To Live, Die, and Live Again

Chapter 1: To Live, Die, and Live Again

“Oh… I didn’t see you there, Babe.”

What… What is happening? What is my boyfriend doing here? With her? He said he was going to get popcorn. She doesn’t understand why this was happening- they had been dating for months now. He said he was happy with her….

“Look, honey, I can explain.”

He probably can explain. He can probably sweetly explain himself right back into her arms again. But she doesn’t want him to. Here she was, all dolled up- pretty as she can be- for the sole purpose of impressing him. And he didn’t even come to this theater to see her. He’s here to see that other girl. 

She leaves. Doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t remember which way she left by, but when she looks around again, she’s in a different place.

Why can’t I just be enough? Why can’t I just be pretty enough?

It’s such a petty thought. Vain from its first moment in her mind and vainer still when she continues to dwell on it. Looks do not make a person. She knows this. But, despite knowing that it is strength of character that is truly beautiful, she can’t help but regret not being blessed with a little bit of outward beauty, too. 

It’s raining, but she can’t find it in her to reject the cold, droplets of water- not when it hides her own tears so well. She isn’t looking where she’s going. So, it surprises her when she realizes she’s wandered onto one of the bridges that arcs gracefully out over the river. It’s a lovely view. 

There aren’t any stars out, not with the rain concealing them in thick cloud cover, but the reflections of the city lights work just as well as the bob softly in time with the staccato of raindrops crashing into the surface of the river. 

Real stars would just make her more depressed anyways.

Breathe in. Breathe out. And breathe again.

Looking out at the water, she tries to delve into an inner calm. She imagines the rain- as it soaks through her nice date-night clothes- is washing away all her sorrows. It’s washing away her regrets, her hurts, and- most of all- she pretends that it washes away him and all her memories of him. 

BRRRRRINNNG-BRRRRIIIINNNG

What is that?

She turns to where the sounds are coming from, curiously wondering where the high pitched rings are originating from. There is someone on a bike, wearing a rain jacket and nike tennis shoes. They are ringing their bike’s bell continuously as they cross the bridge. 

She steps back a pace, giving him ample room to pass and leaning her back against the chilled, smooth surface of the bridge’s guide rail. She likes the sound his bike makes as the water sprays off the tires.

Unfortunately, right as he goes to pass her, his front tire snags on some imperfection in the pavement- invisible under the cover of rain and darkness. His bike jerks sharply to the side, catching her gut harshly with one of the handlebars.

“Urrrk!!” She grunts as she feels the breath get knocked out of her. Her balanced is disrupted, too. Distantly, she hears the cyclist call out, “Sorry,” but it’s lost in her panic as she tips over the edge.

Her vision tilts in slow motion, she slowly loses sight of the bridge, then the street lights hanging over it, until finally all she can see as she falls are the clouds, puffy and lit by the city’s yellow tinted street lights.

Then she hits the water. She doesn’t remember very much after that.

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.

.

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It’s warm where she is. Warm, stuffy, and dark. There’s a pressure all around her, sometimes tight like iron bands across her body and sometimes merely wrapping around her- it comes and goes like waves of an orbiting ocean. She doesn’t know how long she spends this way. It could be hours, it could be minutes.

Until, suddenly, there is cold. Cold and bright- like walking from a dark sauna into a brilliant sun-lit tundra.

What happened… to me..?

She’s laying on a prickly surface, soft enough, yet slightly itchy and it feels almost like a stick is jabbed into her side. She tries shifting around a little and realizes that it is a stick jabbed into her side, she can feel the texture of the bark against her skin.

Hang on…. WHY AM I *****????!!!!!

She squirms roughly in panic, her limbs twisting at strange angles chaotically. Finally, her vision starts to clear as she jerks her head around in a panic, viewing a world of blurred green beneath a blue sky. Wherever she is, not only is she *****. She is ***** Outside. 

But, this only happens in my anxiety dreams! Like when I dream I show up to class without pants! This can’t be real life!

