A Wish Come True

by Seer

Stolen Dreams

“Pinkie,” Maud piped up as Pinkie shampooed her mane.

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever thought about something, and then it was real?”

Pinkie rolled her eyes, but smiled regardless. It was easy to forget how the minds of foals worked. Her little sister was ten years younger than her, but the gulf often felt like so much more than that.

“Well, sure Maud! I think about the sun rising when I’m working on the fields. And then, after a few hours, it happens!”

“No,” Maud replied. Her characteristic stoicism would have been striking from any other foal. As it was, they’d all gotten used to it, “I mean you made something happen, just by wanting it.”

“You mean making a wish?” Pinkie smirked, “What did you wish for, Maud?”

“Yesterday, I thought that I wanted you to wash my mane for me, and then you did it. If I want something, the next day it happens.”

Pinkie paused for a second. She had come up with the idea after dinner, seemingly at random. How nice it would be for them to bond, a treat for a well-behaved filly. But now, as she examined it, it seemed like all these rationales were being applied after the fact. But after a moment she caught herself, and she shook her head and giggled.

Minds of fillies.

“Tell you what, Maud, if you wish for a few bits, I can buy us all some chocolate the next time I go to the shops!”

“Okay,” Maud replied, a characteristically subtle lilt in her monotone screamed to Pinkie her sister was excited by that idea.

Pinkie felt ashamed; it was something she’d picked up from their mother, those bitter kinds of jokes. They didn’t have enough for any amount of chocolate, and it was unfair of her to get Maud’s hopes up like that.

Both sisters jolted as the door was suddenly opened. Their father stood in the threshold, eyeing them like they’d done something wrong. Like he was waiting for the moment they did, just to exercise his power to demand they stop.

Pinkie’s jaw clenched.

“Bed,” he said simply, and stalked off to his room.

“Yes father,” Pinkie muttered, and started to rinse the suds from Maud’s hair.

---

When she was a filly, Pinkie loved the farm’s rooster. Brightly coloured, proud and full-chested. The way his crows carried across all the fields. Now, that sound meant work. It meant dragging her and all her younger sisters out onto the field to plough while their father drank.

Now she hated the rooster.

Their mother was no help. She used to be, but one day, a few years ago, she just went catanonic. Now all she did was lay in bed all day. Pinkie thought it must have been a life of stress. She didn’t know whether she pitied, envied, or hated her mother. Sometimes she thought she felt all three at the same time.

The day went by quick, too quick to really pick anything out but backbreaking monotony. More backbreaking monotony. The same she’d had yesterday, save for the stolen moments washing Maud’s mane.

When they were finally done, Pinkie walked into the house and trudged upstairs, replying with a small ‘yes father’ to his barked order about dinner being in twenty minutes. When she finally saw her bed, she collapsed. But there was no respite even then, as when her head hit the pillow, there was a sharp pain.

She knew better than to yelp, she didn’t want to disturb anyone, least of all worry her sisters. Pinkie frowned and reached a hoof under the pillows, and her eyes widened when she felt metal. It was four golden coins, twenty bits. For her, it was a princess’s ransom.

“I wis… wis…”

“Wished,” Pinkie muttered faintly, correcting the little voice behind her. Pinkie hadn’t even heard her enter the room, “Where did you find this, Maud?”

“I told you, I wished for it. Yesterday, in the bath.”

“Maud, did you steal—”

“I wished for it yesterday,” the filly insisted, and Pinkie turned to look in her eyes. They were calm, no hint of mockery or mischief, nor the hot shame of a child’s lie. She was telling the truth, or at least thought she was.

“Maud… I—” but the child had already gone, toddling off to her next adventure. Pinkie turned back to the coins, and wondered whether she even cared where they had come from. Whether she even cared they were stolen. Because they were stolen.

Wishes didn’t come true.

