My Final Confession: Relapse

Pinkamena is sitting in a chair with her back to the camera some distance away. She appears to be reading something and has a set of spectacles propped on her muzzle. There is a crack on the only visible lens. Her mane runs like blood from a new wound down her neck and back.

A carved wooden plate sectioned by raised dividers is visible at the bottom of the screen close to the camera. A large helping of broccoli steams in one of the pockets. Another pocket appears to hold some loose kernels of corn and a used, wet spoon drifting lazily in leftover juice. The picture dances back and forth for a moment until the operator, satisfied with the view, sets the camera in place.

Cozy can be heard giggling softly, and the camera remains fixed to the table in a clear indication that she is attempting to be covert. Across and in front of Pinkamena is an empty rose-colored couch with green trim and a pair of old, threadbare throw pillows flattened with use. There are lamps lit nearby, but much of the rest of the house is shrouded in darkness.

“You never did! Why do you lie so much?” Cozy’s words are tinted with titters. It’s apparent that the two had been in mid-conversation before the camcorder was switched on. Cozy’s voice suddenly fills the audio, but is hushed and conspiratorial so that Pinkamena can’t hear her. “She’s lying.”

“I did, Cozy. I worked in a bakery in Ponyville. How do you think I learned how to bake so well? I baked at least thirty pans of cookies, muffins, doughnuts, and other things a day. Sheesh, I don’t even want to think about how many cakes I baked and decorated. Or even worse … how many I ate.” Pinkamena’s head lifts in thought. “I should have been so fat.”

Cozy whispers to the camera. “She’s kind of fat now.”

The spoon moves and reveals itself to be full of corn. A couple of fat, juice-wallered kernels fall from the spoon as it ascends. It returns, empty, to rest on the plate. “I used to live in Ponyville, you know,” says Cozy as she chews.

“Was it still small?”

“Yep, and you know what else?” Cozy’s tone is knowing and playful.

“What else?”

“There were no bakeries in town! So you are lying! Caught you!” The accusation is ripe with childish glee.

Consumed by her book, Pinkamena doesn’t take the bait. “Well, that makes sense. I know the Cakes moved away after what happened. I doubt anyone else wanted to start a new bakery in Ponyville after that. Kind of taboo. They probably think there are ghosts or something.”

“Taboo?” The filly laughs and repeats the word. Another spoon of corn moves up and down. “What does ‘taboo’ mean? Did you just make it up?”

“I most certainly did not make it up. It means forbidden for social reasons. If something is taboo you aren’t supposed to do it.” She pauses for a moment. “I know you aren’t eating your broccoli.”

“Ugh… broccoli is taboo.”

Pinkamena flips a page and smiles to herself while giving a very quiet laugh.

Cozy conspires with the camera once more after chewing another spoonful. “She thinks she’s so smart. I think she made that word up.”

Pinkamena lifts her head from the book and leans it against the cushion of her seat. Her eyes appear to be closed. “What do you think about making lemon bars tomorrow? The lemons are in season right now and we have some that need to be used anyway. Mrs. Cake used to make the best lemon bars I have ever tasted. I have her recipe here but I really wish I could just ask her what she did that made them so special. She probably would say something about love or family or friends being the special ingredient.”

Pinkamena goes quiet and her features droop slightly. The pages in the book close and open to the inside cover. The camera cannot see but Pinkamena traces a hoof over the page and she chews her lip, head dropping to her chest. “If that’s true, I bet her lemon bars taste pretty awful now.”

The spoon slices the piece of broccoli in half. Fibrous strings of the vegetables flesh struggle to remain intact but the spoon severs them and hefts the piece away. The remaining chunk tips over and juice spills out around it. “I love lemon bars! I haven’t had them in forever. Will you let me do it? Like today?”

Pinkamena’s head snaps like a spring. “Huh? Oh … oh yeah, of course I will, Cozy. You should learn to cook for yourself in case something was to happen to me.”

“What do you mean by that? What would happen to you?”

“N-nothing, Cozy. I’m not as young as I used to be, is all. Time catches up with everypony.”

There’s a long silence except for the chomping of vegetables so close to the camera. “So are you going to admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you lied about working in a bakery? Duh!”

A deep sigh resonates in Pinkamena’s chest as she sinks into the cushions of the chair. “Why do you insist that I’m lying, Cozy? What do I have to gain by telling you I worked at Sugar Cube Corner when I didn’t?”

The spoon rattles against the hardwood and gulping noises are heard in close proximity to the camera. An empty transparent glass slams just inside the frame. Small rivulets of juice blaze a trail towards the bottom of the glass. “You just want to mess with me. Just like everyone else! Everypony lied to me for no good reason. I ended up getting turned to stone because of it. It wasn’t very fun, you know. I was there for a long time.”

“You’re right. That’s why I cut you free of the others on that statue and dragged your heavy little stone body all the way back here; so I could lie to you. Too bad you figured me out before I could execute my master plan.”

Cozy doesn’t answer right away. The spoon dawdles back and forth on the plate making tiny scraping noises. Her voice is weak, unguarded for the first time. “Why did you ... help me?”

Pinkamena stretches her long legs and hops to her hooves. She turns to face Cozy and takes a step towards her. Glacial eyes stop on the camera, a smirk twisting her lips into a crooked scratch. “Maybe I thought such a cute filly shouldn’t be petrified forever. That’s a stiff punishment for one so small, even if she did try to take over Equestria. Did you learn anything from your failure?”

Cozy raises an eyebrow. “Get better help next time,” she says, her voice flat and impertinent..

“How about there not being a next time? Someone might miss you if you got turned to stone again.” Having crossed the distance, Pinkamena stands partially in the frame from the shoulder down to the knee.

“Nobody would miss me. I think you are like me, nobody likes you.” The filly’s tone has turned dour. “I think you were lonely. That’s why you brought me here.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I didn’t think being stone was a harsh enough punishment. Bad fillies like you have to learn the hard way. They have to eat … broccoli.” The camera suddenly jerks loose in one fluid motion of the mare’s leg. The camera spins and looks down on the top of Cozy’s blue curls. Pinkamena kisses the top of the filly’s head causing an explosion of giggles before the camera is shut off.