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// And Every One of Them Is About How Good of a Friend You Are 
// Story: A Thousand Words 
// by ThatOneWriter 
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I hum to myself, wiggling my rump as I rifle through my art supplies. Pencils, crayons, brushes, markers, and more fly out, scattering themselves across my desk. They land with a clatter, rustling the huge piece of paper I’ve laid out.

“This is going to be the best gift ever!” I declare to nopony in particular. There are some plushies on my bed, but I don’t think they were really listening.

And this has to be the best gift ever. After all, it’s for my best friend! (Well, Twilight, Rarity, Applejack, and Fluttershy are my best friends, too, but Dashie is like my bestest friend! Don’t tell any of the others I said that, though. I don’t want them to get jealous.) It’s not every day that somepony gets a chance at living their dreams.

I’ve made banners for parties, and I’ve drawn pictures to cheer ponies up, but this has to be perfect. I might not see Dashie for a while, so I’ve got to make this count.

Actually, this isn’t the first thing I tried to give Dashie. First, I wanted to throw a party or bake her a cake, but then I realized I needed to give her something that would last, that would show her every single day how great of a friend she is.

So I try to write her a letter. Words are easy, right? I talk all the time, and some ponies tell me I need to stop talking so much. But every time I start to write, nothing I say feels right. It’s either so silly that she might not take it seriously or so serious that it sucks all the fun out of it or it just doesn’t sound like me at all. Soon, I’m sitting with my head on my hoof, staring at a blank piece of paper, wishing words would happen.

And then it hits me. A picture’s worth a thousand words. I can make a picture! And then Dashie can see how much I care without even having to bother to read. Reading’s too much of a hassle!

… Uh, except in this case, I hope.

Anyway, I take that jumbo-sized piece of paper and a crayon, and I hold that crayon right over the paper while I think of where to begin. And I hold it there. And I hold it there.

Ideas are hard! Groaning, I slam my head against the desk. I groan even more as I rub my now-hurting forehead. I still don’t know why ponies hit their heads against things when they’re frustrated. It doesn’t help at all.

Think, Pinkie! Leaning back in my chair, I think of all the good times with Dashie. There are so many to choose from! We’ve pranked most of the town together, I’ve watched Dashie practice her routine, we’ve shared extra cupcakes I baked, and we’ve just hung out and done nothing in particular. I scratch my head as I try to figure out which memory best captures our whole friendship.

But then I stop. A big grin spreads from ear to ear. Or at least from cheek to cheek. Why should I pick just one moment? I think. They all represent parts of our friendship!

So I pick up my brush—I’m confident in my vision—and I start to paint exactly what comes to mind. It’s a bit sloppy, but that’s the price I pay for not sketching it first. Hopefully Dash doesn’t mind too much.

All that’s left is to let it dry. It takes a little longer than I had planned, but as soon as it’s ready, I roll it up for easy carrying and place it in my saddlebag. With that, I race toward the park to meet the girls.


...


The others are already there when I come bounding down the path. Fluttershy smiles at Dashie after giving her her own present—some kind of homemade blanket, it looks like. It’s really nice and has Dashie’s cutie mark on it and everything. Dashie seems really happy about it, too. She’s also wearing some kind of scarf, probably made by Rarity, and there are a pile of Daring Do books from Twilight. It looks like Applejack also gave her a few bottles of Sweet Apple Acres cider. She must have starting saving some cider after that one time when they ran out.

I go right up to Dashie, bouncing in place as I beam at her. “I made you something too, Dashie!” My eyes dart back to the pile of gifts. I stop bouncing and kind of shift on my hooves before grabbing the painting from my saddlebags.

“I know painting’s not really my talent or anything…” I give it to her, “but hopefully you like it anyway!” The last statement is punctuated by a big ol’ Pinkie Pie grin. Well, maybe not as big as a normal Pinkie Pie grin. Maybe it’s just a Pinkie Pie smile. Or a smirk, but not so smug.

Dashe carefully unrolls the picture and holds it in front of her. I sneak around the side so I can see how she reacts. She kind of frowns at first, but not in a mad way or a ‘I totally hate this and you’re the worst ever, Pinkie’ kind of way. She squints a little, and I follow her eyes as they wander from the picture of her flying to me and her putting itching powder in Applejack’s hat to us laying in the field together. Finally, she stops at the bottom, where I wrote ‘Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie, Best Friends Forever’.

She puts down the painting and gives me this funny look. Then, before I can react, she flings her front legs around me and wraps me up in a super-tight hug. I hug her back, of course. Her breathing kind of hitches, and she gives me another squeeze.

“Thank you,” she whispers in my ear. “You’re the best, Pinkie.”

Something wet splatters on my shoulder, and I gasp. “Dashie, are you crying?”

She pulls away, wiping her eyes. “No way! I just—” Dashie sniffs. She waves a hoof in no particular direction. “It’s this summer heat! I’m sweating from my eyes.”

I hug her again. Then another set of hooves wrap around us, then another, until all six of us are hugging Dashie.

The heat must have be worse with all of us together, because Dashie sweats from her eyes even more. “I love you girls,” she says, her voice cracking. Dashie’s shoulders shook as she sob gasps for breath.

We stand in a huddle like that for a while until two pegasi land nearby, a carriage trailing behind them. The mare looks at us and flashes Dashie a small smile. “We’re ready any time you are.” Her counterpart, a stallion, snorts, flaring his wings.

Dash chuckles. “Heh. Guess I’d better get going.” As she gathers our gifts, she turns to us, and there’s a spark of her normal bravado in her eyes. She smirks. “Next time you see me, I’m going to be a Wonderbolt.”

After stowing her stuff in a neat pile (packing as much of it as possible into her bags), she climbs in. I notice she’s holding my picture, though. The pegasi chauffeurs waste no time in taking off. Within seconds, they’re already speeding away, Dashie’s rainbow mane becoming harder and harder to see.

And just like that, she’s gone. I stand and watch as she slowly fades into a speck, even after the others turn and walk away. Fluttershy hesitates for a moment, putting a hoof on my shoulder before following them all.

I guess this is what momma birdies must feel like after their chicks leave the nest. Or maybe siblings. Or maybe birdie best friends. Do birdies have best friends? I make a note to ask Fluttershy later. I’m sure this is what it feels like when they spend winter in separate places, or maybe when one goes elsewhere to build a nest.

Dash was right. It’s absolutely scorching out here. Soon, tear sweat is streaming from my own eyes.

I hope she’s happy at the academy.

It is a long time before I turn back toward town.