---

The rooster stole her dreams from her, that was the main reason she hated it. Every morning Pinkie would be somewhere else. Somewhere no one screamed at her, where no drunken, bitter stallion found the chocolate she’d bought for her younger sisters and had gone feral with rage.

Where he hadn’t blackened her eye and demanded to know where she’d gotten the money, whether she’d stolen it, whether she’d debased his family name for it.

The rooster took it all away. It took her one safe place and forced her to wake up and protect the only thing that mattered to her— little foals who didn’t know any better. But all Pinkie wanted was, for once, to look after herself.

“What?” Maud said from behind her.

“Nothing, Maud,” Pinkie sighed as she dragged the plough.

“You said something, you shouldn’t lie.”

“Please Maud—”

“Mother always said that good fillies tell the truth and—”

“I said I hated the cockerel, okay? Are you happy now, Maud? I said I wanted the cockerel to go away and to never come back and to let me dream!”

Pinkie looked around, wincing as the sun glared in her swollen eye. All her sisters had stopped working, and were staring at her. Scared. Had she been shouting?

They couldn’t stop working, not when their father could look out any moment. Because then he’d shout, and all her sisters would be terrified, like they always got when he shouted. And Pinkie couldn’t have that, she couldn’t see that, she couldn’t be that.

They can’t be scared of me.

“Haha,” she barked out, forced and humourless, “I’m sorry girls, ploughing all day makes Pinkie a bit grumpy! Come on now, let’s just get back to work. Not much longer now!”

The fillies returned to their jobs, immediately satisfied with the explanation. The minds of foals after all. But not Maud. Maud kept staring for a while, until Pinkie spoke up again.

“Maud, sweetheart, please get back to work. It’s not much longer now, I promise.”

And after a couple of seconds, Maud did just that. But not before some prolonged stare, communicating something Pinkie didn’t quite understand.

---

Pinkie was on a beach and there was no one anywhere. There was no one to be afraid of, no one to look after. Pinkie was on a beach, by herself. And she was crying for reasons she’d never cried before. Some catharsis, a realisation of something she’d only been able to wish for. Pinkie wanted this to never end.

Pinkie wanted so, so many things.

But Pinkie wasn’t on a beach, she was in her bed, groggily rubbing sleep from her eyes. Fuzz turned piercing and heart-wrenching as the sound of her father’s spittle laden howls filled the room against a backdrop of children’s weeping. Like finding music in radio static.

Why were they not in the fields, did they not know what time it was, did they not care? Why hadn’t Pinkie gotten them up? She didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, she only knew the pain when he pulled her out of bed by her mane and dragged her down to the fields. And the chorus of her sisters’ despair only intensified as they followed. Their mother’s catatonic silence was like the oblivion of death as her father pushed Pinkie into the sun, blinding her.

She knelt in the dust and filth, gently weeping as the door was slammed shut. She faintly heard Marble and Limestone. They were sobbing, but old enough to know not to bother her right now. So instead they just went to collect their tools.

Maud, on the other hoof, remained close, studying her. Pinkie could feel her presence without seeing her. Something intangible, like a ghost. Like a wish.

“Maud… please just go and get your tools,” Pinkie said, fighting to keep her voice even.

“Do you wish?” the filly replied, voice as inscrutable as ever.

“What? Maud, I told you to get your tools.”

“I wished for you to wash my hair, and I wished for money, and then the next day they came true. Yesterday, I wished—”

“Maud, this isn’t the time.”

“Do you wish?” Maud repeated, more firmly this time.

“YES! Of course I wish! You think I like this? You think I want this?! No, you don’t get it because you’re a child, Maud. And in your mind, you make things happen by wishing, even when you steal money from Celestia knows where. You know, if I believed I could do that too, for even a second, I’d spend all my time wishing. I… I do spend all my time wishing!”

“What do you wish?” Maud said again, a quiver of something Pinkie would have feared was terror were she not beaten and bruised and filthy and crying.

