Pinkamena Diane Pie’s parents watched worriedly as their daughter bustled about the barn, spreading colorful streamers, balloons and confetti across the drab room. A few tables laden with sugary confections and bowls of punch had already been set up across the hay-strewn floor, with a quintuple-layered cake dominating the scene like a looming, pink Canterhorn mountain.
“Dear Luna…” gasped her mother as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the scene. “What do you think this means, Pa?”
“I don’t know, Ma,” said her father with a scowl.
“Do you think she’s a wizard?”
“Of course not!” insisted the grizzled stallion. “We’re Amish, not gypsies.”
“So what can we do?” she asked, her voice quivering with fear.
“The only thing we can do,” he said, his voice quiet yet firm as his daughter set out yet another table filled with swirly pink cupcakes.
The perky pink filly sat alone in the drab hospital bed, fidgeting constantly as she waited for her test results. She had been told to wait patiently and not to touch anything, but something about the dull, boring white walls just screamed at her for a fresh coat of bright paint, and maybe a dartboard, Oh! And streamers! Plus some cake instead of the bland hospital food, with some maple syrup and ice cream to—
Her wandering thoughts were brought back to a semblance of focus as the door opened, and a purplish-pink pony with a childish hat and swirling lavender eyes walked into the room.
“Hello, Pinkamena,” said the purplish pony, the pinwheel on her hat spinning almost as wildly as the swirls in her eyes. “My name is Screwball.”
“Oh, why hello Doctor Screwball.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, it’s just The Screwball.”
“Oh… ” said Pinkamena hesitantly with a slight grimace. “I don’t know…that’s a pretty big stretch for a joke…”
“Don’t worry, it’ll get worse,” said Screwball as she sat down next to the pink pony’s bed. “Pinkamena, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Oh no!” gasped Pinkamena. “It won’t be canon, will it?”
“Probably not,” said Screwball with a shrug. “Technically I should only appear in a hallucinogenic state of quasi-reality, and they’re trying to use you as little as possible, and only for gag scenes.”
“But I got to go to the Gala with Blueblood!” insisted Pinkamena. Then she started to tap on her chin thoughtfully. “Or is that ‘Am going to go’? ‘Will get to going’?”
“Let’s try not to think about that particular episode, okay?” said Screwball as she pulled out a clipboard, her face turning serious. “Pinkamena, I’m afraid to tell you this, but you seem to have developed a…pineal gland.” The pink pony gasped again, and the room was filled with silence for a few moments.
“Um…is that bad?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.
“Well, technically only humans should have it, so maybe,” said Screwball with a shrug.
“What’s a human?” asked Pinkamena curiously.
“You see that thing on the other side of the words?” said Screwball as she pointed, and Pinkamena squinted at the wall.
“Yeah, I think so…”
“That’s a human.”
“Hmm…It looks like it needs to get out more…”
“Yeah, they hear that a lot…And don’t tap on screen. We’re not allowed to be meta here.”
“Oh, sorry,” said the filly with a sheepish grin as she pulled her hoof back.
“Regardless, we need to figure out the severity of your condition based on your symptoms, so I’m going to ask you a few simple questions” said Screwball as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard. First off, have you been howling at the moon?”
“Nope.”
“Sleeping in the middle of a summer afternoon?”
“Of course not! Why would I waste such a beautiful day for a picnic?”
“Can you see me?”
“Yeah, duh.”
“Hmm…Well, unfortunately it’s not a brain tumor like I was hoping, because in that case the disease would have been all in your head.”
“Ha, I see what you did there,” said Pinkamena with a chuckle. “But be careful; we don’t want to make things too dark.” Screwball shrugged.
“This isn’t canon, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right,” she said with a giggle. “Sooooooo…”
“Just one more question,” said Screwball seriously, holding her pencil at the ready. “Do you feel an urge to leave the room, buck me in the face, or have as little to do with me as possible in any other way?”
“Well, no, of course not,” said the filly with a wide grin. “You’re funny! I like you.”
“Then it’s worse than I thought,” said Screwball gravely.
“Oh no!” gasped Pinkamena again. “Wait…worse than a brain tumor?”
“I was only hoping it was a brain tumor,” clarified Screwball. “But I never believed it for a second, because as soon as I did, then it wouldn’t have been.”
“True, true,” nodded Pinkamena in agreement. “So then what did you think it was? Or what is it that you didn’t think it was? Or what was it that you thought that’s wrong so now something else is right?”
“Well, I thought you were a Discordian,” said Screwball with a disappointed sigh.
