The world was an unpleasant blur when you woke. You should've stopped drinking before the bottles' labels became too warped to read. The bright rays of the sun were a spotlight on a groggy vampire. You crawled away, looking for a blanket but only pulled up handfuls of grass.

Vision settled and an open field came into view. Sitting up would've happened, but the wires in your body were still reconnecting themselves. Instead your head lolled around and your jaw hung in slack confusion and anger.

"Seriously?" This wasn't the first time you woke up in a strange place with a hangover, but a field is a first. Sure, you woke up in the woods before, but that was on a camping trip and you weren't the only one strewn across the nature scape that morning. Morning grit let you sit up and further take in your surroundings.

Nothing but field, with a wall of trees to the north. You took a deep breath and yelled "Andrew! Kacie!" That caused marbles to come loose and roll heavy across the bowl of your skull. "Ugh...hell."

Good God, Andrew's moonshine didn't fuck around. It's uncompromising sweetness lingered on the corners of your lips. Your voice echoed across the grass and faded into the uncaring brightness of the sky.

No one replied. You stood, one leg at a time. You looked up, closed your eyes tight and groaned. Looking around, you didn't see any tire marks or footprints in the grass. How the hell did you get here? Did you get so drunk you took off running and disappeared into a field?

Or were you snatched and dropped off here for laughs? At any rate you still had your clothes on. Bare minimum that meant you weren't stripped naked and left for dead, or got so razzled you decided to run around with your tits hanging out in the middle of the night and ended up dying of hypothermia.

Let's just keep counting your blessings, huh? You reached into the pockets of your red leather jacket and pulled out your phone. You flicked it open. Sure enough, no signal and your battery was close to dying. Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. You plopped back down on your rear and rubbed your temples.

“I don't need this. I've got stuff to do today.” It was true. You did. Or so you thought. There had to be something more important on your schedule other than sitting out next to the damn woods. “Fine. Whatever.” You stand up and start walking, following the vague downward slope of the land. There had to be buildings nearby, and even if there wasn't, sitting around wasn't going to get you anywhere useful. Just find a road and hitch a ride if you have to. You'd come across a sign or a gas station eventually, then you could call up Andrew. Hopefully he hasn't woken up -that way his hang over will be in full force when you tear him a new one for letting you wander off like this.

The grass was mercifully flat, but your heavy boots weren't suited for this kind of terrain. They were for show, not trail-hiking. Every few minutes you'd take out your phone and hold it in the air for the distracting hope of catching a signal on the wind. You'd check the menu and hissed swears. That never worked anyway.

You tried to piece together what happened last night. You and Kacie drove to a party Andrew was having at his parent's place far back in the dark and private boonies. The air was heavy with mosquitoes and bad music. Some one got punched out for trying to slash Marcus's tires on his crappy '96 Ford. Fucking hilarious. Afterward someone broke out the herbal refreshments for a post-battle pow wow and...well, it was a clear night, but not for long.

You rubbed your face, made a yuck mouth at the smell of dried saliva built on your chin during your nap al fresca. You needed water. And a toothbrush. And a shower. And a private jet, along with a million other things.

You are going to give Andrew the hardest five-finger special delivery to his face when you see him.

The aimless hate helped you power through the ache of walking and the ache in your head. The fresh air was making you feel sick. This was cow and corn country. You'd come across a line of barbed wire fence sooner or later. Maybe you try to find the scent of cow dung and walk that way, find a ranch hand and sweet-talk him into giving you a lift.

The treeline thinned out and you saw something relieving as chocolate covered aspirin: Buildings.

Very...bright buildings. From here it looked like something out of a valentine's day illustration. You expected rusted aluminum sheds and weed-ridden yards sprinkled with trucks propped up on cinder blocks. Oh well. You needed a phone. And a breakfast taco. No need to sneer at providence.

You passed through the forest's criss-crossing bramble. Shadows lay over you almost immediately. You took a moment to acclimate to the unnatural darkness. The trees seemed to close in and melt out of the shade. Not ten yards ago you could see the peppy clusters of buildings and houses, but here there was only outgrowth, bush, and gnarly limbs. You stepped carefully onto moist leaves, and the icy tingle at the bottom of your spine told you not to make any more noise than could be helped.

Things rustled in the undergrowth. The trees here looked old and angry. Green and blue moss covered their cracked barks and roots that dug into pitch black soil. A bug with long spindly legs crawled underneath a moist pile of leaves. Your heavy boots squelched into mud that seeped through the tight laces and leather and made your feet horribly cold.

You paused in the oppressive thicket. The air fought against your lungs with the smell of rotting wood and musk of animals that did not want you there.

One of those animals growled behind you.

You didn't bother to scream, that was valuable time you invested into hauling ass. And haul you did. The twisting thrusts of shadow and light warped into smears of gray and snarling faces made of timber and leaves. Wooden claws seemed to reach out to grab at your jacket, your pant legs. The thing behind you made roars that turned into bounding screeches, like someone was slamming a band saw across a metal drum.

