Convention Story 06

You hate to admit it, but it feels good to be alone for a while. After something as momentous as turning into a pony you can’t help but feel a desire to take inventory; which is something that would make you feel incredibly self-conscious with somepony else present.

Trotting further into the bathroom where you can get a better perspective with the mirror is a simple procedure, getting up onto the counter takes a bit more effort. After a few attempts you manage just fine, all it took was placing your hooves firmly on the counter, shoving yourself up, and giving your wings a powerful flap for good measure. You soar briefly up and onto the counter, your wings snap shut and you grip it as tightly as possible as one can with hooves. You’re actually a bit surprised how well you can dig in with them, and latch on to the surface despite its slick appearance. Mission accomplished, it’s time to enjoy the view.

“Oh man…” Your eyes go wide at the sight before you. From a distance you could maybe pass for a colorful winged horse, but up close there is really no denying it; you really don’t belong here, you look like the ponies from the show, not a real life equivalency. For the most part you fit in; lights and shadows play across your features just fine. Certain movements, or changing the focal point of your vision too quickly, just leave you feeling weird, like you are looking at an incredibly proficient photoshop of the show overlapping with reality. You look down at your hooves again, and bring them both closer to your eyes for an even closer examination. There is really no way to express the uncanny way the vibrant colors of your form deviate from everything else. You rub a hoof through the fur on your adjacent limb, taking a moment to acknowledge how different it feels to make contact with a hoof instead of a hand.

The fur doesn’t exactly part when you move it, but it’s definitely there. Making a few passes you notice at most a cowlick of some kind. You can manage a roughed up look if you give it enough thought, but it tends to naturally just fall back into place with minimal grooming. Your mane is another matter entirely. You reach the conclusion pretty early on that your mane is messy and wild by default. That said, it doesn’t take much imagining on your part to visualize it in all sorts of elegant styles, an activity that you can’t remember ever participating in prior to hooves. Your tail is more of the same, relative to your mane at least. It doesn’t take much effort to control it, and you practice swishing it about for a few minutes. The activity is honestly kind of hypnotic after a while.

“Well, that’s enough of that,” You shake your head to reclaim your senses more completely, and sparing a last glance at large crystal blue eyes, you hop down from the counter and begin to pace around the room, “I wonder what the hay is taking him so long!” You shout with a hint of worry, not even pausing to adjust your vocabulary, “I bet he could even buy one downstairs, that place had all kinds of stores…”

“There’s really no point in worrying about this,” A nagging thought echoes in the back of your mind, “Remember what he said when he left? Are you really prepared to let him steal you away so he can find a way to ‘fix’ you? The longer he takes to get back, the better, and you know it,”

You have to admit, arguing with yourself is a recent development you’re not as enthused about, but you you’re more than willing to concede that the you who is handling this flawlessly has a point. With a sinking feeling in your gut you decide you may as well give flying a shot while it’s still possible. It’s just too bad the windows don’t open, suicides are always spoiling all of your fun, aren’t they?

“Wait a minute, why am I even worried? How is he just going to ‘fix’ me? This is forever, I’ll be fine…”

You shake your head and gulp. Forever as a pastel pony? Maybe we should consider revising our enthusiasm. How are you going to work, how are you going to survive? Can you really depend on Alex to take care of you for the rest of his life? That’s a pretty huge burden to just hoist on to somepony.

“Why the hay not? It’s his fault I was here anyway, he’s responsible, so making sure I am okay is his responsibility,” You emphasis the point with a firm stomp of one of your front hooves.

‘But have you considered the possibility that there are side effects involved? You’re taking a species switch incredibly well. Can you even be sure this is you?’ You shake your head to clear it of the introspective dialog.

“What, am I supposed to be flipping out? That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe it’s not something I’d have chosen for myself, but I feel… good. I don’t see why anxiety and self-loathing are the ‘healthy’ response; I’m Whisper Wind now, there’s not much I can do about it but learn to accept that,”

The self-interrogation ends after that point, and you decide if you can’t go outside flying you may as well try to hover like you’ve seen Rainbow Dash do in the show. It takes a lot of effort and experimentation to get the right amount of thrust going without bouncing around all over the place. Trying to control your flight in a small room is ‘not’ something you can remember doing before.


‘See? New memories, I hope you can at least remember your ‘real’ life,’

“I’m sure they’re just to simplify the transition, I can still remember everything just fine,” Maybe you ought to be more concerned over the frequency you speak aloud and to yourself, but it just seems pretty natural for a little pastel Pegasus to do. You ‘can’ remember your memories, the thing is, you don’t like doing it, “It’s not like they’re a big deal anyway, they’re so… depressing,” You sink crest-fallen to the ground, “I hated feeling that way, I never want to feel that way again!”

‘I think maybe you are engaging in a bit of hyperbole, things really weren’t as bad as you are making them out to be. We had a boyfriend, a job, a home, and security; what do we have now, adorable hooves and a pair of awesome wings? Are you going to go flying around in broad daylight?’

“Okay, that’s enough of that. Try not to over think things, Whisper. Just turn on the television and kick it until Alex gets back,” and that is exactly what you do. After a while of channel surfing, you eventually stumble upon a news channel covering the disaster you just experienced. You stop because the faces of the suicides are on display when you click on to it. There is the person who killed themself right in front of you, one of those depressing driver’s license photos. You can’t help but be reminded about how depressed you were before all of this.

“There has to be more to what is going on…” You lay down and continue watching the broadcast, “And I am going to get to the bottom of it,”