Unfamiliar Skin

by darf


Day 1

Log, Entry 1:

Arrived. Further updates when change complete.

Log, Entry 2:

Not together all the way. Unsure how long shifting took. Still getting bits of directive. Thinking in this body is hard. Hive seems to have put me in place of an already identified pony. Not sure if role is fabricated or arranged yet. Will expect briefing information sent on unclouding.

Body doesn’t feel very good. Possible expulsion of biofluid yes will resume later

Log, Entry 3:

Should note to hive to research change in biofluid when adapted. Green colouration likely suspicious. Smell also terrible. Need rest. Will continue in morning. Hopefully more coherent.

Day 2

Log, Entry 4:

I’m feeling a bit better. Getting some rest seems to have helped. I’m still getting a very unclear signal from the hive—I’m not sure if it’s related to this body or the area. There is a possibility of surveillance; the Equestrian government has had an interest in Ponyville for some time, which may be why I was sent here in the first place. Not having a clear outline of objectives is very upsetting. I hope a better signal will come soon.

Log, Entry 5:

This body is terrible. I keep getting the urge to change, but I can’t risk it. Anyone could be watching. It would be the most shameful of failures to be found out before my mission has even begun. Mother’s voice would make it better. I miss her. The skin over my skin itches. The sun is too bright.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m here because I was chosen. The whole hive is depending on me.

So why won’t they speak to me?

I saw this body’s housemate after I woke up in the morning. She didn’t seem to think anything was wrong. I remembered to smile. It felt unnatural, but she didn't seem to notice my discomfort.

She reminded me that my body has a name. ‘Bon Bon’.

To keep up appearances, I’ll have to start going through everyday motions. Ponies seem to act oddly when they encounter seclusion: the housemate took note of that, at least.

There’s a host of things to learn: work, socializing, names, mannerisms... it’s all like emerging for the first time. But here, Mother’s voice is absent. There is no song of birthing to greet me.

I should know all of this. It’s supposed to be second nature. We are meant to blend, and shape, and adapt. But all of it feels so alien. These hooves are not mine. This body is a disgusting wrapping paper. Fur, and skin, and a mane like damp, itchy straw are all I have to conduct myself. I hate it. I don’t want to imagine what kind of voice I will need.

But I will not fail.

I will begin preparing.

Next entry will come tomorrow.

Day 3

Log, Entry 6:

My first venture outside the house was cut short.

They have dragons.

I don’t think he noticed me. I was shielding myself from the sun. Fortunately, others in town seemed to be avoiding it in a similar fashion. Some of them had ice cream.

I felt myself tense up the second I saw it. I almost fled. I am thankful for what little of my training I remember, because it was enough to keep myself composed. I followed the dragon with my eyes for a minute, making sure his attention was elsewhere. He was following someone—his owner, perhaps—who was commanding him like a concierge. He had a list in his hand. I hope to Mother I’m not on it. I hid behind the ice cream stand until he went away.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this.

Every time I move, my limbs scream at me. They feel wrong. They feel like they’re meant to fall off. Every minute I’m awake, I can feel myself shaking. I can’t feed here. I don’t know any of these ponies, and even if I did, the risk of them catching me were I close enough to take their love is too much of a risk. The hive members that put me here seem to have been considerate enough to leave me a stock of emergency rations, but they won’t last forever. The taste is awful, like a thousand years of sugar in a single bite. But they help. I feel like I can almost hear home when they dissolve in my mouth.

I will be strong. As Mother would want me to, I will persevere. I will grow strong enough to remember my directive, and I will call home to announce that I have been successful.

I will go to work tomorrow. Mother, give me strength.

Day 4

Log, Entry 7:

I am worried I am already beginning to slip. When I went to work for the first day, the green one that is my housemate engaged me in conversation. She kept referring to me by ‘my’ name. 'Bon Bon'. I didn’t answer her at first. I thought she was looking for candy.

