//------------------------------// // Chapter One: Whispers // Story: Broken // by TheCloudtop //------------------------------// Pinkie sat in her room, uncharacteristically quiet. Her mane, normally out of control, and defying description, sat poker straight, dangling around her shoulders. Her eyes, normally full of life and mirth, were dull and far away. Her mouth, which was normally stretched to mind boggling proportions, was flat and uninviting. Her energy, which was normally uplifting and joy inducing, was depressing and lonely. Everything that Pinkie was normally known for was nowhere to be seen, heard or felt.         It had been a month since something had broken inside of the pink mare. A month since the joy that flowed from every pore of her being evaporated. A month since the spark that defined Pinkie had mysteriously fizzled out. A month that she had isolated herself from any and all contact with the world outside of her room. Her friends had all come, trying to reach her, to no avail. A month’s worth of food, a month’s worth of letters, a month’s worth of her friends entreaties all sat outside of her door.         Pinkie sat at the foot of her bed, just as she had done for the past month. Her body was on the verge of collapsing. She had not uttered a word in this time; Her mind was focused on only one thing: A conversation that she had overheard one month ago. ______________________________________________________________________________         Pinkie had been bouncing along as she normally did. She was getting things prepared for a party that she had been planning for months. A party that she wanted to throw in appreciation for her friends, a way for her to show how much she loved her friends, a way to show how much she much she truly loved them. She was on her way to Sugarcube Corner when she passed by her friends standing in a circle talking. Curious, Pinkie stopped and listened closely.         “I don’t know about you girls, but I have grown quite weary of Pinkie lately. She is just so overbearing at times, it’s exhausting. I know she means well, but would it be too much to ask for her to tone it down a little?”         “I know! It’s like she almost goes out of her way to be annoying. What the hay is up with her?”         “Ah know whatcha all mean. The other day, she cumpletely trampled mah saplings, just to give me a hug. Ah know that she is our friend an all, but she can be a hoof full at times.”         “Um, yesterday, she scared a bunch of my critters when she was used her megaphone to say hi to me. It scared me so badly, I almost jumped out of my fur...”         “I have read some books lately, pertaining to the study of the brain and how it works. I think Pinkie suffers Bipolar Disorder, not to mention a severe case of ADHD. According to the books I read, she could also have some sort of mental retardation problem as well. The way that she is always so foalish supports my theory.”         Pinkie couldn't believe her ears. Her friends, the ones that she loved, the very ponies that she carried in her heart, thought she was annoying? On purpose? They thought that she was retarded? How could they? Pinkie’s heart shattered at the sound of her friend’s continuing conversation. Here she was, wanting to throw a party for them, one she had been planning for months, only to find out that her friends thought so little of her. ______________________________________________________________________________         Pinkie wandered off, not knowing what to do. Her mind and heart in shambles, she walked around aimlessly, not even noticing the stares and murmurs that she was receiving. Unbeknownst to Pinkie, her mane was straight as an arrow, and her coat was near devoid of color. Unbeknownst to Pinkie, her eyes had lost all of their once bright luster. Unbeknownst to Pinkie, she would never be the same again.         She wandered for hours, not even paying attention where she was going, or who she was passing. The world had lost all passion for her, all color; all meaning for her lost without her friends. In all actuality, Pinkie had all but died, the meaning to her life gone. Pinkie walked and walked, the world around her having lost any significance to her. Pinkie’s body was operating solely on autopilot, her mind replaying the events of her time with her friends, over and over again.         Where did I go wrong? Why? Why? WHY? Why don’t they love me? What did I do? What can I do? My closest friends don’t even love me. What about every other pony? What do they think of me? If my best friends, the ponies that I consider family, can’t love me, then who can? Am I unlovable? Do I deserve to live? Do I need to live? What’s the point of me being alive, if I can’t make ponies smile? What about the Cakes? What do they think of me?          Pinkie continued to wander, her mind lost in a jumbling flood of emotion and memories. She thought back to all the parties that she had thrown for her friends, all the surprises she had given them, all the hard work that she had put in to love her friends. Was any of it really appreciated? Was any of it really worth anything, if the ponies that she loved didn't love her in return?         Pinkie was at a loss at what to do. If who she was wasn't loved, if who she was wasn't accepted, if she wasn't desirable to the ones she loved, then for what reason did she have to exist? Pinkie was left with nothing but the hole in her heart, left with nothing but the emptiness that only those that have been rejected have ever known. That broken, cold, jagged pain threatened to completely overwhelm her, threatened to pull her under, and never let go. ______________________________________________________________________________ So, Pinkie sat in her room, her mind waiting for something. Waiting for something. Something...         Waiting...