Pinkie Pie has Passed away. After the funeral, the ponies of Ponyville put it upon themselves to bring a little party and laughter to their quiet town.
Pinkie Pie has Passed away. After the funeral, the ponies of Ponyville put it upon themselves to bring a little party and laughter to their quiet town. Each writer takes a character and writes about their effort to cope with the loss, bring some life to the downtrodden town, or simply come to terms with what happened.
The Party Cannon, Pinkie Pie’s trademark, everyone in Equestria knew what it was. Her crazy way of starting or ending a party, that trademark boom followed by confetti raining down. It was packed too tightly with confetti this time, and it blew up, exploded, actually.
Our ears were ringing from the explosion, smoke filled the air as Pinkie ragdolled away with a squeak, spinning like a fan blade through the air, and ponies laughed. She was so silly with her crazy antics... this wasn’t unlike something she’d do just to make a pony smile.
But she hit something hard; the wall of a nearby building. We all heard the sickening crack from where we were gathered. Maybe it was her spine, or maybe her arm, but… in the end, it had been too much for her.
I can't forget it... I’ll never forget it. Pinkie’s look of childlike happiness before she pulled the cord to ignite the cannon, it happened so suddenly, and none of us were prepared for this.
The sad thing was, is that today was a foal's birthday party. Pinkie was so excited, telling me what she had planned, promised me not to tell anypony else. She had so much planned for the colt, cake and streamers and party games.
Pinkie was so happy to plan out this party, her eyes sparkling with that gleam of hers. She wanted to end it with a bang.
And she died doing what she loved the most out of life, something selfless.
Making ponies smile.
Redheart was there, checking Pinkie’s pulse. I had never seen Redheart’s face so scared in my life. That hollow look in her eyes, the tears streaming down from her face as she tried to revive Pinkie, screaming for another medical pony to come help her.
I felt terrified myself. We all watched it, listening to her scream and try to bring her back. Ponies were scared, how could we not be scared?! Pinkie had just… we thought it was a joke, some silly antic of hers to get a laugh out of the crowd.
Only when we saw Redheart stop and cry did we realize something horrible had just happened...
Royal duties require steadfastness. A strength that ponies can latch onto and feed off of. That's my job. It's always been my job. In the last 1000 years, I've only allowed myself to break twice. Each time for my sister.
Today... is a difficult day to be strong.
I stand at a podium, the wooden box before me. I look over familiar faces, both young and old. Hundreds of ponies from all across Equestria have gathered for this one singular event. To celebrate. To grieve. To find strength to keep pressing forward.
Some called it, "Pinkie's Last Party." She instructed for balloons and streamers to be hung. Carnival music to be played at reasonable volumes. Surprise confetti cannons to be hidden in strange, humorous places. Yet, it all echoes dryly through the air, creating a facsimile of pleasantry.
The people look up to me to speak. It’s my turn to say something. To be insightful. To lend a part of myself to be leaned on. This is not my loss. It is their loss. Before me is a simple blank paper. My speech.
I knew this day would come eventually. All ponies live. All ponies die. Yet for an Element of Harmony? This soon?
"We've gathered here today to celebrate the life of our beloved friend, Pinkie Pie," I say into the microphone, my stable, sterile voice echoing over speakers to the masses.
Whimpers mumble and tears fall from the crowd before me. My eyes move over to her family... to her friends... to Twilight. Twilight, the poor mare. The realization was settling into her now that this would not be the final funeral that she would see of her dear friends. She was taking it the hardest.
She had to learn eventually. Even I had to learn that the hard way. I feel a lump form in my throat and I look down to my blank paper to hide my expression. I blink my eyes and continue.
"Pinkamena was a beloved and dear friend to many ponies, not just in her town of Ponyville, but all across Equestria as she traveled with Princess Twilight and her friends to spread the magic of Friendship to the world."
And this is where my voice eludes me. Dozens of drafts. Words scribbled, words rewritten, edited, cut, added. Nothing seemed correct. Nothing seemed organic. I always struggle to find the correct balance between heartfelt and cold.
I can’t afford to be cold today. I don’t want that weighing on my already heavy mind.
"Pinkie was the Element of Laughter," I continued. Then, I paused, again unsure what words could bring some form of closure to the hundreds of ponies before me. I've done so many funerals in my time that I had speeches on tap for every occasion. Young ponies whose lives were cut short. Old ponies with fulfilling lives and families large and small. Heroes as well as villians.
This one was different.
"Pinkie prided herself in being the perfect party planner," I said. "Naturally, she knew the birthday of every pony she met. And non-pony, for that matter."
An accordion rang out with a new song, some eyes turned upward to the speakers that were blaring such a distasteful array of music, at her request.
"She devoted her life to helping ponies smile. No matter the cost. No matter how much time it took... She would listen. She would joke. She would give a part of herself freely. She gave herself to all of us."
Then the words began to pour out of my mouth. There wasn't thought, just... words, bubbling up from deep inside of me. A part of me I shouldn’t show. Too personal. Too real.
I’m still upset at myself for it.
"She even remembered my birthday," I said. "Even I don't celebrate my own birthday. When you become a ruler of a great country like Equestria, some sacrifices are made to keep things running smoothly. Some great, some small. I believed that something like a birthday was a small price to pay for the wonderful citizens of Equestria. For the wellbeing of the whole."
I fell silent, looking out to the crowd. They listened, their eyes upon me. Handkerchiefs dabbing at runny tears down their faces.
"I was wrong," I continued. "I was… very wrong. And Pinkie Pie showed me I was. It wasn't a particularly extraordinary gesture that Pinkie did. She took Luna and I to a diner for a meal and a slice of cake. She even knew our favorite cake frosting, the silly mare.” At this point I chuckled dryly, remembering that day as if it were a picture I held in my hooves. “It was perfect in it's own way. Right down to the diner that Luna and I went to when we were fillies. The name changed, of course, ran by the children of children of the owner's children. But it was the same place nonetheless."
I pause, feeling the earth beneath me begin to destabilize. At this point, I realized my regal demeanor was fading. I was becoming myself.
I cannot be myself. I must be a princess. For them.
Strength, Celestia.
Breathe.
"I would never believed that something so simple could... change me. But it has. It taught me the importance of mental health. My own health. The importance of little things such as Birthdays, favorite cake frostings, wistful memories. I believe many of us have learned our own lesson from her. Some of you may share my lesson, or have something wholly unique."
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Okay. Bring it home. Turn this around. This is not about me. Give them something to hold onto.
"I know many of you are surprised at her request to put such a light-hearted tone into an event such as this. I know I've been victim to two confetti cannons already. I think some is still in my mane."
A rumble of chuckles ring through the audience as I crack a smile. She would be proud.
A little part of me breaks at that thought. I need to finish this now.
"But I think it sends us a message. All of us. To remember that this is not the end of laughter. That it's now our job to dawn the mantle that Pinkie Pie left behind. To love one another. To bring laughter to Equestria. To learn to love each other, the way Pinkie did to all of us, and the way we all do to her."
It was at that moment that 'the chicken dance' began to play over the intercom.
