Pinkie's Nightmare
The party of the millennium had begun in Ponyville, and all of Equestria had flocked to attend. Great herds of buffalo were heard stampeding into town. Simple apple farmers from Appaloosa, the unfathomably wealthy from Canterlot, and even Princess Celestia and Princess Luna had come to join in the festivities. Countless lines stretched beyond the horizon of the setting sun, and at the front of each line was a pile of rocks. Each pile wore a nametag that said “Lord Rockington,” and each Lord wished the guests a wonderful evening.
The city teemed with jubilation, and everyone who attended felt a sensation so incredible, words did it injustice. Everything was aglow in a wild frenzy, but the greatest wonder of all was in the house of Pinkie Pie. Every guest that entered the house was greeted by Lord Rockington before partaking in the greatest event of their life. Music, sonorous and invigorating, played with the ears as the tantalizing scents of Pinkie’s sugary delicacies pleasured the nostrils. Along with the pastries, a dark red punch was poured from a crystalline bowl by a boulder named Tom. Tom sat atop its snack table. It stoically watched the attendees as they slid, jerked, and sweated amongst each other in a hedonistic passion. Every pony had abandoned their plights and affairs in the heat of the moment.
Pinkie Pie danced at the center of the party. She breathed in the air saturated with the heat and sweat of her friends and admirers. Her heart thundered in revelry as life coursed through her veins. She basked in the love and admiration of those around her. She fed her soul with their joy. Their smiles were hers; their happiness was hers; their accomplishments were hers. This was bliss. This was living. This was her reason for being.
Pure ecstasy.
“Woohoo!” Pinkie exclaimed as she bounced into the air. She flung out her legs, eagerly waiting for a bed of hooves to hold her up and carry her along. None came, and the mare crashed to floor in pain. Her head rose quickly, and she looked about in confusion. Tom loomed from the snack table, casting a black shadow over her. Its hulking mass pressed down on the table, and the table gave a pained groan before collapsing in defeat. The ground quaked violently, and the mare scurried away in fright.
Color had drained from the walls and furniture, leaving only the abysmal shades of gray. Plates and cups littered the floor with food and drink strewn about. Furniture and tables lay toppled, battered and broken. There was no music, no commotion, no life, only an overpowering silence. This silence was broken as whispers and moans flew in through the windows. The mare rushed to the windows and slammed them shut, but the voices persisted. “Nothing,” they told her. The word was repeated endlessly, and each time repetition cut into her like a flaming dagger.
“Nothing.”
The mare hid from the voices, crawling behind the boulder and covering her eyes. There was no solace in the house except for this stone behemoth. It stood, resolute, in opposition of the room, guarding the mare as she cowered. The voices persisted, louder and angrier now.
“Nothing.”
The mare wrapped her forelegs around her torso, desperate for the warmth and comfort of those who had abandoned her. Her back tensed as the chilling body of her protector jabbed against her. Its cold, gray surface only worsened the loneliness she felt, and still, the voices persisted.
“Nothing.”
She looked to her protector and waited for it to act- for it to drive away the horrors and make her safe. The protector only stood and watched as it hid her from the room. It gave no comfort, and still the voices persisted.
“Nothing.”
She finally broke from the boulder- the false hope. One thing was for certain: there was nothing for the mare here. Her only hope was to run. One by one, she fought to open the windows. Each one promised sanctuary but, like the boulder, gave none. The windows remained closed, trapping her inside with the stifling air and hateful words. Only one hope remained: the back door. There was no front; there was only a gray wall covered with black photos.
Holding her breath, the mare reached for the doorknob. The voices roared and howled as the knob turned, and the door opened. Holy white light poured in, and her surroundings shuddered and rumbled and rushed to close in around her.
The mare trembled in fear, but the warm light gave her strength and she rushed in. Her old world slammed shut, and her new one took form. The world was black, brown, and gray, but it had always been that way. A cry caught in the mare’s throat as she looked at her feet. A barren wasteland was under her, and a field of rocks surrounded her on all sides. A tentative hoof nudged one rock to see if it was real, and the stone crumbled to dust at the touch. The mare stepped forward, and each rock gazed up at her. She was their queen, and they, her admirers. Her admirers were nothing but weak and lifeless; each one showered her with meaningless praise and love. She averted her gaze and pressed onward.
