"Ponies! Ponies!" I scream. The stalactites dematerialize. I smash into a pony because the cave is once again packed.

I can't even do one stupid thing like control a random thought. This part of the journey should've been easy and fun, but I'm messing it up. Dathid is right. I'm too stupid to do this.

I'm diving deep into my self-loathing when I'm loudly interrupted by a deafening thud that knocks an involuntary yelp from me. It sounds as if something huge is moving toward us.

The ponies disappear and my blood chills, sending shivers down my arms. I don't know what's heading our way because I don't know what I thought of. Whatever it is, it's big. I'm so frightened I can't concentrate enough to make the ponies come back.

When the exceptionally large and malicious Dathid appears, the shock on the real Dathid's face is almost comical until the giant Dathid swings his sword at him. The real Dathid draws his sword too and deftly blocks the hit, but the gigantic Dathid is undeterred, striking again and slamming the real Dathid to the ground. He rolls over, slices the ankle of the giant and jumps to his feet.

I'm so overcome with embarrassment that I can't stop gaping and make the ponies come back. I can't believe I thought of a giant Dathid. "I'm going to die," I say aloud. It's an expression, die of embarrassment. I don't mean it literally, but without warning, my air stops. I can't breathe. I'm choking. I wildly slap at Jonah, who is engrossed in the fight between the two Dathids.

He forcibly grabs my arms and shouts at me. My panic is making his words incomprehensible. I'm going to die in this strange world, in this strange cave, with these strange people.

"Agatha!" Jonah screams, his voice wavering with terror. "You are alive! You are alive! Ponies. Bring the damn ponies back! You are alive!"

My knees buckle and Jonah holds me up by my shoulders and shakes me. My vision tunnels and dims as Jonah's voice warbles.

"You are alive! You can breathe!"

I'm alive? It's a question, but my air comes back in a rush.

"I can breathe." I gasp and cough. After a few more breaths, I push away from Jonah and announce, "I can breathe and I can bring the ponies back!"

The multitude of ponies returns. Giant Dathid looks around, baffled, and sheathes his sword. The real Dathid wordlessly folds over and collapses against a green pony. He lies there motionless until, finally, he stands and rubs a hand down his ashen face. He slowly sheathes his sword and shakes himself off. A lavender sky appears above us, and the cave gets brighter. I didn't think of that, so it must be Dathid's thoughts.

I jump when a door slams.

I know that noise. Uncle's home. I'm in trouble.

The cartoonish ponies explode into mounds of paper, broken furniture, and clothing. Ugh, that smell.

The trash pushes me into a corner. I'm struggling to swim to the top but I'm being buried alive. Jonah reaches out to me, but the wall to my bedroom closes him off. I fall to the garbage-strewn floor. Am I shaking from fear or the rumble of tons of trash piling up throughout the cave?

I've trapped myself in a small cell. Auntie's television is the only noise when the rumbling stops.

"Hello," Uncle calls out.

"She's in her room, pouting," Auntie yells back.

"Stay calm. They're not really here," I whisper as I sit on the floor next to my bed. "This is not my room."

On the wall that blocked out Jonah are drawings, depictions of my experiences in Ashra that resemble my paintings. It's done exactly in my style, all jumbled together and random. But I didn't paint them.

"I'm in a cave," I whisper through pants of air. "Uncle is not here. He is not mad. I've done nothing wrong."

"You better have brought her Highness some dinner because it's all I've been hearing about," Auntie yells.

"I never said anything." I want to shout at her but I'm barely whispering. My hands are shaking. I wipe the sweat from my forehead just to make them do something.

"I said I would! Seriously, Liz, you need to do something about these cats. Cats were never part of the arrangement. You can't smell that?"

I've locked myself in a room made of the debris scattered around Queens and collected by Auntie. The top of Uncle's thinning red hair is visible over the wall to my left as he walks up to the giant Dathid.

"You need to go. You don't belong," Uncle orders and the giant Dathid disappears without argument.

Uncle walks past the real Dathid as if he doesn't exist and stops in front of a half-wall of newspapers and magazines. He glares down at me on the floor. I bow my head and try to think about what I could've done to make him mad.

"I'm not in Queens. It's not my birthday. This isn't real."

He plops down a bag of fast food and a milkshake. "What are you mumbling about?"

In the bag are two cheeseburgers and a small order of fries. It's a standard meal but the cookie-dough milkshake is special. Uncle doesn't know that, but Auntie does. She must have told him to get me that milkshake for my birthday. Sometimes Auntie remembers me.

"Auntie is my prison guard. I thought of the dinner and the milkshake. She did not remember," I whisper.

"How about a thank-you?" Uncle snaps.

I lower my eyes. "Thank you, sir."

