A Way with Words
Pinkie Pie coughed and sputtered as she dragged herself from the water, collapsing on the bank. She lay there for several moments, attempting to get used to the feeling of being on dry, unmoving land. Standing up, she began to take stock of her situation. The trip downriver had been an unpleasant one, but after checking herself over, She was satisfied that the injuries that she sustained were superficial.
Shaking her head fiercely to clear her mane of water, she thought back to what had caused her to jump into the water in the first place.
“Smile for the lady.”
Pinkie Pie shuddered involuntarily.
* * *
Pinkie Pie had left the odd tea party in the forest behind, politely excusing herself as the clockwork rabbit and the unicorn with the top hat struggled with their friend. The friend in question, an over-large wind up mouse, had panicked at the thought of losing his key, and was searching frantically for a safe place to store it.
As Pinkie walked, her contemplations took on a frustrated tone. The tea party had been of no help to her. While the various cakes and sweets had been pleasant enough, the hosts of the party hadn't answered her questions at all. In fact, she was more confused now than before she had come upon the strange revel. Her own pet, Gummy, wouldn't even give her a clear answer. He faded into view every now and again, offering Pinkie esoteric bits of advice and jumbled riddles. The only thing that her hosts had been able to give her was a name for this place; Wonderland. The name felt familiar to her, as though it were an old friend from her fillyhood who never kept in touch.
The forest that Pinkie walked through began to thin, and soon gave way to a rolling plain set beneath an overcast sky.
Pinkie spotted a ramshackle village a short distance from where she stood. Perhaps I will have better luck there, she thought glumly. She needed to find out what, or who, she was supposed to find, and what she had to do once she found it. In truth, though, she held little hope that anything she found in the village would point her in the right direction. After the disaster at the tea party, she was sure she would soon have more questions than answers. Still, any chance to learn something had to be taken, and in her mind, this was as good a place as any to continue her search.
As she walked ever closer, Pinkie noticed that something was... Off about the village. The structure of the houses was uneven; support beams jutting through roofs, and foundations that were larger than the houses that sat atop them. The angles that made up the structures were wrong, too. Though the buildings were at least somewhat rectangular, every building seemed to lean or hunch. Rooftops seemed to point up on one corner, and down on the other. Windows were uneven, and door frames were only vertical if she tilted her head slightly.
This village only seemed to stand because somepony's imagination wanted it to.
Caught up in looking at the architecture that surrounded her, Pinkie did not notice the objects that lined the street until she tripped over one. Gathering herself to her feet, she looked down, and was shocked to see... An apple. Someone had cut a little smile into it, as well as inserting screws above the smile to constitute eyes. Pinkie giggled, finding the apple-man cute.I think I should bring you with me, Mr. Apple, Pinkie mused with a grin on her face, I think I'd enjoy some company on this journey.
Thinking better of it, she set him back down on the side of the road. Pinkie looked around her, noticing for the first time that there were apple-men situated all over the place. They sat on chairs and benches, tables and sidewalks. Sometimes, they were bunched together, as though they were having a conversation.
Pinkie began to feel nervous as she walked, the deafening silence broken only by her hoofsteps. She jolted and nearly squeaked as a loud crack echoed through the silent streets. She began walking in the direction of the noise, picking up her pace as another crack sounded out.
She came upon a curious scene; two ponies, standing next to an apple tree. The mare had apricot-coloured fur, and a yellow mane hidden partially under a stetson hat. She wore a green apron, and was using a carpenter's knife to cut a smile into the apple.
The stallion was large and muscular, towering over the smaller ponies. His fur was a dark red, and a large yoke sat on his back. His muzzle was buried in the apple crate next to him. He took great, heaving breaths, as though trying to take the very essence of the apples he was smelling into his body.
Pinkie Pie was thrilled at seeing familiar, friendly faces, and moved to greet them. She stopped cold when they turned to look at her.
