As My World Burns

by StapleCactus

Am I Alive at All

Petals hadn’t shown herself in my dreams in a long time. Reliving those moments were bittersweet, I guess. Still, I don’t remember her ever saying anything about letting my mind trick me. Maybe she’s on to something…

I hunted for the letter Pinkie gave me. I might have thrown it out the window in my rage. It was open, too. Looking out of it only gave me the view of town from the second story, ponies wandering about freely. My old store was to the south of here, so I could make out the sounds of construction easily with the northern wind.

A pony caught my attention. It wasn’t a sound or movement, but more of a presence I felt, and there she was. Her eyes bored into mine, giving me the distinct feeling I was a villain soon to face his reckoning. Squeezing my eyes shut and vigorously shaking my head, I ducked back into the room trying to clear my head.

The letter lay on the floor, peeking out from the bed like a child hiding from monsters. Maybe I was. Don’t suppose you know what that’s like, do you? The monsters of the Everfree were pretty obvious, but what if you couldn’t see them? No! Focus!

First, I need to make sure this said what I read. There might be something there that would clue me in to Pinkie’s antics, or a way to fight back, or maybe I’m insane. What did it say before? Could you tell me if this sounds right?

Dear Mr. Davenport,

I’m super sorry about what happened to you. That fall must have been a doozy! I remember when I fell down the quarry as a filly… BUT! The CMC are trying everything they can to make it up to you! In fact, they even started helping rebuild your store, and Apple Bloom is doing her best to make furniture to restock what you lost. Isn’t that great?!

Anyway, I came to wish you good luck on getting better. I may (or not) have heard something from somepony about a thing that you may (or not) have. Since you’re reading this, that means I most likely stopped by and then left without a word. I know how much my voice grates on your ears, and your headache really doesn’t need me to make it worse. I worry my friends are the same way, really. But that’s the thing with thoughts! They aren’t always right! I built a pedal-copter on my own, and if I had listened to my head that wouldn’t have happened! Sometimes you just have to throw your mind in the gutter!

But then it’d get dirty, and nopony likes a dirty filly, so maybe just zip its lips instead.

I have a proposition for you, however.

I was planning a surprise party for you to help cheer you up! This one is on the house, of course. But then you got hurt even worser and I don’t want you to feel obligated to come to your own party. I mean, I know you don’t like them, but we can’t have a party without the guest of honor!

Please come. Everypony’s hoping to see you. We do love you, even if you don’t think so. But… if you decide I’m not worth it… that the townsponies aren’t important… pack up and leave Ponyville. Maybe you can start up your business somewhere else and leave the past. I’ll even pay for the trip if you really think it’s for the best.

I’ll be waiting at the party. Please…

With Love,
Pinkamena Diane Pie

The letter fell from my hooves. Again. I have weak frogs, okay?

No, that’s just me trying to counter this feeling. I feel… wrong. My head is pounding, and this letter doesn’t match. I can understand how I could have read it wrong; she didn’t exactly make it all that cheery, after all. But… how did I do that?

I’ve never had issues with my head before. I can remember customer’s orders with perfect clarity. Alonso’s first lines in act 3, scene 3 of The Tempest was clearly, “Old lord, I can blame thee, who am myself attached with weariness to th' dulling of my spirits. Sit down and rest. Even here I will put off my hope and keep it.” Why would I read something like a simple letter wrong so easily?

Is it a universal redact? Maybe my life is a story and the author got bored, so now he’s rewriting things to suit him. Are you the audience? Well, I hope you’re entertained, because I’m not having it!

Maybe this is how the letter actually read, maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because I’m going over and getting the answers from Pinkie herself! If this is a story meant to entertain, I’ll keep it going. If this is how life threw my dice, I’ll move on. I can’t justify living with a mental illness so great that I can’t even keep track of time! Find me at Sugarcube Corner, dear audience.

You’re back. That was strange. I actually lost whatever this feeling is that tells me when you’re around. Sure enough, you found me here in front of Sugarcube Corner. I have to say, this building really doesn’t make sense when you compare it to the surrounding area. As I stepped toward the door, I had the uneasy feeling of being uninvited. Still, I needed in there, so I pushed through it and heard the familiar chime of the doorbell when I entered.

“Welcome to Su…” Mrs. Cake trailed off when she noticed me. I can’t say I blame her if my memories of the night before are accurate. I tried my best to look mollified before responding to her silent question.