"So, in her memory. Let's make merriment on this day. Because Pinkie Pie gave us a gift. One final gift for all of us to keep, cherish, and hold onto each and every day. We can learn to laugh the way she did. And bring joy to the world in her memory. And if the world can laugh and smile, even in the darkest times... well. I think Pinkie Pie would be proud. Of all of us."
I take a deep breath. I feel the strength within me begin to falter. My muscles tense.
Be strong.
"Thank you."
I bite my lip and turn away, feeling a lump swell in my throat, but no tears running down my face. I am strong. I am strong for them.
“My aunties sat me down yesterday afternoon. A-after crying for a long, long time. I'd never seen them like that — and that's what got to me more than anything else. I'd never seen any of my friends or family like this. And I can't see them going back to where they were before.
“I guess I already know there's nothing we can do about it. It's hopeless. We're all helpless. I stopped crying that night when I thought of it like that. What's the use?
“I know it sounds horrible. I felt like dirt. I still do. I-I cried too. I miss her too, and it hurts so much. I don't want to think about going back to Ponyville now. I don't even know what to think or feel. But maybe it's not enough. Maybe I didn't really care about her. Maybe you just want everyone to pretend it'll all be okay, so you can go back to your happy little life because you don't care about her like we did.”
Scootaloo recalls that the words were viper spit. Poisonous, almost hateful. Her throat had closed up tight as she regaled the old mare in the rocking chair. Her best impression of those words from her best friend come out, at best, as sickly, brittle, wet, dry.
Her hooves dig into the colorful rug she sits on. The sound of wind-chimes back her laborious and painful breaths as she tries to get it back together.
The old mare, ever at peace, rocks her chair and squints through her glasses at the child. A tree branch lay across her lap. “Are you gonna need a bucket? I'm not keen on picking up after you if you're gonna get hysterical.”
She shakes her head negative. “S-s-sorry. I'll be fine. And, um, thank you again. For humoring me. I feel awful. We both came from the same funeral. S’not fair to you.”
Eyes cast down, Scootaloo counts the moments. Every one spared gives her more composure. She's already resigned to the shame of imposing on the crabby but kind mare.
Then, the old mare fakes a laugh. The wrinkles dragging her face into that perma-grimace old folks have besets the laugh a bit, but it still eases Scootaloo. “It's alright, kiddo. It's not the first Pie I've had to part with. I'd be a washout if I couldn't play grandma every now and again.”
Not the first? Her heart sinks. Scootaloo licks her dry lips. “You… You're old. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“So you knew her granny, didn't you?”
“That I did. My best friend. I miss her dearly.”
Scootaloo stares into the old mare's eyes. Deep sadness sloshes around in them, tears waiting to burst. Yet she doesn't recall seeing the mare cry. She stood alongside Pinkie’s parents for most of it. She looked almost like a statue, and she shouldered more than a few ponies.
But, like Scootaloo, the tears somehow ran dry.
To even accuse her of not caring seemed… Insulting. Her friend’s hurtful words — she craves to strike back. She wants the righteous fury, to scream and cry.
But she doesn't even know what to feel. She doesn't even know what tomorrow is. Scootaloo wants to be all things at once, but at the same time she wants to curl up and die. To choose any one thing feels like the worst insult of all. Like an insult to the dearly departed.
The old mare, sensing that Scootaloo’s inner battle had waned to a whimper, offers a knowing smile. “I was inconsolable. So was that pink headache, bless her heart. I might have even fed into the doom and gloom that threatened to ruin us both.” With a longing gaze, she traced her rickety hoof along the tree branch. “She went on walks every day after that. She never smiled. She said that it felt like smiling would have been like telling the world that losing her Granny Pie was okay.
“But her Granny Pie died smiling. No other pony in the room could stop the tears and frowns, but my dear friend couldn’t help but beam. It made losing her hurt all the more. To see her so happy that we cared so much must have been a supreme joy. To be surrounded by the ones she loved...
“I felt the same as Pinkie Pie. I couldn’t find the joy in life no more. I sat cooped up in my home for days. The world had ended. All the life and color was gone. The end. Game over. But you know what I didn't stop hearing?”
Scootaloo swallowed. “What's that?”
“The chimes. I make them for a living. Not quite the one mare chime factory I once was. But at the time, I didn't make a single bell or carving. I just listened to the old ones that me and her made, hanging outside. Little Pinkie never knew that about ‘em.
“I was so livid when I caught her that day. I kept hearing the chimes act up, even on days with no wind scheduled. She'd be out there, stick in her teeth, sulking on one of them walks, and she'd play with my chimes on her way.
“But then? She stopped by one day. Up til then, Pinkie never said a word. We were both stuck at the funeral, all quiet and respectful to the quiet. But that day, she was smiling wide as ever. ‘I got to thinking, Auntie. Maybe Granny Pie wasn’t smiling because she was happy? Maybe she was smiling for our sake. Granny taught me that a smile is how you share your strength with everypony. She didn’t want us to ever stop.’”
Scootaloo takes a deep breath. Her lip trembles. For once, the weight on her chest feels a little lighter. “I-I see. I think. I have to give it — us, my friend — time, I guess. Do as Scootaloo does. Be the bell ringer.”
The old mare’s brow raises. For once, she seems wanting for words. Silently, she eases back in her seat and stares at the ceiling like a passing cloud. “I ain’t telling you nothing, Scootaloo. Just a story. Mushy one at that. All my decades don’t give me the right to dictate a single day of Scootaloo’s life. But what I will say is to not scratch my chimes with this nasty log. Pinkie had manners and learned to use that bushy tail ‘o hers.”
Supposing that another apology would be profuse, Scootaloo gives her best sheepish grin. “Sadly, my filly tail isn't long enough for that. They just sounded so pretty, and I wanted to get those words out of my head.”
“Your friend is grieving too. While I find it disagreeable, some folks lash out. There's no contest, nor shame, in this grieving business.” Her face became hard. “If your friendship is strong, everything will be okay.”
But the words, ceaseless shovels, dig at her even then. Scootaloo’s wings fold up, rigid. “Even if she’s wrong — even if she didn't mean it… I still don't think I have a right to feel whatever it is I'm feeling. Why do I feel so guilty? Why?”
After a long spell of quiet and wind-chimes, the old mare lifts her hoof from the tree branch. “Go ahead and take this. Just this once. Have at them. I could use it too.”
Scootaloo’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? You looked ready to beat me senseless with that earlier.”
“Eh. I used to pretend to be mad when I caught the pink headache at it. That mane of yours brought me back all them years for a moment.”
The little filly can't help but blush. “R-right. I guess playing with wind-chimes is a decent answer.”
The old mare cocks a brow. “It's more of a distraction.”
But Scootaloo shakes her head. “Pinkie did stuff like this back at Ponyville too. It's not much, but maybe I can take up the, uh, torch. I promise I won't light the stick on fire.”
“If I hear you burned someone’s house down, I’ll personally put you in the dirt, young lady.”
“Aunt Lofty already has dibs on that one.”
After a tiny laugh, the filly plays at the windchimes and the old mare listens on a warm summer’s night.