You're never going to a party out in the woods again. Hell, now you won't do so much as go to the park without a firearm. Nothing but city life if you make it out of this. Yes. Skyscrapers and safe, well-lit concrete pavements, that's for you.

A root jutted out of the mud and tripped you. Even with the layer of compost the fall hurt. The side of your head hit a spiteful, mite-infested log.

You pushed off the ground panting and tried to bring your legs under your chest to resume sprinting, but they wouldn't budge. Looking down, your boots were impossibly tangled in thick, strong roots. Like bony, dirt covered hands, they reached out and wrapped around your ankles. You swore and kicked but nothing gave.  The thing chasing your roared again.  Trees bucked and trembled as it barreled closer. Your fingers danced at the laces, and you swore you saw the roots wrap tighter.

“Come on! Come freaking on!” The laces and buckles on your boots loosened enough to allow your feet to escape from them. In vegetarian anger, the roots crushed the thick-soled and black leather wares like tissue paper.

Son of a bitch.

Direction was much less important than running. Your pupils dilated to let in dim scraps of light.

This was a movie. That's it. You were in the worst horror movie ever written. A film so awful it didn't even make it into the top five on opening weekend.  And it was going to kill you.

You were screaming. Partly in pain, as your stockings did little to protect your feet from the unkind forest floor. Terror, blood-boiling terror pushed you into grind-house level caterwauling. Not that it helped, but it covered up the screeches and roaring of the monster chasing you.

The branches turned and flexed out, forming snatching fingers and mossy nets to catch you. Your lithe figure was able to slip through them with heavy scratches and knicks. For a moment, just a second even, you hoped you could keep this up forever. The beast behind you sounded like it was losing ground. The light above turned brighter. Moth-sized pieces of hope fluttered in your stomach. There was a long shot that you'd get out of this alive.

But the ground dropped, so you had a long fall instead. You tumbled and skidded over mud and hard, unyielding outcroppings. Stones smacked against your arms when you tried to slow yourself. Dirt slipped into your eyes, mouth, ears, and whatever crevice it could sneak into to enjoy the ride. You were on the dungeon drop from hell. In the spinning vortex you saw the brown and mottled ground you were falling from, and a field of blue you were heading towards. That horrible thudding and slamming noise? That was your body being intimately acquainted with how little physics cared.

But you came to a painful halt.  A stump was kind enough to give you immediate cause to stop. You laid there for long moments, moaning and spitting out blood.

Luckily your eyes weren't mashed like potatoes from the fall, so saw a clear outline of the beast at the top of the ravine. It was bulky. There were horns. Eyes glowed and narrowed against the speckled light of the forest canopy. Even from way down there you could hear it huff and reverb. You shuddered and backed away from the drop. You arms didn't snap in half, so you supposed they weren't broken at least. You scooted over dirt and blue flowers.

The monster above snorted and kicked down clods of dirt. It looked at the drop, then at you. It roared what was annoyance, or maybe a warning. It turned around and bounded into the brush and trees.

You fell flat on your back, crying and thanking God.  Bruised hands tried wiping the dirt from your face. Your breath shook, and you started to sneeze. And sneeze. And sneeze, sneeze sneeze.

These flowers, you realized. Thick and heady pollen shook from their heads as you jerked with each sudden exhale and deep breath. The forest echoed with achoos and coughs. Attempts to stand only worked until you sneezed again, bringing you to your knees and back into the unbreathable miasma of the flower field. At this rate you'd choke to death on pollen.

How lame, you think with no small amount of delirium. Dying from flower dust after pulling a road-runner from a forest monster.

Your lungs wheezed and your arms shook as you tried to crawl away, but your vision turned blurry and the blue flowers seem to stretch on and on in every direction. Unconsciousness was slipping its fingers around your neck when you heard a voice yell “She's over here!”

Oh fucking thank-you.

You heard the stamping of feet. Another voice, deeper than the first called out “Don't get sick. Don't breathe in the pollen. You must be quick!”

You coughed into the ground. Pollen puffed up into the air. Little bubbles floated in your skull. You were feeling floaty, like a beach ball tossing around on lazy waves.

Oh this is...is...

A mauve horse burst through the thick clouds and forest shadows. She gasped

"What in the world -?"

By slow degrees you looked up. Hah. Talking horsey.

"Hi theeere...." You coughed. "Shouldn't be here, 's....not...." You sneeze. "Sanitarery."

She lowered her head beneath your shoulder.

"Try to stand!" She grunted. "Lean on me if you have to, we need to get out of here."

Through haze and allergic shipwrecks you catch the meaning and make it to your feet when she lifted you.

“I don't...I don't...” you mutter.

“Don't talk, just move. It's dangerous here.” Her voice was rock sturdy, an instrument fined-tuned for giving orders. You comply immediately, which surprised you. One step two step one step two...

“Got lost, and something is up there, something...bad, something scary.”

“Shh, shhh.” Her responses were short. You stumbled a few times, and so did she after she started to sneeze.

