Party Every Day

by Esle Ynopemos

7: Clyde Pie and the World [Sad]

((Prompt: For years, I clung to the memory of it. Then the memory of the memory. And then nothing. I look upon you and feel nothing. I remember nothing but you turning your back on me, along with all the others.))

He sat alone on a lump of rock that marked the border of his land. To say that he sat scowling would be accurate, but redundant; he always scowled. Rather than sitting at his perch to look upon the outside world, he looked only inward, at his own farm. He never looked at the world beyond his farm.

There were a good many things, in fact, that Clyde Pie never did. He never sang. He never laughed. He never danced the pony-pokey all night until his legs threatened to trot right away from his body and go to bed without him. But most of all, he never looked at the outside world.

It was a world that did not deserve to have his eyes. It was a world that had only brought him misery and hurt. It was a world that had only ever spat on him and tried to crush him. It was a world that had stolen all three of his daughters from him.

Pinkamena had been the first to go. After the hullabaloo in the barn—what had she called it? A party? Something like that—it shouldn't have come as a surprise that her aspirations would lead her away from the rock farm. She had always been an odd filly. It still had shocked him.

Susan had held his leg so tightly he had lost feeling in his hoof the day Pinkamena had packed her things, gave them all hugs, and set off in search of more ponies she could make smile. The world had swallowed her up the moment she had passed the rock he now sat on. Every once in a while he received letters from a 'Pinkie Pie,' but the world had taken away his Pinkamena.

Inktavia had been next. Shortly after the party, she had developed a passion for the music Pinkamena had played on the old phonograph. Inktavia would spend hours—every moment she had away from her chores—up in her room listening to the chorus of strings ring out from the spinning vinyl.

Clyde and Susan had bought her that used cello for her birthday, hoping that if she could play her music here, she wouldn't need to leave. It didn't work. She had taken to the instrument like a fish to water, and before the end of two years she was gone, off to join an orchestra in Canterlot.

But surely sweet Blinkastasia would stay. Rock-farming was in her bones and blood. Her cutie mark was of the very earth and stone they lived on. It was her destiny.

Destiny was a fickle, damnable thing. It was Blinkastasia's destiny to work with rocks, for sure, but not on the Pie family's farm. Clyde Pie was the furthest thing from a violent stallion, but the day that slimy colt Marble Quarry had seduced his daughter off of the farm with promises of untold wealth and adventure as his head geologist, he'd had dark, dark thoughts of what he would do if he ever caught Marble on his land again.

The world had taken Clyde's daughters from him, so he sat on his rock with his back facing the world and watched the shadows of clouds roll past his fields. He could see Susan in the east field, rotating a small chunk of granite. Sunlight glinted off of the new rows of obsidian, jagged edges sparkling gray.

He heard hoofsteps approaching from behind him. He did not turn. Clyde Pie never turned to greet strangers.

The hoofsteps stopped a little way away from him. “Daddy?”

Clyde thought he knew that voice, but he knew he couldn't. That was the voice of his Pinkamena, and Pinkamena was gone. The pony behind him was a part of the world that had taken his daughters away, and he wanted nothing to do with her.

A few more hoofsteps brought the stranger closer. “Daddy, it's me, Pinkie.”

He kept his eyes trained on his land. Clyde Pie never spoke with anypony that had a name like 'Pinkie.'

“I'm sorry I don't visit as often as I said I would,” said this 'Pinkie.' “It's... it's harder than I thought to come back.”

His expression didn't change. Clyde Pie never let strangers' words affect him.

Pink hooves wrapped around his chest from behind. A soft, curly mane pressed against his back. “I missed you, Daddy.”

He didn't cry. Clyde Pie never, ever cried.

That was a lie.

Comments

[JetstreamGW]

Grow the fuck up, Clyde

[Valhuir]

What JetstreamGW said. Even if he has the wrong symbol for a thumbnail pic. :P

[Midnight herald]

This one makes me so sad. Yeah, Clyde's being a total prick about it, but I can see (sorta) why he'd think this way. I can also see why Pinkie has abandonment issues, though. Scary, yet amazing.

[Crimson Dawn]

Looking at that quote it is from Baldur's Gate 2 by Jon Irenicus. Just figured that out when I read it to myself. Must not have read the prompt the first time.