Twilight Sparkle was, in short, a genius. One of Celestia’s greatest students, renowned by some as the most talented spellcaster since Starswirl the Bearded, and the only pony in Equestrian history to turn herself into an alicorn, there was very little about magic she did not know. This, of course, led to her biggest flaw, and a lesson she had yet to learn: not everything could be solved with magic. So far in her life, that’s how almost every dilemma had been addressed. Even her ‘Friendship Problems’ had gone the way of magical stop-gaping ever since the discovery that friendship was actually magic.
This shortcoming had only been exacerbated by the introduction of her very own student, Starlight Glimmer. A powerful unicorn in her own right, Starlight was nothing less than the personification of Twilight’s glaring flaw. She believed that everything, even things that weren’t problems could be solved with magic, and seemingly always at the expense of somepony else. From mind control to emotional manipulation to actually breaking the laws of time and space for a grudge, Twilight’s most faithful (by virtue of being the only) student had yet to encounter a problem that couldn’t be solved by horribly twisting highly questionable magics together like a balloon animal made of bad decisions.
Things had been looking up for both of them, through the natural course of making friends, experiencing the world, and one or two actual interventions. The pair had slowly been learning to rely on non-magical solutions to everyday problems, becoming more acclimated to things like communication, manual labor, and social cues. All of which were, unfortunately, forgotten at speed the day Pinkie Pie died.
Despite Twilight’s constant confusion and irritation at her party-loving friend, she loved Pinkie Pie. One of the first ponies to actually try and make her feel welcome and at home once she’d arrived in Ponyville, the bright, bubbly earth pony held a special place in the Princess's heart. Starlight, too, had an affection for her, as Pinkie had been key in teaching her a very important life lesson: forgiveness. Always ready with a smile and maybe a bit too trusting, Pinkie had been far less focused on the evil Starlight had done, instead choosing to see the good she could do and the potential of a new friend.
Which might be why both of them had reacted so… peculiarly to the news that their beloved friend was no longer with them. They had cried, of course. Wept for the loss. Consoled each other. They even spent a day in solace, gathering their emotions and putting themselves back together in the wake of tragedy. Except that had been over a month ago, and nopony had heard from either of them since. In that time, the castle had become a fortress. Nopony had been in or out in weeks, and Spike had long been sent to stay with the Apple family while the two talented sorceresses went about their secretive ‘mourning process’.
“Starlight, how are you coming with that sigil?” Twilight yelled over her shoulder. She seemingly couldn’t be bothered to look up from the immense tome on the pedestal in front of her.
The room they’d holed themselves up in was immense. Easily as tall and wide as the room above them which held the Cutie Map, this basement cavern had been, up until a few weeks ago, a grand empty space with shining crystal walls and a bare floor. Now, though, the floor was a mess of scattered papers and books, strewn around the outside of a carefully drawn magical circle, to which Starlight Glimmer was now applying the final touches. “Almost done!” she called, squinting her eyes in concentration as her horn glowed faintly. A small piece of chalk hovered before her, encased in the same light as her horn, making small marks and careful edits to the last corner of the almost insultingly complicated spellwork.
Twilight finally tore herself away from the text, returning her attention to the intense spellwork at hand. “Alright, listen. We only get one shot with this spell, or we have to do the entire mess from scratch. And don’t get me started on how hard it is to make chalk out of spirit stone, so unless you want to sit staring at a grinding stone for twenty hours straight, pay attention.” Her tone was unusually authoritative and terse. Her mane was a mess, her feathers clearly unattended for the last several days.
Starlight rolled her eyes under her own scraggly bangs. “Yes, yes, I get it, mooooooom. Do you have the rest of the materials?”
The alicorn’s eyes nearly disappeared into her upper eyelids as she focused her magic on gathering a seemingly discordant scattering of objects around the room, bringing them to the middle of the circle. “Ok, freshly crafted bloodstone, silver circles, piece of the pony you’re trying to summon…” her nonchalant tone was a stark contrast to the rather disturbing inventory she was checking off. “Right, that should be all of it.”
“Star, how many times do I have to tell you, it’s not necromancy! It’s spirit magic! And yes, it is supremely complex. Which is why I would really rather NOT DO IT MORE THAN ONCE,” Twilight growled.
“Tomahto, tomato,” Glimmer groaned, taking a seat at the top of the circle. Possibly. It certainly did have enough pointy bits aimed at where she was sitting. “I’m still a little foggy on why you’re the one that gets to sit at the center of the circle. I mean, you’re the one who wants your questions answered, right? Kinda hard to do that with someone else steering your ship.”
“For a few reasons,” Twilight explained, fiddling with the occult objects at the center of the room, taking her place in the middle of the sigil. “One, I can’t guarantee that the amount of magic we’re about to channel through this circle won’t actually kill you, at which point I’ll have to do this TWO more times. Two, getting possessed is supposed to be massively draining on your reserves, of which I have been assured I have a near-infinite amount. Three, you are significantly less emotionally attached to Pinkie Pie than I am, and should be a much better proctor for the questions I’ve come up with.”
Glimmer gave an annoyed huff. “Gee, thanks. So glad to hear you think so little of my ability to form emotional bonds with ponies.”
“Just be quiet and focus. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can take a much-needed vacation on opposite sides of the planet,” Sparkle groaned. Living with somepony was one thing. Spending three weeks locked in the same room with them working on a single, massive spell was a surefire way to make sure you never spoke to them again.
Starlight looked ready to retort, but thought better of it, wanting nothing more than to see some actual results after a month of preparation. She stared at a point in the circle almost until her eyes crossed, pouting magic into an intersection of white lines drawn on the floor. Soon, the white ignited into a mauve flame, spreading along the lines like a mouse made of fire in a massive, round maze.
Twilight’s part in all of this was arranging the individual, rather tasteless magic items into set points in the sigil. As the flames surrounded each one, they themselves ignited, burning away into colorful ash that wove itself into the great burning tapestry overtaking the room. In only a couple of minutes, what had once been a poorly lit cavern was now a brilliant, luminescent display of prismatic flames, their light dancing on the walls like moving works of art.
If only their purpose was even close to beautiful.
The light didn’t last very long, however, as the fuel burned itself out, the ashes and smoke coalescing into a single point of sickly light floating gently above Twilight’s horn. The Princess stared at it intently, hesitantly, before it lurched forward, into her forehead, disappearing completely. Soon, her eyes lit up with a similar unhealthy glow, a green and red and unhealthy yellow that overtook the whites of her eyes like a disease. After a second, the swirl of colors mixed with the purple of her irises, slowly but surely turning them into a familiar light blue.
Starlight watched the spectacle with a mix of awe and admiration bordering on worship. When the light had settled and Twilight showed no further signs of disturbance, she called out, “Pinkie? Is that you in there?”
Twilight, who up to that point had been curiously inspecting her hooves, snapped her head up and stared at Starlight with an expression of wonder and confusion, as if staring at a face she recognized but couldn’t place. “I… think so? Who are you?”
“It’s me, Starlight. Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. I just need to ask you a few questions, ok?”