Music was in the air. The joyous, carefree tune of an accordion, tuba, and drums rang in the mare’s ears, and a great uneasiness suddenly befell her. The terrible noise was coming from a large mill at the end of the field. It grew louder as the mare galloped towards it, crushing rocks with each downward thrust of her hooves. She bucked the mill’s door open and rushed inside. The mill was draped from top to bottom in streamers and other colorful decorations. Punch, cookies, apples, and pastries were clustered together on the tables placed near the walls. A yellow cake stood proudly atop a table in the center of the room. A small pink filly stood beside it, smiling at her mother, father, and two sisters.
“Do you like it?” the pink filly asked. “It’s called a party!”
“No,” the mare cried. She rushed in front of the parents and pleaded for them to hate it- chastise her, punish her, hurt her, as long as the filly knew never to throw another party. The family looked through the mare pleading for punishment. “Don’t do it,” the mare begged.
The parents' lips quivered at the sight of the room, and for a moment, the mare thought the filly had been saved. Then she wailed as the parents burst into joyous grins, and the small pink filly squealed in delight. “You do like it!”
“No!” the mare screamed. “Hate her!”
The cheerful music picked up. It drowned out the mare’s shouts and cries, and the family gathered close to dance and play. “Yay,” the mare heard the filly say. “I’m so happy!”
The filly looked down and gasped in astonishment as three balloons appeared on her flank. The mare dropped to the floor and shrieked at the sight of the mark. The filly’s fate was set in stone, forever cursed like the mare’s.
“Nothing!” called the voices.
The mare's world fractured like shattered glass. She watched as the pink filly fragmented into a thousand pieces, and she dove back as the ceiling came crashing down on the loving family. The floor crumbled away, leaving only a dark void.
“Nothing!”
The mare hurried to the door and fought to pry it open. Just as the void was ready to consume her, the door gave way and she fell into the bakery at Sugarcube Corner. Mr. Cake was pulling a batch of cupcakes out of the oven as the mare got to her feet. “Hello Mr. Cake,” she greeted.
Mr. Cake ignored her and said, “Pumpkin, Pound, I could use your help.”
“Mr. Cake, don’t you think you should let the babies sleep? I can help. It’s no trouble at all.”
A young pegasus and a unicorn bounded into the room before the mare could finish her sentence. They trembled eagerly for a command and sprang into action when it was given. Within seconds, the kitchen was spotless and the cupcakes were frosted to perfection. “Anything else dad?” asked Pumpkin.
A bell rang at the front of the bakery and Pound bolted to help a customer. The mare heard laughter as Pound and the customer swapped jokes and stories. The mare hastily said, “Mr. Cake, there must be something I can do,” but again she was ignored.
“I’ve been working on a new recipe,” Pumpkin told her father proudly. “If it’s anything like my last one, it’ll put us on the map!”
“Little cocky, don’t you think?” the mare muttered, but, again, she was ignored.
“Let’s get started then,” said Mr. Cake. The mare watched in bewilderment as Pumpkin directed her father through the recipe. More laughter was heard from the front counter as Pound charmed each and every customer, and the customers never stopped coming! The mare had been forgotten, replaced by something infinitely better.
“Nothing!”
The mare wiped her eyes and ran onto the streets of Ponyville. Customers were lined around the corner, all of them salivating like dogs in anticipation of Pumpkin’s masterpieces. Stone birds chirped and warbled as the mare rushed through the crowds that clotted the streets, and slowly the mare made her way to the one pony who could help her, Twilight Sparkle.
Twilight's library towered over the town. Light peaked through the thunderheads above and doused the tree in a holy, inviting glow. Rocks lined the mare’s course and formed a ring around the base of the tree. They cheered her on, her lifeless subjects, toward salvation.