I think I managed to act well enough.

Her name is Lyra. I remember something left over in this body before it became mine—she and my host have lived together for a long time. Something tickles the back of my mind when I look at her. I think it must be energy lingering in the air.

If I’m careful, I may be able to use her to feed.

For now, I intend simply to blend in around her. She commented on my poor disguise; she said she noticed I haven’t been feeling well. I could feel a genuine nature in her concern. For a moment, I almost felt regretful for deceiving her.

But this is good. This is a closeness that cannot be replicated. If I behave correctly, I may be able to harness her friendship. At the very least, I can study her. She moves far more naturally than I do—but at the same time, I noticed a spastic nature about her. Where other ponies are fluid, almost predestined in their ambulation, she jerks and bobs everywhere. Her face contorts into strange expressions. The width of her smile is upsetting. When she grinned at me, I hid my discomfort under what I hope sounded like a laugh. She didn’t seem to mind it.

Work was an ordeal. Luckily, I am in a place where interacting with ponies is fairly trivial. They select goods and I take their bits. The metal feels good. I almost snuck some home, but I know that would draw too much attention if I was caught. I’m sure I can find some elsewhere. It would be a nice reprieve from the awful feathers and wool I am finding everywhere else, not to mention the repulsive texture of my own disguise.

I felt weak at one point, but a piece of sugar from behind the counter helped me through the day.

Why am I here? What is my purpose in this place? I want so badly to remember. Every day, before I open my eyes, the blankets around me almost feel like a cocoon, like I’m at home, waking to Mother’s smile and direction, hearing the others in my head and knowing I belong. I can make out their voices here, but they’re so faint, I can’t understand them. My only hope is that somehow, the stars will align and I will be given clarity. Please. If there is any way someone can hear me, give me something. I can feel myself dying out here. The phantoms of my wings are brittle and breaking. When I am free from this skin, my chitin will need so much mending.

I am trying to be strong. I will write more tomorrow, and hope that by then, I will have heard someone.

Day 5

Log, Entry 8:

I heard.

A voice jumped out at me when I was at work, so sharp it startled me. I dropped a jar of candies, which broke. The fuss was worth even only a fraction of the message. I will write it here:


The allusion is obvious. Why else would I have been put here? This body is hardly adapted for anything more than menial tasks. No wings, no horn. Ponies are in a miserable state compared to us, who are blessed with both. If not for cruelty, I knew there must be a purpose for me to fit in as this pony. Bon Bon.

The green one. Lyra. It must be her.

I don’t understand the rest of the message. There was hissing between—hissing like ours, so familiar—but I was too startled to make it out at such a low volume between the louder crackles in my ear. I was so happy, I almost cried as I swept up the broken glass.

I remembered then that we do not cry. I wonder if that means this body is not able with me inside?

This has been a good day. I will examine Lyra more closely. Perhaps in doing so, I will be given another message. I feel invigorated. Though I am not sure how close my mission may be to completion, I believe I am permitted to award myself with an extra ration tonight. The foil feels like metal against my face. I keep it inside my mouth as I suck out the insides. They stick to my tongue as they go down, so much that I am reminded of the jelly at home.

Thank you.

Day 6

Log, Entry 9:

I am not sure what to make of Lyra.

At first glance, she seemed as much a normal pony as anyone else in this town. I must remember that everyone is normal in comparison to me, though at worst my odd walking and occasional unchecked stares draw glances from the occasional crowd.

But Lyra draws attention more than I do. I accompanied her on a walk to the market to pick up dinner. I believe she expects me to do this more regularly, and commented on how I’d been ‘keeping to myself’ for the past while. I’m not sure if I can manage to stomach the things these ponies call food. In any case, all the way to town, I felt more stares than I ever have by myself. When I am by myself, even in the most conspicuous of fashions, I feel as though I am mostly invisible. But for some reason, when I’m with her, ponies stare. I was worried at first that I had given myself away—that my disguise had finally slipped in the most literal of fashions, exposing a plating or black carapace—but I believe now, upon reflection, they were staring at her. Or both of us, together.