Applejack's eyes had a manic glint to them, and Macintosh... He had the largest mustache that Pinkie had ever seen. Great, thick whiskers grew from either side of his muzzle. Pinkie would have found this incredibly amusing, if not for the dead, glassy look he was giving her. His gaze seemed to go through her, looking both beyond and inside of her at the same time. Pinkie lowered her ears, unsure if these were the friends that she knew and loved.
“Ah, Pinkie, my friend!” Applejack called out. “So glad that you found the time to visit us!” Applejack's voice carried none of its usual southern twang. This caused Pinkie to shift uncomfortably for some reason.
The apricot pony continued to speak. “The preparations are almost ready, and Macintosh has memorized his lines.”
Both mares turned their attention to Macintosh at this. He stood there, unblinking.
Applejack huffed at his lack of manners. “Come now, Macintosh! You're making poor Pinkie Pie uneasy. Smile for the lady.”
Macintosh ignored her request, instead lowering his muzzle back into the apple crate, breathing heavily.
Applejack smile at Pinkie. “Don't mind him, he's just got a touch of stage fright.”
Pinkie looked at Macintosh for a moment before turning her gaze back to Applejack. “Applejack, I am looking for something. It is very impor-”
Applejack interrupted Pinkie with a grand, dramatic sigh.
“Ah, yes! We are all looking for something, no? Something to occupy our time. Something to distract us from our heartbeats, from our breathing? I've built my something.” She pointed her hoof toward the village behind Pinkie.
“Isn't it beautiful? A testament to love and hard work. A place for my apples to call home. My sweet, finite apples.” She finished her sentence by taking two screws and inserting them lovingly above the smile she had cut into her latest apple. Pinkie thought she heard a noise coming from it, but dismissed it for the moment.
“Please, Applejack, this is important. I think I am supposed to find someone or something that will tell me why I'm here. Everywhere I go, chaos seems to follow shortly after. I don't understand.” Pinkie felt tears of frustration building behind her eyes.
Applejack moved to comfort her pink friend, patting her on the shoulder. “There there, my friend. Very few of us understand why we are where we are. Even fewer understand why we've been where we were!” Applejack laughed at her own words, seemingly amused by her confusing statement. She picked up her knife and a fresh apple, cutting a smile into it. “Sometimes it's enough to just... Be.”
Applejack turned a screw into the apple, and then another. Pinkie heard the noise again. Her stomach dropped as her mind made sense of it. She no longer found the apple-men cute. Apples weren't supposed to scream.
Applejack set the latest apple-man on the ground lovingly, turning it to face the apple tree. Pinkie looked down at the rows of the apple-men to the side of her. They all faced the tree, giving their rapt, unblinking attention to it, and to the stallion that stood to the side of it.
Applejack clapped her hooves together, startling Pinkie. “All right, we are ready!” She shouted. “the audience has arrived in full, the stage is set, and the lighting is perfect!” At that last statement, the sun began its descent below the horizon, painting the cloud cover with fire.
Macintosh removed his head from the apple barrel, and walked to the front of the apple tree. He faced the audience made of fruit and began.
“A seedling grows, as well we know, from love and dutiful tending.
Planted deep, given sun and drink, it awaits its glorious day.
Through days and weeks, the outcome it seeks, is sheer beauty unending.
Through its sleep, the sapling thinks on the hoof that guided the way.
The farmer sees the budding tree, the sign of labors pending,
to care and keep, to rise and sink, to bear fruit, as this tree may.”
Behind Macintosh, the apple tree burst into bloom, the flowers soon making way for apples that hung low from the branches. His lifeless eyes took on a feverish glint as he continued.
“The years have passed, and at long last, the harvest can begin.
With knife and hoof, the farmer starts the joyous chore before him.
The blow is struck, he carves and bucks, love blossoming within.
Above the roof, the sun departs although sleep still ignores him.
There is no time for food and wine. To him, it would be a sin.
His work is proof that will and heart can salvage and restore him.”
Macintosh threw a rear leg backward, catching the apple tree solidly. The resulting tremor that coursed through the tree caused the apples to fall in to the barrels surrounding it. Pinkie recognized the cracking of Macintosh's hoof against the tree as the sound that had brought her here in the first place. Macintosh was breathing heavily now, getting excited.