The mare knocked on the door, and a wave of relief washed over her as her faithful friend appeared.
“What do you want?” Twilight asked.
“I need your help,” the mare said between light pants. “I’m really scared, and I need a friend right now.”
“So why are you here?”
The mare cocked her head and moved close, longing to be held and loved. Her advance was met with a shove of magic that knocked her on her side. She looked at Twilight and stammered, “I don’t understand. We’re friends.”
Twilight shuddered at the mare’s words. “Friends?” Twilight’s face twisted into a look of utter disgust and loathing. “Why would anypony be friends with you?”
The mare scrambled to her feet and shrieked in pain. A book had struck her on the snout. She tasted blood, salty and warm. “I’m sorry, Twilight. Please, I need you.”
“I don’t care, freak!” Twilight struck the mare with another book.
The mare reeled back and crashed against the rocks, which burst into a fine black mist on contact. Her sobs brought a grin to Twilight’s face, and the mare made no attempt to move. No knife, beating, or punishment hurt as much as Twilight’s hatred. It tore into her soul, ripping apart her hopes and dreams, leaving nothing but a crippled and meaningless being.
“If you ever knock on my door again, I’ll have you arrested. Do you understand?”
The mare nodded and cringed as the door slammed shut.
There was no color left in the town.
The mare stifled a whimper, hobbled away from the library, and froze. A mirror, erect and elegant, stood before her. Its frame beamed with the brilliance of the sun. Everyone, even Celestia, would kneel before its majesty. The mare did not kneel, however. Its brilliance was hers and hers alone.
There was no reflection but the mare's in the mirror. Darkness, cold and dreadful, loomed in the background, but it was nothing to the smiling reflection. The figure radiated light, power, and joy. The mare approached the reflection, and the reflection approached in turn. The reflection was beautiful; like the mare, her mane was puffed and curled, but hers had order and grace; like the mare, she bore the scars of those who’d hurt her, but hers were worn with pride and dignity. The reflection’s final mark of triumph left the mare in awe: Her flank was bare. In another life, in another world, the mare was free. “Come closer,” the reflection beckoned. The mare broke into tears, and the reflection put a hoof on the mirror. “Closer,” the reflection said.
The mare touched the reflection’s hoof, and warmth rushed through her. Here was love, here was understanding, but a fear remained. Without the reflection to comfort her, she would again be alone and cold. “I can help you,” the reflection said softly.
“How?”
“All you need to do is embrace me, Pinkie.”
“How?”
“Embrace me, Pinkie.”
The question was repeated, and so was the answer. The mare was confused, but she was determined to embrace the reflection. She struck the mirror with her hoof, and pain shot through her foreleg. She was told to embrace the reflection, and again she struck the mirror. The mirror thudded and clanged, laughing at the mare’s pitiful attempts to shatter it. “Embrace me, Pinkie,” chanted the reflection. “It’s coming. Hurry!”
The mare smashed herself against the mirror with all her might, and the salty taste of blood returned.
“What’s coming?”
“The end. Now hurry and embrace me, Pinkie.”
“I’m trying,” the mare panted. She pulled back her hoof, struck hard, and screamed and writhed in agony. Her hoof had splintered like rotten wood, and as a fragment of hoof dropped away, blood poured forth.
“Embrace me, Pinkie! Embrace me, Pinkie!”
“I can’t,” cried the mare. She cradled her hoof and sobbed.
“You can! Now embrace me, Pinkie! There isn’t much time.”
“Nothing.”
The mare screamed as a black tentacle coiled around the reflection’s throat. First one, then two, then five, until only the reflection’s smiling face remained. The mare fought furiously as the same three words thundered in her ears: “Embrace me, Pinkie! Embrace me, Pinkie! Embrace me, Pinkie!”
“Nothing.”
A tentacle smothered the reflection's mouth and tore her away. Only darkness was left in the mirror, but still the mare fought. She whirled about and screamed for help. None came. She was alone in the gray world; alone, except for one rock lying at her feet. It glistened proudly in the sunlight, but when she touched it, it crumbled into dust.