She tries to get up and find something to cover herself, but she can’t even rise to her knees- her limbs won’t work right. Her upper body feels too heavy and her head seems too far from her torso, as though someone has stretched out her neck like a taffy bar. She puts her hands out in front of her, only to shriek in shock.

What are these hoof things and where did someone put my HANDS!!!!!!! I want a return for my opposable thumbs, please!

Her arms- if she can still call them that- are elongated and warped, covered in a coat of black fur. When she tries to move them, her elbows don’t even bend the right way! They bend backwards, like her knees. Even ignoring the other differences, there still remains the fact that her hands had been replaced with black, shiny hooves. Their surfaces are smooth as though freshly polished, yet they seem too large to be attached to her skinny arms. It simply didn’t seem proportional.

Oh no… something is wrong with the rest of my body… it doesn’t feel right…

She moves her head to the side, trying to see behind her and is surprised by how flexible her neck is. It moves with an alien grace, unusual in its dexterity. 

Instead of seeing the rest of her body sprawled out behind her, as it feels it should be, there is a black horse rump laid out behind her, complete with inky, black horse legs.

…. That can’t be mine, right?.....

She wiggles her rump. The horse rump wiggles,  too.

….

….

OH MY HEAVENS!!!! I HAVE A HORSE BUTT!!!!! No, no, no, no! Is this because of what I thought? Am I being punished for my vanity? I only wanted to be pretty enough that he would like me! Surely, I don’t deserve a horse butt! I didn’t ask for much! I’m sorry! I’m sorry to whatever forces I’ve angered, please give me back my normal, human girl butt! I’ll never ask to be pretty again!

She is making little noises of fear as she thinks these things, helpless in her panic. Her eyes are wide in terror, her nostrils are flared wide. She doesn’t quite absorb these facts until a shadow looms over her.

A soft surface nuzzles against her cheek, a gentle movement that somehow- despite the terror of suddenly having swapped body parts- makes her feel safe. 

“Hey, there, it’s okay. You don’t have to be frightened, little one. I’m here. I’m here.”

The nuzzling continues as she turns her head to catch a glimpse of her comforter. 

That’s… a talking horse… with horns? It’s really pretty though.

“Hey, there,” says the horse- and now that she’s listening, the horse sounds feminine. “Sweet Ivy, you are the most precious little thing.”

The mare continues to nuzzle her cheek, her soft muzzle like silk on her skin. She can’t help but think that this horse seems very kind. No one has ever called her sweet before. And certainly no one has ever called her the most precious. It feels nice….

“Shhhh, shhhh, shhh. My little one. Sweet baby Ivy. My sweet baby,” the mare continues to coo maternal, sweet nothings, but she is no longer listening. She is caught up on the phrase “My sweet baby.” she has horse legs and a horse butt….. But, she’s not Bhuddist! Or Hindu! Or generally religious at all!

This is not my religion! How could I possibly be reincarnated? This impossible! This only happens in crossover fanfictions! 

And, furthermore! Why the heck am I a horse??? Don’t the characters still always end up as human? What did I do that was so terrible that I was reborn as livestock? I never killed anybody and I also always donated to charities. I thought I was a nice person! Not, like, a saint or anything, but I was nice, at least.

She closes her eyes tightly for three seconds and turns to look behind her again. Nope, the horse rump is still there.

Is this real? How? Why am I a horse? And… does that mean…. 

She looks back at the mare, looking into the mare’s kind, loving green eyes.

This is my ‘mom?’

She doesn’t have time to question the intricacies of the universe, it seems like ‘mom’ has decided that it’s time to go.

“Come on, Ivy, it’s time to get up. Hop up, now.” The mare begins to softly nudge her flank.

Ivy? Is that my name? And what do you mean, hop up? I was just born! And I’ll have you know, it was a very traumatic experience. I can’t even walk yet, right? I’m literally an infant, mother.

Despite her mental complaining, the mare does not stop pushing Ivy to stand. Ivy huffed quietly, trying to lean away from her mother. In the corner of her vision, she can see her black little foal legs, all splayed out awkwardly. They seem too delicate and spindly to support her weight. Not to mention, awfully long. It would be like walking on stilts.

