Grey Skies: Saturday

>Day Monday on Earth's very own United States.

>You are Anonymous, the piano player.

>You live someplace in California.

>Your dream of being a famous piano player has failed time after time.

>But you know better than to give up on the only dream that you ever had.

>Time hasn't been kind to you, either, in ways that conflict with your sanity.

>It seems that you are in the dumps (mentally).

>Your days are grey and the sun is never to be seen, even on what are suppose to be bright summer days.


>Today you wake up to the sound of gunshots and police sirens.

>5:35AM.

>On time as always.

"Good morning world," you whisper under your breath.

>You slowly get out of bed, knowing that the tile floors beneath are going to freeze the hell out of your feet.

>After regaining some form of warmth, you continue the day with your typical morning routine.

>Use the restroom and do your mornin' bitniss, burn under the hot waters of what you call a shower, then finish it off with your daily dose of Colgate toothpaste.

>You head to the kitchen to find what can satisfy your hunger, knowing that there is usually never anything to eat other than the ice in the fridge or some mysterious looking fungi.

>When did you buy this?

>You find a glass container which contained coffee and you think for a moment.

>Shrugging all uncertainties away, you twist the blue lid that held the very essence of what you were about to brew with all the strength you had.

>POP!

>You were a tad shaken up from how loud the popping noise was.

>Was that really called for? Fucking glass.

>You take notice that the coffee had a strange texture to it.

>You thought it was an exotic sorta bean so you shrugged it off and continued the ritual of coffee makin'.

>Water, check.

>Kettle, check.

>Matches, ch-wait.

>Where the fuck are the matches?!

>And like an idiot you check your empty pockets in hopes of finding what you seek.

>You look around the whole kitchen and open every single cabinet you have and to your luck you find one.

>How the hell are you suppose to light this thing?

>You look around the apartment and find a small piece of sandpaper.

>You turn to the knobs on the stove.

>Hearing a clicking sound you ignite the match.

>A blue flame whips out of the small stick you were holding and flared wildly, nearly burning your face.

>You almost immediately drop the flame and fall backwards.

>You unknowingly knock over the glass of exotic coffee beans and it falls to the floor, as does the blue flame.

>You pass out from hitting your head on something.

>Before the darkness from your eyes cloaked your vision you take notice that the blue flame is now... green?


>You wake up to Cab Calloway's "The Jumpin' Jive".

"Ugh...I don't remember turning on my record player," you mumble.

>You slowly open your eyes and see it is nighttime and that you are laying on the living room couch.

>How the hell? How long were you out?

>"Oh, so you've finally woken up?"

>Female voice? Duh Faq? Oh shit! Did she break in? No that's dumb... OH FUCK! THERE WAS A DAMN FIRE!

>You spring out of bed as though your life depended on it.

>Having the thought that your only place to live was now burnt to ashes.

>Looking left and right, you see that you’re still in your cruddy apartment.

>You sigh in relief and curse to yourself under your breath.

>Having a stupid look on your face, you again hear the woman’s voice.

>"Excuse me, sir, but might I ask if you are quite all right?

>Are you hearing things?

"Oh god! I'm hearing things! I must be mad!"

>You hear her clear her throat.

>"Down here."

>You hesitate and slowly look down.

>Please don't be the cat lady from down the street.

>PLEASE DON'T BE THE CAT LADY FROM DOWN THE STREET!

>To your surprise, you see that it is a talking beanie babie Pony plush.

>You don't remember buying one of those.

>You chuckle to yourself and make a brief observation of this strange looking plushy.

>It is a roughly three foot tall greyish pony with a black mane and a little cute pink bowtie .

>It moves on its own and looks at you with a curious look.

>Oh shit, that thing moved on its own!

>Okay wait. This must be a robot of some sort.

>As if getting out of some trance, she speaks.

>"Oh my, where are my manners? My name is Octavia,” she says as she slowly bows down.

>This must be an interactive robot. YUP. Let's see how far this toy can go.

"Hello. My name is Anonymous,” you says as you go on one knee and put look down to her hooves. "A pleasure to meet you, Octavia."

>Slowly looking up, you can see a tint of red on her face.

