Do Ponies Dream of Pink Sheep?
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Do Ponies Dream of Pink Sheep?

Pinkie Pie was jauntily bouncing through the quaint village of Ponyville with both of her saddlebags full; the sun was shining high in the sky and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The faint smell of fresh-cut grass mingled with a strangely unidentifiable scent, seeped through the the main street on a faint breeze, just enough help cool the ponies below the blazing sun, but not enough to cause them any discomfort. It was, in short, a good day.

Yet, that wasn't enough for one Pinkamena Diane Pie; she’d awoken that morning with the distinct feeling that something was... off. It was not anything she could really pin down, just a lingering feeling that something was amiss. However Pinkie, being the Element of Laughter, simply pushed it to the back of her mind and continued about her daily routine.

Her destination soon loomed in front of her, of course Pinkie didn’t notice until she nearly collided face first with the rather unusual building before her: Sugarcube Corner, in all of its faux-frosting covered glory. Easily shaking off the event, she entered her current place of employment. She immediately called out to the seemingly empty building in a merry tone:

“Mr and Mrs. Cake, I got the ingredients you wanted!”

After waiting for a few moments for a reply and getting none, she inhaled deeply in preparation for another, much louder, call. She was, however, interrupted before she could release her likely eardrum-shattering cry for her employers.

“Oh, sorry dearie, I was just trying to get Pound and Pumpkin to go to sleep. Did you manage to get everything?” uttered Mrs. Cake in her matronly voice as she slowly descended the stairs, looking haggard but still wearing a cheerful smile. Even if it did seem to be somewhat forced.

“Yeah! Well, almost, but I don’t know what ‘strawman yams’ are...” was Pinkie's clearly perplexed reply, she wore a small pout and was looking at her muzzle in concentration.

“Oh, um Pinkie, that actually says ‘strawberry jam’. It’s my fault, really! Me and Carrot are so tired after taking care of the twins, so my hoofwriting isn't as good as it should be.” Her self deprecating-reply was punctuated by a raucous yawn.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of the shop while you get some rest. It’s not very fun being tired, after all.” After confirming the brief change in management with her boss/friend, Pinkie set about cleaning up the shop and readying all of the kitchen utensils for the no doubt frenetic work that would take place the next day; the next day being the first day the bakery opened after the owners' parental leave.

Pinkie’s frantic work came to its conclusion just before the sun set and cast the village in the gloom of the night. Only after halting her activity did Pinkie really realise just how tired she was from all of the work she had done previously, though most normal ponies would've noticed their fatigue far before her if they had done the same amount of work she had. She lazily wandered up to her room, her hooves producing a reverberating clopping on the wooden stairs. After hearing just how loud her movements were, her ears folded back in fear of having woken any member of the Cake family. Thankfully, the building remained silent, its occupants ignorant to the grating noise her hoof beats produced. Regardless of this, she still resolved to be less indiscriminate with the force she used when walking.

After managing to enter her brightly lit room with a minimum of noise produced, making sure to close and lock it as quietly as possible, she allowed herself to relax. Though she loved spending time with her friends, she did occasionally need some time to herself; in that context her room acted like her sanctuary. If she wasn’t throwing a party within it, that is.

As she laid her head upon her bright pink and white pillow, which almost completely engulfed it, the sense of foreboding that she had been trying to ignore throughout the day came back full force. And no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it simply wouldn't stop pestering her.

My Pinkie Sense hasn't gone off, so it can’t be anything super-duper serious.

After giving it thought for a few more minutes, she decided to confront it in the morning; she was too tired to deal with it at the time.

It’ll probably be gone by the morning anyway...

Pinkie had pleasant dreams that night, full of ideas incomprehensible to any pony other than herself. Dreams far removed from the feelings she’d had before succumbing to the need for her body to slumber.

She awoke in the small hours of the morning, slowly being dragged from the vale of sleep. She tried to open her eyes, only to find her vision distorted and blurry, and her eyelids nearly welded shut; her brain was far from running optimally so she didn’t immediately try to clear her eyes of the debris that both obscured her vision and crusted her eyelids.

As her thoughts slowly regained a modicum of clarity, she noticed several things that were odd about her room; after clearing her eyes of course. The room was fairly plain, even mundane by Pinkie’s standards; lacking the decoration it held the night prior. Even her sheets and pillow were bright white, something her previously addled brain failed to notice. This... was a concern.

What happened to my room!? Is this some kind of prank, because if it is, it isn't funny. Wait... how would they replace my pillow?

When she scanned the room, however, there was no tell-tale sign that it had been tampered with: the door was locked, the window was closed and everything was neat and orderly. The second thing she noticed about her new location, was the fine layer of dust coating almost every conceivable part of the room; as if it hadn't been used in an age. Pinkie, her electric blue eyes wide and unblinking, jumped out of bed and onto the bare wooden floor. The unused floorboards groaned in protest of the sudden movement. Pinkie was too immersed in her own thoughts to notice the rumbling sound.