Well, mom doesn’t seem like she’s going to give up any time soon….. I guess I should at least try, she’s starting to look a little worried. 

Ivy let out a quiet little huff, glaring down at her hooves as though they had personally offended her. Her front legs are already laid out straight in front of her, so really, she reasons, all she has to do is use her back legs to push herself up onto them. That should work.

She kicks futilely with her hind legs, unsure how to move them. The joints were all at the wrong places! And pointing in the wrong direction!

Her mother, ever the optimist, said, “Well, there you go, that’s a start. Keep trying, little Ivy, you can do it, dear.”

Wow. I must look so dumb, but my mom thinks I’m, like, the best thing in the world. That’s a new sensation.

Despite knowing that it was a mother’s love speaking, Ivy felt the words warm her somewhere in her core. She dug her hind hooves into the earth and pushed, raising her rump into the air.

I forgot what this felt like, having someone genuinely care so deeply for you, that it’s like you are the only thing in the world that matters to them. It makes me want to prove her right. I… think I like her. She seems like a cool mom…..

With her rump in the air, Ivy began to push her front hooves under her, struggling to lift the rest of her torso. It felt so heavy! Like it weighed a thousand pounds! Her little matchstick legs wobbled under the strain, threatening to buckle and leave her stranded on the ground again.

With a final gasp, Ivy was able to balance herself fully upright- if a little wobbly. Once she was up, it wasn’t nearly as hard to remain standing, though the strain to get that way had left her lungs heaving for breath.

“Look, Mom, I did it!!” is what Ivy wanted to say. Instead, what came out of her mouth was a strangled bleat.

Of course… even if I have the mind of an adult, I’ve still just been born. I think I remember horses being able to stand right after birth, but I’m pretty sure I may not be able to talk for a while.

Regardless of whether Ivy can answer her mother, the mare is still ecstatic. “Oh, Ivy, you did it! You are such a smart filly. Such, a smart, beautiful, little filly. Alright. Can you walk to me?”

Ivy’s mother has moved back a step or two, arching her neck to signal that she wants Ivy to walk forward. Ivy looks at her mom and then back down at her legs.

On these matchsticks? Oh boy.

Slowly, Ivy moved most of her weight forward to the right. Then, very carefully, she brought her left hind leg forward. Then, while she still had weight to the right side, Ivy moved her left hoof forward as far as she dared. The process was repeated for the right side, by putting her weight on the left. 

Hey… this actually isn’t so bad. Kinda slow. But I don’t just constantly feel as though I may tumble over.

Ivy reached her mother on slow steps, going as fast as she dared. Yet her mother seemed thrilled with Ivy’s progress, seemingly despite such progress being accomplished at a snail’s pace. Yet, even as she rewarded Ivy with nuzzles and praise, she was already stepping away, a little further than last time. 

“Alright, come on Ivy, over here, now. Just a little farther.”

Ivy stared at her mother for a few moments.

That is not a little farther, it is a lot, farther. And, walking’s hard, Mom!

Nevertheless, under her mother’s earnest gaze, Ivy tentatively shuffled to her new position. 

Except.

Now that Ivy had reacher her mother here, her mother moved even farther away. If it wasn’t so difficult to get back up, Ivy might have thrown herself onto the ground in frustration.

I take it back! I do not like you as a mom!

And yet, Ivy still found herself shuffling to that spot. And the spot after that. Somehow, throughout her shuffling, Ivy had shifted to walking, the movement coming naturally after enough practice. Eventually, Ivy realized that they were traveling in a linear direction- going somewhere specific.

She wondered where they were going, but whenever she tried to ask, she kept making the strange bleat noise- which although her mother found it adorable, did not in fact relay her question.

However, thankfully, it was a short trip. As they came out of the forest and trotted- Ivy could trot now!- up to the top of a diminutive hill, Ivy got her answer.

That’s a lot of horses…. But, why do they all have horns?

“Welcome, little Ivy, to our herd. Ours is the biggest herd of fawnlings on the whole continent. We are the herd of the Briar Forest, the Briar Hooves.”

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