“And so it goes, through highs and lows, through seasons short and long.
The farmer toils, the tree gives its fruit, and all is as it should be.
Though age gnaws at his sight, and his bones ache at night, he continues his ritual song.
Seeding the soil, life taking root, the cycle is all he can see.
He will harvest and sow, cut down and grow. Anything else would be wrong.
To his work he is loyal, all else is moot, for through his labor, he is free.”
The leaves on the apple tree began to wither, curling in on themselves. The colour of the leaves darkened to a dull, dead black. Soon the tree was left barren and naked, its form highlighted by the bruised colour of the clouds above it. A lopsided smile now graced Macintosh's face, somehow adding to the aura of menace.
"The Pale Mare comes forth, riding winds from the North, to secure and see to his rest.
Though weary and blind, he knows now is his time, and that fortune has come from his seed.
Atop skeletal wings, he laughs and he sings, knowing he has done his best.
He does not mind that the tone of his rhyme has changed from contentment to need.
His pockets are full, of both bright and dull. The fruit gathered at his behest.
For now was the time for his payment in kind. Time to sleep, think... And feed.”
Macintosh was shaking now, looking at his audience with barely contained hunger. With a nod from Applejack, he walked deliberately to the front row. He picked up an apple-man and popped it into his mouth. His dead eyes fluttered with ecstasy as he began to chew. Pinkie could hear the horrendous crunching noise as Macintosh's teeth ground against the screws embedded in the apple-man. A dark ichor flowed from the corner of his mouth, a mixture of pulp from the fruit and blood from his torn gums. Pinkie looked away in disgust, as Applejack began to dance through the aisles of lined up apple-men.
Applejack giggled. “Come now, come now! Everyone will get their turn. Patience is a virtue! Ah, Macintosh... Such a way with words.”
Pinkie began to slowly slink away from the grisly scene, when a light in the sky caught her attention. Though night had fallen completely, pillars of flame could be seen gathering above the clouds. Pinkie's pupils shrank. She knew this. She had seen it in her nightmares, time and time again.
“oh no, not here... please, not here.”
A massive candle fell from the sky, crashing into one of the oddly angled buildings in town. The wood caught flame instantly, burning feverishly against the night sky. The apple-men that sat in the vicinity started shrieking as flame caught them it its grasp. Another candle, this one striped, landed in the field near the apple tree. The candle guttered out momentarily, before bursting back into flame. A trick candle, Pinkie thought absently. Above the roar of the flames, she could have sworn she heard a voice singing a birthday song.
Applejack was no longer smiling. Candles continued to rain down on her village, crushing buildings and setting the kindling ablaze. Macintosh continued his feast, his ravenous hunger making him oblivious to his surroundings.
“We thought we had fled far enough!” Applejack shouted at Pinkie. “We thought we were safe! Nowhere is safe now, Pinkie! Run!”
Pinkie turned and began to do just that, rushing across a field that was rapidly turning to ash. She overheard Applejack shouting at her above the din.
“To know what you must do, remember what you have done! Think back to the events that made you who you are! There isn't much left to save, but you must save it! You must save Wonderl-” Her shout ended in a shriek as another candle, this one a giant waxen eight, crashed into the apple tree.
Pinkie knew that she was in trouble. She ran as fast as her legs could take her, looking for salvation in her surroundings. She spotted a river on the edge of the field. It was moving rapidly, but she knew it was her best chance at survival. She dove in to the river, the sound of the flames and the song drowned out by the rushing of water in her ears.
* * *
Pinkie's mind returned to the present, the soft rushing of the river next to her filling her ears. The tea party, the forest, the plains... It was coming back to her. She knew these places. This place was her escape, her world away from the tedious, soul-crushing sameness of her fillyhood. The one place where she could forget her fears and doubts, her nightmares and the fate that awaited her on the rock farm. She could frolic here, and know bliss.
Her smile was short lived, however. It was never this... violent here, she thought. Things had changed since she was here last, and not for the better. Why was this happening?
