I often find myself looking back on where I used to be, stuck within the desolate walls of a hospital. It was supposed to be a place where they would help me get over the sickness tearing at my body. They did for the longest time, and they kept it at bay as best they could. They tried, I know they did. They did their best to help bring me back to the world, and bring me out as a new pony, fresh and full of life. Instead, I left a hollowed body with them; my memories lingering in the mind of a pony who made me smile while I still could. Life is funny with the way it works, bringing us the good just to lay the bad on thicker and tougher than ever. But this pony, this bright pink pony, she made what life I had worth living. I don't know what caused her to ever come my way, or what strange forces were working behind the scenes, but I'm glad that they were. Seeing those balloons on a canvas of pink, that was always the highlight of my day.
Her name was Pinkie Pie.
Me, I was never a special pony. I was young pony with bland, gray coat with baby blue eyes. As for my mane and tail, I hardly even remember what color those had once been. They had fallen out long ago when I started my treatments, just as they had said it would. It was at least a year ago when I started the fight. What started out as a small headache turned out to be something far more severe, sending me into a comatose state for a matter of days. The day I remember waking up after being in the coma, was one of the longest days in my life. I awoke to IV's sticking out of my legs, some weird leads attached to my chest, a bandage covering the top of my head, and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor playing in the background. I don't remember how long I sat there, waiting for somepony to tell me what had happened, or what was even wrong with me. As for the latter, I never received a straight answer for it. Maybe it was because they knew what was going to happen... or they were just as oblivious as I was.
That day, after some nurses removed the needles from my arm, they said I could go outside as long as I stayed close to the hospital. Honestly though, it was more of them telling me it was my time to go get some air, rather than letting me make the decision on my own. Had I had a say in it, I would have stayed in bed and slept through the day. But one wheelchair later, grass below my hooves, and toys lain out in front of me, I was outside.
I sat there, the blades of grass itching at my body as I played with the balls and other toys the nurses had put out here for us to play with. It had to have been one of the most boring things I had ever done in my life, but a part of me was glad that I was still alive and well, for the most part. I don't know how long she was standing there, or if she had just popped out of nowhere, but when I looked up she was standing there with a light blue balloon tied around her hoof. Her face was blank, and I wasn't sure if she was another patient or just somepony who didn't have any emotion. Before I knew it though, she was smiling and hopping around me, introducing herself as Pinkie Pie and asking why I wasn't smiling. There wasn't anything for me to say for Pinkie Pie to understand why I wasn't smiling, but the bandage around my head and my presence at the hospital was enough for her to grasp the concept of why I wasn't happy. She took me by the hoof and dragged me around town that day, giving me a reason to smile for once. Later that night when we arrived back at the hospital, you could say that they weren't pleased with me in the slightest. I smiled as she left, knowing that I had made a true friend.
Days passed since Pinkie had last stopped by the hospital, and I was beginning to think that she wasn't going to be coming back. I was beginning to think the happiness that flowed through my veins was nothing more than false hope. The thing is, hope came back when I least expected it, through my third story window, at seven in the morning. Needless to say I was a bit startled by her unexpected entry through what would have been impossible to most, but she brought the smile back across my lips.
We snuck out of the hospital once again so she could take me on any adventures I could storm up in my mind. We were artists, painting the Mona Lyra and Starry Night. She even made a mural of her own, a reminder for me to be happy right where it mattered most. On my bandage, she painted on smiley faces, hearts, and stars to protect me from the sadness that tries to come over me. The seven seas were sailed that afternoon as we defeated the Kraken and banished it to the deepest waters, plundered the treasure troves and bathed in the booty. In the distance, thick black clouds were coming over the horizon, rain becoming the weather forecast. There was nothing that could have stopped us that day. Nothing. Nothing, but myself.
I don't remember much of anything from that point on, just the incessant screams of Pinkie Pie as she called my name. I remember wondering why she was screaming my name under her what sounded to be tears. Thunder rumbled in the empty abyss of my mind as we moved through the rain, the faint echo of her hooves pattering through the puddles as she rushed me to safety. From that point on, my mind was dark. Not a thought flowed through it until I awoke some days later.
I'm not exactly sure what happened that day still, but I must have passed out somewhere along the line. As for Pinkie... she cried for me, she screamed for me. She must have known something of what was coming for me, but wasn't ready to accept it just yet. Even if she did know, I'm glad she decided to keep it from me. Waking up to see a pink pony sitting across from you, staring intently into your eyes is not something that you expect to wake to. But there she was, happy as could be that I was awake once again, that same light blue balloon attached to her hoof. She didn't care about the balloon as it floated gently out the window, or anything else that could have gone on in the world besides me. Before I was able to say hi, and barely even crack a smile her way, Pinkie held me tight in her warm embrace. Her heartbeat pumped strongly against that of my own weak heart, and I held her tight for as long as I could. Tears flowed from her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping down onto my back. I didn't care, I was happy, and she was too.
Weeks passed, and we saw each other every day with no exceptions. She stayed by my side, and held me when I needed it. She made me smile when I needed cheering up, and helped me move when I was too weak. But the day came, when the doctor finally told me of what was to happen. I... I was dying. Subconsciously, I think I knew it all along but had just refused to accept the harshness of the reality I was living. I didn't want to die, not then. I had finally made a friend, someone who loved me for me and had always been there for me through the thick and the thin. I wished I had only a bit longer...
In the days before my passing, Pinkie never left my side. I felt so sick... and could feel my will to live being drained from my body. I could tell by her mane that she knew it was coming, it wasn't her usual poofed up cotton candy, but a flat normal styled mane. It wrenched my heart to see her this way, knowing that I caused this pain in her, knowing that I had caused such a happy pony to be so sad. And one night, the night I never awoke from, she kissed me on the forehead with a tear in her eye; holding me tight one last time.
And now, I watch down on her and wishing that I could thank her for making my life so much fun while it lasted. She is still as happy as she ever is, bringing me a sliver of joy. And occasionally, I see her while she is at home, pulling the same bandage she painted for me out of a drawer. She holds it tight, a tear forming in the comer of her eye and a smile cracking across her lips.
And I wish I could thank her, for teaching me one thing:
Don't cry because it's over, Smile because it happened.