The end of Pinkie’s rather tedious fall was not so soft and cushy as she had hoped or expected. In fact, the mound of brambles was far from anything she had hoped for. It took her several moments to compose herself and work her way out from the unpleasant mess, becoming very irritated that there were now thorns protruding from her tail, which had become not unlike the style of a pincushion from the ordeal. A few twitches and pulls later her tail was as soft and untainted as ever. So...what was the plan? She had to find some stuff? Taking a look around, Pinkie frowned. The towering spires in this area were all rock, and as such would not allow for her to simply shift the world around her to walk up them. Most of the level she was currently positioned on was grass, no flowers, but grass was always welcomed. She pondered over her mothers words while starting forward upon the new area. She was required to find some object for her, right? Yet, she had no idea what she was supposed to find, regardless of the statement from her dear, sweet mother that she had been given three hints already. Just another test, right? Too bad Twilight wasn’t here; she would be good at tests like this. In any case, her mother didn’t seem as cross with her as her sisters were, oh my no. Although the lecture hardly seemed necessary, wears a pony down, having to listen to a lecture twice in one day. Twice, once is more than enough.
-Pinkie-
Pinkie’s hoof stopped in mid-air. Slowly the hoof was lowered to the ground and she continued forward, glancing about.
-Pinkie-
Without halting, she took note of her surroundings, several spires of stone off to her left, the sheer rock cliff face that she had just descended from to her right, and a hill of some sort in front of her. Even so…
-Pinkie-
No worries, it was most likely just another one of her friends calling out to her, or something here that knew her name. She was not just a pony that every single thing in here should know, they did know her as if she was a part of them, which was more or less true considering her present circumstance. Even so, within this place, the recesses of her mind, the strong connection that she had previously grasped with her hooves was slipping away, no longer could she summon good things to eat with merely a thought, and no longer were the mountains and cliffs all accepting her hoofstep, turning the world upon itself so that she may travel wherever, in whatever manner she chose. The sky had no undergone no change of significance, and the pink bubble clouds seemed to keep their static nature regardless of where she had traveled. Perhaps she was close to leaving her mind, close to reality and as such she would lose her power here gradually.
“Note too self, ask Twilight if there is a way to enter my mind again.” Pinkie declared to herself, halting. Ooh, a comb.
There was no mistaking it for what it was, Pinkie, while having little use for them herself, had witness Rarity’s vast collection of combs of all shapes and colors to know a comb when she saw one. Did she even own a comb? Well, listen to one’s own mind as the saying went, or whatever. “Note too self, ask Twilight about saying.”
She smiled and clenched the comb in her teeth.
“I’m blind!” she screamed as the world went dark, and unusually soft, around her. “Help! Blind pony! Unblind me, unblind me!” Her nose connected with something unmoving, and rather solid. Pinkie toppled over back onto the grass, her now flat hair parted down the middle to reveal a spire before her.
“Ow, that hurt, spire!” rubbing her nose, she rose to have her hair fall once again over her eyes. The comb was nowhere to be found. “My hair…”
The fluffy, pink, mane was now flat, and still pink. She shook her head around to no avail. How strange, it was as if she was a filly again, with this manecut. Pinkie rubbed her nose one final time before continuing on, glancing about for the comb. The comb, however, was nowhere to be found. How strange, upon thinking back to her childhood memories she could have sworn the comb that had lay upon the ground only moments ago had been at her house, in the rock farm, all those years ago.
-Pinkie-
“Hello? Rarity?”
-You must hurry, the others are waiting-
“You mean my friends? Wait…Applejack?”
-Do you consider you to be a friend to yourself?-
“…What?”