“To be free! Of this!” she spat, wildly gesturing around to the farm and everything on it, “To be free of all of this, Maud. That’s what I wish… Now go and get your tools.”

Maud looked at her again, and her mouth moved like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She did as Pinkie said, because she’d been screamed at. Just like Pinkie did what their father said.

Pinkie thought about her beach as she followed Maud to the tool shed.

---

“What do you think it is?” Marble babbled fearfully. The chicken coop stank. To the untrained, it would have been some nondescript foulness. But Pinkie had worked her whole life away on this farm. She knew what it was.

It was death.

“It’s okay girls, go back to work,” she reassured. The day had progressed relatively normally since their spat this morning, they’d even made up lost time. Cleaning up the mess the foxes left would set them back, however. But there was no way she was going to make the fillies do this.

Once they were safely away, Pinkie lifted the roof off, and was nearly sick. The chickens were fine. They walked around, empty and vaccous and stupid, oblivious to the rotting, putrefied rooster carcass in their midst.

It was far too big for a fox to kill, and it couldn’t have been dead more than a day. Pinkie had watched it last night before bed. How was it this rotten, this decayed? It wasn’t possible.

“I wished, yesterday,” Maud piped up, and Pinkie felt her queasy stomach drop further.

“What?” Pinkie replied, blanching.

“You told me. You wanted the rooster to stop taking your dreams away. I wished it would.”

“Maud… no you… this…” The rooster had only been dead a day, it couldn’t have been this rotted already. Pinkie moved away from the coop and grabbed the filly by the haunches, “Where did you get that money Maud, tell me. Honestly now.”

“I wish—”

“No! No you didn’t because… if you… and this…”

Words failed her. The minds of fillies... so blank and impressionable. So untainted by the cruel world they lived in.

But it wasn’t possible.

“Maud, I’m not gonna be mad, okay sweetie? But you need to tell me, Pinkie promise to tell the truth, where did you find that money? I don’t care if you stole it, okay? Tell me where you got it? Tell me.”

“I wished,” Maud replied, a rare break in her armour widening as tears brimmed in her eyes, “Yesterday I wished for Mr Rooster to go away so you could dream. The day before the money, I wished for it. I wished, Pinkie. Like… when I was small, and I wished mum would stop crying all the time, like I wished you would wash my hair… like I wished you’d be free.”

“What do you mean?” Pinkie asked, feeling cold, “What do you mean you wished I’d be free?”

“Like you wanted. Like you said,” Maud replied, sobbing now in earnest.

Pinkie chewed her lip, feeling somewhere between stupid and terrified and desperate. Because her mind was an adult’s and she didn’t believe in wishes. But she cared more about the safety of her sisters than her stupid, adult’s pride. So she acted like a filly.

“Undo it. Maud, undo the wish! I don’t want to be free anymore, Maud, understand me?!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Maud replied, tears mirroring those that poured down Pinkie’s face as they grappled, desperate, steeping in the odour of death, “It’s one thing a day… you should have told me yesterday.”

Pinkie dropped her, and sat breathless on the field. Marble and Limestone had heard the commotion and started to cautiously trot over. As soon as they saw the tears, they started too. All of her little sisters, all still children, cried as Pinkie tried to compose herself.

A small part of her wanted to order them to get back to work. But, somehow, holding them all, with no care for whatever drunken violent eyes stared at them from the house felt more appropriate this time.

---

There was no sound, for the first time in so long. And when Pinkie’s eyes finally fluttered open, they did so of their own accord, unmolested by roosters or drunkards both.

The events of yesterday felt like a blur, but when she remembered them, Pinkie sat up in panic. Only there were no sisters to apologise to, no roosters to steal her dreams. The room was empty, save for three small beds.

Pinkie clambered out of bed, clumsy in her terror, and ran downstairs. For the first time in her life she prayed to see her mother or her father, but they too were gone. The house was vacant. Outside, the fields were unruly; nothing would grow here. This wasn’t even a farm anymore. This was a wreck, suitable for only abandonment.

