//------------------------------// // Funeral for a Friendship (Pinkie Pie #13): My Dirty Little World // Story: Awkward Conversations And Other Stories // by No one is home //------------------------------// It was the most depressing funeral I’ve ever seen. I was the only one there. There were no kind words. How could there be? Nopony even knew the poor human. He’d been in a coma, trapped in a dream, since his arrival. I was surprised Princess Luna didn’t come to the service, but why would a pony princess bother to watch some grave-digger ponies toss her failed science project in a hole. I kept hearing everypony saying there was nothing they could do. But that was a lie. I know for a fact they’ve helped sick humans using transformation magic. But some humans are more important than others, I guess. I don’t know why I took it so hard. It’s not like I even knew this human. Just because I sat with him and told him all my secrets while he floated in a pod doesn’t make him my friend. Pinkie Pie #13 doesn’t have friends. But he was the closest thing I ever had to a friend, besides my sister Seven. I wonder sometimes, all the times I sat and talked to him, how much, if anything, seeped into that dream the princess put him in. I asked once, but she was evasive. I honestly don’t think she ever even looked in on his dream. Why would she? It’s funny, I’ve heard at least one human bragging on the streets of Canterlot how he got away with foal napping with no more than a stern lecture about friendship. Another human is left to rot in a dream because he was too broken to get out of the way of a train. And they all pretend to be such nice little ponies. Like they don’t know what they ask me to do for a few bits and a little love. And yet, if they could see my holes, they would call ME a monster. It’s not fair. None of it is. There is no justice in Equestria, just a never ending cycle of tolerance and forgiveness as we all pretend we’re something more than each other’s victims. The ponies pretend they can’t see it. The standard for “good pony” is so low they just trot right over the bar with nary a careful step. I wonder if he would have seen it? I wonder what it was like in that dream? Should I feel pity, or envy? So the closest thing I ever had to a friend was a shaved monkey floating in a pool of goo. And now he’s dead. I don’t know how I should feel. Sad, obviously, but am I sad that he died, sad that I never really met him, or sad that the closest thing I ever had to a real friend was a shaved monkey floating in a pool of goo? Or maybe I should be thankful that he never had to see this dirty little world that always looks so painfully clean. That sounds so horrible, because it is a horrible thought. The truth is, he’d never see past the bright happy colors. Most humans can’t. Which makes them better than ponies, who just chose to pretend not to. Or the changeling of the local hive, for that matter, who just fake it so the pretty little ponies will feed them. “Why, yes sir, mister pony sir! I’ll be happy to mark myself for you so you know I’m not really a real pony who’s as special as you,” they make me sick. Not one pony died during the invasion. Not even one. I would say we were dealt with like a plague of insects, except I’ve seen how ponies deal with parasprites. Do you know how ponies DON’T deal with parasprites? By shooting them with bolts of magic and smearing them across walls in an explosion powered by pure love. But what’s a few war crimes when you have tolerance and forgiveness? Reparations to the aggrieved? The ponies said they were sorry. Is it any wonder a human can assault a female of his own species, tie her up and beat her, and be given a stern lecture about friendship? I haven’t been back to the hospital since that day. I had to tweek my hole-free changeling form, but “Nurse Zilia” has faded away like the fiction she always was. That form was just me playing along with the other survivors who thought I needed help. The problem is, I’m not the one who’s broken here. This world is. And deep down, I’m glad my only friend never had to wake up to see it. And that’s a horrible way to think. And deep down I know it makes me a monster. But tonight I don’t care, because my only friend is dead. -The End- (for real this time)