“I’d like to speak to Pinkie, if I may.” Mr. Cake poked his head out of the kitchen behind the counter. “I may have said some things, and she’s the only lead I ha—”

“She’s upstairs,” he said flatly. “Announce yourself before entering, and if you upset her like you did last night, her tears will be the last thing you see.”

That… did not sound like Mr. Cake. His wife was more the alpha, but…

Shaking my head again, I thanked them for the opportunity and climbed the stairs. It was easy figuring out which room was Pinkie’s, and not because of the heart-shaped carving on the door. I heard voices on the other side that were clearly those of her friends. Knowing them, I steeled myself on the other side and knocked, saying my name clearly when one of them asked who it was.

The room muttered, shuddered, and maybe even blubbered, before the door opened to the sight of Twilight glaring at me. “We’ll be downstairs.” Yet another threat against my person, and I haven’t even done all that much. Right? Well, everyone took their time leaving the room, each eyeing me like a snake in the grass as they passed. Rainbow Dash even did the eye-hoof thing, because that hasn’t always been contrived.

I never actually got the okay to enter, and it would be rude to disturb a mare’s room, so I watched the others clamber down the stairs. There may or may not have been humming and rocking on my hooves while I waited. At this point, I probably should have looked at least, and I know you would, but I was nursing a headache that’s been bugging me since… I don’t even know now.

“About three days ago, I would imagine,” came the voice of Pinkie, no, Pinkamena. Why was her voice not grating? It almost seemed soothing. “You can come in, silly.” There it is. What is going on?

I stepped into the doorway to see her sitting on her bed. Her… pet was in her lap as she stroked it like some villain I remember from my colt years. She smiled as I closed the door behind me, and I decided that wasn’t a good idea.

“It took a while for us to get here, hasn’t it?” she asked in that soothing voice again, setting the alligator? aside and walking to her window. “What do you think of the letter I left for you? Did you find it well enough?”

“Considering I watched you physically drop it off in front of me and beat a hasty retreat, I’d say so. The more important question is why you are acting like yesterday didn’t happen, like you’re some villain in a B-play, and everypony else is pissed that it did happen.” I eyed her carefully as she started pacing, stopping now and then to inspect a ribbon or some such party supply.

“Hmm, let me ask you a better question.” She moved towards me, her eyes a still pool of… I don’t know. Such a deep blue, though. Captivating.

When there was only a foot between us, she sat down and motioned for me to follow along. I didn’t want to. She was emitting such a strong feeling of malice, I would have rather ran, but she seemed to know what was going on. With a resigned sigh, I did. She smiled. I sighed again.

“What.”

“Have they ever responded?”

“What?”

“Maybe not directly, but you could sense their intent, haven’t you?”

“Pinkie, wh—”

“They are the fourth.”

Author's Note:

The only one I'll be putting the author's note on the bottom. I figured what I had written stood on its own well enough to be a sort of mini-chapter at least. Of course, if you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a doobly doo about it.

This one was also a lot of fun to write. I don't really have too much bad to say about it, actually. I mean, yeah, the longer it went, the harder it was to make some semblance of a plot going, but I never intended there to BE one. This was my let off steam story, really. I just write whatever I want all chilled out and yes, filled with ennui. It was actually a running joke there for a while after what the commenters were saying, I liked mentioning it so much it stuck around.

As you can see from the chapter though, it kinda went a little.... strange. For all the practice it was giving me in dialogue, I absolutely hated it. I felt like the story was going into Stupid-Land where King Idiotis the III reigned or something. I couldn't think of a way out of the hole I dug, though, and here's where the chapter sat for years. I Just don't really know what to do with it anymore. There was a flicker of a plot I was dreaming of, where Davenport finally accepts his life as it is, where all this was because he had been suppressing his hurt. There was even a moment where someone would actually mention that they were surprised he opened his shop back up after the weekend of his wife passing.

I guess that's where I was going with it. Just a pony filled with hurt learning to accept what happened at least enough to stop bottling it up inside. I'm sure you can imagine what that kind of ending would have been.

And that's why I never got rid of the Slice of Life tag. Death happens, and you need to be ready for it, to accept it, and to move onward into your own future. It's life, right?

Anyway, for the last time (for this was the last of the stories I cancelled, did them all in a single sitting) I'm sorry I couldn't write the stories you all enjoyed. I've tried coming back a couple times, and the last few blog posts show that, but I can't get invested anymore. I'm sorry. Thank you.