He's looking at my paintings on the wall. My chest tightens with the exposure. I don't want people to see my work, especially Uncle. "What's this?" His face contorts with anger. "How do you know of this?" He's glaring at me with rage in his eyes.

I shake my head. "I don't know how I know."

"What's she doing now?" Auntie yells.

"Have you seen what she's been up to?" Uncle shouts back. "Get your butt off that recliner and get in here. You're supposed to be watching her."

"Calm down," Auntie yells, obviously not getting up. "It's just those stupid stories she draws. She fancies herself an artist. It keeps her quiet."

"Liz! Get over here!"

When Auntie and Uncle fight, it's always bad for me. I shouldn't have painted those things. I shouldn't have made such a big deal about dinner.

"Excuse me," Dathid says, pointing to the bag. "May I?"

Uncle loses interest in the wall as he stares, bewildered, at Dathid, who is cautiously reaching into the bag to pull out a long French fry. He smells it and then bites it in half.

Uncle is shocked out of his hostility. "Who are you?"

Dathid nods his head at the fry and offers the remainder to Uncle. "Dathid, and you?"

Uncle looks so small staring up at Dathid. And old. Uncle always seemed so large and scary, but now he's an ordinary old man.

"Paul Johnson. How did you get in here?" Uncle's anger returns hotter than before. "Liz! Did you know she has a guy in here?"

"These are delicious." Dathid offers Uncle a fresh fry. Then he takes a sip from the straw and makes a face. "That is not. How can you drink that?" he asks me.

I almost smile, but then Uncle shakes his head. "Agatha," is all he needs to say to make my stomach drop.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I don't know how he got here."

"Don't try to explain your way out of this!" Uncle yells.

I press my lips together. The more I say the worse this will be. If I stay still and silent they'll forget about me.

"What's she doing now?" Auntie pushes herself between Dathid and Uncle. She slowly eyes Dathid up and down, and with a smile that is disturbingly flirtatious adds, "Never mind. How'd a mouse like her find this one?"

Dathid offers her a fry.

These three don't belong together. Dathid should go. I'm in a lot of trouble. He shouldn't be here.

Dathid takes another gulp from the shake.

"I thought you didn't like it," I say.

"Now it's Pheihl Ale," he says with a grin. "I can think of stuff too."

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is not right," Uncle says. "Your friend needs to leave! And never come back, or I'm calling the authorities. I'm going to the store to get some paint. You are repainting this vulgarity tonight. You are not an artist. You are nothing. Do you understand me?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

Dathid meanders over to the wall. He traces the sea serpent with his fingers and studies Lenox. Him looking at my art is worse than Uncle. I've exposed the deepest part of my soul and now he's entitled to judge it. Uncle criticizes everything I do, so I'm used to it. No one else has ever seen it.

"This is good. You have talent."

The compliment shocks Auntie and Uncle silent. Some kind of energy runs through my body. I don't like it, so I take a deep breath to make it pass.

Dathid kneels next to me. "You need to stop this. Remember the pony."

I nod. A painting of the spotted pony appears on the wall.

"I think we need to call someone," Auntie says. "This girl is out of control! It's that school. I knew it was a bad idea."

"One pony," Dathid says softly.

"One pony," I repeat.

The trash explodes and Auntie screams. Dathid wraps his arms around me and shields me from the papers and garbage flying everywhere. When it settles on the ground, it disappears. All that remains is the little black and white pony standing sweetly where Uncle used to be.

The wall to my room disappears and Dathid lets me go.

Jonah rushes to my side. "Are you alright? I could hear, but I was locked out." He picks me up in a big hug and squeezes me tight.

"I'm good. Very good. Me and the pony are good."

The purple sky reappears and Dathid walks far ahead of us.

I focus all my attention on the pony as we travel through the cave in silence. I keep a hand on it and stroke it frequently. His name is Munson, after my third-grade teacher, Mr. Munson, because they have the same hair. Mr. Munson had wild hair that would start out under control in the morning, but by the end of the day, it was a cloud of brown frizz surrounding his head. Other than that, I'm not sure why I chose that name, but it was the only one I could think of without really thinking too much. I'm doing everything I can to keep my mind focused on Munson.

The sky fades out and it's obvious that Dathid has left the cave. I'm sad I have to leave Munson behind. I'll miss the little guy.

"Is there any way I can make him real?" I ask Jonah.

"He's as real as your thoughts."

I say goodbye to my pony and walk out of the cave. I'm glad I thought of ponies instead of cars because I enjoyed my time with Munson. Plus, if I packed the cave with cars, I might have killed us all. I glance back to have a last look at the tiny pony, but he's already gone. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special credit to Jumman K. for the artwork. It is one of my very favorites. Thank you.