She is odd.

I’m not sure if I hate her. Unlike the other ponies, whose proximity alone is enough to drive my insides into jitters, Lyra does not upset me to such a degree. While I am sure my ultimate objective here must be as it is for all of us—to bring down the tyranny of this lesser race from their false throne—I am not sure if I would spare her.

She smiles a great deal. It is unsettling at first, but seems to grow on one after a while, like an egg-sac ripe with newborns waiting to burst to freedom.

I have assessed my rations. I estimate that, if I sustain myself on the sparsest of nourishment, I can survive another two weeks at most before my energy is depleted. Even now, the lack of proper sustenance seems to be affecting the integrity of my disguise. My vision is fuzzy at the best of times, and shadows frequently move by themselves. Once or twice, a pony has opened their mouth to speak, and a slender tentacle—like one of ours—has emerged. Or rather, that is what I’ve seen before the world returned to normal. I must stay steadfast.

The other option is to feed properly. I am not sure this will be possible, but it is key for investigation.

I will continue to examine Lyra. I hope to hear another transmission soon.

Day 7

Log, Entry 10:

If it is the hive’s intention to test me, I am not sure I am worthy.

I was struck by a truly upsetting vision today. I am not sure if it was a transmission, a more focused result of the poor level of energy I am being forced to sustain myself on, or another factor entirely. Today, at work, my eyes grew wide of their own accord. A pony I was serving at the counter began to wriggle in front of me. I was frozen as I watched them. Watched them shiver, and shake, and then at last as they shed the whole of their skin.

There was not one of us underneath. There were bugs. Millions of them.

While I am not averse to the hive structures of the smaller insects which we mimic, I am led to believe the processing center of the brain in this body was triggered into an innate response. Before I knew what I was doing, I had lept from the floor onto a table in the back. Noises came out of my mouth like the nervous chittering of a fresh larva. I wanted so badly to change, to flee, to fly home to the hive and to Mother.

But I kept together. I have been chosen.

It took a great deal of work to negotiate the situation. When I looked back, the pony had returned to normal, and the insects were gone. I explained it as nervousness, lack of sleep, having a bad day. I was sent home, where I have been hiding under the bed for most of the evening. It is damper here, and with none of the awful scratchiness of the fabrics used on everything in pony ‘comfort’. I believe I may rest here tonight. I will bring the blankets. When I wrap them around tight, they remind me of home.

I was sick on myself when I arrived from my early dismissal. Green. Please, take note if I do not return that this must be changed. A moment of weakness could spell disaster if insides were let out in such a fashion in public.

I have made no further breakthroughs in regards to Lyra. She smiles at me a lot. I am not sure what this means.

Rest now.

Day 8

Log, Entry 11:

I have made a mistake.

I was interacting with Lyra today, trying to deduce more of her purpose, and why I might have been sent to her in the first place. The near-silence is deafening, as always, but I do my best to block it out. The hisses I can hear help a bit.

When I was speaking with her, my vocalizations changed abruptly for a reason I still cannot fathom. The voice I fought so hard to adopt when I awoke in this body was gone. In its place, a completely different one emerged. I felt my whole body threaten to collapse when it did so. I was certain it must be over then.

But Lyra barely seemed to notice. She grinned at me, as though a changing voice was something my host has always possessed. She smiled in the way she always does, and continued what she was saying. Something about the weather.

Is it just that she didn't notice? I can’t believe that could be the case. Something so obvious must have been heard. Did she think I was playing a game? Is she really so unobservant? No. Maybe she will forget, or has forgotten.


What if she did notice, and has always noticed? What if she has known all along? What if she is a sleeper agent, sent by the Princess to monitor me? But then, surely, she would have drawn attention to it? It was unnatural, otherwise.