Nothing was tying her now.

She’d wished to be free yesterday.

She was free today.

She was alone.

And all Pinkie could do was slump, inconsolable in the dirt, mourning for three fillies and their beautiful minds and wishes. She didn’t move until she fell asleep again. And, as always, she dreamed.

But this time, she wasn’t on a beach.

No.

She was eating dinner with her sisters, with parents that loved them. That protected them. She saw their smiles, for the first time they were free to be fillies.

But it wasn’t real.

She wanted that kinder world now, because freedom was bitter.

Because she still wished.

But she had an adult’s mind.

Comments

[themoontonite]

To go a little deeper into what I said when I first read this story (and it first ripped my still-beating heart from my chest) the way you use the limited framework of language to tell this terrifying, inescapable spiral of fear and pain is just mind blowing. The characterization of Pinkie as deeply, wholly depressed and frightened and angry is flawless and you make it sososososo SO easy to slip into her horseshoes and experience everything from her point of view. Impeccably written and chilling, you continue to be one of my favorite authors on this site. Wonderful job!

[FanOfMostEverything]

Fascinatingly disturbing... but honestly? I feel like this would've worked better with Limestone and Pinkie rather than Pinkie and Maud. Maud is the only character who feels even close to herself. I'm always in favor of AUs, but you do need to have a connection between the character as we know them and as you present them. Here, the beleaguered, unwilling replacement for Cloudy and the impossible, well-meaning child definitely resonate with two Pie sisters, just not the ones you've assigned them.

Again, very strong concept and good execution. I just think the casting could've been better.

[Wolk]

this name sounds familiar

[RubyDubious]

It needs stated first that this story doesn't read like a usual Seer story, and this isn't for the worse. It's more like taking a different path to the same conclusion, that being, it's a Seer story told differently. On this note, this was crushing, it was bitter, and it was amazing.

On the technical side, having Maud be the one to wish and tell Pinkie this in her patented stoic way built tension expertly, and having Pinkie be the one to root around in the misery for a glimmer of joy that she then shared with her sisters was also a perfect choice. And when Pinkie eventually snapped and yelled at her sisters, it was a sign of the situation being so soul-crushing that it broke Pinkie. It's worth saying too that the way you made the rock farm sound miserable without really taking time to describe the setting was a very fine balancing act that paid off. It set up an atmosphere with Pinkie's father and Pinkie's narration on it without directly stating anything to it.

Like when you describe the violence and suffering that takes place, it's almost from a point of routine. Like the monotony includes this heartbreaking brutality. The terror that you wanted Pinkie's father to convey is definitely recognized for me. They say a watched pot never boils, but Pinkie's father would shatter the pot if it didn't boil. Having to live with abuse is scary enough when the abuser is out of sight, and you're out of theirs. But having to work backbreaking, soul-crushing labor every day and be watched by a monster that will beat you if aren't working to their liking? This, while subtle and will likely be overlooked, is masterful.

What's more, is that Maud only wanted to help. She wanted to be with Pinkie, and to have some money for chocolate. To let her sister dream. To let her sister be free. It's a tragedy when children's innocence and happiness, and indeed their view of the world, destroyed by abusers. Maud and the younger sisters are no different, and Pinkie's view of the world was destroyed just like this. It's why it's unbelievable to her when wishes come true. Because it's unbelievable to her that her situation can magically become better. But I say this about Maud to say that when she made her last wish, it was because she thought that her and the younger sisters, and also the parents were a burden. When Pinkie snapped at her, Maud made the hasty and horrid conclusion that the pain of this reality Pinkie had to live in was her fault as well as her father's. So when that wish comes true, it broke my heart and made me cry. I can't even begin to imagine the though Maud had, but the way you described her sadness, it was like water breaking free from a rock.

