A Farewell to the Arms, a Welcome to the Hooves

Chapter One

That One Chapter Where I Give Some Background Information

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The name's Josh. I mean, my name. Sure, Josh is a name, not the name. Still, that's what my parents called me, and that's what everybody calls me, so let it officially be my name.

And no, I'm not a grammar expert; far from it. I mean, sure, we all have been in school, learning grammar, along with other boring genuinely exciting and thrilling subjects, but I'd be surprised if anybody really remembered a single thing from that cold and dreary place shrine of knowledge.

I'm a biochemist. Awesome, right? Like, spending days and nights at the lab, conducting experiments on the edge of transcendence, which will help humanity overcome disease and help establish a firm foundation for the future generations - what can be more exciting?

Well, leave that explanation to science fiction. Or average fiction. Or, even better, crappy fiction that you can pick up at a train station for five quid, making a difficult choice whether to buy a crappy book or a pack of cigarettes. Go for cigarettes, I say. Sure, they harm your lungs, but those books do much more damage to your brain than an ice axe shoved through your skull.

So, where was I? Oh, right, biochemistry. In our dull and unwelcoming reality, biochemistry is one of the most boring subjects in the word, sharing first place with a game of cricket played by inebriated walruses. You get the idea.

My primary job is to give lectures to the new generation of biochemists, young people who, apparently, had mistaken the course for Law, or Political Science, or something just as interesting. Two times a week, I come to the Cambridge University and tell those people about the beauty of phosphates and sulphates, and the development of medicine and various drugs (in the good sense of the word!), the names of which you wouldn't be able to pronounce anyway.

I mean, what is wrong with youngsters these days? When I studied at the Uni, all I cared about was the mass production of ammonium hydrate for my professors, and the beauty of C2H5OH. Oh, and I also graduated from Oxford, if you're interested. Cambridge is for pussies!

So... remember my telling you I was no grammar expert? Well, here you go: I derped with the tense. I used to give lectures at Cambridge. I used to be a biochemist. What I'm going to tell you now, is how I became a zebra.

Now, don't get me wrong. You see, I'm a brony. Yes, those kind of people who watch that one amazing cartoon - My Little Pony. The key word here is pony. If it were called My Little Zebra, I highly doubt I would have ever ended up watching it. I mean... Ponies are cool, you see. Not that I hold anything against zebras - perish the thought! Just... Ponies are cooler in my book. At least 20 percent cooler. And they are, well, ponies; amazing colourful pastel ponies. And zebras are, well, zebras.

Now that we've dispatched with the obvious, let me tell you about the day I turned into a zebra.

It was probably a beautiful morning in Ponyville, but in London, it was an ordinary dull rainy morning. And yes, I live in London. ...Used to live in London. While the incovenience of travelling by train may be considered unpleasant by some, I am one of the people who actually enjoy their time on a train.

I should have noticed something was wrong when I asked for a two-way ticket and received a one-way one, being told that "I wouldn't need a two-way ticket". I decided to blame the obscurity on the stupidity of the cashier; I mean, London's full of strange people, you know? Like, Jehowah witnesses, or MPs, or labourists... Cashiers can be pretty out of their thinking box, too.

So, the train ride was pleasant, and I even had time to read through the latest Guardian issue. Yes, I know it's a Labour paper. No, I vote Conservative. I just like the style.

So, to cut the long story short, in some two hours and a half I was sitting in my office - if that shadow of a room they mercifully lend to professors can qualify as an office - and reading through the notes I had prepared, smoking a pipe and taking an occasional sip from my tea mug. Yes, I know it is not allowed to smoke indoors. Just... don't tell the dean, okay?

As I was enjoying myself in the last few minutes before stepping into a darkened lecture hall, which strangely reminded me of a cage full of hungry tigers, I heard a knock at the door. I quickly put out the fire and rose to open the door, only to see a delivery man standing before me, a bemused expression of idleness and ignorance resting upon his face.

I envy such people, in a way. I mean, they don't have to worry about global problems, or metaphysics, or biochemistry, or stuff like that. They live their lives, much like behind their invisible walls of stupidity, and don't care about mind and matter, and whatever else matters.

Ignorance is truly bliss. Don't get me wrong - I hold nothing against couriers. I used to be one in the days of my youth. I used to perform manual labour as well... Good times...

But I'm really getting sidetracked here, right? So, I looked at the man, and he looked at me. We exchanged glances, much like pistols at dawn, and he handed me a bouquet of blue flowers.

I looked at the bouquet, my expression curious, the delivery man's expression firm and unwavering. It seemed that, shall there be a full-blown nuclear conflict, he still would have bore the same look on his face.

"May I enquire from whom I am receiving this package?" I wondered, asking myself if my phrasing was too much for him to handle.

"Anon," came the reply, during which the facial expression of the courier turned from pathetic idleness to unamused idleness - a drastic change, if you ask me.

"Anon?" I repeated. Don't get me wrong - I'm young at heart and everything, and the Internet is right up my street and what-not. But... Anon? Really.

The delivery man sighed and shook his head, most probably thinking how dumb Cambridge professors can be at times, and went away, leaving me with the mystery of the enigmatic bouquet. I had no time to inspect the blue flowers, so, deciding that it was probably a pitiful attempt at bribery from one my students, lay it on the table. Just as I turned away, directing my feet towards the entrance, where I had just had a pleasant little chat with the delivery man, I felt an urge to give in to an obvious human weakness. I sniffed the flowers.

And, well, as cliche as it may seem, the world turned black.