“How are you feeling today, sir?”

Initially, my visits to Ponyville General weren’t handled in such an informal manner. After the first few...altercations with the local populace though, the nurses and doctors started to become accustomed to my repeated visits.

It’s not as if I don't get along with the locals, quite the opposite really. The problem with mingling with a race of sapient equines that stand at eye level, with weight multiple times my own, is the fact that ponies can sometimes be a bit...enthusiastic with their greetings.

Horses, and by extension, ponies--pastel or not-- are a very physical species. Much of their communication hinges on the gestures which they use to interact with one another. Unfortunately for me, this means that each hug, each pat on the shoulder, each hoof bump, and each general brush and scrape with another pony has the potential to inflict injury on my comparatively fragile human body.

I don’t hold it against them, really. Their ability to fix me up afterwards makes up for the initial...unfixing. The magical nature of the ponies’ health care treatments has an accelerated effect to my magically-devoid self. The various healing spells and potions already make quick work of broken bones and bruises on a pony. On me, moreso. While it may take a pegasus three days to recover from a broken or sprained wing, the equivalent severity of fracture on myself takes hours to minutes to resolve, even with low powered spells and poultices. This, mainly, is the reason why I am able to live a somewhat normal life in Equestria. Otherwise, I would be in the hospital for most of my time if not dead by this point.

Which brings me back to today’s visit. It has become a daily routine of mine to have a checkup by the ever-present nurses at Ponyville General Hospital. This came as a result of my first brush with death since arriving in Equestria.

You know how some say Pinkie pie gives “bone crushing” hugs? Well, it’s a warning, rather than a metaphor in my case.

I arrived at the hospital that evening with three cracked ribs, a slipped disc in my spine, and a collapsed lung. As one can now tell, I made it out just fine, but it was a harrowing experience for all involved.

Pinkie gave me a wide berth for the following weeks, and the general populace paid closer attention to the amount of physical affection they sent my way. That isn’t to say I’ve been avoided completely. I wouldn’t be currently employed at Sugarcube Corner as wait staff if the Cakes didn’t think I was up to the task of taking a few dings here and there. Luckily, none of my injuries sustained since my arrival have been beyond the severity of a few cuts, bruises, sprains, and general dislocations.

After a while, one starts to get used to such ailments, and their pain tolerance and standards of normality adjust accordingly. I am still nowhere as durable as a pony, but I am able to shrug off most small bumps and bruises until the end of the day, when I am due for my “reassembly”.

Another side effect of my stay here is my deadened aversion to gross and generally, unsightly bodily behaviors that come with my job of keeping myself together on a daily basis. It is always fun watching my pink roommate’s reaction to my “daily diagnosis” as it were. Twice daily, I would take stock of my facilities; doing stretches, cracking knuckles, and repeatedly dislocating and relocating shoulder and hips in case I was subject to a plush pony pummeling again. It was easier to simply allow a shoulder to dislocate if it meant I didn’t have to subject myself and others to the sight of broken bones.

Regarding my roommate, Pinkie has gotten much better with her hugs, but one can never be too careful. Not when said roommate’s antics have led to an additional clause and charge in most Ponyville insurance policies these days.

It was slow going, but I seem to have made a little niche for myself here. I may not be the most structurally sound person around, but it doesn’t matter as much since I have friends to put me back together if or when I start to come apart.

The thought gives me pause as I hesitate to answer the receptionist pony. Earlier in the day I was given a pat on the back for my hard work. That pat left quite the bruise that still stings when I rotate my shoulder a certain way. That being said, it didn’t hurt as much as the reaction I received.

It pained me to see Pinkie’s face so saddened after I flinched away from her. She recoiled as if she had been hit. It hadn’t been all that bad, really. I’ve inflicted worse injuries upon myself before I even set foot in Equestria. A single bruise wasn’t going to end my life as I knew it.

She had always been so on edge, so measured with her actions toward me following the incident. Every step in my general direction was calculated. Every touch a Schrödinger equation as to whether I would come away from it unscathed.

I have forgiven her, so why hasn’t she?

This morning was just the straw that broke the Pony’s back. I was left alone in the store, Pinkie hastily retreating to what she thought was a safe distance from me before I could start to reply. Whether she did so for my own sake or her own is to be determined. The pony easily twice my size if not more, had been reduced to a weeping mess at a perceived slight. Who knew ponies could be so empathetic, so emotional--

So fragile.

It makes sense now.

I had come to terms long ago with the fact that my continued existence in Equestria would come at a price. A price I was willing to pay if it meant being in the company of such great ponies--no--such great people. Even the recurring healing treatments seemed to have a positive effect on my composition, my threshold for damage remaining, but the speed and ease of fixing me increasing nonetheless. But I didn’t know of the effect it had on those around me.

I had accepted that I would always be different, and maybe that wasn’t all a bad thing. It made ponies stop and contemplate the repercussions their actions had on me, which carried over their interactions with others in their lives. Surely that had to be worth something, right?

Pinkie and I are going to have a long talk when I get back.

I return my attention to the receptionist, Redheart if I remember correctly, having noticed that I had zoned out during my pondering. She probably thought I was tallying up my ever increasing register of injuries, before repeating the daily outliers to her.

I think back to my shoulder, wincing slightly as I rotate it a few times in its socket. Uncomfortable as it is, it reminds me of my difference, my alienness.

My fragility.

It reminds me why none of that matters in the end.

I give the mare a smile.

“I think I’ll be just fine.”

Author's Notes:

I finally wrote something? How long has it been?

I had originally written this by hand before publishing. I think I just might have found the way to beat my writer's block.