"A Mistake and a Correction"
By Nop3 (https://pastebin.com/u/Nop3)

URL: https://pastebin.com/medAQjM6
Created on: Sunday 15th of May 2016 10:48:26 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Monday 26 of October 2020 01:54:41 AM UTC


>It's 1 AM in the morning
>Browsing /mlp/ for something interesting
>Two choices thread
>Hey, these are usually pretty entertaining.
>They sometimes have pretty good writers too.
>What harm is there in leaving a reply?
"If I had to choose; Option 2. I'm not about to get sucked into pastel land."
>Post
>You wonder when the parts you ordered for your corvette are going to arrive.
>It's already been a week.
>You're a total car enthusiast, and after grinding 2 jobs for a few years you'd finally been able to buy a new C7 Corvette.
>Feelsgoodman
>Your Corvette was your only motivation to get out of bed sometimes.
"Might as well deal with those wheel wells."
>After only 3 weeks of owning the C7, you'd starting modding it.
>First, an intake.
>Then an exhaust.
>Then some weight reduction.
>Then an ECU reflash.
>Every time you gained some power, you got used to it after a day or two, which led to more mods.
>And more power.
>This time, it was stripping the rear wheel wells of plastic to make room for bigger tires.
>30 minutes pass
>Your doorbell rings through the house.
>This is unusual, as you live in the middle of a pine forest in a cabin, about 15 minutes away from the nearest civilization.
>You look out the garage door window to see a UPS truck pulling away.
>At last!
>Maybe your new harness has finally arrived.
>You rush out to the front door, and retrieve a medium size cardboard box from the doorstep.
>It has the SIMPSON Racing Equipment logo on it, so it's definitely it.
>You open the box, and sure enough.
>The 5-point harness you ordered 2 weeks ago.
>Thunder rumbles outside, and you notice it getting darker.
"Let's throw this in real quick."
>You head back to your garage, and open the C7's driver side door to get to work.
>As you bolt the two waist straps to the floor, the thunder grows louder outside, and the wind starts to pick up outside the cabin.
>Then, mid-installation, you hear another sound.
-----
>A car door slamming, (presumable the same vehicle) starting and driving off.
>Out here?
>Literally in the middle of the woods?
>You poke your head out of the Corvette just in time to see through the garage window, a white van pulling away.
>What did they do?
>Curious, yet cautious, you step towards the garage door and peer out the window in the direction of the front door.
>An oddly shapen burlap sack, tied shut with twine, lies on your porch.
"What in God's name could that be?"
>You stop for a moment, and think.
>Did you order anything that would come in a burlap sack?
>Not that you can remember.
>You walk through the house, to the front door.
>You peer around the area, just to be sure there isn't someone waiting to jump you the moment you step outside.
>Nothing out of the ordinary.
>Damn.
>Living out in the woods can be nerve-racking sometimes.
>You open the door, and study the sack carefully.
>It's sitting in such a way that would suggest that its contents are quite oddly shapen.
>You nudge it with your foot.
>Its contents have some resistance, so it's not like a bag of grain, or apples or anything.
>Rain starts falling on the pavement of your driveway outside the porch.
>You look back down to the sack, contemplating your next move.
"Well, there's no use just letting it sit on the porch."
>You decide to bring it in, and investigate its contents.
>You grab it by the neck, and hoist it up.
>It's surprisingly heavy, maybe 40 pounds at least.
>You bring it in, and set it on your living room floor.
>Upon closer inspection, the sack looks rather old, and dirty.
>All beat up and stuff.
>And the twine is knotted and frayed in such a way that would take you HOURS to untie.
>Knife to the rescue.
>You cut the old twine, and it falls away.
>The neck of the sack slackens and opens up.
>You lean over to peer inside
>IMMEDIATELY JUMP BACK
"...WHAT?!"
>This has got to be some kind of joke.
"How is this even possible?"
>For in that sack, lied Octavia, the pony.
-----
>Step 1
>Don't freak out
>Step 2
>Don't freak out
>Step 3
>Don'T FREAK OUt
>freak out
>You trip over the sack, and move your legs out from underneath yourself to aviod squashing pone
>Your face smashes into the floor
>You get up, eyes watering from the pain
"What am I going to do now..."
>The clock read 2:23 AM
>Octavia is still out cold, inside the sack.
>Might as well take her out.
>You reach into the bag, and lift out the limp Octavia.
>You set her on the couch, in what appears to be the most comfortable position achievable.
>What now?
>Food.
>Eh, what do ponies eat?
>Dasies and shit?
>There's some salad in the fridge.
>Perfect.
>You don't really know why there's any of this rabbit food in here, but you're glad you have it now, anyway.
>You dump some of the salad onto a plate, and grab yourself a loaf of bread from atop the fridge to snack on.
>You return to the livingroom, salad in hand, and view Octavia's sleeping figure on the couch.
"Maybe not the couch."
>You decide to move her to your bed instead, inter-universal travel warrants more rest than a shitty couch can provide.
>You set the plate aside, and lift her in your arms.
>She's breathing steadily, and doesn't appear to be in pain.
>You enter your bedroom, and set her down on the bed.
>You pull a blanket over her, and turn to exit the room.
>You'd been pushing it to the back of your mind for all this time, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
>Sure, to you it was but a silly theoretical question of morals regarding fictional characters.
>How were you to know?
>Some shitty general, meaning nothing.
>This was probably some kind of cruel trick.
>Whatever, you have classical music pone now.
>Win.
>The living room around you is a bit messy, and cluttered.
