When The Past Is A Present (You'd Like To Return)

Pinkie was cleaning her house happily, her hair as poofy as it had ever been. The poofiness was new, seeing as she had been wearing her mane down as of late, but she didn’t question it. After all, she was allowed to be happy. The curls in her mane reflected her inner happiness, and today they sprung out, uncontrollable and funny. Today was cleaning day, however, and so her hair was contained – or at least was attempted to be contained – by a nice hair net.

Hopping over to the wall, she lifted her hooves to it, the suction cups on her hooves taking hold of the hard surface and sticking clean. She began to walk up the wall, walking to a small clock hanging on the bakery wall. She began to dust it off happily, flicking the duster this way and that. Looking closely at the clock, she saw it read to nearly noon. She’d been cleaning all day.

Looking around, though upside down, she saw Sugar Cube Corner already shown and sparkled with cleanliness. “Huh. Guess I’ve done a lot today.” She giggled slightly. “Maybe I should stop for a bit,” she said, blowing a stray curl out of her face. Hopping off of the wall, she landed on her hooves. Instantly, all of her ‘cleaning outfit’ sprang off of her and landed in a heap around her. She picked them up, giggling, and hopped upstairs to put them away.

As she reached her room, she heard a small voice drift out from inside. "Whiskeh... Whut're ya duin, whiiiiiiski... 'R yew all dolled up liek a barmaid?” This strange seeming sentence was followed by light snoring. Pinkie giggled and walked inside her room, glancing at her sleeping husband. He was curled up in their bed again, clutching a whiskey bottle to his chest as though it was a teddy bear.

She rolled her eyes slightly at his sleepy mutterings. “Oh, Oby,” she whispered softly to herself, feeling yet another small surge of love for the Irish pony. She had met him years ago, and yet her love for him never died. She put away her clothing and heard a small clink as Obreon dropped his empty whiskey bottle under the bed, shifting to the right. She walked over, kissed him lightly as not to wake him, and reached under the bed to grab the bottle.

As she searched for the bottle, her hoof touched a small box under the bed. A puzzled look alighting her face, she pulled the box out, the bottle forgotten. The box wasn’t anything spectacular, a small grey, faded thing with old words etched into the top. ‘When the Past is this present’ it said. Pinkie couldn’t remember in what circumstance she had written this. Nor could she remember the contents of the box, or the box even existing in the first place. Blowing dust off of the top, she saw a small word written there in what looked to be a foals writing. It seemed gibberish to most, but as Diane read the word, it sparked her memory. An old made up language she and her…

She ran her hoof over the word. “Olotesli,” she whispered, careful not to wake her sleeping husband. “Memories…”

She lightly opened the box, admitting a small gasp. Inside were pictures and things… horrible, horrible things. Her memories of long forgotten things and pasts flooded back to her mind, gushing over her in a terrible wave. Her heart ached, seeing pictures of her sisters, a small doll of Inkie she had made, and blood… there was always so much blood…

She dug around more, finding a small necklace of teeth, all with dried blood on them. She shuddered, remembering her darker than night past. She had locked all of these memories away deep in her mind, but now she remembered it all. It was almost too much.

There was a soft groan behind her as Obreon opened his eyes. He said in a very sleepy voice, “ennithin' rong, luv?”

Pinkie shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself. “No, its fine, just found some old pictures.”

Obreon nodded slightly, then laid his head back on the pillows, falling asleep instantly. Pinkie glanced at him once, but turned back to the box quickly, tears beginning to stain her face. How could she have forgotten it all? How could she push every thought of her past away, even for a moment?

Yet now she realized, it had always been there, haunting her unknowingly. All those unforeseen nightmares, all of those unexplained terrors hiding in the shadowy caves of her mind… She had never known something like this hid in the depths of her mind, and now that she did…

Pinkamena Diane Pie was terrified.

Taking the box, she trotted downstairs. Obreon was sound asleep in his half drunken state, and therefore never heard her tears. It was mid day, and so everypony else would be out, enjoying the beautiful summer sun.

Pinkie was terrified, and she knew this was a very dangerous thing. The key reason why, she told herself, was that when she was terrified, things happened. It had all gone downhill when she had learned magic, she told herself. It consumed her now, that terror filling every aspect of her being. She had to hide it somehow, hide her past from the others, but how, HOW?!

Her eyes went to the fireplace. In a burst of magic it came to life, sparking into a blaze the fireplace nearly couldn’t hold. She tossed the box and its contents straight into the fiery hearth, her tears running down her face. She watched as the edges of the box curled and blackened, and the contents slowly were lost to ash, but it wasn’t enough. The memories of what she had done, all of the horror she had caused, it still burned brighter in her mind than any fire would. There had to be a way to counteract this, a way to end it all. Death wouldn’t work; she had tried that and failed numerous times. No… she needed time with her thoughts. Time where she would be taken care of…

There was only one choice. Poofing up a small syringe, she sighed. It was better this way. They would all know she did it, and there wouldn’t be too much cause to worry.

After all, they all knew she was insane anyways.

With a slight wince, she plunged the medication into her hoof. She felt searing pain for an instant, then she went blissfully unconscious… and she stayed unconscious…

For a very… VERY… long… time…