“Where’s Twilight?” she asked, in a hollow, un-Pinkie-like voice. It was, technically, Twilight’s, but the lack of emotion and understanding made it sound all but alien. “I mean, I feel her, kind of. And these hooves look familiar, but…”
“Yes, you’re in her body right now. But seriously, I need to ask-”
“Oh. That’s nice. I miss her. I guess. I think that’s what it’s called.”
Starlight balked a moment, but pressed on, floating a list of questions in front of her. “Ok, first things first, do you remember dying?”
‘Pinkie’ just looked at her curiously. “Do you remember being born? It’s much the same.”
Starlight made a few marks, nodding intently. “I see. That’s interesting. Second-”
“Oh, that’s funny I guess it’s time to leave. Bye Starlight. Tell Twilight I miss her,” ‘Pinkie said hollowly, as if reciting a script.
“No, wait!” Glimmer cried desperately. It was in vain, however, as the light in Twilight’s eyes returned to normal. There was no extra glow, no spirit moving into the light. One moment, Pinkie Pie, and in the next breath, Twilight. “Darnit!”
“Wh-what?” Twilight said groggily, waking as if from a dreamless sleep. “What happened? Did you get any information?!”
“Like, one question. Barely,” Starlight said bitterly, throwing the scroll on the ground. “What a waste.”
“What?!” Twilight bellowed. “That’s IT?! No! We have to do it again! Damn it all!”
Starlight looked around the room wearily. The chalk had burned away, as had the materials they’d gathered. All that was left was a maddening assortment of notes and books in an empty basement room. “Twilight… I can’t. Not again. It just… it takes so long. And… I don’t think I have it in me to spend another minute down here.”
Twilight stared at her incredulously. “What are you talking about?! You KNOW this process takes two ponies!”
“Well, Twilight, if you’re so powerful, just create a lab partner or something. I’m… done. I think I need to go… mourn or something. Properly,” she added, with more than a little acid in her voice.
Twilight started and stopped like a dying engine, trying to get a sentence out. “Wha-but… I don’t… FINE. Fine, just go! I’ve got work to do!”
Starlight thought about responding, again, but just didn’t have it in her, after their not-even-a-failed-experiment. “Bye, Twilight. Let me know when you decide to rejoin the rest of us.”
“Hmph,” Twilight scoffed, burying her muzzle stubbornly in a book.
Glimmer stopped at the bottom of the stairs, when a thought occurred to her. “By the way, Pinkie says she misses you.”
“WHATEVER.”
Starlight took a step back at the shouting, then quietly walked up the steps back into the castle. She hadn’t made it halfway up the stairs, however, before the sobs reached her ears, and chased her out of the basement.
Contrary to a popular belief, Angel Bunny wanted only two things in his life.
Many ponies, seeing the way he treated Fluttershy assumed that he was a needy, spoiled rodent who didn’t care about the feelings of other creatures, be it ponies, bunnies, or other animals, including predators. In fact, most of what ponies considered to be jerkassery stemmed from the fact that all Angel wanted in his life were peace and stability.
It was quite natural, given that soon after Angel was born, his mother and eight of his nine siblings were eaten by an eagle and his remaining brother died a tragic death under the wheels of a speeding carriage. This, as he thought, was enough; when Fluttershy found him, he quickly realised that it was his only chance to live a peaceful life, away from eagles, foxes, or speeding carriages.
Except that now it wasn’t peaceful at all. Angel tapped his paw against the floor, looking impatiently at the couch. Fluttershy didn’t move; in fact, Angel was sure that she didn’t even acknowledge his existence.
He rolled his eyes and hopped on the couch to examine the matter further. Fluttershy shuddered when she felt him brush against her back. Unceremoniously, Angel jumped on her wing, causing her to turn rapidly, accidentally dropping him on the floor.
“Oh, sorry!” Fluttershy exclaimed. She sighed with relief, seeing him getting up. Contrary to what Angel thought, she wasn’t crying; he’d seen her do that before, usually during long, Autumn evenings. Seeing that she was fine, he crossed his paws and looked at the clock standing on the shelf.
“It’s not the time yet,” Fluttershy said. “Besides… You know that I’m going out today, right?”
Angel nodded. He didn’t quite hear about all the details of the incident; all he knew was that a few days ago, Fluttershy came to her cottage crying; she also brought Gummy with her. Angel, for once, didn’t mind; of all the pets belonging to Fluttershy’s friends, Gummy was the most intellectual. Angel didn’t understand half of the profound thoughts of the alligator, but he always felt slightly wiser after listening to them.
“The worst part is that I didn’t even like her that much…” Fluttershy said quietly, as if ashamed of her words.
Angel’s ears perked up. He looked at Fluttershy, who sat on the couch, trying to straighten her tangled mane a bit.
“It’s not like I don’t miss her…” Fluttershy muttered. “Just… You know how there are times when you just want to be alone, but then someone just appears out of nowhere and drags you into something insane?”
Angel shrugged. His mind was filled with the images of eagles.
“Well…” Fluttershy blushed. “That’s how I felt… Sometimes. Just… She was always so loud and…” Her voice trembled and she lowered her gaze. “She was my friend… But I wouldn’t call her my best friend. Sure, she was there for me… Even if I didn’t really need her. When I didn’t want her help.”
Angel scratched the area behind his ear with his paw. He wasn’t sure what to tell. Bunnies’ feeling were simple; there were many of them and their lives were often short. He didn’t have time to answer deep questions about what other bunnies thought about him and barely paid any attention to them himself.
Ponies, as far as Angel knew, were different. From his perspective, they seemed immortal and, as far as he noticed, none of them ever thought that a sudden death was possible. Pinkie Pie lived longer than Angel, his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather combined and yet, everyone thought her death was untimely; and after she died, everyone had a lot to tell about her. More than it had ever been said about any bunny.
“Sometimes, I really hated her,” Fluttershy said. “Once or twice, I wished she was dead. She was everything I wasn’t… She could do everything I was afraid to do. And now… everyone is talking about her.” She sighed. “I wonder what’d happen if it was me…”
Angel hopped away from the couch. He knew what was coming; sometimes Fluttershy would just get in that special kind of mood when even Angel was afraid of her. All he wanted were peace and stability; he liked clear and predictable situations. This was far from it.
“Of course, I won’t die during a party, surrounded by all those ponies that love me…” Fluttershy whispered. “I’ll die here, old, forgotten, and alone and no one will notice. Maybe the pets will eat my body so I’d be useful for once… And no one will come to the funeral. Or worse, they’ll come and say things like, ‘Poor Fluttershy, if we only knew…’ How are they supposed to know if I’m too afraid to speak?”
Angel stopped. He hopped back to the couch and sat next to Fluttershy, hugging her tightly.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Fluttershy lowered her head. “I’m so afraid. And I just don’t know what to do.”
Angel pointed at the shelf.
“Yeah, I have to go soon.” Fluttershy looked at the clock. “Don’t worry, I remember about your food.”
Angel shook his head and pointed at another item on the shelf. Fluttershy got up from the couch and flew there, finding an old, almost forgotten photo of her and her friends lying behind the clock. Of course, Pinkie Pie was there, smiling at the camera while Fluttershy tried in vain to hide behind her.