'Dammit' you think you heard her say. By then you were dazed and your eyes were so irritated you couldn't see to the end of your nose. You were only aware of the crunch and shuffle of forest floor and the huffing breaths from you and the talking small horse that was saving your ass.

The light turned a little brighter.  The air turned much clearer, but still weighed down with humidity and compost. Your rescuer stopped and took deep breaths. You heard deep, alarmed voice.

“I've seen much that dwells in these trees, but what you have there is a marvel to me.”

You slip from her haunches and go to your knees. The red horse kept you from falling over. “She was in a Poison Joke field. I had to pull her out.” She coughed. “Got a good lungful myself.” She tried laughing it off, but fell into a coughing fit. You're pretty sure she was talking to a zebra. Her face turned hard, or so you assumed. Reading horse facial expressions was not a skill you've developed.

“Then this is grim indeed. A cure I must mix, before the plant works its tricks. A safe place you need. Think of one, Ms. Cheerilee.”

Her mind's rolodex flipped and she made a decision. “The schoolhouse. There's no class today. I have a first aid kit there, I can take care of her until you brew the cure.” The zebra nodded.

“A fine course, it will serve. Now move with haste! We must all be spurred, who knows what foul jest this plant will incur.”

Her back legs kicked up dirt and she slipped into the shadows of the forest with wicked urgency. The horse -Cheerilee? Cheerilee. She touched a damp hoof to your cheek, prodding you to attention. “You're going to need to stand again. We have to move quickly. You're in danger, but we can help you.” She repositioned herself beneath your arm and hoisted you upwards again.

“Fucking...” you grumble.

“I'm sorry?”

“This weekend...it fuckin' sucks,” you say. She frowned.

“It's going to suck a lot more if we don't move.” She slapped your rump with her tail. Your legs lurched, one in front of the other. “Good, that's great,” she said before slipping into another coughing fit.

She led you towards a town. The world was still twirling, but you recognized the bright, happy-looking houses as the ones you saw earlier. Knowing that things have only turned worse since you first saw them didn't help your mood.. She didn't go towards the center of the burg, but instead clung to the outskirts.

Her eyes dart and scan, making sure no one was present to raise unwanted attention. Her goal was a handsome, medium sized building whose well-maintained grass was littered with kiddy toys. She went through the back way and leaned you against a wall.

“Just a moment,” she whispered. Her hooves and mouth fiddled the lock. She swung the door open. You resisted as she urged you inwards.

“Where...what is this...?”

Her voice was the model of patience. “It's a schoolhouse. My schoolhouse. I'm a teacher you see. You'll be safe here, but it's important that you and I stay away from anyone else right now. Please, follow me inside. We need to get you cleaned off.”

You're in no position to resist for long, and without much fuss you're ushered in. The soles of your feet recoiled at the touch of cold hardwood floor, but you breathe relief knowing that you know longer need to walk on rough and rocky dirt. She pulled up a chair and set you down. You looked around with bleary and irritated eyes. Oh yeah, this was a schoolhouse alright.  A chalkboard lorded over an army of small desks. Cubbyholes lined the walls studded with crappy finger paintings. Your stuffed nose worked just enough to recognize the scent of old books, glue, and adolescent impatience.

You never.  Ever. Wanted to be in a school again. A wet rag was pushed into your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, what the hell, lady?” You smacked it away. A look of heavy annoyance flashed over the horse, but she caught her bad humor and set it aside. She offered you a bowl of water and a towel.

“Wipe yourself off. The pollen is already in your system, but there's not point in continued exposure. A lot of that stuff got on us, I can't say when the effects will kick in.” You grabbed the rag and gave it a good squeeze, trying to focus your wits.

“Exposure to what? Where the hell am I? What ARE you?”

“Language, please, this is a school,” she said with a needle's pointedness. She shook her head. “Er, sorry.  Force of habit. I'm a teacher, like I said.  My name is Cheerilee. What I am is a pony. What you were exposed to is a plant called Poison Joke. A magical species of flora -and a nasty one at that.”

Alright. Talking ponies. Magic plants. You'd rather deal with these things than forest monsters and grabby rapist tree roots. You wiped cool, clean water over your stinging eyes. Thoughts gathered in your head. “That shit's not gonna kill me, is it?” She winced.

“Poison Joke isn't normally fatal, but I can't say how it'll react to your...um...biology.” She took another bowl and rag to her desk and tended her own face. “Zecora -that was the other pony I spoke with -she's an expert on the plants in the forest. She's dealt with its infection before. She's making an antidote, but it takes time. If we're lucky she'll get it to us before the symptoms set in.”

“She's a doctor, then?”

“Not necessarily, but she's lived out in that forest for a long time. She knows its ins-and-outs, and is more versed in extra-natural herbal remedies than anyone else in town.” You coughed and laughed.

“Oh, great. Fan-fucking-tastic then.  My life depends on the best backwoods snake-oil woman in horse-village, next you'll tell me-” You were cut off by the sharp slap of a ruler hitting a desk.

“LANGUAGE.” Her voiced echoed once around the schoolroom. You stared, shocked that a terse and loud command could come from such a small, unassuming looking animal.