I feel as though this reflection has broken me. Is this a cruel game, as I have so often dreamed and dreaded? Was the message I received merely a taunt to provoke me into my realization—to know that I am a walking drone in an unobservant hell? Am I being tested? Punished?

I do not understand. I wish to go home.

There is silence. I do not know what I will do on waking up tomorrow.

Maybe I will have forgotten.

Day 9

Log, Entry 12:

I believe I understand.

Lyra is not a pony.

It would be too simple if she were one of us. Certainly, then, the energy I feel emanating from her would not be there. But she must not be a pony. Because, in yesterday’s incident, any pony would have noticed my slip-up, and my disguise would have been ruined. But Lyra said nothing.

She is my objective. I think she is special.

I do not know what this means yet. Obviously, in my attempts to study her, I have not gone far enough. She has seemed peculiar from the start; unlike the other ponies I observed in order to build my now almost-finished complement of behavioural habits, Lyra does things differently. She bounds and jumps when other ponies walk. She grins frighteningly when other ponies smile or nod. She sits on her hind legs only, instead of curling up as even we do when gathered in groups.

She is something. I do not know what.

I will find out. I believe now that this is my purpose.

It’s strange. Amongst the circumstances that have brought me here, divorced even from the safety of the hive, or certainty in my own mind, I feel there was once a comfort here. The body I am taking—using, inhabiting, whatever the word—it was once close with Lyra, and she with it. I feel that the tenderness that exists therein might be something akin to the very nature of pony composition, both in this specific instance, and in larger examples elsewhere. It’s something that I feel seeping into my brain, even though I have no part in it. When Lyra smiles at me, my body smiles back at her. I am not sure I understand why.

If I was prompted into my mistake with her the other day, I am thankful. If this is not a sign, I do not know what is.

I hope I will understand soon, and be allowed to go home.

Day 12

Log, Entry 13:

I am broken.

Surely I must be. I have been studying Lyra intently for the past few days, trying to understand what it is about her that must be my purpose. I have confronted her on waking, standing close to her, watching her while she moves and speaks. I have tried to understand the things she says beyond their words, and responded as best I am able, to keep her interest. I have even tried sharing a meal with her, though I turned my head and spit the disgusting green mush she served me out into the potted plant behind our table.

Today, she hugged me.

I felt nothing.

That’s not true. I did feel something, but it was not right. I know, regardless of what platonic feelings she may have had for my host body before I arrived, that there would be some degree of love in her. All ponies have it in them. It’s akin to the reminiscence of companionship I wrote on yesterday: they exude it like a sickening sweet fog, so much sometimes that the air is hard to navigate. I have contented myself with rations for fear that feeding openly would expose me.

But when Lyra hugged me, I had my chance. I could have fed. There should have been energy on her, like a perfume.

I felt sick instead.

When her limbs wrapped around me, they reminded me of my exterior—the veneer coating my shell. I could feel the skin and organs shift around my skeleton again, and it made me ill. I had to pull myself from her to run, and only just made it to a closed room before I expelled a hefty volume of biomass. Even then, Lyra lingered. She said to me that she was concerned. She was sorry. She made a joke as I hurled a sluice of green liquid into the cool porcelain bowl that I was resting my head on.

Even then, her words should have been a portion of sustenance. The affection in them should have carried in the air between us.

It did not feel the way it should have.

It felt like something my body wanted, but I did not. I felt a sweetness in my frame’s response, but inside, only revulsion.

I am worried this may prove a critical failure in my mission. If I am reacting to affection the way that ponies react to it, it seems that my proper form is rejecting my acceptance thereof, and rejecting it in a quite literal fashion. I am not sure how much closer I can get to Lyra if this is the nature of my response. She will catch on... but then, she has already caught on, hasn’t she? She never commented on the changing of my voice. Once or twice I have slipped into different registers around her, faltering because it’s her who I speak around the most, and still she has never said anything. Today, afterwards, was when she hugged me, and I was sick.

