie," who jumps up and bounces around the group.
>You suddenly feel light headed.
>Oh yeah, fucking cancer.
"A pleasure to meet you all, but..." you trail off.  Civility was something you figured you'd cling to even if you were dying. "I'm lost, and frankly, I don't know how I got here.  I don't even know where 'here' is."
 
>You walk with the group to your shithouse TARDIS; it’s still a sore thumb mess.  They explain they're from P0nyville, and that you're in Equestria.
>Wherever the fuck those places are.  The names also tug on your sanity.
>Twilight Sparkle examined the room for a while, but found only shampoo bottles, stray hair, and empty pill bottles.
>A weird aura surrounds her unicorn horn as she concentrates on the broken down room.
>"I don't know what happened," she admits, dejected.  "I haven't seen something like this before."
>She's holding one of your pill bottles.
>"I do have one question, what are these for?" she looks at you with an accusing face.
>You look downwards, and your eyes focus on your leg.
"I'm very sick," you say.  The others step back.  "Don't worry, it’s not contagious."
>It wasn't exactly a lie, but admitting you're a drug addict seemed like a bad idea.
>You notice a thousand questions flood Twilight Sparkle's mind.
"Twilight Sparkle, not here."
>"Twilight, please."
>You nod slowly; they could obviously detect something very wrong with you.
>You feel light headed.
>Your balance begins to slip; your hand holds your cane in a vicegrip.
>Your eyes widen.
>Not here, please.
>Your vision blurs, concerned phantom voices call out to you.
>The ground is in your face.
 
>You're dimly aware of weightlessness, strange sounds all around you, bright colours, it’s all a haze.  You must still be stoned off your ass.  Or insane.  Or in the depraved depths of Hell.
>You come to in a library with immaculate wood flooring, paneling, ceiling, shelves... everything is wood, even the stool you're sitting on.
>A purple ass is bent over right next to you.
>You cough.
"Charming."
>Twilight whips around, redness over her face.
>Always the charmer, Anon.
>"Oh, you're awake," she says awkwardly.
>You sit with your eyes half open in silence for a few moments.
>And a few moments.
>A few seconds.
>A book hovers up from behind Twilight, engulfed in the same weird aura as before.
>Magic?
>You're definitely stoned off your ass.
>"Um... while you were asleep, I took the time to examine you," she explains.
>You'd had a thousand examinations before; the invasion of privacy just didn't matter anymore.  You sit silently.
>"I think I've found out what's wrong with you."
>You are completely deadpan.
"I could have told you that."
>She hesitates.
"First, the bullet above my knee," you point for emphasis.  "Next, the cancer in the surrounding bone," she nods, making a note of what you called it.  "And finally," you add.  "My cane is missing."  You bite the last part out.
>Never separate a cripple from his cane.  It pisses him the fuck off.
>"Oh, just a minute," she says.  Your cane appears from behind you and you grab it briskly.
>You sigh, moving your hands over the cool, black surface.
"Thank you."
>She smiles, then looks at her notes.  "So this 'cancer'... how do you cure it?" she asks.  "Does it get better?"
>You sigh.  Heavily.
>"I'll... take that as a no."
"There's no cure, Twilight, and it'll kill me," you tell her.  It’s a reality you've faced more than once.  "My favourite doctor said I had six months left, two years ago."
>She recoils in shock, but looks at her notes again.  She concentrates, thinking hard.
>"Spike, take a letter," she says.  A lizard thing pops into your field of vision holding a quill and parchment.
>You half recognize Spike as a dragon.
>What the actual fuck.
>"Dear Princess Celestia..."
>She tells this princess about how she and her friends had found you, that you're human, that you're sick, and that she wants to try and make you better.
>You grimace.
>Spike breathes fire, toasting the letter into a puff of sparkling smoke, which shoots out the nearby window.
>This fucking place.  It’s like naivety and batshit crazy made into an entire plane of existence.  Your jaded interior feels sick.
"It won't work."
>She stops.  "Why?"
"I've tried everything... there is no cure, Twilight."
>She looks into your cold, jaded eyes and says matter of factly: "You haven't tried magic."