“Yes ma'am. Sorry,” you eeped.

Wait, eep?  You never eeped.  Your thoughts are snipped by her voice once more. “No, sorry, I was...I didn't meant to yell,” she cleared her throat and rubbed her forehead.  “I'm asking you to trust us. That's all.  Zecora will help us both.” She looked out the window, expecting to see the zebra trotting down the pathway.

You swung your right leg over the opposite knee and ripped off the tattered bottoms of your stockings to tend to the soles of your feet. They were bleeding in few places after running over rocks and twigs. You rubbed the dirt away, wincing. “What the hell kind of forest was that?”

“A dangerous one. No sane pony goes in there alone. It's unpredictable and much more...alive than usual.  I normally have no business with the place, but I needed a few herbs, and asked Zecora to be my escort. You're a lucky girl, for us to find you. Very, very lucky.”

She teetered a moment before saying more. “The children. We do all we can to warn them, but a few...well, we've had incidents before. I know what it's like to organize a search party.” She turned grave. “That forest has been responsible for a lot of long nights.” The teacher cleaned the fur on her forelegs. “You're very lucky.”

You flexed your toes to work out the sharper pains. “Hm. I don't feel lucky, Teach. If you told me the devil was about to spear my ass on a horn back there, I'd believe you. It was like someone fertilized the ground with Grade A evil.”

She chuckled. “Maybe I'll let you give a presentation to my class. Scare the wanderlust out of them.”

You snorted. “Hah. Kids. No, no deal.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Not fond of tykes?”

“Never have been, never will be. They run around like yap-yap dogs who keep hitting your knees. And they're always wanting something. Ugh. And touching your stuff and deleting shit off your phone.” You covered your mouth and tensed. “Sorry, ma'am.”

“One more slip up like that, young ma'am, and I'll get the paddle.”

There was no venom in her voice. Just promise. Your shoulders shook like winter rolled over them. “What....what?” You wiped sweat from your forehead. You never apologized for swearing. “I think...I think I need more water. Uh. Do you have a restroom here, ma'am? I mean, lady. Lady. Do you have a restroom around here?”

“Yes, we do. It's down the hall at the back.”

“Alright, 'cus I need...I need to go.” You stand up to leave.

“Permission,” she said. You looked at her over your shoulder. Her eyes turned stern. She presided over her desk like a dignitary operating at full capacity.  Her eyes looked clouded.

“Huh?”

“Permission. You need to ask permission to use the restroom. Those are the rules.” You chewed your bottom lip.

“Sorry ma'am, may -may I please...” You catch yourself. “No. Nu-uh.” You've got a driver's license. You've got a lip piercing and a custom lighter in your back pocket. You paid your phone bill on time every month, you don't have to ask anyone for permission to go to the goddamned potty. “Just real quick,” you muttered before doing a running-shuffle to the back room.

You closed the door behind you and were glad when you found that talking horses have a faucet with running water.  You run cold water over your face. The mirror is not kind. Your lip was cut. Your eyes were still red and swollen. Bits of forest refuse were hiding away in your jacket. For some reason your heart jittered. You hoped Teacher wouldn't get you in trouble for running to the restroom like you did.

“Shuddup shuddup.” You tell your reflection. “She's not your fucking teacher, she's an animal that got loose from the petting zoo.”  A towel hung off to the side. You dampened and rubbed it on the back of your neck until your blood pulse simmered.  Game plan. You needed a game plan.

Get that antidote. You needed that. Cheerilee was telling the truth about that Poison Joke. It's fucking with your head, and was likely porking her's too. Take whatever brew the zebra brings back and tear out of this joint and candyland circus town.

You put both hands on the rim of the sink and composed yourself. Toughen up, you little punk. You've caught poison ivy before, besides, how bad could something called 'poison joke' be? The water was still running. You drank a handful, and with two fingers you slicked your hair back and left the restroom.

Cheerilee looked pissed.

“Is this how you behaved at your old school?” You shouldered through an oncoming wave of guilt.

“I acted way worse. If I had a car I'd leave ten minutes after showing up. Anyone play instruments here? I'd spit in the mouthpieces and snip the strings.” You stuck your tongue out. “But I'm a guest here, so I'm on my best behavior.” Something about your bravado sounded off, like you were trying to convince yourself more than getting an honest rise out of your host.

She didn't appreciate it. “Young ma'am, you're giving me more grief than I've taken from a student in a very long time. Don't think...” she held her head and blinked as if a fog had drifted up from the floorboards. “Think...you'll conjure up leniency just because you're a....a transfer student.”

You've had enough. “Listen, dammit, I'm not a fucking student here, I'm a-”

“Don't.  Interrupt me.” She slammed a hoof on her desk and raised from the chair like a hawk. If you could shrink down to a mouse's size you would have. “I've given you fair warning, young ma'am. Go to the chalk board. Now. You're going to write sentences until the bell rings.” You crossed your arms.

“No. Fuck that, and fuck you. I'm out of here. Out. I'll take my chances outside with the plant poisoning and forest beast rapists.” You march to the door.