“Nothing!”
Hatred surged through the mare, and in one last, desperate act of defiance, she charged. She screamed and bombarded the mirror with a flurry of blows. At last, a crack! She held the image of the proud reflection in her mind and, with her intact forehoof, delivered the killing strike. The mirror gave way to the wronged mare’s wrath and disintegrated, but the dark void remained.
The world screamed at the mare. An army of banshees bled her eardrums. The pain was unimaginable, but it was good. Her act had enraged the world to action. She was a threat, an anomaly, and it feared her. With newfound strength, the mare braced herself and screamed into the void, and for a brief moment, the world was silent in shock. The mare screamed again, and the void receded from her might. Holding her damaged foreleg close, she limped forward and screamed again, and again, and again, and again.
The void shrank before the mare until it was but a speck. She screamed louder than ever, only to be cut off. Her throat burned. It was impossible to scream anymore. The void seized the moment and unleashed a scream that launched the mare off her feet. She tried to yell, but her voice was gone. The void expanded. Its edges rippled as it grew and screamed, and world crumbled in on it. It consumed all, commanded all, and now the mare would know its power.
“Nothing!”
The mare turned and fled. The banshees howled in pursuit as the ground crumbled into the void. Her hoof slowed her down, and a new blade was thrust into her with every stride. She could run no more, and she collapsed to the ground in pants. Blood pooled from her wound as the void surrounded her. The ground fell away, taking the blood with it. The void pressed closer and finally smothered the mare in its cold, horrid clutches. And then...
…Nothing.
The great darkness surrounded the mare on all sides. It was endless, devoid of hope. This was her world now, and this it would remain. There was no meaning. There was no love or warmth. There was only existence. A familiar sensation returned, and it swelled within her until nothing else remained.
Pure terror.
The mare cried and wailed in silence. This was her punishment, her reward for her defiance. She sulked in terror, but then she heard singing. It was distant, and it was cheerful, but it was soulless. “My name is Pinkie Pie,” it ringed.
A faint light appeared, and the mare moved toward it.
“…And I am here to say, I’m gonna’ make you smile and I will brighten up your day.”
The mare’s footsteps echoed as she rushed toward the light. She knew that name. She knew that name!
“It doesn’t matter now, if you are sad or blue…”
The singer hung limply in the light, suspended by some cruel, unseen force. The singer’s coat was tattered and worn with portions of flesh replaced by patches of stained gray cloth. The unseen force demanded she be this way.
“…’Cause cheering up my friends is just what Pinkie’s here to do.”
Life was dictated by the unseen force- that cruel Other that took pleasure in robbing the Self of self-determination. The mare knew this was wrong. The singer was as could as dead. How could it be alive? Its actions weren’t its own; its thoughts weren’t its own; it was nothing but a puppet- a toy. It terrified her.
The puppet’s head shot up, and two gray buttons sewn in place of eyes turned to meet the mare’s gaze.
“’Cause I love to make you smile, smile, smile. Yes I do.”
The mare looked at the puppet’s blank flank and gasped in shock. Tears welled up as she realized who the puppet was. It was the reflection, crippled. She’d been taken and beaten down by the cruel Other until there was nothing but a husk- a husk ready to be filled as the Other saw fit.
“It fills my heart with sunshine all the while. Yes it does."
The puppet fell to the floor with a reverberant thud; the fall would have killed any pony, but the puppet rose unscathed. It jerked and undulated toward the mare with inequine movements.
“Stay back,” the mare ordered. The puppet pressed on and sang louder. The mare ran, but wherever she ran, the puppet was waiting. The mare punched, the mare bit, the mare kicked. Every fiber of her being screamed defiance.
“Come on everypony smile, smile, smile- fill my heart up with sunshine, sunshine.”
The puppet was inches away when the mare bucked its jaw. Its skin tore open and gray stuffing spewed out. A dead choir joined in as the puppet sang on. “All I really need’s a smile, smile, smile from these happy friends of mine!”
