by Lotus Rose
Before the next play, all the cuddlebears got together in a huddle and whispered amongst themselves. Macho could not hear any of it.
They all positioned themselves for the next play. But before the goalie kicked the ball, all the cuddlebears rose up and stood on their hind legs.
They shouted out:
Cuddlebear Flare!
A chimey sound issued forth, then shining beams of light shot from their tummies and shined on Macho. He winced, but felt no pain or anything.
It didn’t seem to hurt him, so he didn’t care. “What the F?” he said. “I call foul.”
“Hey,” said TooCool, “you told us the rules and you said a foul involves touching, and we didn’t touch you at all. Therefore, we didn’t break any rules.”
Macho shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t care. All I know is that I gotta win this game. I don’t know why it really matters, though. What does anything matter, really?”
TooCool chuckled. “Now you know firsthand what the Cuddlebear Flare does! It makes you not care.”
Macho rolled his eyes, then replied, “So what?” He gave an intense stare to the cuddlebears, then crinkled his eyes and said, “I’m out of control! I don’t give a flying F anymore! Let’s play ball.”
The cuddlebears looked a little confused by his words.
As Machoponi waited for the goalie to kick the ball, he realized that not only did he not give an F about this stupid game, but he no longer cared whether these moron cuddlebears skewered themselves like jumbo shrimps on a shishkabob, because he no longer cared about anyone’s feelings.
Then a perverse idea popped into his head—he would trick the cuddlebears into running into each other! It’s not like he cared so much one way or the other—it would just be so easy. And it might actually be kinda funny to watch the cuddlebears get hurt. He found his thoughts interesting—he never would have wanted to kill the cuddlebears if he was his normal self. If only he cared.
He purposefully lost the next two points. He toyed with the cuddlebears, making it seem like a challenge, but he was really just getting them used to chasing him around.
After each goal against him, Macho merely shrugged and said, “Whatever.”
The cuddlebears, he figured, must have been glad that he no longer seemed to care enough to try to win.
Ah yes, the cuddlebears looked so smug. The score was tied 2 to 2.
At the start of the next play, Macho immediately got possession of the ball. This time, though, he ran all over the field with the ball, evading the cuddlebears and easily keeping the ball away from them. “Come on you sissies!” he shouted while running. “Is that all you got? You all suck!”
His plan was working. The cuddlebears were becoming enraged as they repeatedly tried to steal the ball away from Macho, and he evaded them. He began sticking his tongue out at them.
Macho yelled, “Come on, you sissies! Catch me if you can!”
All the cuddlebears were completely consumed with rage. TooCool yelled out, “Impale that mofo!” and even the goalie began to chase Macho.
Macho continued to evade them. Macho was actually carefully maneuvering all the cuddlebears into the perfect position for his plan. The cuddlebears were so focused on hurting him that they didn’t notice.
Finally, all the cuddlebears were positioned perfectly—they were all charging toward Macho in a contracting circle—they were so furious that they were running full speed, with no concern about committing a foul. Macho stopped running, then calmly rolled his ball underneath his body. He stood still in the center of the contracting circle of hate. It’s so easy, he thought.
Macho stuck out his tongue and waited.
Then at the right moment, Macho hopped up like Baryshnikov, while clasping the ball in his four legs. He shifted the ball in the air so that when he came back down, he landed on top of the ball, and he pushed down with his legs at the same time, causing a powerbounce just as the charging cuddlebears all shifted upright to impale Macho with their tummy quills. The ball with Macho on top bounced high up, and he was still in the air as the cuddlebears all crashed into each other in a group bellybump of pain, impaling and sticking to each other, erupting with blood.
And then Macho was coming back down with the ball beneath his hooves—the ball landed on a skewered cuddlebear’s head, then bounced. Macho flung himself off, then crashed on his side into the ground, which hurt quite a bit. His ball bounced a short distance away, but it wasn’t out of bounds.
After he got up, he stared at his ball. It had blotches of red on it—it was the second time he’d ever gotten blood on it.
“Please help us,” said one of the cuddlebears while spitting up blood.
“Why?” replied Macho. “It’s not like I care.”
Macho went to his ball, then went and scored an easy goal, since the goalie wasn’t there. “Three to two. I win,” he said.
Some of the cuddlebears were crying, others moaning. Some spat desperate-sounding insults. But they were no threat to Macho, because they were all stuck together in a big writhing mass, like a hairball of skewered bears.
Their blood pooled on the ground, staining the field.
Macho laughed at them, got his map, then started walking across the bridge.
Flutter-flyPoniValley was next.
CHAPTER 7
Flutter-flyPoniValley
Macho walked for about three hours on the yellow brick road. As he did, he could feel the effects of the Cuddlebear Flare gradually wearing off, but not completely. He wasn’t sure if he really cared about anything or not, and he wasn’t sure it much mattered to him.
Off in the distance, he could see a hill, and as he approached it, he began to hear singing, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. He decided he had to find out who was behind the hill. Maybe he should have been more cautious, but he really only cared a little.
He kicked his ball ahead of him, then galloped toward the hill and went around it.