Fluttershy nodded. “Yes,” she muttered. “I know I have to talk to my friends. I just don’t know if I can…” She shuddered and looked at Pinkie’s bright smile again before the photo fell out of her hooves. “I don’t know if I can laugh again…”
That’s the only explanation. There’s no way thing could actually happen. I mean, there’s no way Pinkie could be dead, out of all ponies.
I pinch myself again. Any moment now, I’d wake up, and start another day on the rock farm. No bad news, just rocks.
No matter how much I tried, my gaze couldn't break away from the gravestone.
Not a dream, a nightmare.
A horrible nightmare.
One I couldn't wake from.
…
I remember when you first left. You talked on and on about bringing parties around Equestria, and all the places you’d visit, all the friends you’d make…
And then every other time you left. You often visited for a few days before leaving, always going on and on about the friends you made, and the things you did...
I always listened half-heartedly, giving you a hard time. ‘Come on, Pinkie, give us an exciting story.’ ‘We know, Pinkie, you had a magical, world-saving adventure.’
I wish I listened. But I was jealous. You got to go places. You go to meet new ponies. You got to have fun. And I was stuck on this farm. Every day, wake up, eat, work, eat, go to sleep. I felt like it was my duty to my family to continue working at the farm, no matter what I thought.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
You got to leave.
Why do you always leave?
Are you laughing, Pinkie? Are you laughing now? You always laughed when I got angry at you. So here I am. Laugh at me.
Laugh.
Laugh!
I WANT TO HEAR YOU LAUGH!
Please laugh.
Please.
Please be here.
Please let this be a dream.
I’ll smile for you, alright? That’s what you wanted. I’ll smile. I’ll smile as much as need to. I’ll smile until my jaw hurts.
Just please…
Don't do this to me.
Is this revenge? For all times I yelled at you and Marble? Every time I insulted you and your parties? Every bitter remark and comeback? How could you keep smiling after that?
How could you say that you still loved me?
…
What am I doing?
Now you’re just a stone and a patch of dirt. What is this supposed to do? Wish for some magical bullshit to happen and bring you back? Bury myself next to you? Defile it with my tears? Ruin your name with mine?
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry for being so mean to you. I'm sorry for not supporting you. I'm sorry for never visiting you. I'm sorry for not following my dreams. I'm sorry for not smiling. I'm sorry.
I pushed myself harder. Faster. Further. I couldn’t deal with this in front of everypony - I couldn’t. I just had to get away.
My wings beat hard through the air. But it felt warm and nice. The sun was shining, there were no clouds in the sky. It was so happy.
I screamed out of… Frustration? Anger? Sadness? I couldn’t tell, but it hurt.
The day felt so wrong. Like it was mocking me, being so cheerful and happy.
It was just like her.
I shuddered, needing to go faster. Even though my current speed was something I would’ve normally been impressed at, I couldn’t get away from the painful thoughts.
The images flashed in my mind as I flew blindly, tears in my eyes, flowing down my cheeks. I cried out as I saw it in my head again - I watched her ignite the cannon and go flying in the air, with even more confetti than a pony would ever dream of!
We all laughed and giggled, we were so happy. She made us happy with her silly antics.
But then she hit into a wall, crashed right into it. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget that horrifying crack when she did and her body fell to the ground.
Even then, we still thought it was shits and giggles.
I screamed again, my voice aching. It hurt to think then. I hated it. And my flying slowed down a bit because of my stupid feelings, but I didn’t care enough.
I could’ve prevented it. But I didn’t.
I thought she would be safe no matter what and couldn’t die. I didn’t expect it.
And because of my stupidity, she’s dead.
Her death felt so sudden. So unreal and dreamlike, but it still hurt me so badly.
What kind of element on loyalty doesn’t save her best friend?
If I gained my senses quickly enough, I could’ve saved her and she’d still be here and well. But I didn’t.
I didn’t realize it wasn’t another joke of hers but serious. It was my fault. It was my fault for not saving her.
My wings stopped and flapped no more as I reminisced and thought of what I could’ve done. I didn’t know where I was. In a town of ponies or a deserted and empty place. It didn’t matter where I was though, I didn’t care who saw me crying on the ground. I didn’t care about keeping a tough appearance. Not now.
I failed my friend and she was dead. That’s what mattered. I failed as the element of loyalty, but more importantly, as a friend.
I failed.
I was supposed to be there.
Even when she was annoying to me, I did love her inside. But then… I couldn’t tell it to her. Tell her how much I appreciated her. How much I realized she meant to me as a friend.
I was feeling so much, but I couldn’t understand any of it. It felt so surreal. I hated it. A lot of my feelings just seemed blocked out, but I knew all I needed was my friend back. To surprise me with another of her crazy jokes.
I needed her.
“Pinkie, please, I…”
I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t in between sobs.
“Pinkie-” I hiccupped and cried out. I forced one more word out to my friend. “-why?”
I failed. There was no doubt about that. I had one job as a medical practitioner, I was meant to save lives. I was supposed to save them!
But… that day I failed to save her, and I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for that.
Looking back on it, my heart still aches.
Pinkie Pie was a mare that could make you smile no matter what. She was a selfless pony whose only one wish in life was to bring you some form of happiness. Tireless like a machine, oiled with the prospect of fun and fueled by the determination to bring joy to Equestria, there was nopony like her.
Who else could have remembered everypony’s birthday like she did? Who else could have planned party after party with the same tenacity she did? Right down to the smallest details; the placement of the tables, the party poppers, the cake’s textures and taste.
And now? I failed everypony.
My eyes stung with fresh tears. I failed not only Pinkie Pie… a national hero, but I failed all of Equestria.
I can’t get her face out of my mind! Those baby blues dimming like a dying candle, her quivering lips, that last exhale of breath before she fell still.
I had rushed over as soon as I could, but I wasn’t fast enough.
The explosion from the cannon had worried me, and that worry was well founded. The post… the post had told me that impact against the building had ruptured a disk in her spine, which had ended up being fractured. Even if she… she had survived, she would have been paralyzed.
Even without that, I could have told it just from looking at her.
Some of her bubbly pink fur was singed off from the explosion, and her mane was burned a bit. Her eyes were dim and bloodshot, a ruptured vein in the eye, her mouth open and lying so still. I half expected her to jump up and shout, ‘What a rush!’ But… but she didn’t, she just lay there, unmoving.
I was so scared, I almost forgot my training. I checked her head to hoof. I cried, “Pinkie!” She didn’t answer me, “Stay with me, okay? Say something!” Not even so much as flick of her ears, “Pinkie! Pinkie Pie!” I checked her pulse.
Nothing.
She wasn’t breathing either! I checked her throat and tried chest compressions, “Pinkamena Diane Pie, don’t you dare!” Tears flooded my eyes. No, no, she couldn’t! Pinkie, please! I followed standard CPR procedure. One, two, three, four, five, six, I went on and on.
But she didn’t so much as budge!
“Pinkie! Come on, honey, breathe! I need help!” I cried out to the other medical ponies nearby, and they rushed over. I couldn’t do this on my own.
