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For some reason, I am finding myself reading the news paper, just after breakfast. Maybe it is for the better, I am reading this article after breakfast.
Maybe it is the cover-image, that drew me in; the image of a pink little doll, a miniature of Pinkie Pie smiling.
If only this had been the true story, of this particular article. Sadly, it isn’t.
The image, portraying Pinkie Pie, with a cupcake before her. She is still smiling like always. Why shouldn’t she? She is after all Pinkie Pie. Isn’t she?
As I read, I follow the link down to the article within the paper. The link, to where they will be revealing the real news; after they hooked you, on the colourful image, and a short depiction intended to make you want to read.
”Muffin, turned Cupcake” I read; ”Page 05” I continue, flipping the pages to the specific article.
Maybe it is the word Muffin that caught my attention, first; the word Cupcake causing me to follow the link. Maybe, just maybe; I do not know, but I had just followed the link to the specific article in the paper before me.
At the top of the article, is a photo of a doll; just like my Pinkie Pie, but I can’t make out the size of her in the image. Of course, just as expected; there is a large chunk of text, in several sections of text. Naturally, the following image are inserted into the body of text, lighting the mood. I guess, this is a trick; made up, to make the text easier to digest.
It works, I think.
I notice a picture of a muffin, delicious looking; just like the one, I had given my Pinkie Pie last night. She had enjoyed it, or so she had told me. Though Pinkie Pie isn’t the pony known to lie. What would be the fun, in that?
Another picture is depicting a large, not quite so delicious Cupcake; with its frosting, looking like something in between ketchup and old and dry blood.
The final picture, just too horrifying for me, to consider; so I avert my gaze instinctively, before it has the time to sink in. It’s a graphic depiction; of the home of some poor girl, who apparently failed to deliver the Muffin one day. One very fateful day.
Why did I have to see this article? Today, of all days; just the day, after I had been given a doll just like the one in the picture.
Who, or what could possibly have orchestrated the scene; perpetrated the acts, creating such grotesque horror?
I put the paper away, for now. Not in the mood to read what the article had intended to say.
While I may have seen a horror movie or two; but even these feel dwarfed, in comparison with what the article suggested. Or, tried to suggest. Maybe it is, because the filter of make-belief had been removed; since this supposedly happened to real people, not just a scene in a horror movie. I can laugh at the horrid scenes, in the movies; knowing full well and beyond the shadow of a doubt, this had never happened.
I had been presented with a choice, and how I react upon what I had been presented with; can and will change my life and the relation I am just forming to Pinkie Pie. The doll in my room, known as Pinkie Pie.
Who had given me the present, the day before; did they even know, who and what she truly is?
If I ignore the warning, or push it away; it could, and would change our relation to the very core. Even if I tried to deny it. There is no point in denial. What had been presented to me, is real; I can’t ignore it, and I am reacting upon it in any event.
If I am aggressive, accusing her; she will be hurt in the process, making her sad I am rejecting her. If I do and say nothing, I am just setting myself up to fail. Does she know, what that doll supposedly did? I can’t know, even with Pinkie Pie.
If I ask her, if she had a bad night or a nightmare; would she admit, confess to what may have happened?
How would she react, if I ask her? I do not know, but I still need to talk to her; ask her if she knew anything.
As a friend, you do ask, trying to help; it is the only way, you can help. Even I know this much.
After seeing the images, and adding the article, I can’t help but thinking of her. Pinkie Pie is my friend, after all. It is the Pony and person she is; everything, she had ever strived to be. How could I betray her now?
She will need me now, more than ever; just as I need her, as the friend she is.
Could one ever get too many friends? She certainly had not managed that feat, even with the effort I knew she had put in making friends.
Big, and small; makes no difference to her. Borders, made no difference; more than the colour of one’s skin. She only sees, the potential of friendships; what she is seeing, the persons she is facing. It is a lesson, everyone should learn; since we are bombarded, with notions conflicting with what we should know.
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