A lot of your stories to me Seer, I love. When I read them, much like I read this one, I smile at the quality, and then the smile turns to a straight line when the darker aspects come in. Then over time, like always, will turn downward, not for quality or raw and refined talent, but for the subject matter being struck so dead on and accurate that it's hard not to feel the emotions myself. It's rare that I read a sad story of yours with a dry eye, and this wasn't an exception. Excellent work, truly. And this came from a speedwrite no less. It's a mark of your skill that gleams like a banner on a high hill, and one I want to climb myself and reach you there.

[Mica]

Hauntingly beautiful. Hits a little (too) close to home for me.

[fanreader999999]

Is it so terrible?

[spoonlol]

Man that was some heavy stuff, well done.
I’m not really a fan of how a lot of people make pinkie’s parents abusive but I think it worked for this one.

[TwilightSparkle484]

Wow. . .
It hurts to see Pinkie so depressed. What pains me even more is that this type of situation is endured by so many families each and every day. I like how you captured the theme of children's naivety versus the maturity of an adult. A child's perspective of the world differs so much from the viewpoint of an adult. As a teen, your writing prompted me to ponder over the transition that eventually occurs in our thinking as we age. It's amazing to see the story you painted just from the concept of something called a wish. Well done. 👍

[SigmasonicX]

This was a fantastically written story. The creeping dread of both the Pies' abusive household and the extent of Maud's powers were handled masterfully. However, throughout it, I was left wondering why the perspective character was Pinkie, or rather how this character was Pinkie. Pinkie is written as ten years older than Maud, so I was expecting some kind of explanation for how Maud's the older one in canon, but none came. In personality, she didn't really evoke Pinkie either. That confusion aside, you did a great job with this.

[Sir Starshine]

This was haunting, and beautiful.

[Fiddlebottoms]

I think the abuse was a bit too much. It wants to justify something that doesn't need anymore justification than basic, inevitable Shit Life Syndrome.
The abuse is also mostly just hinted at in afterthought way that could be done away with. The only bit of that sticks is Ingenuous interrupting the bath, and that can just be justified as "get sleep so you can work so we'll have a roof to sleep under tomorrow," which is again just basic SLS.

[RDT]

Really, really, really good.

I think Pinkie was written brilliantly, always looking for Laughter even in such a bad place.

[Ice Star]

I think that the worst part of this story is that even by the end, Pinkie still does think like a child. I’ve both met and been the child that thinks like her.

[Xam]

And here I thought from the summary and warnings, the story was going to be about how Maud was abused and wished Pinkie into existence as a younger sister with endless laughter and emotion that Maud lacks. But the tragic ending would be about her realizing that Pinkie was an imaginary friend all along.

[Aldea Donder]

Wow, this was written in an hour? I am insanely jealous of your talent. Certain clever bits of writing here would take me a heck of a lot longer to come up with. For instance, the juxtaposition of the rooster, how Pinkie used to love it when she was little and the world was new, but now she hates it, specifically, because "the rooster stole her dreams from her"—I just love that sentence so much, and the double meaning that's in it—and then, how the rooster ends up dead and rotting, how it all ties into the horror element. It would probably take me several hours just to come up with the idea of the rooster, to muddle my way through the symbolism, much less the prose. The fact that you can do that, and write 2,500 more words, and have them be as powerful and hard-hitting as this, is a ridiculous show of skill. I can barely scrounge 1,000 words on a good day, much less an hour. I'm seriously impressed.

[Orphan]

10379169
That is how an abusive home can be. That was my father, almost perfectly. Except that we had plenty of money, until he spent it all on steak, rum, and weed. He’d buy the neighbor a new computer, and sell my bed to pay for it.

[BloodLustShade]

This is really sad.

[AFanaticRabbit]

This is one of those stories that makes you feel sick, but you want to read more, to try and find out everything is okay, the quesiness is gone.

But it just ends worse. Exhausting.

[Shaslan]

Damn I don't know how I've never read this one. I loved it. Unsettling in all the right ways. Maud as a child would indeed have been very creepy.