But even with their help, I had still failed in my one duty to protect and save lives.
She was just... gone. No pulse, no breath, no flick of her ears. The Element of Laughter had passed on in my hooves and I sobbed like a foal.
What use am I as a nurse if I couldn’t save the life of a pony beloved by millions?
I sighed to myself, a hoof to my chest as I glared down at my nurse’s cap. The red cross that was also emblazoned onto my flank meant something, it meant, ‘don’t worry, I’m here to help you, and I will do my best to save you.’
That day, I didn’t uphold my promise…
I heard the ponies outside my medical tent, I heard their sullen conversation. Casting a glance back at the tent flap, I could see their shadowy outlines passing by, talking of fond memories they had of Pinkie Pie.
It was then I realized I was failing Pinkie once again.
She didn’t want tears. She didn’t want this… this self loathing mess of a mare that was me. She wanted ponies to remember her fondly, to smile and appreciate what she’s done for so many ponies over the many years she’s been our friend- everypony’s friend.
A shudder escaped me and I grabbed my nurse’s cap, before setting it firmly on my head. “I’m sorry, Pinkie,” I walked over and grabbed my saddlebags, filled with some basic first aid supplies and walked outside.
I saw the party was still going on, a party to remember an amazing mare.
I smiled, biting back my sorrows and looking up into the skies. I saw a few clouds floating around and I knew that… despite my failure, Pinkie understood and forgave me. She was never one to hold a grudge…
I promise you, Pinkie Pie, I’ll do my best to uphold my oath this time. With that set firmly in mind… I waded into the crowd of ponies, prepared to keep my promise and do my very best to be the nurse Ponyville needs.
Laughter is dead, and now nothing will ever be the same again.
Of course, that’s not saying much, as every second comes before the last, and the entire world is always, indefatigably, changing.
But now, somehow, it feels like something more has been lost. In the instant Pinkie Pie died, it was not like the passage of every other second, merely dutifully following the one before; but instead it felt as though the universe had broken through into new and unplanned territory. Surely it could not have been Pinkie Pie’s destiny to die - what sort of universe would allow for that? I cannot believe it. I will not believe it.
If Eternity can, just like that, turn the murderer and kill of any of us, what meaning does anything - even my life - hold? Pinkie was beloved by all; she strived each and every day to bring a smile to those around her; and if she can be taken by some accident of chance then why do any of us even endeavour to be good? Or bad? Or anything? It could all be so cruelly snatched away.
I feel numb. I can’t believe that Pinkie was born to die, and yet it all seems so clear in front of me. It makes no sense to talk of what ‘could have been’ or ‘ought to have been’... only one thing has been, and that is all. We cannot deviate from the past.
Are any of my actions even my own? If Pinkie was born to die, then maybe Twilight was born to be a princess, Applejack was born to lose her parents, and I was born to stand here and wonder about my place in the world. I look around. Everything seems so cheap and superficial. I stop and think. Oh Celestia, even my thoughts don’t feel like my own.
No, no, this is no way to go on. I could go mad following this path. There has to be a reason for everything we see; otherwise, why are we here? But what reason could allow Pinkie to die like this? Not any reason I can see.
Why was Pinkie so stupid as to mess around with that cannon? I’m sure she’d been told before to be careful. But she would always laugh and smile, maybe sing a song, and everyone would stop caring. Why did nopony stop her? Why did nopony care enough to interject?
Celestia, I’m just full of questions, but I must share some parcel of the blame. Why didn’t I say anything? I was at the party. I could have involved myself. I could have helped. Why was I so timid?
What if I had told her just to be careful? Or not to use that thing indoors? But nopony ever contradicted her: she was Pinkie Pie, the party itself. But maybe my saying something would have stopped her from being so foolish. If only I’d approached her, we could be laughing now, probably at one of her afterparties, or an after-afterparty. But instead she’s dead.
And why did nopony else do anything, or say anything? Twilight is supposed to be the Princess of Friendship. What was she doing when all this happened? In fact, why were all of her friends standing idly by while she played with that thing? Why am I blaming myself when they were the ones who should have most protected her?
I pause. I expect to feel angry, but I don’t. I just feel… empty. Like I’ve been purged of the tumult of emotions that Pinkie’s death had thrown on me. I exploded and now I’m empty, like a… cannon.
I know Pinkie’s friends are not responsible for her death. I know I am not, and neither is she. Then who is? Nopony. And with Nopony to direct my anger at, and Nopony as the villain of the situation, I am left with this horrible feeling. The universe isn’t fair. I try to be angry, and tell myself what happened happened because of an evil pony, or some malign magical force - but it just isn’t true.
Suddenly, this emptiness is all-consuming, like a sinkhole opening inside of me. I feel giddy. This world around me, that I have been told was my oyster, and has ostensibly nurtured and protected me since I was a foal, killed Pinkie. It seems a little more grey now. But I can’t be angry at it, like I was before: it is only following its predetermined course. The world doesn’t choose who lives and who dies; Nopony does. We are all like rocks, rolling down a hill, with no choice what we crush or whom we maim, and no way of stopping ourselves from landing at the bottom and splintering into shards and dust. I want to lay down and cry.
Is my life come to this? Pinkie is dead, and yet I am the one crying. My hoof before my face feels foreign. Outside, the wind blows. I hear the trees groan and there is such anger. Then it stops.
In some small way, I think to myself, there is something absurd about this. Here am I, curled and hidden against the mighty face of the world. What am I hiding from? The world which was when Pinkie was alive still is, and will be forever. Laughter is dead, but nothing has changed. Do I think, that by hiding myself within myself, I can escape death? I only thing I will escape is life.
There is something so funny about this that I laugh. Maybe it’s odd in the situation, but it feels so right. It feels liberating. For those few seconds I feel like I am standing on the edge of some immortal knowledge, looking down upon the world.
Laughter is dead, but laughter is not dead. What Pinkie gave us still exists, and even from generation to generation it will remain. Though she is not there to bring us joy, others are. And if I only sit here, railing against the world, Laughter is truly dead in both body and in spirit.
With this, I stand up, and walk to the window. It is the daytime, and almost a week, I think, has passed. I walk out the door and feel the world’s air on my back and face… but it feels lighter than usual. Today is Pinkie’s funeral, and I intend to make sure she is remembered as she would wish to be.
I tap my hoof on the bar to get Bourbon Barrel’s attention, one more time.
“Hey, another one over here,” I say, trying to keep the slur out of my voice. “Same as last time.”
The bartender, one who is very familiar with me and my ways, casts me an uneasy eye. I can see the hesitance in his frown, the tightness of his lips, and normally I’d just shrug and go drink at home instead if he won’t pour me another drink. But not this time. I don’t want to be home. I want to be out, I want to pretend to have fun, maybe make myself believe for a moment that the world isn’t much darker than it was yesterday. As long as I can hold off this encroaching dread I feel, I’ll be okay.
I’d like to be okay for just a little longer.