I am hoping my plea will reach someone. More than ever, I need guidance. Tell me, because I am unsure.

I will await a response.

Day 13

Log, Entry 14:

Thank you, to whomever heard me. In my mind, it was Mother, who plucked my wail from the sea of writhing voices and granted me the sweet kiss of her missive, as so she placed it in my head when she planted me here several weeks ago.


This is my purpose. I feel as though my skin has been shorn, and I am free, though in truth I am still weighed down by this burdensome frame. It has dwindled as the days have worn on, a fact which I am sure must be because of my refusal of typical pony nourishment. But that doesn’t matter now. Everything will be alright.

Lyra was my goal then, and now she is it for certain.

What will happen if I take her energy in such a way? A whisper of it made me ill. I felt as though I had failed—not just at my mission, but at being what I was meant to be.

I trust Mother’s voice. I do not care what will happen. I have been blessed by this purpose, and I will carry it out to my fullest.

I will go to town now. Ponies admire trinkets, and I will acquire one. It will be the first step to the conclusion of my mission.

I look so dearly forward to going home.

Day 14

Log, Entry 15:

I am dying.

I am not sure who to blame but myself. I was swept up in the flourish of excitement that overtook me in Mother’s message last night. I hurried to town to acquire something to work closer to Lyra, and returned with it shortly thereafter. But, as I was still caught in the blindness of my newly ascendant purpose, I was clumsy. The trinket is safe, but I...

I crushed more than half my rations in my haste. They tumbled from under the pillow where they have been kept since my waking, and in my careless, foolish fervor, I smashed them under these disgusting hooves. I tried to retrieve them, but it was too late. They were well into the carpet.

I have four days’ worth left. Six, if I am meant to prolong myself in a near starving state. I have already stretched my supplies to the limit.

I do not know if I have enough time.

I feel weak already. The moment the remnants squelched underhoof, oozing out of the wrapper that I picked up in disbelief, I could feel myself begin to shudder. I went to be sick, but no fluid came. I heaved dryly onto the floor and rolled around atop the shards smashed into the carpet's awful fabric.

As I write this, I feel empty. Four days. Not enough time. Mother, forgive me, for I am weak and stupid and miserable. I should never have been chosen. From day one I was unsure. Where another in my stead would have been sure and succeeded, I have been uneasy and failed at every turn. Now, finally confronted with the answer to my prayers, I am certain I have thrown it away.

I will try. Harder than anything, I will still try.

But I am not sure it will be enough.

Log, Entry 16:

Writing difficult at this time. For the first time today, the swarm was silent. There was nothing in my ears but the dead of unmoving air. The sound of my own, artificial heart, beating in my shell’s chest.

I was ill again. There was red among the green. I believe this body is destroying itself, as it too knows I will fall apart inside it.

The sun is still too bright. But where the warmth of it infuriated me before, now I ache for it. My joints are failing. The synapses in my limbs are doing the same. Everything is cold. Colder than the stone of the brood-cave, colder than the wrapping of winter when we must cling together in Mother’s light. So cold. And silent.

I can make out the hiss faintly now, and I pray that someone is speaking to me. Wishing me forward.

Lyra has set out an evening. The fireplace is lit. When I sit by it, will I feel anything?

Must stop writing before she arrives. Conserving strength to keep stable during encounter. Will try to write more as an update.

I’m scared.

Day 17

Log, Entry 17:

Disaster. Unending disaster. Take me now and crush me like the help that I have destroyed.

Last evening. She leaned to me. The trinket I gave her around her neck. Where the metal would have been comfort, now it was a shining dagger-beacon beckoning me to abandon all hope.

Her face came so close to mine.

I cannot.

It is a miracle I was not sick. If I had spewed biofluid onto her face, surely I could have given up then? If I was at last fully revealed, with no more of the charade she has put on, could I be set free? To the cave, or the shedding ground, or simply to be abandoned to the ponies and have them torture me until I expired? I don’t care anymore. I can't.