Around the hill, he saw a group of about a dozen winged, gray ponies huddled around a trampoline in a field—the ponies’ wings looked like gray moth wings, but otherwise they looked like regular undead ponies. They didn’t seem to notice either him or his ball which had come to rest a short distance away.
A female winged poni was boinging up and down on the trampoline and was singing:
“I believe I can try!
I believe I can bounce real high!
Take my wings and spread them wide!
For a little bit, pretend to glide!”
Then the trampolining poni saw Machoponi and diminished her bouncing until she was standing. She looked at Macho and said, “Who are you?”
“My name is Machoponi, Macho for short,” Macho replied, as the group of winged ponies turned to look at him.
The winged poni hopped off the trampoline, then said, “I’m Superfly.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Superfly.”
Superfly looked Machoponi up and down, then said, “You’re strangely colored. You seem to be a mix of purple and gray!”
In alarm, Macho looked down at his front legs. It was true! His legs were gray with blotches of purple. The purple seemed to be fading from his normal color, and he was turning gray. Macho figured he should lie again, so he said, “Well, yes, err, I was playing dodgeball with some blokes and they had painted part of the balls with purple paint, and well, I guess I’m not the greatest dodgeball player.” Some of the winged ponies laughed, but Superfly stood with a stern expression on her face.
Superfly looked over at Macho’s blue ball, which still had some blotches of dried blood on it. “Is that one of the balls you used?”
“Yes,” Macho said, hoping it was the right thing to say.
“Well, the blotches on it don’t look purple. They look dark red.”
“Well, errr, yes. This one hit one of my opponents in the face. The sissy quit right after that. He couldn’t bear it anymore.”
&
nbsp; Superfly shrugged.
Macho was suddenly struck by the idea that the winged ponies might be able to quickly fly him to the rope bridge. He decided to ask them. “I was wondering if there was some way you could possibly fly me to the Princess’s castle.”
Superfly and the other winged ponies glared at him.
Macho stammered, “If you’d like I can pay you with this map I have. I know it’s not much, but it’s very important for me to get to the rope bridge in front of the Princess’s castle quickly.”
Superfly screamed in rage, “How dare you!”
Macho took a step back, overwhelmed with confusion. “Wh—what?”
Superfly seemed to relax as she watched Macho. “Don’t you know?” she said. “How could you not know?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Superfly stared at the ground. “We can’t fly. None of us flutter-fly ponies can. Our wings don’t work.”
Suddenly, Macho understood why they had been using the trampoline. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Superfly seemed to be watching him for any sign of deceit. “Okay,” she finally said. “So we can’t fly you to the rope bridge. Even if we wanted to, which we don’t.”
Just then, Macho’s tummy grumbled.
Superfly sneered, then said, “You sound hungry. Would you like some food?”
“Why yes, I’d be very grateful for some.”
“Oh, you would, would you?”
“Yes.”
“Ha, well, too bad, because you can’t have any of ours, moron!”
Macho pouted. “Well, I guess I’ll be moving on then, but if I may be so bold, may I ask exactly why you cannot fly? I can see that you all have wings.…”
Superfly scowled. “Well, before, in the days of yore, before the DarkKingdom became dark, the flutter-fly ponies could all fly and we all had the colorful wings of butterflies. But after the Great Dividing, the flutter-fly ponies all became gray, not pastel like we used to be, and our wings became the wings of moths.”
“And that’s why you can’t fly?” Macho blurted.
“You’re interrupting.”
“Sorry.”
“No, the flutter-fly ponies could still fly, but one day, the Princess came down and watched the flutter-fly ponies flying, and, well, she grew extremely jealous, you see, because she couldn’t fly at all, not even a little bit. Oh, she could hop and jump off things to be in the air for a while, but no, she couldn’t fly. And so she put a curse on the flutter-fly ponies, and from that day forward, the flutter-fly ponies could no longer fly.” Superfly gave Macho a sad, sad expression.
And Macho couldn’t help but feel compassion for poor Superfly and all her fellow ponies. He cared so much, actually, that he figured that the Cuddlebear Flare had finally worn off on him.
Macho still had questions, so he asked, “Is that why you use the trampoline? Where did it come from?”
“The trampoline is a relic from the Time When People Walked with Ponies. We each take our turns on it. How sad we are—we bounce up and down and we spread our wings and pretend. But we always come back down.” She pouted. A single tear even rolled from her eye, and down her face.
Macho felt a wave of sadness come over him at hearing the flutter-fly ponies’ plight. He was consumed by the desire to help. “I heard the song you sang. Do you all sing that song when you bounce on the trampoline?”
“Yes,” said Superfly. “It is a song we sing to comfort ourselves, because even though we know we will never be able to fly, at least we can pretend, for a little bit. And pretending is fun.” She broke into sobs.
And at that moment, Macho was struck by an idea. Perhaps it was because he had grown up in a pastel world, surrounded by positive thinking, or perhaps it was because he himself believed so strongly in the power of belief—but whatever the case was, he found himself asking a simple question: “Have you ever believed you can fly? From what I heard, you only believe you can try. But trying is not doing. There is no try or try not. There is only do or do not.”