“You will stop right now. You will turn and come to me.” A foot hovered uneasily in midair. You bit your lip. You were in trouble. By way of some twisted magnetism, you about faced and took confused steps to the teacher. She pulled out a drawer and dug somewhere far in the back.

“I haven't needed to use this in years.” She withdrew a long, thin wooden paddle with a rubber handle. It was an aged, stern piece of wood.  An honored veteran of rear administration and behavioral correction.

Looking at it sent dread down your back and straight to the bottoms of your feet.

You carved a nervous chuckle. “You're...you're not serious, are you?” She didn't laugh.

“Having regrets, hm? Too late for those, dear. Actions have consequences. Cause and effect. I'm surprised they haven't covered that yet in your curriculum. But if they did, I doubt you paid attention.” She sat straight in her chair, rear legs kicked out in front of her. She performed an experimental swing. The paddle shoved aside air with a full 'whoomf.”

She brushed her purple hair away from her forehead.

“Your punishment will be ten paddles. You must count. If I hear any sass or commentary, you have to start over. This is only going to be as difficult as you make it.” She tapped her lap. “Now lean over.”

Oh. Hell. No. You took a step back. “You're fucking bonkers, lady.” You put your hand in the air. “You should be writing Looney Tunes, not teaching kids. I'm out. Bye.” You took another step back.

“Twenty paddles, then.”

“But Miss Cheerilee, I-”

“Lean over, or I'm making it thirty.” Your rear clenched up.

“Y-yes...yes...” you moved forward in a daze, pulled by invisible ropes tied to your knees. Your arms moved like mush through the air as your body leaned onto her lap. Your lips moved feebly as you stared at the floor. She swiped the paddle through the air a few more times.

“Remember, we're going to twenty.”

The maroon mare raised her arm upwards. You looked behind and saw the wooden paddle catch sunlight on its curved corners. It came down in a long arc, slicing through the air like a thin battering ram.

It all felt unreal, so when it hit your unprepared ass it hurt like a bitch.

“OW! What in the everliving fuck, lady? What the hell am I doing here?” You're leaned over on a pony's lap and getting paddled. Did that tumble down the hill give you brain damage? It must have, because this entire situation was the epitome of fucking retarded. You pushed your arms to the ground to roll off her.

She pressed a hoof onto you back. You struggled against it. The little pony had the strength of an industrial pillar. “Come on, let me go.” You bucked against the hoof. “Seriously, cut it out.” She pressed down more, making breathing difficult. “Please, ma'am!”

“Twenty. You have to count to twenty.”

You looked at her with anger, and then with pleading. She responded to neither. You turned away from her.

Alright, you think. Fine. Whatever . Let this crazy bitch get her rocks off by spanking your rear. Make it to twenty, then you're out of here. You huffed and stared at the ground.

Cheerilee kept her hoof on your back, ready to pin you down if you tried to escape. She firmly placed the paddle on the lower portion of your rear. The smooth wood curved upwards over your perky left cheek. She pressed into the flesh and muscle, testing it. The paddle traveled down your right cheek. They quivered.

“Just fucking get it over with.”

You heard the paddle flash upwards. It fell like lightning. The room echoed.

“FFFFUFUUAAAHHHCK. ONE.”

Sweet Jesus. Did that little thing really hit you like

Whoomf.

“T...Two!”

You squeezed your eyes and blinked with disbelief. Your butt cheeks clenched. You waited for the third one.

It didn't come. You looked behind. She didn't acknowledge you. Her green eyes were impassive, like they were blow-torched glass. You turned to the ground once more.

The air split. The denim of your jeans did little to buffer the pain. It stung. It stung worse than falling on concrete.

“Three!” You cry out. What's twenty minus three? Seventeen. You could do seventeen. You're a tough girl. Tough.

Thunder struck your ass. You winced and bit your lip. “Four. Freaking four.” Your legs shook. Hair fell over your eyes. Another strike came from above. It hit the sie of your cheek like a damn ice cream truck. You bit your tongue.

“Son of bitch, lady, are you trying to cripple me?” She pressed her hoof between your shoulder blades.

“Starting from one again,” she said placidly.

“That's a damn good joke you just said.” She didn't smile.

“Seriously, this isn't funn-”

Whack. “GAH, DAMMIT!”

“One.” She said.

“I''m not going to count!”

The teacher struck once more.

“One?” She gave you the most fleeting glance. You gritted your teeth and looked away form her.

“One. Fine, one.” Freaking psychopath. You're glad you never liked horses.

The blows kept coming. Each one more painful than the last. There was no steady rhythm to the strikes. One two....threefour....five.

Six.

Breathing. Breathing. Shuddered breathing.

Seven. She left the paddle on your ass. She slid in slow circles on the cheeks...across the edges of your hips.

“Can you quit playing around back there?” You frowned.  “Oh hell.”

“Starting over from one,” she said. You looked at her, wishing you had laser eyes.

“You're setting me up, aren't you?”

She spanked you for all it was worth.