I wish so badly to cry, even though I know it is only an instinct of the flesh surrounding me. These eyes will not work. Nothing works.

One more ration remains. Every second is a shaking weakness. The hiss is gone. There is a dull thrumming now. I feel that it is death.

Tomorrow is my last hope. When she is exposed, I will feed for the first time, and perhaps the last. I am not sure if I will survive.

Perhaps, in that moment of glory, my true body will spring forth from this cage. The sickness of the love I know I am meant to crave will finally feel real, and I will draw the last of it from the one creature I am led to believe has any reason to care about me. Mother’s love does not reach me here. The hive is cold and dead. The world is dark, and when I close my eyes, I see a shattered skeleton. Mine.

Let this be it. Lyra is.

Tomorrow. The swell of her room’s aura reaches me even here. My hooves over my head cannot block it out.

Perhaps my last entry. I am sorry.

Day 18

I am found.

Was with Lyra and felt clear for a moment but it was all for naught. When I went it was too late body rejected and expelled. I said so early on the colour of course the colour and red and green everywhere and then everything was over.

Had to run grabbed log in forest now. Writing because I am not sure how much longer I can go I hoped I could hear the hive as I ran from town but I cannot. There is nothing.

The trees are thick and I don’t know where I am and the sun was too bright but now nothing is bright I can hear them please Mother help. I was good I did what was right I tried so hard Mother please. Hear me when it is so silent don’t let them take me I don’t want to die.

Don’t please they’re closer please take this and tell the hive what I have found let no one else suffer this fate stuck. Can’t move body giving up finally giving up it was a miserable shell in the first place. I can hear their voices she’s brought others and they are closer I am sorry I am sorry I

Day 19

Ponyville General Patient Admittance Report

Dr. Stable, MD.

Patient admitted in emergency status. Exhibiting extensive signs of malnutrition and mental degradation. Despite physical state, patient persisted in violent resistance until subdued with light tranquilizer. Was admitted to emergency ward in early morning.

Study of charts reveals wildly inconsistent measure of brain chemistry. Further reading suggests a rapid fluctuation of serotonin and dopamine levels, as well as a host of possible neurologically damaging chemicals. Source of imbalance initially unclear. On examination and assistance from the patient’s roommate, searched patient's room to find remnants of candy that appears spoiled. Seems to be contaminated with a mix of magic and toxic ingredients, possibly from automation of preparation process or ingredients themselves. Packaging found after further search indicates the candy is an imported variety from Prance. Will investigate possibility of thaumaturgical manufacturing. From questioning, patient’s roommate speculates that this may have been the only food the patient consumed for the past several weeks. Would explain evidence of malnutrition and suggest reason for wildly fluctuating brain chemistry. Patient known to work at sweet shoppe which explains exposure to product when none has been made available elsewhere in town.

Patient awoke today exhibiting signs of auditory and visual delusions. Thrashed uncontrollably in bed, apologizing while simultaneously resisting attempts to be tended to. Eventually another tranquilizer was applied. Mental state appears unimproved. Patient’s roommate was distraught, but comforted by staff and others in attendance.

Evidence in patient’s possession was given to hospital staff for investigation. Consisted of a book that patient had with her when she was found in the woods north of town. From examination of book, which the patient has titled her ‘log’, the patient appears to have convinced herself she was a creature inhabiting the body of a pony. Frequent references to ‘hive’, ‘swarm’, and ‘Mother’ all suggest identification with Changeling species. 

The book is clear evidence of a series of paranoid delusions and apparent dissociative identity disorder. Have accelerated request for transfer to Canterlot Mental Hospital. Patient’s physical condition can easily be attended elsewhere, but CMH is far better suited to deal with mental requirements of patient.

