The Trip [LONG]

>You’re home on a Friday night, after a looooong week of work.
>Just chilling out and relaxing with Amber, your Fluffy pegasus pony.
>She’s gray and has a maroon mane, plus big amber eyes, which you named her after.
>You feel the tension and stress melt away as you dine together on pasketti and sliced apples and carrots, with Pringles as a treat.
>After dinner, you sit on the sofa and surf the web on your iPad while Amber noses her favorite green rubber ball around the room.
>You’re on the Fluffy pony vet sites, because Amber has been having trouble lately with her bowel movements.
>Constipation one day, diarrhea the next, and she’s been having quite a few “accidents” outside her litter box recently.
>Could it be something in her diet? You haven’t added or subtracted anything major lately.
>Stress for some reason? The neighbor’s new dog frightens her, especially cuz the stupid thing starts barking at 3am these days and wakes you both up.
>No new information, no new replies to your post. You shrug.
>Suddenly you feel little forehooves on your leg.
>”Pway, daddy? Pway wif Ambuh, pweese?”
>”Give me a few more minutes, sweetie.”
>She frowns a little, but accepts this.
>You smile, put your iPad aside, and pick her up, giggling, little legs whirring in excitement.
>”You can sit on my lap, if you want, while you wait.”
>She turns in place on your lap like a cat, and you’re very glad that her little fluffy hooves are too soft to hurt your balls.
>She’s facing directly away from you, and seems just about ready to lay down, and you start to reach for your iPad, when she stops.
>A shiver runs through her body, and her stubby little wings shoot out, fully extended, tips quivering.
>”Wuh-oh…” She cries softly.
>Her tail flies up, and you’re staring right down the barrel of her little red Fluffy asshole.
>OH SHIT.
>You grab her, trying to go fast and not squeeze at the same time, already planning the route to her litterbox...
>Too late!
>But instead of getting a lapful of pellets or pudding, she farts.
>It sounds like a kazoo.
>The blast of Fluffy gas hits you directly in the face.
>In shock, you accidentally inhale.
>Smell of oats and spaghetti, and…
>The room begins to spin, becoming a black vortex centered on your Fluffy pony’s asshole.
>Then you’re a woman, sword held high, wearing a chainmail bikini and riding an immense dragon at Mach 70 inside the colorful patterns of a Mandelbrot set the size of the universe.
>All around you twisting forms of chaos merge into visions of laughing alligators and aliens wearing tuxedos and centaurs surfing on rainbows, all dancing and fighting and making love and colliding into dust to be reborn seconds later.
>Your dive grows steeper and faster. You’re approaching the speed of light as the hallucinations around you doppler-shift into a chorus of merrily laughing skulls.
>At the center is a growing light, at first a point, spreading out. The rainbow colors are swirling into it, feeding it, making an infinitely dense and blinding light.
>In the light, you can see visions of dead relatives. Your brain is filled with music which carries all the accumulated racial knowledge of mankind.
>You understand everything.
>The light explodes.
>All goes dark.
>On the floor. Something is licking your cheek.
>”Daddy?” Amber’s voice comes to you, sounding very scared. “Wut wong wif daddy? Ambuh sowwy. No mean to make smewwy poof…”
>You groan and open your eyes.
>Amber’s teary eyes look into yours.
>”Daddy okay!” She cheers.
>You sit up.
>Whoops, big mistake…
>Brain still going at speed of light, crammed with information, too much to take.
>You hurl violently all over the coffee table, yourself, and Amber.
>”Eww. Daddy make pyook. Fweel better? Wan’ huggy?”
>You hug.
>You gently carry Amber to the bathroom and give her a rinse, picking spaghetti bits from her mane, then shower yourself.
>As you sit blow-drying her fluff, you think.
>So hard to recall… the beautiful memory, the perfection, fading fast.
>And you realize.
>Fluffy pony farts are the most powerful hallucinogenic known to humanity.
>The next day, you feed her exactly the same foods as yesterday- can’t spoil the recipe.
>Amber doesn’t mind, she’ll eat anything.
>That night, you introduce her to a new game.
>Amber stands on the coffee table.
>You’re behind her, very gently tickling and squeezing her sides, her tail resting on your head, your nose an inch from her butthole.
>Amber is giggling, her little wings flexing.
>”What dis game call, daddy?”
>You smile.
>”I call it ‘The Trip’, sweetie.”
>Must not share online.
>If this gets out, government will surely move to restrict Fluffy pony farts, classify as illegal drug.
>Perhaps even make Fluffy Ponies illegal.
>This must not be!
>END