You grunted. “One.” You lowered your head. It started to throb. This was beyond humiliating. You had a lot of kinks, but spanking was not one of them. Not that some guys didn't appreciate the firm, well-sculpted curve of your ass. A good handful of one cheek was-

Whap.

“Twoo-o-o.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead. The tips of your fingers began to feel numb. The teacher was going to pop all the blood vessels in your ass and you'd die from internal bleeding. Spanked to death. What an ignoble end. You laughed.

The laughter turned into a groan that sputtered “Three.” You clenched your fist. Just focus on something else. Take your mind off the pain.

Whap.

“Four.”

She paused again. You wouldn't say anything. You won't fall for her tricks.  Gotta get through this. You're a tough girl. Tough girl. You got this.

Cheerilee brought the hammer down. The room echoed. “F-FIVE. FIVE. Ah, five!” You cried. Tears gathered at your eyes. You tried to wipe them away with a finger, but they wouldn't unclench from your fist.

“What?” you whisper. You looked at your hands. They were bunched wire-tight into a fist. The flesh turned bone white. Thumb placed in your mouth, you tried to pry it away. The digit would not budge. You whimpered as the muscles in your hand strained from the pressure.

The nerves from downstairs yelped as Cheerilee delivered number six. You yowled out accordingly, jerking from your panic. Your fists bunched tighter. You waved your wrists, thinking they would come loose. You held a hand close to your eyes. The fingers melded together.

Your heart dropped. Was this the work of that plant? It had to be.

Whap.

“Wait! Hold on, something- something is happening to me!”

“One.” She said, stern as iron.

“Listen, enough of your sick fetish shit, that stuff is-”

Fwap.

“Ahh—hah ahhh.” You bit your tongue and shut your eyes. When you opened them, your hands had  fused solid.

“Oh-h-h noo.....no, this is...”

Whoomf.

You cry, more from panic than pain. You look frantically between the mare and your remolding hands.

“One. Okay, I said one, now can you please-”

Your glanced down at your arms. The skin tingled. You examined it with suspended horror. Light turquoise hair was sprouting along your forearms.

“Look! Look at my-”

Waamf.

“You're still on one.” She said.

No way. She's lost her mind. The plant. It was affecting her too. Where was that zebra?  Were you going to be a handless fuzz ball by the time she got back?

Cheerilee hit you.

“One” you stuttered.  Oh please, please, let this go by quickly. Just say the twenty and she'll stop, and whatever is happening to you will stop.

The air moved. You cried out “Two!”  The greenish blue fur spread further across your arms. You closed your eyes, hoping it would go away.

They opened when you yelled 'three,' but there was only more pain and more fur. Your hands looked like hooves now. She struck you again. Four. The hair spread up your arms. Your wiped at it with your hooves, trying to get it off. It spread up and up, taking over your shoulders from inside your coat and jacket.

“Six!” You yell. You squirmed and whimpered as the fur crept down your back. Sweat dripped off your forehead and tears built up around your eyes.

Another burst of thunder.

“S-seven! Seven.” The fur prickled your skin as it traveled down your spine. You felt a sharp pain at its base, but it wasn't from another whipping. As if your ass was in enough agony, there was a mounting pressure on your tailbone. Your muscles tightened. Something pressed forward, stretching skin and bone. You groaned.

A long, lashing green tail slid out from the edge of your jeans. It flickered involuntarily.  Your whole rear was on fire. You looked behind and stared aghast.

“One moment.” the teacher said. She let go of your back. You were too stunned to do anything. She set her hooves against the rim of your pants and shuffled them downwards. Your new tail moved more freely. Your tail. Oh God, you have a tail now. Your pants were lowered more. They caught your panties. The teacher slid your jeans down to your knees.

You were sitting leaned over her lap while your bare, reddened ass was exposed to the cold air and a room full of grade school finger paints. You blushed and rubbed your furry arms against yourself.

This day could go get mugged.

Cheerilee brushed your tail to the side. You shuddered as she touched your new appendage. It was an uninvited foreigner on your body and you didn't want it there. She put her hoof on your back once more.

“We were on seven.”

She hit you again. Without the protection your denim jeans offered, the pain of her strikes were multiplied tenfold. You inhaled from the shock and renewed vigor of the pain.

“Aaaaaaggg...eight. Eight.. ah!” Your felt more fur spread down form your spine.

Nine, ten, eleven. Oh no. You felt it travel across your breasts, over your knees. Your pubic area shook as fur covered it, hiding it at least a little from the open air.

Twelve.

“Aw fuck!”

Your face pinched. Oh no. Oh fuck.

“Starting from one.”

Whap.

“Son of a bitch!”

Your jaw felt like a hot wire was running through it. “Ahhh. Uh Ah. Ffuuuuhck.”

Wharmf.

Your nose flared as your face pushed out. “Oh no. Not this. Please. Please, stop this. You.”

Fwip.

“You crazy bitch, can't you see what's going on?”

Your face extended. You felt your teeth move around inside your gums. Your tongue grew longer, growing past your lips and hanging uselessly while the rest of your mouth caught up with it.

