NOShot 9

>You are Anon
>As the first rays of light stream in past the barrier of your curtains you turn, snuggling in closer to your pillow
>You wince as the morning sun gently brings you to your senses, allowing you plenty of time to appreciate that you do not know where you are
>Vague fragments of half remembered memories dance across the periphery of your mind
>Their promises of enlightened knowledge prove false at each turn as they slip through your grasping mind
>No matter how you try, how badly you focus your will only the most basic recollection illuminates the dark corners of this groggy amnesia
>A month ago, you had run dry of your drug of choice in this land of logical inconsistencies
>Crazed by the grim realities that you had struggled for so long to hold back with an endless tide of choice social lubricants, you had gone on a rampage
>Half remembered conversations and images flit through your conscious mind as you slowly piece together the intervening time
>Memories of rainbows and warmth fill your most recent shards of remembered life, but they are hollow somehow; false
>As you look inward on these memories a feeling of wrongness wells within you
>As the unease grows and settles within your soul, the frustration at this unclear recall blossoms into a painful headache

>As the pain spreads across your brow, it dissipates from a distracting stab to a dull pressure that grips at every part of your consciousness
>You give your brain a few moments to kick start itself into activity before you try and remember where you could have gotten such a feather
>Nothing, you have no idea where you could have gotten it or really what had happened for the last few days
>The last thing you can remember at least is Applejack yelling then pain and the ceiling of the local clinic
>The odd taste on your tongue and the feeling of fluff in your mouth is a more challenging issue
>Fumbling a hand from under your fuzzy pillow, you claw blindly at the feeling of fluff inside your mouth
>After a few moments of discomfort you pull forth the cause of your discomfort, cracking open one gummy lid you pass your erudite gaze over the offending object
>A small orange feather, its aspect being one of saliva and distortion from where it looks to have been chewed upon
>Affixing it with as much of a glare as you can muster helps little
>This feather just raises more questions, none of which you have answers to either new or old
>You just groan your frustrations into your pillow, what you didn't expect was it to groan back.

>Ice fills your veins as every fibre of your being grinds to a shuddering halt
>A harsh set of anxiety permeates your mind as now more than ever it races in blind effort to recall something, anything as to what that could be
>With hard wrought tenacity you shift your hands upwards, grasping slowly into what you once thought was your pillow
>Your fingers tense and flex into the soft velvety, with each passing moment your actions elicit an ever increasing set of breathy moans
>Unable to take the spiraling sense of dread, you force your eyes open
>As you see the sight before you, you can see that something has unmistakably gone wrong
>A sea of orange fur fills your vision, wrapped snugly into what looks to be your covers and now held firmly in your hands
>Her head is topped with a shock of multicolored hair that doesn't seem like it belongs
>Looking at this spectacle of nature you cannot help but want to close your eyes and pretend its only a bad dream
>Her face is filled with an inner glow as she hums contentedly in what you can only hope is sleep
>Looking on that face and hearing that voice you know will forever be tormented by an everlasting itch to touch that rippling warm surface
>Her body still softly calls like a nearly forgotten song of childhood
>This is your life off NOS and it gives you good reason for humility