Superfly rolled her teary eyes. “Yeah, right, what’s the point of trying if you’re only destined to fail? You only get hurt that way.”
“Please, you’ve got to believe! Anything is possible…if you believe.”
She shook her head. “I dunno.…”
“You’ve got to believe! Just believe! Even if you have no reason to, even if everything you know tells you that you won’t succeed! You’ve got to believe!”
“I…dunno.”
Now Macho was screaming, “Beeeeliiieeeeveeee!!! Get on the trampoline and believe!!”
“I believe!”
“Bounce and believe! Don’t just believe you can try. Believe you can fly!”
Superfly started hopping, building up her momentum while half-yelling, half-singing, “I belliiiieeevee I can flyyyyyyy!!!!”
Each bounce became bouncier as she stayed up longer—she spread her wings and flapped, then on the sixth bounce, a wonderific, fantabulous thing happened! She didn’t come back down at all!
She was flying!
Macho shouted up at her, “See! That’s what happens…when you believe!”
Superfly swooped and soared while laughing maniacally.
The other winged ponies watched her, then they began to spread their wings and flap them and lift off the ground as they sang a song:
They each sang:
“I believe I can fly.
I believe that there is no try.
There is only do or don’t do it.
If you just try, then it’s bullpucky.”
Macho watched and felt his eyes moisten at seeing such a beautiful spectacle. The winged ponies began flying in trails like birds in the sky, and Macho’s jaw dropped. He watched them for a while before deciding to ask them something. He yelled up at Superfly, “Now that I helped you fly, do you think you can give me a lift?”
Superfly laughed mockingly and the others joined in. She hovered in front of Macho, then said, “Awwww hell no, four-limbs! We aren’t gonna do anything for you if you’re too dumb to fly.”
“But I helped you!” Macho shouted in outrage.
“You didn’t help us. It was because we believed in ourselves that we learned to fly.”
“But I helped you believe in yourself!”
“Whatever, four-limbs.”
“Why do you keep calling me four-limbs?”
“Because,” replied Superfly, “you only have four legs and no wings, so you suck. We, however have six limbs.”
Macho shouted angrily, “Yeah, like a spider!”
“No, spiders have eight limbs, dum-dum.”
Then all the ponies started singing again, and this is what they sang:
“We believe we are more
Better than you guys with limbs of four.
Don’t need to bounce on no trampoline.
Just fly above and be real mean.”
They stopped singing, then Superfly said, “Why don’t you go away and take that stupid trampoline with you? You can use it to go over the wall on the edge of the Chill-Aid Man’s Territory.”
“Would that work?”
“Well, you won’t be able to cross the wall by yourself. But maybe, just maybe, if you bounce high enough on the trampoline you can get over. You could go to a tunnel to the east, but the chocolate bunnies would definitely kill you.”
“What about the Chill-Aid Man?”
“Oh, he’ll try to kill you too, but he’s not as bad as the bunnies.”
“Great,” muttered Machoponi. “Can you tell me anything else about the Chill-Aid Man?”
“Yeah, he’s a dork—and tell him not to be so bloody positive all the time. This is the DarkKingdom after all. Now, the trampoline has wheels that come out and a motor to drive it. It doesn’t go fast, but it goes. Just take it out of here. And take yourself with it, dorkhead. I’m done talking to you.”
Humiliated, Macho prepared to drive the trampoline.
The Territory of the Chill-Aid Man was next.
CHAPTER 8
The Territory of the Chill-Aid Man
Macho whirred forward along the yellow brick road on top of the trampoline. He controlled it by using a joystick on a control box connected by a wire into the underside of the trampoline. The control box also had a button to raise or lower the wheels. Macho was lying on his side, pressing the joystick with his mouth.
He figured that the humans who’d made the trampoline meant for the wheels to be used just to make the trampoline easier to move, and not as a mode of transportation, because it didn’t move very fast, and the wheels were small. Macho was driving forward at the rate of a fast walk.
It was absolutely amazing to Macho what the humans had created during the time they had existed. They had been able to create things, such as the rope bridge, that no poni could ever create. It was said that the humans used to have things called hands and thumbs which allowed them to move things around much easier than a poni could. And the ponies now marveled at the ancient relics left behind.
After about two hours of driving, he saw the wall in the distance. The wall went to the left and right as far as the eye could see, and Macho could see no tunnels.
In front of the wall, to the left of the road, he could make out a red blob.
Macho figured it was highly likely that the blob was the Chill-Aid Man. And indeed, as he got closer, the red figure stood up, rising on red legs. Macho could make out the figure now: it looked like a giant clear pitcher filled with a red liquid. It had two red arms and two red legs, and a happy face that looked like it was drawn on the side of the pitcher.
Macho drove onward. He had to keep on the road, because the small trampoline wheels wouldn’t have worked on the grass.
He was almost there. The road went all the way up to the wall. The wall, he could now see, was comprised of bricks and was several ponies high—definitely too high for a poni to go over without trampolining.
The pitcher stood watching as Macho and his traveling trampoline approached. The pitcher appeared to be about two ponies high—it was very still and seemed in good humor—at least he kept smiling the whole time. He didn’t blink, which Macho thought was kind of eery.