Anon's Run (oneshit) (not comedy)

>You've been running for as long as you can remember.
>If you really try to think back, you can still recall first seeing the dark creature peering through your bedroom window, looking at you sadly and intently.
>You felt the sudden impulse, the simple flight instinct over fight, just at seeing it there, watching you.
>You moved bedrooms the next day, and that was how it began.
>After that, the running involved moving in with another pony, then it was getting shades for all the windows so no one could look in. Then it was furtively darting between trees whenever you went outside, ducking through doorways when you thought you saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye.
>Twilight said you were getting paranoid. Rainbow Dash jut gave you a cocked eyebrow and dropped the subject. Pinkie Pie has never really stopped believing that it was a game, and whenever she's out with you, she hides behind things to jump out and scare you.
>It would almost be funny if it wasn't so terrifying.
>You're not really sure why this figure bothers you so much, though. But you know its mere existence chills you to your core.
>Now you run from this odd creature, literally and figuratively, every day of your life.
>And whenever it gets too close, whenever you awake to see it glowering from the shadows, before it vanishes into thin air, you always hear it speak.
"It's time for you to go home, Anon."

>You don't remember your home, to be honest.
>You don't remember much of anything.
>You remember waking up in the streets of Ponyville, naked, a little scared, and alone, but unharmed. You're not sure how you even got there, but you know that you fascinated and frightened the ponies who called the place home.
>They'd never seen anything like you, after all. The way you walk on two legs, the way you move your fingers. Even the way you breathe seems so foreign to them.
>You can admit, though, you like the attention.
>You just wish you remembered more about your home. Sometimes late at night you sit up and just try to think of what that place must be like. That there are others like you out there somewhere, and that you can't recall their faces, is a little frustrating. You try to remember what food they eat, what they do for fun, what a family of theirs would feel like.
>Sometimes, you think you feel the flicker of a memory, like some sort of fleeting familiarity. The thought of a chair. A hug. A word. A smile. There's something very real about it, something just out of mental reach.
>Still, you like it here, with your pony friends. You've come to care about them, and they care about you too. You have a new family, and while at some point early on you desperately searched for a way to get home, you don't anymore.
>This is home.
>So whenever you hear those hissed, pitying words from the dark shape, that it's time to go home, some part of you panics.
>No matter where you came from, you don't want to go back there anymore.

>Once, you described the strange apparition following you to Fluttershy. She'd explained that it was a Changeling, likely the queen. But she'd assured you that the thing had been put back in her place long ago, and was either dead or had no real power left. She'd even called it a "poor creature."
>She'd said it was probably either in your head, or some whisper of the creature still lingering, but now harmless. A mere shadow. It would know better than to start trouble again, after last time.
>You weren't comforted.
>And what's more, it didn't stop.
>This evening, many months after you first showed up, you feel worse than usual.
>Downright twitchy even.
>She's been around more often today, even though you haven't directly spotted her. You can almost feel her by now just out of your field of vision, lingering like some bad dream.
>But she hasn't taken form yet, strangely enough, and the anticipation makes you sweat. It's getting dark fast now, and your friends have called it quits for the day, and gone to bed.
>The Apples have been housing you recently, and Applejack gave you a hug goodnight, holding it a little longer than usual. She'd asked you if you needed her to stay, but you knew she had work to do. You told her to go to sleep.
>Now, You're alone.
>Soon you'll be alone with...her.
>You've thought of fighting her, trying to catch her maybe, but soon gave up the notion.
>It would be like trying to catch a wisp of smoke, and if you failed or were caught in the attempt, the others might all think you were crazy.
>You might lose them as friends, or be taken away from them and put in the hospital.
>Above all, you definitely don't want that, even if it does seem like an irrational fear.
>Friends stick by friends no matter what, right? For no reason at all, you sometimes doubt that.
>So besides feeling pretty defenseless and haunted, you now know you have much to lose. All you can do is try to escape her in any way you can, without driving those you care about away.
>Shadows stretch.
>Night falls.
>Applejack's family slumbers in their beds, leaving you alone in the barn where you sleep now.
>You've made up the hay for your bed, boarded up the windows. There's not much more you can do besides try to sleep.
>And wait.