“You are still looking at symptoms, Pinkie. You have yet to find the cause.”
Pinkie Pie jumped and whirled around, noticing a shimmer of scales and a toothless grin against a nearby tree. Pinkie caught her breath, and began to speak. “ How do you do that?”
Gummy continued to grin at her. “How doth the little crocodile...” Gummy gave a small chuckle, his small frame offset by his deep voice. “Of course, that would work far better if I was a crocodile.”
Pinkie frowned, glaring at Gummy. “ I am starting to remember,” she stated softly. “This place was... Is... mine.”
Gummy smirked at her, as though she were a particularly dull student, and had finally figured out an equation.
“Indeed Pinkie, this is your Wonderland. It has seen better days, sadly.”
A confused look crossed Pinkie's face as a thought came to her. “Why were Applejack and Macintosh here? They were never here before. I didn't even know them when I visited Wonderland regularly.”
Gummy gave her the alligator equivalent of a shrug. “Places change as surely as ponies do, Pinkie. Time is the culprit in that.” Gummy stretched languidly, walking over the riverbank. He spoke as he stared lazily into the water. “ A funny thing, time. It is not a line, as some ponies suggest. Nor is it a circle. It is, rather, a rhombus.”
The question Pinkie was about to ask was immediately replaced with another. “ A rhombus? Why a rhombus?”
The miniscule alligator looked away from the water to gaze into Pinkie's eyes, an amused expression on his face.
“Because, put simply, a rhombus is time's favorite shape.”
Pinkie shook her head, deciding that she didn't have time for another of Gummy's strange riddles. “Applejack said that to know what I have to do, I have to know what I've done...” She paced alongside the bank, trying to dredge up any events that she couldn't presently recall. “She also said that I have to know what has made me into who I am.”
If Gummy had had ears, they would have perked up at this. “Precisely,” He stated.
Pinkie stopped pacing and looked at the toothless alligator, growing annoyed. “If you know something, please, do share. I am tired of your pointless riddles.”
Gummy feigned a hurt look. “Oh dear, but they are such fun! ” his hurt look was replaced by his customary grin. It seemed painfully wide, and Pinkie was glad that he did not have teeth to bare.
“Very well, I will oblige you this time. They say that if you stare long enough into the Grey, the Grey will stare back at you. With that in mind, what do you see when you look into a mirror?”
Pinkie didn't have a mirror with her, so she walked to the edge of the river, looking down. Her reflection was a somber one. Her hair fell straight, and her eyes were puffy and red from crying. The worst part of her reflection, in Pinkie's mind, was the look of resignation in her eyes.
Pinkie Pie looked back up at Gummy, her next words coming out in a clipped, angry manner.
“I. Am not. Her.”
Gummy had an expression of supreme smugness on his face, like a cat who had caught the canary. “And she is not you. But you are both Pinkie.”
Pinkie's anger faded as she digested his words. Was this the source of the misery that now swept through Wonderland, or was it just another symptom?
Gummy's smug expression fell from his face, replaced by a look that was darkly serious. “Regardless of its shape, time is running short, Pinkie. The candle burns low, and you move ever closer to the edge of the cliff.”
Pinkie was shocked out of her contemplations by Gummy's words. Now that he had said something, though, she could feel it too. An uneasy vibration clung to the air around her. It was like crickets holding their breath, waiting for the predator to pass them by.
“What do I do, Gummy? What if I can't solve this before I reach the edge?”
Though Gummy was smiling again, his reply did not comfort Pinkie. “Regardless of what you may accomplish, of what you may learn, you will still come upon the edge. What is important is what you do when you've reached it. Will you fall from it, or fly from it?”
Gummy walked back to the tree he had appeared from. He climbed upon a low branch, staring at Pinkie. He continued walking vertically up the tree, and out to another branch. This time, though, he was walking on the branch's underside.
“Fly, or fall?” He repeated, grinning as his scales began to shimmer out of existence. “That, like so many other things, is a matter of perspective.” All that was left was his upside-down grin, which faded out soon after his final words had been spoken.