Something wrapped around the mare’s leg and pulled her to the ground. A horde of puppets then descended on her like a wolf-pack slaughtering a diseased buffalo. They fractured her ribs. They bit at her jugular. They ripped away at her until she had no strength left to fight.
The puppets sang in unison as one presented a needle and thread. “Yes a perfect gift for meeeeeeeee, is a smile as wide as a mile, to make me happy as can beeeeeee.” Two grey buttons slid over the mare’s eyes, leaving her in darkness.
“Smile, smile, smile, smile, smiiiiiiiiiiiile! Come on and smiiiiile. Come on and smile!”
A hot needle plunged into her flesh, and the mare awoke screaming.
The mare was back in her room. She pushed herself upright, and the sheets stuck to her sweat-stained body. A heater kept the room warm, but the mare felt as cold as death. She rubbed her belly and peered around, thinking she might glimpse a rock watching her, but there were none. There were no rocks, admirers, or loved ones in the room. Despite the color, despite the warmth and countless objects, it was as empty and chilling as the void.
"Nothing," she whispered. The mare rolled out of bed, stopping to cherish her now-healed forehoof. She was unbroken, and that gave her comfort. The world would still have some use for her, and as long as she had use, life was good.
The mare crept into the hallway and listened intently. She heard breathing, calm and steady. She peaked into the master bedroom and noted the Cakes, fast asleep and smiling. She rushed to the next room and noted the children. Like their parents, Pumpkin and Pound Cake were in carefree slumber.
Nothing had changed…
The front door creaked as the mare stepped outisde, into frigid night air. A snowstorm had started over Ponyville, and its chill was unlike any she had ever known; still, it was nothing to the cold of the void. Alone and cold, she journeyed through the streets of Ponyville. Occasionally she stopped to hide behind a wall and rub herself warm. She ran her tender hooves up and down her body and caressed her figure until a tingling warmth returned. She marveled at the touch of her own fur against her and how incredible the sensation of being touched was. The longer she stayed in the cold, however, the shorter and fewer these touches became. A yearning burned inside that pushed her on. She had a question, and she needed an answer.
Winds howled and whistled savagely, but they bore no words. There was no hatred, only a biting cold, and the cold was of no concern to the mare. It was nothing to fear; her fears were beyond the physical. The horrors of the physical were mere trifles- annoyances to be brushed aside in light of larger threats.
The mare's vision darkened as she approached Twilight’s library. She heard the knock, but she felt nothing as she knocked. Her body had grown cold, terribly cold, and she felt nothing but the need for an answer. A light came on inside and the door opened. Warm air kissed the mare’s face as a sleepy Twilight appeared, but she showed no gratitude for it. The answer was all that mattered.
“Pinkie?” asked Twilight as she blearily rubbed her eyes. “Pinkie, it’s three in the morning.”
“I know," said the mare. "I just need to ask you something.” The words suddenly caught in the mare's throat. Part of her pleaded not to ask. It didn’t matter what the answer was if somebody else answered.
Twilight shivered and moved aside. Her voice was sweet and inviting as she said, “Come in. I’ll make you some cocoa.”
The mare refused to move. Nobody could answer her question, no matter how wise. The answer couldn’t be told or taught; it could only be experienced.
Another part demanded she ask. Others held the answer, and without the answer the mare was incomplete.
Twilight spoke, but all the mare heard was, “Think. Accept! Defy. Submit!”
The mare’s head swam, and then she fell. A warm foreleg caught the mare and held her up. She smiled as she rubbed her muzzle against the hot fur.
“Embrace me. No, embrace me, Pinkie!”
The mare tore away from the foreleg and stared at Twilight.
“You can. You can do nothing!”
Twilight looked worried. She was worried for the mare, but all Twilight knew was Pinkie.
“You need her! Without her you’re nothing!”
“Live.”
“Ask!”
“Explore.”
“OBEY!”
“Is something wrong?” Twilight asked.
The question was on the tip of the mare's tongue when it played in her head…and she knew the answer. Pinkamena Diane Pie sucked in the chilling air, and spoke.