Wharp.

You bit your tongue and cried out. You ran your hooves over your face, and felt the fur growing there. You closed your eyes, weeping and cursing while the uncaring corporal-punishment obsessed bitch hit you again and again and again.

Your hair turned a green tone.

She hit you again.

You felt your eyes enlarge.

“Please, please. I'm begging you lady, stop.” Your voice scared you. You sounded like an eight your old.

“You're still on one, young ma'am.”

She hit you again. It hurt. It hurt more than anything else in the world.

You broke down on her lap, bawling your eyes out, kicking for all it was worth. Your forearms...fore....legs? They were soaked with tears.

Your body racked with pain. Pain and confusion. You were turning into a pony. Why? Why was this happening to you? Is it because you were bad? You were bad. You went out last night even when your mom told you not too. You took money from your dad's wallet. You ran a red light. You drank out of a soda bottle in the store before paying for it. There was a thirty-eight cent late fee at the city library you haven't paid in four years. You cussed in Teacher's room and didn't ask permission to use the potty.

“No. No. Nononoonoo.” You covered your eyes and wept. “No, please, no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, I promise I'll be good. I promise. I'll be a good girl. Just stop spanking me!”

And that was the key word.  Cheerilee brushed your back.

“And you will get the chance to be good. You'll be a good little pony, won't you, young ma'am?”

You nodded weakly underneath her. “Yes, ma'am. I'll be...” you gulped. “I'll be a good little pony.”

She patted your mane. You recoiled, but a part of you longed for a sign of forgiveness.

“I told you, this will only be as difficult as you make it. We only have to get to twenty.” Her voice was soft and affected encouragement. “Alright?”

“Y-yes. Yes ma'am.”

“Starting from one. Hopefully for the last time.”

You sniffled.  She patted your bum. It didn't even qualify as a pat. It was a light tap.

“O-one.”

Another, equally fleeting.

“Two...”

Three.Four.Five. She dolled out each pop at steady rate. Six.Seven.Eight. You grew hot within your jacket and shirt. You fidgeted as your clothes turned loose. With each passing motion you shrank.

Smaller. Nine. Smaller. Ten. The world grew bigger. Eleven. You waved your new rear hooves in the air. Twelve. Smaller. Thirteen. Your jeans fell off.  Your belt clattered to the ground.  Your passive cries grew high-pitched, sounding akin to a kitten mewling. Fourteen.

Fifteen. Just let this be over already. Sixteen. Just let you be you. Seventeen. You want to go home. Eighteen. You want your daddy. Nineteen. You don't want to be a pony. Twenty.

“T-twenty. Twenty. Twenty,” you mutter. She pats you on the head, picks you up, and settles you on the ground. She places away the paddle, back in its oubliette at the far back of the dresser drawer.

“Hopefully I won't have to use that again,” She said. “I really don't enjoy using it.” She looked at you and smiled. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

You stared up at her, open mouth. She was so big compared to you. The teacher stood tall before you, comfortable in her authority, and confident she got her point across. You looked around, feeling afraid of everything.

“Are you alright?” Her voice was filled with genuine concern.

Was she serious? You nodded slowly, not wanting to incur her insanity again.

“You may go to the restroom and wash yourself up, if you'd like.”

You looked down at your tear soaked hooves. “Y-yes ma'am. Thank you.” You turned around and tripped over the flowing sleeves of your jacket. You yelped and bucked as you squirmed out of your oversized clothes. Your mind was in such a frazzle, you didn't give a second thought as you bumbled into the restroom once more.

You had to pull out a step stool and hiked up to the edge of the sink to look in the mirror.

What happened to you?

You bit your lip and blinked at the large-eyed filly staring at you in the mirror. Feathery green bangs hung over your bright golden eyes. A hoof touched your face, which felt soft and all too real.

Plants don't do this. Nothing on earth could do this. You were still asleep. All you needed was a good immediate wake up and you'd be back at Andrew's shitty house out in the boonies with a wicked hangover.

You slapped yourself, which hurt more than you were expecting. Hooves were hard. You nipped your arm. Nothing. You nipped your other one. Nip nip nip. Still here. Still looking at a scared little girl in the mirror covered in blue fur and wondering who's going to pick her up and take her home.

Cold water splashed your bleary eyes. You washed away the tears, but couldn't wash the rest of the world away.

The reflection turned angry. Hooves pressed against the glass and your squeaky voiced raised to what little heights it could. “What's wrong with you!?”

The reflection's chest rose and fell and cried.  It dawned that the reflection was you, wholly and truly. “No.” You backed away from the mirror and bumped into the wall. “I'm a pony,” you bleated. “Fuck.” The world spun. You opened the door and walked down the hall, staying close to the wall.

“Feeling better?” Cheerilee asked.

You looked at her. She was folding your clothes and putting them in a neat stack. “I'm....I'm....” you couldn't piece any words together. She had your jacket in her hooves. “Can...um...may I have that back?” Your brain clicked. “Please?” She smiled.

“Of course you can.” She held it out. You approached her, and thought for several moments about how exactly you were supposed to carry it. You took it in your mouth.