"First impressions are everything, may as well tidy up..."
>You go about cleaning the living room, all the while thinking about the situation you're in.
>A literal shitshow.
-----
>Your mind travels back to the Corvette, and the unfinished work on it.
>You glance over to the microwave clock
>3:12 AM
>Jesus, it's late
>You'd go to sleep, but it would be difficult with everything on your mind.
>You decide to contiue your work on the Vette.
>You resumed tearing the useless plastic filler out of the rear wheel wells,
>All the while thinking aobut what you were going to do.
>You finished up the passenger side and test fitted your new drag wheels and radials.
>Like a glove.
>Those shortened axels were a handful, but it was worth it.
>You stood up, ready to take on the other side.
"Well, perhaps I should check on her."
>You turn around, and walk into the house.
>On the way through the kitchen, you note the microwave clock: 3:56 AM.
>You poke your head into the bedroom, and shine your phone light at the bed.
>Octavia is sleeping peacefully, in a different position that you set her in.
'Good.' You thought.
'She isn't dead.'
>You head back to the garage.
>The driver's side wheel well was a bit different, there was a mounting point for the plastic bits behind the fuel filler neck.
>It took a while to work around, but eventually you got it unbolted and removed.
>After fitting the other rear tire, and letting the car down off of the jack, you were very tempted to take the Vette out for a spin.
>Pone.
"Dammit."
>Why would you not take this pone off of your mind?
>You had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and having a literal supernatural turn of events happen was not aidng in how you felt.
>You dont know why, but you feel like something is happeing NOW.
>Like, right now.
>Your ratchet clatters to the concrete floor as you dash towards the door, and through the kitchen.
>A massive thunderclap rattles the house as the bedroom door comes into sight.
>It's cracked open.
>You left it completely closed.
>Your heard begins to do gymnastics in your throat, and you halt dead in your tracks, merely steps away from the door.
-----
>You close your eyes, and hold your breath
>Listening as hard as you can through the torrential downpour.
>Not a sound.
>Breath still held.
>You inch closer and closer to the door, your eyes struggling to adjust to the low light.
>In a split second descision, you throw the door open and flip the lightswitch.
>There.
>In your room.
>The infamous neckbeard himself.
>OP.
>He was in a comical sneaking position, hands above him, tip-toeing all the while.
>His head whips around to peer at you over his trenchcoat collar.
>No.
>THIS was the last straw.
>Your sanity had already taken enough damage.
>You swing the door shut behind you, and press your back to the door.
"No, this isn't happening."
"I choose to not accept this."
>You simply cease all brain activity and die momentarily.
>Returning to function, you open the door, prepared for the worst.
>Same picture.
>OP, in his comic sneaking pose, a few paces closer to the sleeping pone.
"huh?"
>There were no words to describe the confusion you are feeling.
>"Look pal."
>"You picked option 2, I delivered a pony."
"Ok?"
>"And it was the wrong pony."
"Oh."
>"So I'm here, to take this pony back, and give you a brand new one!"
"..."
>"Please don't hurt me."
"..."
>"Look, the forces that be are gonna have my head on a silver platter if I don't do this."
"I understand, dude."
>"Y-you're cool with it?"
"Yeah. Actually, can you just not give me a pony?"
>OP resumes his shitty act of professionalism, and adjusts his fedora.
>"No-can-do pal. You selected option two, you're gonna see the results. You do know the rules don't you?"
"Uh, I think I remember the important bits, yeah."
>"You THINK you know or you actually know?"
"Whatever. I can just check the thread."
>"If you're sure."
>You both just stand there for a moment, looking at the snoozing pony.
-----
>Suddenly, OP springs into action, much faster than a man of his size could ever have moved.
>He snached up Octavia around the middle, and stuffed her in a new burlap sack that he conjured from his massive trenchcoat.
>The sack dissapeared into said trenchcoat, and OP threw down a small glass vial, filling the room with white smoke.
>It caused your eyes to water, and you were coughing profusely.
"Was that really necessary?"
>You step out of the fucking gas chamber into the hallway, and down that, towards the living room.
>Out of the front living room window, you see the white van pulling away, down the road through the forest.
>You sit down on your couch, a grin spread across your face.
"Stupid faggot. He forgot to give me a replacement."
>It was interesting really.
>Hadn't he said he'd be in deep shit if he didn't fix the issue and give you another pony?
>Not like it matters.
>YOU wouldn'e be the one getting in trouble.
>You didn't really care for taking  on the responsability of a pony anyway.
>Through the rain, you hear the sound of rubber screeching on wet pavement.
>You peer out the front window in curiosity.
>You see a pair of reverse lights on a van fast approaching your driveway.
"...Goddamnit."
>OP backs clean up to your house, and hops out, rummaging in his trenchcoat.
>He walks onto the porch, and conjures yet another sack, placing it on your doorstep.
>He attaches a small note to it, and waddles back to his van.
>It starts up, and the old van pulls away once again into the dense forest.
>Hopefully for the last time.
>You get up from your couch, and make your way to the front door.
>Opening it, you get hit in the face with 2 things:
>A torrent of wet wind, and a truckload of déjà vu.
>Not hours before, you had been staring at the same picture.
>Doorstep.
>Burlap sack.
>Except, this time, it had a note attached.
>'Here's the correct one. Read the rules.'
"...Here we go again."
>You pick up the sack, and close the door.
-----
>You return to your couch, and set the sack at your feet.
"So. What'll it be this time, OP?"
>You stare blankly at the sack, as if expecting an answer.
>There's no difference in this sack and the last one.