>Sure enough, as you begin to try to doze, you feel her.
>Close now.
>You try to swallow, but it sticks part way down, and you tell yourself not to open your eyes. Maybe if you don't actually see her, she won't really be there. She's just a ghost, after all, or your imagination run wild. If you don't let her be real, perhaps she'll go away.
>You begin to count backwards, like you're counting sheep. You focus on your breathing, trying to force it to slow down, lower your heart rate. You can't tell for sure if it's working, but you keep doing it anyway. You don't have many other options, and at least it's something to do.
>Your count nears one. Maybe it's working after all...
>Then, you feel a soft, warm breeze ripple past your cheek.
"Anon..."
>Your eyes fly open.
>Green, insect eyes stare back at you, only inches away, burning like coals.
"Anon, it's time for you to go home."
>You burst upwards with a cry, through the apparition, which dissipates into the air like swirling mist. You're alone, she's gone, but you can still feel, almost smell her, hanging in the room around you, in the very water vapor of your breath.
>You're panting.
>Sweat begins to bead on your forehead.
>Some instinct in you surfaces, some primal voice barking out orders in the back of your head finds a foothold and gives tongue.
>Run.
>You have to run.
>With a whining sort of cry, you throw the quilt the Apples gave you off of your body and stand.
>You just have to leave.
>Now.
>Get as far away from this room and feeling as possible.
>Above any logic that tells you to grab shoes, to grab a coat, to tell the Apples, to do anything with foresight, you feel compelled to leave. Your PJs that Rarity made you are warm enough, and you feel overheated as it is. It would take too long to find shoes, and really, you find yourself not caring about your feet. It's foolish, but you suddenly don't care.
>You throw open the barn door like a man possessed, and stride purposefully out into the night.
>Even with the soak of sweat on your clothes, you hardly feel the crisp air.
>At a quick-paced walk, you take the winding path through the orchards, find the main road, and turn your toes towards the middle of town.
>You have to be around others right now. Have to know you're not alone, that you're not insane.
>The Apples have been so kind, and they work so hard every day. You don't want to wake them.
>Maybe Twilight will let you in, or Rarity.
>Hell, if you even whisper the words 'slumber party' to Pinkie, you know she'll be all over that.
>Just got to get to town.
>You pick up the pace to a near jog.
>The orchards and barn you've recently called home fall away behind the hills.
>Above you, the moon rides through the sky, keeping pace with you, threatening to duck behind clouds and take away the only light you have.
>The trees grow thicker and taller along the sides of the trail.
>It's getting harder to see now, to think.
>Just have to get to town.
>You turn a corner, the moon's light dims slightly.
>But you can see the trail just fine now.
>It's illuminated in the pale green light of the changeling's eyes.
>You stop moving, the breath going still in your lungs as you see her.
>She's barely a shape, just a black outline with flickering emerald eyes, brilliant and menacing.
>What's more, she's standing in your path, legs spread. Blocking it entirely. It's like she's daring or begging you to push past. You don't try.
"Anon," she says softly, and it's like the sound of a winter wind.
>You want to clap your hands over your ears, want to close your eyes, shut her out.
>But you're spellbound by her, unable to move. You don't want her to say the next part, but you know she will, no matter how much you want to just imagine her away.
"It's time for you to go home."
>You suddenly feel like you're going to vomit.
"NO!" you hear yourself roar back at her, and your voice sounds like another person. "Get the fuck away from me, I'm not going!"
>Almost of their own will, your feet begin to move.
>You need to get off the path, around her, away, and you make a sprint towards the woods surrounding the road into town.
>Deftly, you launch yourself over the fence that lines the path and steady yourself as you land on the other side. For a moment, your mind quiets itself, and you take in a much needed gasp of cool night air.
>Then, you run.

