As soon as I got home, that little pony went straight to my shelf for special things. The shelf was up high in my bedroom, right across from my bed so I could admire it while I was drifting off to sleep or when I was just waking up. There was a picture of my family there amidst other odds and ends, and a gilded arrow I was given for winning an archery competition, as well as the crispy remnants of the boutonniere from my senior prom. They were some of the most important pieces of my past; people and times I don’t want to ever forget.
I took a shower to wash off and warm up. The water got real cold all of a sudden, and I yelled as I smacked my knee leaping out of the stream of water. Somehow I landed upside down in a heap on the bathroom floor, so I reached up with my uninjured leg to shut the shower off. There was a fresh wave of despair as the sound of running water in the pipes continued. Something must have burst.
I emerged from my apartment wearing a clean set of sweats to find an extremely disgruntled plumber.
“Wazz’at you?” He grunted, one eye searching my face while the other went off somewhere to my right.
“I’m sorry. I was just taking a shower, and the hot water shut off.”
“That’s ‘cause I got the hot water pipe all undone. Doin’ the cold next. The joints are loosen’, everythin’ came t’ bits when some’n turned on their shower. Been flyers and signs f’days.” He stamped his foot down for emphasis.
I glanced back toward my door, and spotted half a dozen pieces of paper taped over one another. I guess I always had my head down when I came up the steps.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I started, foolishly letting my mind take over and finish the sentence on its own. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
There was most certainly something I could do, and he let me take care of that and everything else he could find until long after dark. I had the unfortunate combination of plumbing knowledge and a lack of the necessary willpower to say “no”. When I was finally in for the night, all I wanted was a tall glass of orange juice, but it continued to elude me. “Oh well,” I thought, as I made myself some instant ramen. After dinner, I curled up on the couch with my empty orange juice carton and decided to make another trip to the grocery store tomorrow.
I didn’t want to sleep out on the couch, but things rarely go as I intend. All night long I had strange, fevered dreams. The only clear memory I have is waking up to hear the muffled gong of the church bell three times, and then falling right into a strange dream involving something moving around my apartment in the dark. I heard it crashing into things, and it even muttered that it wished somepony was around who could cast a spell. In a patch of moonlight, I caught a glimpse of pink, and three balloons. A baby began to cry somewhere in the distance, and whatever was stumbling around my apartment left to investigate the noise, leaving me alone again.
The next day, in a rare change of pace, I woke up quite refreshed. I made my way into my bedroom to check the time on my cell phone and disable the alarms, but while I was there I felt a sudden wave of remorse. The girl had so freely given me what seemed to be her favorite toy, and I had taken it without a second thought. While I certainly appreciated the gesture, I couldn't keep it. It was a comforting totem, but there was too much emotion wrapped up in that little pink pony.
I reached toward the shelf to grab the toy, but I met only empty space. It had disappeared.
I began to frantically search my room, tossing aside piles of clothes and old scraps of fast food meals in my haste. After nearly ten minutes, I had determined several times over that it had not fallen off the shelf and landed somewhere below. I broadened my search pattern, checking under the bed and the nightstand, before I slammed my hand to the bed in frustration as I was standing up. Instead of my down comforter, I struck something hard.
The Pinkie Pie toy grinned back at me from the middle of my bed.
I paced back and forth between the shelf and the bed several times, considering everything from earthquakes to poltergeists, but the only conclusion I could reach was that the little girl deserved her prized possession back.
I grabbed the pony on my way out the door, before jogging down the street until I came to the head of the trail through the park. Same as yesterday, I saw the little girl out playing with the town she had built out of blocks and sticks. Clutched tightly in her hands was Pinkie Pie.
I knew it was the same My Little Pony toy. It had to be, because it was the same pink color, with the same fluffy pink mane. Three balloons adorned the pony’s flank—the same balloons that I had seen in the gloom of my apartment the night before. I was concerned with how quickly Pinkie Pie had infiltrated my sleeping thoughts, and wondered whether or not I should keep the toy. Pinkie Pie might prove too painful to keep so close at hand.
While I stood there perplexed the girl glanced up and noticed me. I decided that it was my turn to run away.
Rather than running home, I made my way back through the park. I needed more time to clear my head. As I was entering the glade where I had stopped before, the glint of what appeared to be a flaming bird passed between two treetops. I was so distracted that I failed to notice the giant patch of mud right in the middle of the path.
Naturally, I slipped, which sent me sailing through the air with my arms and legs flailing in a frantic attempt to gain control. I realized that it wasn’t going to work just a split-second before I slammed into a wrinkly old oak headfirst. My momentum carried me spinning in an arc toward a large stone statue: a majestic stallion rearing back triumphantly atop a chiseled marble base.
What a nice sculpture, I thought to myself, as I collided with it at full velocity. Everything went black after that.