06-18-2017, 05:02 PM
He’s quite sure that the forest he’d fallen asleep in had been a very normal forest, but the one he wakes up in is very not normal.
In fact, it’s not even a forest, and the root he’d rested his head on isn’t a root anymore.
Does he have a head anymore?
He supposes he must, but it feels very empty, which must means it matches the rest of his helium filled body.
No longer a young horse, he’s now a lovely balloon. Someone might have thought they were making a horse, but he looks rather like a dachshund, if dachshunds had giraffe necks and only two legs made of looped air. He is bobbing around with a few other ‘horse balloons’, all of them tethered to a chair. The chair is one of several dozen, each of them with their own bouquet of horse balloons. Are they all like him? He wants to ask, but he has no mouth, only a tied off bit of plastic that someone must have thought resembled a horse’s muzzle.
There is a loud SLAM of a door opening, accompanied seconds later by a loud screech.
Ivar’s non-existent eyes search for the source and when he sees it, he knows.
It’s one of them.
A Horse-Girl.
There’s one in every primary-school class, the weirdo with the complete Thoroughbred series who can recite each page of the Heartland books aloud. She’s probably got the DVD collection of the television series too. She’s probably never touched a horse, but she can tell anyone (and she does tell everyone) exactly what kind of stable her dream horse will have some day. Her binders are covered in horses, and her notebooks are filled with doodles of horses so poorly conformed that their backs would probably break before they could move. (Her parents tell her she’s an aaahmazing artist). She never shuts the fuck up about horses, and her mortal enemy is the Wolf-Girl (you know, the one whose is exactly the same, but with the silhouette of a wolf howling in front of the moon on all her things?)
This must be her party.
Yes, he sees it now, the cake in the center of the table. ‘Happy Birthday Beck-Anna’ it says in looping purple script.
“Omg, you spelled her name wrong!” says a woman that Ivar assumes must be the Horse-Girl’s mother. The mother has impressive muscles, probably from Krav Maga or from the hours spent wrestling animals during her career as an emergency veterinarian. A large golden retriever wearing a Duke jersey with the name “Reagan” on the back is standing beside her. “It’s BEQANNA. Her name is BEQANNA. I named her after my uber-successful multi-million dollar corporation!”
Ivar has no idea what a corporation is. He's just enough time to wonder what exactly has become of the Beqanna he knows before Horse-Girl sits down in the chair he’s tied to. His jostled string comes loose, and he explodes when punctured on the popcorn ceiling.
Word Count: 499
In fact, it’s not even a forest, and the root he’d rested his head on isn’t a root anymore.
Does he have a head anymore?
He supposes he must, but it feels very empty, which must means it matches the rest of his helium filled body.
No longer a young horse, he’s now a lovely balloon. Someone might have thought they were making a horse, but he looks rather like a dachshund, if dachshunds had giraffe necks and only two legs made of looped air. He is bobbing around with a few other ‘horse balloons’, all of them tethered to a chair. The chair is one of several dozen, each of them with their own bouquet of horse balloons. Are they all like him? He wants to ask, but he has no mouth, only a tied off bit of plastic that someone must have thought resembled a horse’s muzzle.
There is a loud SLAM of a door opening, accompanied seconds later by a loud screech.
Ivar’s non-existent eyes search for the source and when he sees it, he knows.
It’s one of them.
A Horse-Girl.
There’s one in every primary-school class, the weirdo with the complete Thoroughbred series who can recite each page of the Heartland books aloud. She’s probably got the DVD collection of the television series too. She’s probably never touched a horse, but she can tell anyone (and she does tell everyone) exactly what kind of stable her dream horse will have some day. Her binders are covered in horses, and her notebooks are filled with doodles of horses so poorly conformed that their backs would probably break before they could move. (Her parents tell her she’s an aaahmazing artist). She never shuts the fuck up about horses, and her mortal enemy is the Wolf-Girl (you know, the one whose is exactly the same, but with the silhouette of a wolf howling in front of the moon on all her things?)
This must be her party.
Yes, he sees it now, the cake in the center of the table. ‘Happy Birthday Beck-Anna’ it says in looping purple script.
“Omg, you spelled her name wrong!” says a woman that Ivar assumes must be the Horse-Girl’s mother. The mother has impressive muscles, probably from Krav Maga or from the hours spent wrestling animals during her career as an emergency veterinarian. A large golden retriever wearing a Duke jersey with the name “Reagan” on the back is standing beside her. “It’s BEQANNA. Her name is BEQANNA. I named her after my uber-successful multi-million dollar corporation!”
Ivar has no idea what a corporation is. He's just enough time to wonder what exactly has become of the Beqanna he knows before Horse-Girl sits down in the chair he’s tied to. His jostled string comes loose, and he explodes when punctured on the popcorn ceiling.
Word Count: 499