>This toy is good. You wonder who left it here? You bet it was that fuckin' cat lady...

>You pick up the pony and you feel a strange jolt through your head.

>Fur.

>Pulse.

>Breath.

>This has to be one of two things: either it's a really well-manufactured talking pony or this is a talking pony.

>You quickly put the pony on the floor.

>She only looks at you with calm eyes and a small soft smile on her face.

>You wonder if she can answer questions. Heck, only one way to find out.

"Are you a real pony or are you a toy?"

>She huffs and gives off this vibe that makes you feel a bit awkward.

>That kinda awkward feeling you get from talking to a woman.

>You know?

>That one that makes you feel like you just said the dumbest fucking question.

>Yeah, that one.

>"Why, I am a real talking mare if that's what you're asking, Anonymous," she says with a smooth slur of her tongue.

>That sound.

>Oh fuck.

"H-How the heck are you able to talk?!"

>"I can ask the same of you".

>She has you there.

"Well, how the heck did you end up in my apartment?"

>"I'm not all too sure, really. I was just taking my morning stroll around the Canterlot Gardens and then all of a sudden I ended up in this strange place."

>What the fuck is Canterlot?

>What the fuck is going on.

>Why the fuck is this happening to you?

>Goddamn your head hurts!

>Running your fingers through your hair you feel a sudden pain.

"AGH FUCK!"

>You remember that you hit your head.

>You bet you’re just imagining all of this.

>Maybe she'll go away if you go to sleep or something.

"Well Octavia, I'm sure you're a nice pony that won't eat me in my sleep. So, would you care to join me in my private quarters and sleep the night away?"

>She pauses for a moment.

>"Well I'm not so keen on the idea since, well, I have no idea where I am nor do I know what you are. But I do feel drained from these peculiar events that have just occurred. And you seem like a gentleman that knows right from wrong... I suppose I shall indulge you and accept your offer, Mr. Anonymous".

>Maybe you should just have fun with this moment and take it a bit further.

"Would you like me to carry you to my quarters? Since you seem all so tired."

>"Well I am a bit weary of standing..." Her eyes are slowly gazing into nothing as she softly says, "I suppose you may do so..." *yawns* "since you do know the way".

"So, is that a yes?"

>She nods her head.

>That was cute.

>You slowly pick up the grey mare into your arms and whisper into her ear.

"Sleep well, my dear".

>Heh, you guess you’re taking a pony to bed.

>You'll laugh about this in the morning.

>You enter your room and again the tiles sent their painful kisses to your feet.

>Goddamn it all!

>You should really buy carpet or something.

>Or maybe you should buy some slippers.

>You place the pony under the covers, then change into your sleeping shorts and shirt.

>You must have some kinda strong imagination.

>You can really feel her fur, pulse, and she even has a scent that you really can't recall but you know it brings back some kinda memory.

>Maybe this is what people might call a tulpa.

>You look over to the pony now sleeping in your bed.

>That doesn't explain how she ended up on your couch, though.

>You shake your head slowly.

>You’re way too tired to think.

>Fuck this shit.

>You hear that music is still being played.

>You return to the living room.

>Frank Sinatra - As Time Goes By was starting to play and feels instantly erupt as your vision blurs from the overload of feels.

>You stand in front of the record player for the duration of the song.

>Turning off the record player, you sit down on the couch for a moment.

>Fucking human emotions.

>Still kicking your ass after 5 years.

>You guess you can never get away from it all.

>You sigh and pull yourself out of the couch and return to your room.

>You check if she's still there.

>Yep, still there.

>You wonder how this all came to be...

>Octavia, huh.

>Questions and answers are for tomorrow.

>You slid into bed trying not to wake her.

>After you find a comfortable spot, you slowly drift away.

>But before drifting into your realm of thoughts and such you feel Octavia's hoof slide over your side and she scoots closer to you.

>She mumbles something onto your chest but you couldn't cipher what it was.

>Half asleep, you now feel an odd sensation.

>You feel...

>Happy.

>This feeling was a stranger to you for quite some time.

>You pushed all negativity from your mind.

>This is nice.

>Even though she may or may not be a real talking pony.

>You like this.

>Thanks, Octavia.


>Goodnight.