//------------------------------// // 7: Alone // Story: Letters // by joe mother //------------------------------// LETTERS - CHAPTER SEVEN: ALONE A branch dropped somewhere in the forest, making a loud crashing sound in the silence. Pinkie’s eyes snapped open. Her fur was stiff, and she heard it cracking when she stood. She looked down at herself to see it matted down with blood. “What?” she said, her mind clearing instantly. “Why is there blood?” It had been on her for a while; she could tell from the way it pinched her skin when she moved that it was incredibly dry. She looked down and saw that a path of the dried liquid ran off into the forest, out to somewhere else. Her mind was filled with thoughts of horrible things, of death or injury. She could smell something rotting, and a putrid odor emitted from the dark. Pinkie’s breathing quickened as she took slow steps towards the end of the trail. The dried blood became wider and developed less holes. The smell was stronger, worse, echoing in her head, amplifying the already loud volume. She saw the first leg in the bushes and her heart stopped. The bone was bent at an unnatural angle, and a small piece of it poked out from the lavender fur. Blood was caked in copious amounts around the wound, and the hoof was torn apart by some extreme force. “Twilight?” she whispered. She didn’t want an answer; she knew there wasn’t going to be one. She pushed back the bush and was greeted by an assault on her nose and her eyes. Tears boiled up in a flood as the revealed bodies festered in the grass, covered by twigs and fallen leaves. “No.” That was the only word to escape her lips as she pressed her hooves on their bodies. The feeling was horrifying, but it was all she could do to combat the rising wave of nausea. She had to confirm their existence, to know that they were still there physically. Her muscles tightened down to her core when she stood, and her hair was dropping slightly, losing the poof ever so gently, becoming less and less like the Pinkie her friends knew. Night was coming slowly; the light faded quietly, and a swatch of clouds covered the moon, darkening even the small amount of shine that could reach the forest. She finally lost her nerve and vomited across Applejack’s body. She shuddered and fell across her friend’s body, covering herself in her own mess. Tears flowed freely as her mane puffed down into a flat, straight line, falling across her face in a cascade of dull pink strands. The smell was overpowering, but she loved it. With her friends, any smell or sight would be alright. With her friends, she could love anything. - - - - - - “What are you afraid of?” Mrs. Cake asked the small Pinkie Pie, who was shaking in front of the cellar door. “The dark can’t hurt you!” “Yes, it can,” Pinkie said, shrinking down and backing away. “The cellar has nothing besides grain and cooking supplies,” Mr. Cake said, pushing her towards the door. “Last time I checked, there were no evil monsters.” Pinkie Pie visibly flinched at the word ‘grain.’ She turned to the couple, her eyes pleading, “I can’t go down there, please don’t make me go.” They sighed and led her back to her room. She sat down on her bed and looked at them as they sat down in front of her. “Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake began, taking her hoof. “Why are you so scared of the dark?” “I-I don’t want to talk about it,” the filly replied, moving her hoof and turning her head away. “You can tell us, it’s okay,” Mr. Cake said. “You sound a lot like my dad,” Pinkie said, looking back. “That’s a good thing, then,” Mrs. Cake, giving a little smile but losing it when she saw Pinkie’s look of extreme pain. “It’s not good at all,” Pinkie said, a hint of loss in her voice. “Not good at all.” “Why not?” Mr. Cake replied, confusion across his features. “I remember the demon.” Mrs. Cake looked at her husband in a look of silent understanding, both thinking the same thing, and assuming they were right. “We’ll leave you alone for a while,” Mr. Cake said, taking a step to the door. “If you want to tell us about it later you can.” Pinkie nodded and shuffled down on the bed. Her eyes watered as she looked at the lone window in the attic, shining a setting sun into the room. Gripping her covers, she drifted into a restless sleep, a night full of memories she wanted to forget. - - - - - - When the sun rose that morning, Pinkie found herself stumbling along a path, eyes glued ahead of her gazing into the dim light. The air was oppressive, leaning over her body in a weight unlike anything she had ever felt. The feeling of eyes watching her burned into her mind, and she shuddered at the glances. She wanted to keep going, despite all the horrible thoughts running through her head. Her hair waterfalled down her neck, and it protected her from neck injuries, at least she felt that way. Paranoia was setting in quickly, overwhelming her emotions and making her a doll of fear and death. The heat was bad, and her sweat made her uncomfortable, and she began itching and scratching as she walked. Her hooves were cracking from the constant rocks and sticks rubbing against them, and pain shot up her legs as she went. The road began sloping upwards slightly, tiring her more, and the trees began to thin out. Light reached further down to the floor, and her eyes slowly became adjusted to the new brightness. “I’m nearly there,” she whispered, her legs freezing. Lead filled them, and she couldn’t force herself to keep going. “So close to my past.” A rustling from behind her coaxed her to move, and she started her climb up the hill again. At the crest of the hill she could see two stones facing where the house was. The shadows fell down the hill into her face. Approaching them, she looked at the fronts, not surprised to find the writing to be dulled by weather and age. They were still readable, but she didn’t read them for her own sake. She turned from the memorials and looked at the house, or at least what was left of it. The pieces of wood sticking up from the dirt formed a haunting visual, the vision of death and abandonment, with a small door on the edge leading to a cellar. “Home,” she said, a tear blown across her face by a gust of wind. “I’m back here. Back to my own hell.” She stepped up to where the door used to be and ran a hoof over the burnt wood; it disintegrated with her touch. A bird flapped past her from where it nested in the ruins of the building, leaving some chicks behind while it looked for food. Dark spots filled Pinkie’s eyes as she walked to the cellar door. She grasped the handle and took a deep breath. “It’s for my friends. My friends need my strength. They came with me here, and I have to finish this mission for them.” When she opened it, a rank odor wafted out, similar to her friends when they died but more potent and consuming. She gulped and heard a flutter as the bird returned to its nest to feed its chicks. She took a step in and nearly fell from the shaking. “I can do this. I can do this.” The light disappeared and she forced her way down into the dark, the smell building up in her head until it was the only existence she could imagine. She was only right now. The dark and the smell was all she was; it defined her. She gasped as the stairs fell away and she hit the ground with a thud. Something slick coated the floor, and she heard gasping and groaning from deeper inside. There was a light in the distance of the tunnel, and she began walking to it, limping from the fall. As the gap between herself and the opening closed, Pinkie’s breathing increased, becoming short gasps. She finally reached the light and stepped in. She covered her eyes as they momentarily adjusted. “Pinkie, you’re back!” She looked at her dad and began to cry, seeing the genuine emotions in his eyes and the lack of evil in them. “Dad,” she said, choking on tears. She grabbed him, ignoring his injuries and the blood across him. “I’ve missed you so much!” They were finally reunited, and her heart was filled with joy. She momentarily forgot about her problems and everything wrong as she merely hugged her dad. The two stayed locked together, father and daughter, as a family brought back together.