Once, not so long ago, the barn had been alive. Bright and colourful and shining and full of smiles and laughter, just for one single night. She still remembered it perfectly, even though it had been almost two whole years since then. She had been much smaller then – smaller, and sadder too. At least most of the time. Just a tiny little filly who knew she didn’t belong, but didn’t really know why. But she knew now. Kind of. She had an idea, anyway, and that felt like it was enough to start. And it was a good idea, too, fueled by the one thing she did know: that she wasn’t going to find her answers sitting around a dusty old rock farm waiting for them to come to her.
Answers didn’t do that. They didn’t come looking for ponies. The wisest pony she knew had told her so, and she had listened. Answers were like smiles – they came only to the ponies who really tried to find them, and if you forced them they just didn’t fit quite right. So she was going to try. She wanted answers, and as she sat on her rump and stared at the barn ceiling, chewing idly on an old cupcake, she knew that the time had come for her to go out and find them. But first…
First she had to say goodbye to somebody. Not to her family – they’d only try to stop her, convince her she was making a mistake. They always did, no matter how hard she tried to explain or fight or help them see. They always told her she was doing wrong. Sometimes they told her she was wrong. Except her sister. But her sister would tell her parents, and her parents would stop her, and that was what notes were for anyway.
No, there was only one somebody she could tell the truth to. One somebody who had always been there for her, and who always would be. So she had come to visit – intruded into her friend’s little corner of the barn for the first time in forever. And Rocky had been waiting. Rocky always waited.
The little pile of rocks sat patiently atop her stage – an overturned crate with some old curtains to cover the back of it – peering out at her in comfortable silence, waiting for her to speak. But she found that, as much as she wanted to, she really couldn’t. And maybe it didn’t matter.
Rocky wasn’t alive, after all. She knew that much. She’d known that much ever since the day she’d fallen silent forever. Since the day Pinkie had left. Even before then, she’d suspected – every time she was upset or sad or lonely or angry, Pinkie would guide her quietly into the barn and then… disappear. Then Rocky would come out – Rockamina Snuggleton Pie, if she was feeling fancy, but she very rarely was. And they would talk. Or she would talk, and Rocky would listen. And she would feel better.
Even after Pinkie had gone, she’d kept coming to visit Rocky for a very long time, but it hadn’t been the same. No matter how much she loved her, Rocky wasn’t Pinkie. Nopony could ever be Pinkie.
Pinkie, who had shown her in a single moment the difference between happiness and misery. Pinkie, who had given her the gift of her first smile and made her realise she didn’t belong here. Her older sister by two minutes and twenty three seconds, who had taken care of her her entire life. Who had embraced her with tears in her eyes on the day their parents had sent her away, and told her to live for herself and find her smile.
Pinkie, who’d been shining like a sunrise just a few weeks back, when she’d come to visit. Pinkie, who had found her place. Just like she was going to. But still, she couldn’t quite say goodbye. And maybe she didn’t need to.
Slowly, she rose to her hooves and opened her saddlebag, gently placing the small rock pile inside and kissing it fondly. Her first stop, she decided, would be Ponyville, and it wouldn’t do to visit her sister without a gift.
With a smile on her face and tears in her eyes, she turned and walked out of the barn.
Her name was Amethyst Claire Pie, and she was going to find her smile - just like the most amazing pony in the world had told her she should.