But B.B. knows me too well. He knows what my voice sounds like when I’ve had too much, my expression when I’m putting efforts into appearing “normal.” I would be more mad at him for that, but I know he’s probably hurting too. There’s no sense in being angry with someone who’s doing their best to hold it together too.
“You sure?” he asks, and I can hear in his voice that it’s not a question.
Go home Berry, it says. Sleep it off, avoid the massive hangover you’ll probably already have. I’m worried, it says… maybe. Or maybe I’m reading into it too far. It’s a bartender’s job to make sure no one pukes in his establishment, so maybe that’s what’s going on instead. I’m probably just another customer to him, and he’s just being a good bartender.
“Yeah, another,” I say anyway, keeping my voice steady. “Please.”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“You’ve had more than your usual share. It’s late, most other ponies are home with their families or mourning.”
“I am mourning,” I say pointedly before I quickly look away to avoid his gaze. “And my family isn’t in Ponyville. Might as well be here as anywhere else.”
“Mh-hm.”
“Look, just… give me another drink, okay? I have the bits.”
“Not worried about the bits.”
“Not going to throw up either.”
“I know, you usually stumble to the bathroom before you do that.”
“So… can I have my damn drink now?”
When I look back up, he’s still frowning at me with this analytical eye. I can still feel that he’s judging me up and down, trying to decide what’s making me tick right now, keeping me here. You’d think, with all he can know about me and detect just from my body language, that he’d have some inkling of what’s going on in my head right now. She came to this bar. He saw her too. He must know how empty this place feels without her laughter echoing through it. The air feels heavy without it, thick like syrup. It makes each breath into my lungs feel sticky.
At long last, I see my bartender shrug his shoulders.
“If you can promise me you’ll get home tonight okay, we’ll do one more.”
My ears prick up, and some of the heaviness pulling me down through my bar stool, through the floor, deep into the earth where she now lies, lets up a little. There’s a part of my brain that I could feel coiling up to throw a verbal punch if he said no, some kind of need more than just thirst that was wound up tight like a spring. It releases now, slowly, without the sudden eruption that was threatening.
But… wait…
“We?”
He cracks a half grin, even if his eyes don’t smile.
“Hey, drinking alone is depressing as hell. Booze is meant to be shared with friends, that’s why bars like this exist, right?”
I give a bitter little laugh. It tastes like acid.
“I suppose you’re right. I just thought, you know,” I shrug. “You didn’t drink with customers.”
He pauses, his hoof already reaching for a pair of clean glasses, and shuts his eyes. A slow, deliberate smile spreads over his face, and I know I’ve somehow said something cruel, though I can’t put my mind on exactly what it is. When he opens his eyes again, they look distant. Like mist on the ocean.
“Well, it’s an exceptional night,” he says softly. “And I figure that means I oughta make an exception.”
Who am I to complain? A drink is a drink. If he has one with me, so much the better. Maybe if I finish first, he’ll pour me another, so he doesn’t have to drink alone.
“Sure, your choice then,” I say with a nod towards the liquor bottles.
He selects the whisky I always drink, one of my favorites when it comes to well booze, and pours us a generous pair. Then, he pulls up a stool across the bar from me, and sets the two glasses down in front of me. I pull the alcohol into my hooves, cupping it towards my body like a vital medicine. If I’m being honest, it does feel like I’d die right now without it. Bourbon Barrel raises his glass in a toast, and I wait another aching moment more to join him. “A toast,” he says. “To a lady that always knew how to liven up a party. To a mare that wouldn’t want us to frown and cry as we toasted her name. To Pinkie Pie, who never let anyone feel like they didn’t have a friend.” The words cut me as he says each syllable. But I also know he’s right. Pinkie would have been at my side right now, inciting me into a party mood. She would have been laughing, poking my ribs until I laughed from how it tickled, and buying the bar another round. B.B. would have been laughing those belly laughs at her antics, she would have jumped up on the bar to do some silly dance. I would have been happy. I wouldn’t have been alone. We were party ponies. We were barely friends, but we shared a love of smiles and fun and joy. And I feel her absence in me, like someone carved out a piece of cake in whatever happiness I held deep inside. Now there’s just me. Just me. Just me. I quickly down the whisky. The thought stops echoing and dies down as the liquor hits my throat and begins to burn. It feels like relief. And poison. When I open my eyes again, Bourbon Barrel is staring at me with a crooked smile on his face, the kind you give to children when they’ve just said something silly. “I miss her too, you know,” he says softly. “We can talk about her, if you want.” I shake my head hard as the burn begins to smolder in me. “Not tonight,” I say firmly. “Tonight, I just want to drink, and be here, among friends and company or whatever you call people who make a bar their second home.” “Should I just let ya sit then?” I shake my head again, harder this time. I’m lucky I don’t knock myself off the stool. “No… keep talking I guess. Don’t care what, don’t know what you’re interested in right now or anything. The company is nice either way, even if that seems, I dunno, needy of me. I’ll pick a topic if you like. Just…” I give a dismissive shrug to hide my eagerness. “I don’t want to keep you from your other customers.” He smiles again then, an earnest one, and a deeply sad one. And I feel a lurch in my chest, because the smile reminds me of her in a way. And it feels so out of reach right now for me, like it’s buried six feet under and far from my touch. He gestures over my shoulder in a sweeping wave. “Don’t worry,” he says gently. “I’ve got time.” It’s then that I realize we’re the only ones left in the bar. I feel a cold numbness fill me as my eyes glance to the door, the clock, and find it’s past closing time by far. I should go home, should have been home with my thoughts and empty rooms and quiet solitude that consumes me like a blanket. But as I turn back to my bartender, I know that I don’t have to go home, not just yet. And maybe, for right now, he’s not really just my bartender. “So,” he says to me. “What do you want to talk about?”
Everything seemed illogical to me. Come on, Pinkie? Yeah sure my sister seemed to follow her own twisted form of logic that nopony, maybe not even herself, could understand. Still, none of this made any sense.
Pinkie had far more close calls than I thought was even possible to the point that it seemed normal for her. Yet, my sister never failed to surprise me with each new one.
So naturally, this seemed utterly inconceivable to me.
But it wasn’t; I was at the funeral, I saw her body.
My sister is gone.
I don’t know what I feel. Contrary to what ponies might think, I do feel emotions, I just don’t display them very often. But in this case, I wouldn’t know what to show anyway.
Pinkie’s enthusiasm made me happy. It was comforting to me that one of my sisters was able to bring a smile to every face she met, even mine. Even though I didn’t really show it, I loved every moment we spent together; I just hope she knew.
Then I heard of what she had planned before she died. Did she really die trying to put a smile on a foal’s face?
I don’t know how to feel about that, honestly. On one hoof I feel frustrated that she put her life on the line for such a simple task for somepony she didn’t even know very closely.
But on the other, I know that this is what Pinkie always wanted. That was her talent, her hobby, her calling in life. It’s sickly fitting that she went out this way. I just hope that the foal wasn’t scarred by this.
I guess I should grieve, but I feel like she wouldn’t want that. Even though I want to, I feel like I can’t.
I walk out of the quartz mine, shaking my head to try and clear my mind, and head over to Ponyville. It isn’t often I head over there, especially after spending this little amount of time in the mine, but it felt right to me.