>At first, it's like your legs won't respond, won't move fast enough. You urge them onward, order them to move, but it feels like they rise and fall in slow motion, like you're in a nightmare trying to get away from a monster.
>You urge them again, a shout of encouragement bubbling in your throat but not quite erupting. This time, they listen, and your bare feet hit wet earth in an ever-increasing rhythm.
>You run with abandon.
>Tree branches reach out to you, tearing at your clothes and skin, trying to hold you back.
>You slip between them as they leave scratches and tears along you, raising your hands every now and again to shield your face or brush them away.
>Your steps are heavy, thudding, and sometimes you feel a rock, stick, or leaf jut up through the grass and dirt to stab at your bare feet.
>You hardly feel the pain as they slice you. There are too many other things to feel now.
>You don't know where you're going. You don't know where you are anymore. You're just crashing through the forest, stumbling, veering and desperately trying to stay vertical. You just have to get away.
 "Anon," you hear, whispering in the leaves all around you. "It's time for you to go home."
>You bellow out a defiant yell as your only response, and just keep moving.
>Your ankle hits a rock, and you stumble awkwardly to one side, spinning and scrabbling for balance. When you look up, you see a flash of green in the shadows of the forest ahead of you.
"I'm not going!" you shout again, and quickly change the direction of your run.
>You're breathing heavily.
>Your lungs are beginning to warn you that you can't keep this pace forever. Your muscles are beginning to tighten and complain. But you push your body on, forcing it past its limits.
>You have no idea how long you've been running. It feels like days and minutes all at once.
>Maybe you're losing her. Maybe you're getting away.
>But you can feel the movement beside you, the effortless flit of shadows along tree trunks.
>She's following you. Like it's easy.
>Your body screams to stop, and you use every ounce of adrenaline to keep going. As long as you can.
>Just a few more steps, you hear the voice in your head saying. Just another turn, another sprint. Just go, you can do it. You'll be ok.
>You have to be ok.
>Your feet are bleeding, you can feel them wet with mud and red. But you don't care.
>Your face is hot and clammy with exertion and the scrapes of the trees.
>And all the while a cool wind whips past you through the forest. Carrying with it a lilting sound of words. You can't quite hear them, but you know what they say.
>You burst from the trees into a small clearing, gasping and sputtering, but freeze the moment you do.
>There she is, directly in front of you. Not moving, not even breathing. Just eyes glowing that deep green, looking at you.
>At that moment, you feel your body give up all around you. You collapse onto the ground, falling hard onto your over-worked knees, and begin to shake. You're exhausted, you're finished.
>You have nothing left to give.
>You shut your eyes tight, bent over the ground wheezing and coughing. You can feel unwilling tears welling in your eyes, no matter how tightly you squeeze them closed.
"Anon," the voice comes again, so firm and gentle. "It's time for you to go home."
>You groan out in anguish, barely croaking your words between breaths.
"No, please I don't want to go, please."
"But it's time."
>These are the first words you've heard her speak besides the usual, but somehow you're not shocked by them. They're...familiar somehow.
"But I like it here," you find yourself saying.
>You're nearly weeping now, and the sounds of tears echo in your voice.
"I know," she says.
>She sounds solid now, real. You hear a shuffle of movement, and you realize she's coming towards you.
"Stay back," you bark out, not enough energy to move away.
>You hear her go still. What does she want? Why doesn't she kill you or...
"I know you want to stay," you hear her say.
>There's sorrow in her words. She goes on.
"You feel at home here. You have friends that care about you, you care about the others too. You feel loved here. But this has to stop."
"Why?" you whimper. "Can't I just..."
"No, I'm sorry. Your home misses you, your life before misses you. It needs you."
>She pauses a moment. You hear her move towards you again, and this time you just sit there shaking, not trying to fight it. You feel a strange smooth hoof touch your shoulder, and your dirty blood-stained face peers up to see her looking down at you. You can see such hurt in her face, such sadness.
"I need you," she murmurs.
>Once again, you feel that flicker of familiarity, that moment where you almost remember something. But you don't want to remember. You left that behind, this is you now, this is who you are and where you belong.
>She studies your face.
"Have you forgotten?" she says in a near whisper. "Have you truly forgotten what you were?"
"No," you groan out. "Please."
>You don't want to remember. You don't want to hear the buzz of wings, the flash of fangs. You don't want to remember how you were one of so many others, how you lived, and fed, and grew like all of them. Who you were. What you were.
>But you do.
>It's too late.
>You look back down, sobbing now, at your hands and the many fingers that brought such fascination from the others. They're already beginning to vanish. Your skin is growing dark, your hands becoming long, holed hooves. You can feel the PJs Rarity made you tearing off your body as it warps and twists into a shape you have forgotten for so long. You feel the vibration as insect wings sprout from your back and remember how to work themselves.
>You close your eyes, and when you open them again, they're green. Just like her's.
>The queen, your queen, smiles gently at you as you tremble on the ground in your true form, scraps of lovingly made clothing still clinging to the edges of your legs and haunches.
"There," she says. "That's better."
>You can still feel a tremble in your voice as you open your tiny-fanged mouth and try to speak.
"They....they loved me here."
"Of course they did," she says. "You became something new, something they had never seen before. You became a one-of-a-kind friend that they could look after, learn about. You became something they could love. And yes," she adds, very softly. "They loved you."
>You feel your shoulders shudder with the word 'love'.
"But that's over now," she says.
>And you know she's right.
"C-can...I say goodbye?"
>She shakes her head, the moonlight glinting off her craggy ebony horn.
"No, my darling. They would not love you like this, and you know that now. It's a lesson I had to let you learn yourself. But take heart, little one. They will remember you as you were, and love that you for the rest of their lives."
"It hurts," you croak out, feeling the lack of their love flooding in all around you.
"It always does," she says, and suddenly she looks very far away, like she's in a time she tries very hard not to remember. "But promise me you will not run away again. I know it's hard to be as we are, but the pain gets worse every time, no matter how hard you try to make yourself forget."
>You look back into the forest, and for a moment you want to forget again, flee, go back to your friends. But they're not your friends now. You're different. And this pain, this lack of love cuts you deeply, boring out a part of your soul that you know you'll never get back.
"I...I promise," you barely breathe.
>The queen nods simply, and her hoof falls away from your shoulder.
"Then it is finished."
>She stands back, and you look up at her, the tears that are the last shreds of your humanity falling from where they cling on your small black face to dissolve into the earth.
>She raises her head and her wings move, pulling her up into the air. Yours move in kind, and you once more, after many months, take flight.
>No more running for you. Not ever again.
"Come," she says. "It's time for us to go home."
>Together, you ascend into the night sky.


-End-