Is this a dream? No, can’t be, there are way more flying alligators in my dreams. Did I sleep-redecorate? But where would I get the dust from...

Her thoughts continued in that manner for the next few minutes, at which point she finally worked up the courage to find out what had happened to her previously festive room. She then carefully jimmied open the lock and opened the door, which was thankfully silent. In contrast to the nearly bare room behind her, the corridor she had entered did not differ from the one she had walked through countless times before. After checking for any signs of the buildings’ other occupants being awake, she hesitantly began walking down the corridor; still mindful of the noise produced. Even the smallest creak of a floorboard would startle her, the earlier revelation hadn't done much to help her disposition, after all. Pinkie cautiously descended the staircase, every hoof fall being followed by a short halt in movement which Pinkie used to scan for any out of place sounds within the shop.

She managed to enter the main room of the shop without gaining any unwanted attention, she saw sunlight pouring through the shop window: baking supplies left out, flour occasionally spattered across various surfaces. It looked, for lack of a better word, normal. She strode up to the closed door and put her hoof on it, it opened without any noise of protest. It obviously wasn't locked, as nopony had any reason to lock their home in Ponyville.

The weather outside the bakery looked like it would be a repeat of the day prior, birdsong filled the air and there was the faint scent of freshly cut grass being carried on the breeze. Although there was another scent, mostly masked by the comparatively stronger scent of grass, it was a dank, sour smell. But, as soon as it appeared it was gone.

She spotted one of her friends walking nearby, her eyes closed and a small smile adorning her cream coloured face, it was Roseluck; the local rose vendor. Pinkie changed direction to intercept her.

Maybe she knows what’s going on, worth a try anyway.

A friendly conversation, however, was not the outcome of Pinkies advance; rather, when Roseluck opened her brilliant green eyes, they widened in barely constrained horror. Before Pinkie knew it, she was staring at an empty patch of space once occupied by a certain botanist, who was now sprinting down the street as fast as her body would allow her. This, understandably, left Pinkie extremely puzzled.

What’s her problem? I just wanted to say hi, it’s not like I was gonna banish her to the moon...

Thoroughly disappointed by the failure of the attempted conversation, she started meandering further into the village, determined to find answers. Unbeknownst to the pink mare, her mane had had started to become considerably more orderly after her encounter with Roseluck. This, of course, was a rather bad omen. She continued in this state for some time, trundling through the empty streets of the usually tumultuous village. That was another cause for concern, but one Pinkie didn’t acknowledge at the time due to her being absorbed in her increasingly disconcerting thoughts. As a matter of fact, she almost didn’t notice the magnificent golden chariot that landed a scant few metres ahead of her, the chassis reflecting the blinding rays of the sun with a minimal loss of lustre.

As a matter of fact, she also barely registered a rather cowardly looking brown colt hop out of it; the chariot all but dwarfing him in comparison. She was only ripped from her reverie when he nervously cleared his throat to get her attention, only to cower before her when she looked directly into his light orange eyes.

“Uh m-milady, I was instructed to find you and bring you back to Canterlot; there are important matters that need to be dealt with immediately.” After finishing his declaration, he gestured to the chariot behind him, with two large white stallions waiting patiently for him to pick up his quarry. Pinkie found his behaviour to be quite vexing.

Why would they need me in Canterlot? Does the Princess need me for something. Ooh! Maybe it’s got something to do with my room!

Her expression having brightened considerably after she had formed her conclusion, she happily clambered up onto the idle chariot. When she found that the strange new colt wasn’t following, she quirked an eyebrow in confusion. The brown colt noticed this and quickly stammered out an excuse.

“A-ah, I’m afraid that I won’t be coming with you, I have business here that I must see to. T-terribly sorry, milady.” He performed an awkward bow and abruptly turned to go about his business. Even as the chariot took off, Pinkie couldn't help but wonder at her new acquaintance’s strange behavior.

Don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘milady’ before... and why did he bow?

The entire venture was becoming more and more disquieting the further she investigated it...

After roughly an hour spent with her troubled thoughts, barely registering the sound of rushing wind or the beautiful scenery around her, she decided to at least enjoy the ride there and to spend less time brooding. As she looked out over the edge of the chariot, she was dazzled by the light being reflected off of a nearby lake; its clear waters serene with only a few gentle waves rolling across its otherwise still surface. The limpid water of the lake was the exact opposite of Pinkie’s muddled mind. She turned her head to examine the beautiful spires of Canterlot Castle. Her regular visits had taken some of the awe of the sight away, but it was an amazing sight nonetheless. She turned her head away from the towering spires of Canterlot and resumed her silent vigil over the land of Equestria.