After several more moments you set it down. “May I, uh. May I go outside for a little while, Miss Cheerilee?” She nodded.

“You may, but stay inside the play area. We're still expecting Zecora, remember?”

“Yes. Yes ma'am.” You took the jacket and hurried out the door, stumbling on your four new hooves as you did so.

The door slammed behind you and you pressed against the wall. The sun warmed your fur and everything smelled so different. You nose took in the scent of pollen from flowers and baked goods on the wind.

There you stood on the wall of a schoolhouse, unsure of exactly who and what you were now. Your heart pounded in your chest.  A great urge to run, and run fast welled up inside. But you didn't want to move from this wall. Miss Cheerilee told you not to go very far. You didn't dare get in trouble again. Hell no, you didn't want to get in trouble.

“Think, think think...”

“Hiya there!”

“Oh shi-who?” You jumped.  A yellow filly about your size snuck up while you grappled with an existential crisis.  She had a generous bundle of red hair contained in an enormous pink bow.

“I never seen you before. Are ya new?” She pranced back and forth in front of you. You pressed against the wall like a kid approached by a large, over-friendly dog.

“Uh. Sure. Yeah. New. Hey. Hi.” Oh God, kids. You didn't need this. She laughed.

“Oh, that's so neat! Well then, lemme be the first ta welcome ya to Ponyville! I'm Applebloom.  I live on an apple farm.”

She breached your personal space. Her nose twitched like she was taking in your scent. You realized you were taking in hers as well. She smelled like apples. She smelled like a ton of apples. You had to say something.

“I live on a...house.” You looked around with agitation, almost wishing the forest rape demon would burst out of the trees and put you out of this misery. “My name is...” You thought for a while. Did you really want her to know your name? “Uh. I haven't unpacked my name yet.”

“Oh.” She looked a little disappointed. “Well, when you unpack it, let me know!”

“Kay.” Please go away. Please. She stuck her face near your back end.

“Say. What kind of cutie mark you got there? I ain't never seen one like that before.” Your eyes widened.

“Cutie what?” You looked at your backside and your jaw dropped.  Applebloom piped up.

“It looks like a paddle. Are you really good at playing ping pong? Or tennis? Gosh, that must be exciting.”

And sure enough, sitting right there in broad daylight in front of children and butterflies was a brand that looked just like a paddle.

“You're shitting me.” Your voice hit the air like a rock hitting water.  Applebloom's eyes widened at the mention of the poop-word. The audacity! The scandal!

“I like you,” she giggled. “Well, I have to go inside, I left something of mine in there yesterday. Is Miss Cheerilee here?”

“She is.” Oh praise God, she's going inside. “Wait! Don't go in there. That lady's crazy. Just don't.” Applebloom laughed. Hard.

“Crazy? Gosh no, she's the nicest teacher twenty towns over.”

You yelped and your rear clenched up at the utterance of the number.

“I'll just be a second,” she said and trotted inside.

You frowned. How did you not notice this earlier? A paddle? A fucking paddle? Someone up in the clouds was having a grand laugh at you. If you ever find Andrew again you're going to smash his moonshine right over his stupid face and hope his cheekbones broke off.

You couldn't stand for this. Someone might stroll along, see this tattoo on the side of your leg and think it's permission to give you a broad wallop. With emergency, you unfolded your red jacket and draped it over your back. The sleeves were too long to comfortably fit your forelegs. For a difficult stretch of time your hooves worked at your neck, securing the jacket by tying the sleeves into a knot.

With some relief you sighed. The mark was hidden. No one would think anything, and you wouldn't be reminded that...that....

Your head hung low. You were still a pony. Worse -a filly. That couldn't be hidden. You felt incredibly unhappy.

“Thank you Miss Cheerilee!” Applebloom popped out of the door frame, a small satchel swung over her neck. “Ooh, is that a cape? Cool.”

“It's not a cape,” you puffed. “It's a jacket.”

“It's a big jacket.”

“It used to fit me.”

Applebloom blinked.

“Did'ja use to be real fat or something?”

“No!” You bark. “I didn't used to be fat.” Not since you were twelve, at least. “Go away.  I need to...be alone for a bit, alright?” She recoiled.

“Alright, if you say so. Um. If you don't want to be alone later, you can hang out with me,” she offered. “And I have friends who are really cool. We wear capes sometimes too.”

“Fine. Sounds great.” You curled up inside your jacket, hoping she'd leave.

“Well...alright then. See you later.” She walked away, looking back a few times before disappearing.

“Damn kids,” you spat. You closed your eyes and sought sanctuary within the confines of your coat.

“A new student I see. Your teacher, please. I wonder where she may be.” You poked your head out. The zebra stood before you. She too had a heavy bag slung around her neck.

“About fucking time,” you muttered.

She held a striped hoof to her mouth, eyes bugging out and neck rings jingling.

“No rhymes for this, I guess,” you sneered. “If this is what passes for a joke around here, I'd hate to see when you people are serious.”

Neither of you laughed.