-Beware Pinkie-
The odd voice faded. Each time it had spoken she had heard a different voice, yet with the same guttural tone. How strange this place was, this part in particular, random, like her, with just a hint of CLIFF! CLIFF! In her blessed stupor Pinkie found herself at the edge of a sizable cliff; the stone prevented her from stepping over onto it, and below lay nothing. Or perhaps it was mist. Either way, it was rather white and shimmery. Pinkie cranked her neck around to see behind her, decided it was too uncomfortable, and turned around. A tree had appeared before her, across the way, swaying regardless of the lack of wind. She trotted over to it, tripping on a root on the way, and looked up at the tree. The tree, in turn, looked down upon the pony, a quizzical expression upon its barky eyes and nest-filled mouth. A hat, not unlike her father’s sat upon its semi-bare branches.
“You…who are you?” the tree rasped out.
“I’m Pinkie Pie! Who are you?”
“I’m a tree.”
“Hello Mr. Tree! What are you doing here in my mind?”
The tree blinked, a subtle movement that was very easy to miss, and shifted its branches around, moving the hat further away. “I suppose you could tell me, it seems something you should know.”
“Actually, I’ve found my mind is full of surprises! What fun would it be if I remembered everything?”
“Peaceful?” the tree offered. Fair enough.
“So…I don’t suppose you know what I’m looking for?”
“Looking for?” the tree rasped again.
“My mom sent me to get some items for her here.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“No…well…maybe. Ooh, that’s hard. Can I have that hat upon your…branches?”
“This hat? I suppose not.”
“Oh, why not?” Pinkie huffed, pouting.
“I did not place it there, and do not steal what is not mine.”
“That’s good. So whose is it?”
“The small bird that lives inside my mouth fetched it and put it atop me. I do not care for it, but it’s not my decision.”
“Why not? It’s your head.”
“My branches, if you please.” The tree moaned and blinked again. “What does ail me is that behind the nest, down in my throat, a branch has become lodged. If you remove it I will give you the hat.”
“Ok, so how do I get to it?” Pinkie inquired, attempting to climb up to the tree’s mouth.
“Like this.” A large branch caught Pinkie underneath her tail, carrying her up and into the maw of the tree. She toppled in and the tree closed its mouth.
It was very dark within the tree’s mouth. So what would happen if she was eaten within a being within her own mind? Who knows? An interesting experience she may have to try sometime, after she asked Twilight. How was she supposed to find this branch if she couldn’t even see her hoof in front of her face. Pinkie winced slightly as her hoof connected with her eye.
“I wish it was bright in here.” She moped.
A light appeared before Pinkie, causing her to squint and cover her eyes with a hoof partially. Yet her eyes adjusted quickly enough, allowing her to see the inside of the tree. Not bad, this tree was doing very well for itself. It even had an original Vincent Van Mane in here. Now where was this branch, and what was the creaking noise?
She glanced down. She sat upon a branch, wedged in between the walls of the tree. Below the branch, as the light illuminated, seemed to be a pool of some sort, twisting and turning about. A few bones and feathers were mixed into the swirling vortex. She gulped and attempted to find the mouth of the tree. The mouth was nowhere in sight, and the nest had fallen into the pool as well upon her entrance. The small ball of light hovered before Pinkie Pie silently, adjusting its positioning as to better illuminate her view whenever she turned her gaze upon something else. Not that there was much to turn her gaze upon, being the inside of a tree.
“Well, I found your branch.” She yelled out.
The tree did not respond.
“How am I supposed to get this thing out? If I move it, I’ll fall into whatever that is.” She asked the light, which didn’t respond. The small bones resurfaced and disappeared once more below her.
“Say, I wonder if there’s anything that I could use in there.” She peered into the waters below her, the light plunging into the liquid, causing the tree to shudder.
“There’s a…what is that, circling around?” She draped herself over the branch, looking deeper into the vortex. It was a bottle, with some rolled up paper within. How odd. It stayed within its own cycle, tossing and turning around just underneath the surface, yet never breaching. The light rose, passing through it as it retreated back to Pinkie.