“And that is…” asked Pinkamena curiously.
“An heir of Discord, Fallen Lord of Chaos, whose purpose is to bring change and disequilibrium to the world in the name of the Sacred Chao and Hodge Podge.”
“Oooooh…” said a wide-eyed Pinkamena. “Wait, so…I’m worse than that?”
“That’s right,” said Screwball. “You’re only a HALF-Discordian.”
“Gasp!” gasped Pinkamena. “So I’m only a Hodge?”
“Actually I think you’re more of a Podge, but that’s getting into some psycho-metaphysics that you’re far too young for. You’re the first pony I’ve ever seen with this condition, but we call ponies like you ‘Wallbreakers.’”
“But…” said Pinkamena as she scratched her mane. “If you haven’t seen anypony else like me, then how do you have a name for—” Pinkamena was cut off abruptly as Screwball lightly bonked her on the head with her clipboard.
“Stop thinking logically,” scolded Screwball. “You’re better than that.”
“Sorry,” said Pinkamena guiltily.
“Anyways,” continued Screwball. “You have all the strengths of a Discordian, but none of their weaknesses.”
“What weaknesses?”
“Well, you probably get along with others, for one thing.”
“Other Discordians don’t?”
“Oh, chaos, no,” said Screwball with a shiver. “Especially other Discordians, though we can tolerate each other for a while if our purposes align.”
“That’s so sad,” the pink filly muttered.
“Causing conflict doesn’t help when it comes to making friends, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”
“So then…what do we do?” asked Pinkamena, and Screwball tilted her head in confusion.
“Do? About what?”
“Me being a… Wallbreaker or whatever,” the filly elaborated. “Like, you know, fix it.”
“Oh, well, um, nothing really,” said Screwball with a shrug.
“Why not?” asked Pinkamena, her ears turned down in disappointment.
“Because things are what they are, and aren’t what they aren’t,” said Screwball with a warm smile as she tucked the little filly into the bed. “And the best we can do is hope that we can never tell the differences and just enjoy things the way we think they are.”
“Then…” started Pinkamena before yawning loudly, her eyes drooping as she sank into the warm covers. “Then why did you tell me?”
“Because the children of Discord exist to disrupt stability before it can stagnate, each in our own different way. And maybe, just maybe, the greatest change that could happen is if everyone became friends and started to smile.” A wide grin spread across the filly’s face as she slowly began to drift off to sleep, and Screwballs eyes began to spin wildly. “Good night, Pinkie, time to wake up.”
“Mrghf,” grumbled the pink pony as she stirred beneath the covers.
“Wake up, Pinkie, wake up.”
“Five more Namek minutes, please,” muttered Pinkie as she felt a hoof gently rock her shoulder.
“Wake up, Pinkie, this is very important,” repeated the voice sternly, and Pinkie slowly pried one eye open to stare up at a blurry mass looming over her bed. “You need to get up now, Pinkie, please.” The pink pony blinked hard, and the dark haze coalesced into a dark purple alicorn, her regal eyes wide with worry.
“Princess Luna…?” mumbled Pinkie in weary confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“There’s no time for that,” said the Princess of the Night hurriedly. “Quickly, I need you to tell me if you saw her.”
“Her?”
“The Discordian,” clarified Luna. “It’s very important that I know if she was here or not.”
“Oh, you mean Screwball,” said Pinkie groggily. “Yeah, I did see her. She told me something about a stag and making ponies smile.”
“Did she tell you where she was going? Or where she was going?”
“Nope,” said Pinkie, shaking her head and yawning. “Just that it wasn’t all in my head.” Luna stared down at her with a puzzled expression before letting out a heavy sigh.
“Thank you, Pinkie. Now, there’s just one more thing I need you to do, and this is very important, okay?” asked Luna sternly. “You can’t believe anything she told you, understand? Not a word. None of it is true.”
“Of course not,” giggled Pinkie wearily as her head sank back into the pillow. “Believing something would be silly. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Luna narrowed her eyes at the expression, but otherwise nodded.
“That’s…good,” said Luna hesitantly as she walked back towards the open window and spread her wings. “Good night, Pinkie. Sleep well.”
“Fnord,” mumbled Pinkie in reply before she started snoring loudly, and Luna felt a shiver run down her spine as she took off into the night.
Author's Note
Well then... this is what happens when I'm determined to write something for the monthly event, but can't come up with any good ideas. At all. Even this one. Terrible, terrible idea. But hey, look! Words!