I can’t quite describe it, but it just feels like it’s where I should be right now. It’s as though Pinkie is calling me there like she would countless times before. It gives me an eerie sense of comfort.
As I reach the outskirts of town, I feel a sudden rush of sadness and pain swelling through me. I’m reminded of all the times I came this way with Pinkie as she dragged me into another one of her ridiculous adventures or silly parties.
Yet no matter how silly or ridiculous they may have been at the time, I feel empty without them.
I’m beginning to crack and there’s nothing I can do about it. No matter how hard I try to keep a straight face and not grieve or cry, I can’t overcome the urge to tear up. I feel the first droplet form in my left eye just before it runs down the side of my face.
I have lost the war against nature, an utterly futile war that I felt obligated to fight.
Hoping nopony will see me, I veer off the side of the road and head over to some bushes where I finally let loose. It’s been a long time since I last cried with Pinkie of all ponies being the one there to see it. I remember how she comforted me and helped ease the pain.
Now nopony would be here to comfort me; I’m all alone. This is something I’ll have to deal with by myself.
I try to think of some way to comfort myself, but the sheer grief surging through me muddles any thoughts I might have. All I can think about is how my sister is gone and how empty and lonely I am.
Part of me wants somepony to come and give me a hug, yet another part of me doesn’t want a single living creature to find me in such a depressing state. Even when grieving, my mind and heart are at war with themselves. I feel like any hope for peace of mind is rapidly slipping away.
I lose count of how long I remain there crying, unconcerned with anything else honestly. But after a while, I cry the last tear my eyes could produce. I’m left feeling tired and unfulfilled as though I wasted all this time and energy for nothing.
I feel bad having cried over Pinkie’s death, like I had committed some sort of crime or sin. I know that she wouldn’t have wanted anypony to mourn her death, but I couldn’t help it. I feel like I’ve failed her after all she’s done for me and everypony else.
I slowly get up and head back towards the road. The sun is beginning to set; I must’ve been there for at least half an hour. I head back towards Ponyville, still feeling drawn there for some odd reason.
As I enter the town, my stomach growls in hunger and I soon realise that I haven’t eaten anything today. I don’t know why, but I’m in the mood for a slice of cake.
It’s odd, really, I’m not usually one to eat cake. Yet, it sounded good for some reason.
Before I realise it, I’m standing in front of Sugarcube Corner. I can’t tell if I came here because I wanted cake, or if something else was calling me here. Regardless, I knock on the door, not sure if they were open.
Surprisingly, Mr. Cake answers the knock quiet quickly.
“Oh, hi Maud,” he greets me with a deflated tone.
“Hello, Mr. Cake,” I greet him back in an equally deflated tone.
“Are you here to eat?”
I give a faint nod and enter the bakery.
“Well, what are you in the mood for?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood.
“Cake,” I simply reply.
He ponders for a moment. “Well, what type of cake would you like?”
I shrug, “Whatever you have will work for me.”
He thinks for a moment and then nods. “I think you’ll like this one,” he says before heading back into the kitchen.
As he goes to get me a slice of cake, I look around the bakery. I can see why Pinkie loved this place so much. It fit her personality so well to the point that she may have well designed it herself. Knowing her, she just might have.
My thoughts are interrupted as Mr. Cake returns with a slice of rocky road cake.
“I think you’ll like this one,” he says with a genuine smile.
I look at the plate and back to him before nodding. Why was he smiling, though? I mean sure, it’s rocky road. I get it. But what’s so special about this cake? Was this a joke?
He sighs and sits next to me as I begin to eat the cake. Sure enough, it tastes great. There aren’t too many cakes out there that I like, but most of them were made by Pinkie.
Made by Pinkie…
Pinkie…
My eyes widen in realisation.
She made this for me, didn’t she?
As though he can tell what I’m thinking, Mr. Cake gives a quiet chuckle. “She wanted to surprise you with that one. Obviously now, that won’t happen. Still, she just wanted you to enjoy it more than anything. She always loved seeing you enjoy her cakes,” he says solemnly.
I feel a sense of calm and peace. Pinkie just wanted me to enjoy her cake and I was doing just that right now. I polish off the last of the slice and smile. I don’t care if Mr. Cake can see me smile, I just have to smile.
At last, I feel like I’ve made some sort of peace with the fact that my sister is gone. I feel like I’ve fulfilled a promise I made her without even knowing it.
Even though she’s gone, I can now take ease knowing she died doing what she loved.
Making ponies smile.
Chapter 11 - RK_Striker_JK_5 - Mister and Missus Cake
The hardest decision for for them was not whether or not to go. No. For Carrot and Cup Cake, how could they not say goodbye to their adoptive daughter, the one who brought such joy into everyone’s lives? They had to be there, though it would break their hearts.
As they stood in their bedroom, slowly dressing for the funeral, their attention was drawn to the crib in the corner, occupied by Pound and Pumpkin Cake. Pumpkin was chewing on a pacifier, while Pound smacked one wooden block against another. Both looked up and cooed as their parents walked over, forelegs outstretched for upsies.
Carrot Cake reached in and grabbed Pumpkin, lifting her up and nuzzling her. “Honeybun, what do you think? I mean… I think Pinkie Pie w-would like to see them one last time. Even if they’re still too young to understand.”
Pound’s wings fluttered as Cup Cake took him into her embrace. “But they are so young. And even though Pinkie wants the ‘fun’ in funeral, I’m not sure it would be… proper for such young foals to be there.”
Pumpkin’s mouth upturned at ‘Pinkie’. “Pinkie? Want Auntie Pinkie!” She wiggled in Carrot cake’s grasp. “Where’s Auntie Pinkie?”
Pound’s voice quickly joined his sister’s. “Where’s Auntie Pinkie?” His wings buzzed as he struggled to get out of Carrot Cake’s grasp. “Auntie Pinkie!”
Pound’s brow furrowed. “When will she come back? I wanna play with her!”
“Yeah, wanna play with Auntie Pinkie!”
Carrot Cake’s eyes screwed shut, but the tears still came. He hugged his daughter to his barrel and rocked her. “She… won’t be coming back, Pound. She was hurt really badly and had to… go away, to the Far Fields.” He glanced to Cup Cake. “We can see her… one more time, to say goodbye for now, though.”
Cup Cake’s head drooped. “Yes, one more time.”
The majority of the funeral passed in a blur. Celestia’s speech barely registered for the two. Condolences and others asking how they were barely elicited a response. Pound and Pumpkin scampered about the field, no one having much of a heart to stop them. They were still too young to understand why Pinkie didn’t come out of the box she was ‘sleeping’ in, but when Pumpkin Cake shouted that, “Auntie Pinkie still has parties to plan!” that was when the dam burst for them, and for most of those attending.
It was almost sunset when the Cake family returned to Sugar Cube Corner. Pound and Pumpkin were asleep in their carriage, snoring slightly. The only other sound was the door swinging open.
No laughter greeted them. No shouts of joy heralded their arrival. Their home was silent, bereft of laughter. And neither one knew when they’d hear it again.