Pinkie watched the still illuminated bottle as it bobbed just out of her reach. She had tried swallowing a bottle once, didn’t work well. This tree couldn’t be too happy about it being in here. Yet there was something ominous about those waters. The light began to grow dimmer; her branch creaked and groaned underneath. She passed a hoof over the underside of the branch to feel several cracks beginning to form. Time was of the essence, yet the essence of time was no good; with a breath she stretched and plunged her hoof down into the water. It went numb instantly, tingling as she witnessed bits of fur fall off, and small trickles of blood enter the water. The bottle drew near. With one clean motion she swept it up and withdrew her hoof, which had turned raw and red. The tree moaned and ached as it opened its mouth, reached a long branch in and withdrew Pinkie Pie.
“Your mother fed me that bottle. I had hoped you would find it.” It rasped at the pony, who was, in turn, examining the object.
“Fed it to you? Why?”
“Makes it a challenge.” The tree inhaled, a long, drawn-out process, “You did not think it would get any easier, did you?”
“Actually, that was pretty easy.”
“Oh…I suppose that those as young as you have developed a more advanced definition of what is challenging or not. For me, holding onto my leaves in the winter is quite the challenge.”
“That makes sense. After all…leaves to tend to…leaf!” Pinkie giggled. The tree blinked again.
Pinkie laughed again at her joke, as she unrolled the roll of paper within the bottle. Her smile fell, the paint of her eyes mixing to form something more somber and solemn.
“My…birth certificate.” She whispered to nopony in particular. A small bit of wind and memory came floating by, rustling the branches and her still-flat mane. She felt the cold of the rock farm, the unrelenting labor, long hours of silence save for the clink as one rock hit another and the occasional chatter of some new client, come to buy stone, often to build headstones for cemeteries or perhaps a memorial to somepony time loved too much to forget. When she perished, when the rock farm finally claimed her, there would be no memorial, no fancy headstone to mark her fall from life and into the chaos of the unknown. Yet, for all this, why did she long to go back to the rock farm and continue the work she had no true desire for? What corner of her soul did those memories visit? What beings of desire stirred from their long slumber to reawaken the call for rocks? The tree had placed the hat upon her head, and when she looked up, the tree was just a tree. No eyes to be seen or mouth to be heard. The tree’s branches were bare, the leaves collapsed upon the ground. She felt longing for her past and the grass began to recede into the ground, leaving no more than mere wisps.
“I see you had no trouble finding my tokens. I knew you wouldn’t.” her mother appeared from behind the tree.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Pinkie?”
“Why did you give me these? I feel strange.”
“Happy, strange?”
“Not happy, but not sad. Something else.”
“Pinkie…Pinkie…I know how you feel. But do you understand what has happened to you?”
“I want to work on the rock farm again.”
“And…”
“And…be part of the family again, as you see it.”
Her mother frowned. “You don’t see it that way?”
“I am always a part of the family, even if I am a bit different. I mean, I know I’m a bit random, as my friends have pointed out, but I’m still a friend.”
“I just thought…when you left…”
“That I was abandoning you? I would never do that, silly!”
“No, Pinkie, it’s that I feel that because you chose such a different path that I failed you as a parent.”
Pinkie wrapped her hooves around her mother. “Aw, Mom; you were the best mom any pony could ever ask for! You never failed me.”
The latter smiled and wiped a tear from behind her glasses. The hat, bottle and paper began to fade, her mother with them. Pinkie felt her hair begin to rise. It made her think of baking; it made her hungry. The grass had gone.
“Oh, Pinkie!” her mother called out as she continued to vanish. “You might be wondering why you don’t have much control over your mind anymore! It’s because you’re close to the walls of this state of mind, and being too close to another means that they begin to mix! Just to help you out!”
“Thanks, Mom! Is Dad here too?”
“He is, you should meet him soon. Fairwell, my filly, and come visit me sometime!”
Her mother faded away, her hair had returned to its usual state of being, and the world around her had turned to rock. The wind began to pick up, the pink bubbles in the sky were gone and the sky had lost a touch of the vivid blue that had marked it so. One final family member, and then she would be free from this. Yet, her mother didn’t say “the walls of her mind”, she said “the walls of this state of mind.” Another state of mind? She couldn’t think of being anything else besides herself, happy and cheerful. What else was there for her to be?