Despite patient’s aggressively damaged mental state, it is my belief that she can be helped with proper treatment and ongoing care. Induced schizophrenic episodes may have lasting repercussions, but as long as her nutrition levels are returned to normal and she is kept under observation, I see no reason she should not be capable of returning to normal life.

Patient is planned to be released tomorrow. Will monitor further pending reports from CMH.

Day 19: Supplemental

Enclosed further in dossier are the patient’s documented entries before she was admitted.

Dear Diary,

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to start one of these things. I’ve always wanted to write one, but I guess I never really got around to it. I feel kinda weird just writing stuff into a book, but I guess it’s better than saying it out loud to nopony in particular.

I’m also not that sure I have much interesting to say.

I’ll try to think of something better to write tomorrow.


Am I supposed to put notes in here about my life, or just write whatever?

We got some really awesome candy at the store today.

My boss has been talking about ordering them for a while, and we finally got some. Only one batch. And get this: I got to have them! I mean, I paid for them, of course, but my boss said since I wanted them for so long, I could try out the first order. She said there’s gonna be more coming after that anyway. And then she lemme take them home.

They’re special candy from overseas and they are so good.

Seriously. I ate like half the box already. After the first five or six my tummy started to grumble, but I don’t even care. They taste like pure delicious. They have a kind of liquid center and they melt into your mouth when you bite them and oh my gosh they’re so good.

Why am I not surprised I’m already talking about candy in my diary.

I’m not sure I like that word. It sounds kinda lame. Is there a better word for something you write in every day? Notes? Log? Journal?

I’ll try to pick one I like, I guess.


More later, I guess.

Di Journal?,

It’s kind of strange to write about this, but Lyra’s been sort of weirding me out lately.

I’ve known her for like, a ton of years. I can’t even remember how many. But lately she’s been giving me weird looks. I dunno if I’m reading too much into it, but I kind get the feeling that she... likes me.

I wouldn’t be too upset if she did. I mean, she’s cute, sure, and she’s totally awesome to hang around. I just think it’d be kind of awkward if we started going out and things didn’t work out. Super awkward, probably.

I guess I’ll wait a little while and see if she brings it up.

Nothing else exciting is going on. I totally ate a bunch more of those chocolates. There’s still a lot left, but I have to force myself not to chow down on them every time I get home. They’re so good.

I don’t have any plans for this weekend, or at least, nothing exciting. Actually, I should remind myself to make a doctor’s appointment in a few days. I’ve been hearing this weird buzzing in my ear the whole day. You know when you get water stuck in your ear and it won’t go away? It’s kind of like that, but with a fan or something. It’s really annoying. It kind of reminds me of a bunch of bugs. Like, if you stuck your head in a beehive and all the bees were buzzing around you and they wouldn't go away? And that reminds me of when Lyra and I went to the royal wedding and those horrible bug-ponies showed up, and that was pretty much the worst thing. They were all gross and buggy and ick.

Hopefully it'll be gone when I wake up, but I’ll go to the doctor’s just to make sure.

Still haven’t thought of a good name. Journal seems okay for now.

Done for today!


I feel totally sick today.

My stomach started freaking out when I was on my break at work. I almost threw up it was so bad. My boss wanted me to go home, but there’s no way I’m taking half a day off work for a stomach ache. Gotta save up some money. More chocolates coming in next month, if nothing else.

I don’t feel any better since I got home though.

The buzzing is there still. It’s way louder. It sounds like everypony is talking to me through a wind-tunnel, and it kind of shakes in my head when I turn it. And it still has me thinking of those stupid bug-things. Whenever I close my eyes, the black reminds me of their gross skin or skeleton or whatever it was. I feel awful, and my stomach still hurts. I thought maybe one of my chocolates would make it better, but that was definitely a stupid idea, because it sure didn’t.

Ugh. I don’t feel up to writing anymore. Everything is spinning and stuff right now.

I should go lie down. Feel like I’m gonna be sick. I’m go gonna go lie down for a while. Hopefully when I wake up, I’ll feel better.

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