After a few more minutes of listless staring she was surprised by a sudden loss in momentum and an abrupt change in surroundings, they had landed in a part of the castle she hadn’t seen before.

Wait, I’m sure Canterlot was further away than that...

Attributing the time lost to her absent daydreaming, she giddily hopped off the chariot; eager for answers from the wisest pony in the entirety of Equestria. The two guards unlatched themselves from the heavy looking mahogany harness used to pilot the chariot and took up positions on either side of Pinkie. This action made the normally extroverted and friendly pony shrink into herself a small bit, unused to the strange treatment she was receiving from... well, everypony she’d met that day. They entered one of the many marble corridors of the castle; the plush red rug felt amazingly soft and comfortable on her hooves. Something about the castle always set her at ease, like it radiated contentment. She was soon brought to an ornately decorated white door, intricate swirling patterns made of gold covering a good portion of it, which the guards then opened for her.

“If there is anything you need, just call on us, milady.” The guard’s deep voice startled her. Noticing her distress, the guards bowed their heads and shut the door for her.

They called me ‘milady’ again. Why do they keep doing that? It’s getting seriously weird.

When she turned to observe the room she found herself in, her jaw nearly dropped from shock. The room was gargantuan, containing a king size bed with satin sheets and golden bedposts at the far end of the room. There was also a massive study closer to where she was standing dumbfounded; bookshelves filled to the brim with ancient tomes lined the walls nearest to her. All these shelves surrounded a massive fireplace with a cluster of large floor pillows strewn nearby.

“This can’t be right, this room looks fit for a... princess...”

Her stomach dropped with the sudden realisation; that this must have been the Princess’s room. But why was she there? Still reeling from the shock of the revelation, and hoping desperately for it not to be true, she looked for anything which would even slightly discredit her theory. Spotting a golden sheen on one of the nearby bookshelves, she stumbled over only to find a single bit; the image of Celestia emblazoned upon the front, and Luna on the reverse. After seeing the familiar coin, she let out a sigh of relief and started scanning the room once again for anything that could shed further light on the recent events that she had been subject to.

After a few moments of searching, she thought that she saw a flicker at the periphery of her vision, she quickly turned her head back to the coin in hopes of catching whatever had caused the brief disturbance. What she saw made her drop the coin nestled in the frog of her hoof. The golden coin landed on the marble floor with a harsh click. What she saw on the coin still hadn’t changed though. Indented into the coin lay the portrait of a pony she was very familiar with; it was a portrait of Pinkamena Diane Pie.

Pinkie started hyperventilating, beads of sweat making her now limp mane cling to her face like seaweed on a rock. Her ragged gasps came sporadically as she started to cry, the shock from the day’s events taking hold over her mind. She lost herself to her melancholy state, not wanting to think about anything; especially not the new reality she found herself within.

She didn’t realise that she had been backpedalling frenziedly until she impacted with the door with a muffled thump. All of her feelings were overridden by panic; she needed to get out. She didn’t know where or how, she just wanted to run. She threw open the door and prepared to run like she never had before, her muscles tensing in anticipation. What she saw in the hallway broke through the veil of panic that had been cast over her mind. It was not the corridor she remembered. Instead of marble there was shale grey stone, with the floor bare of any decoration. She ran.

As she ran the scenery kept blinking and stuttering, each time being replaced by new material: at one moment she would be surrounded by black spires and the other she would be running through a festive hall. One moment it would be day, and the next would be twilight, the moon would then replace the waning sun to cast an ominous glow through the endless corridors.

Soon, Pinkie found that adrenalin could no longer sustain her frenetic sprint she collapsed in a heap upon a plush red carpet; half of her face was engulfed by the warm embrace of the fabric. Her eyelids grew heavy and eventually closed.

I’ll just close my eyes for a second... run later...

When she reopened her eyes, everything was green, obscuring her vision to the point where should only see a few inches in front of her own muzzle. It was liquid; she was entombed in a viscous liquid. Pinkie tried, in vain, to hold in her breath; not knowing the purpose of the fluid. She began to thrash around in blind panic, her movements slowed by the thickness of the neon green solution that encased her. When she felt her lungs begin to burn her left forehoof finally found purchase. She pushed with all of her remaining strength, all rational thought replaced with the single-minded desire to escape. She heard something faintly crack, and that was all it took to release her. The ichorous fluid oozed out of its casing, bringing Pinkie along with it. As soon as she felt the cold, damp air on her coat and cool floor beneath her, she started to relax. When she tried to take a breath she found herself coughing up the same fluid she had so recently escaped. Her lungs felt as though they were about to explode and her diaphragm felt as though it would fail if she continued to hack up the glowing goo for much longer. Finally she was able to take a breath of air, only to immediately regret it. The air was dank and stale and a sour, earthy stench pervaded the area; like wet earth and sour milk. The acrid stench was so strong that it nearly overpowered her senses.

When she finally found the courage to open her eyes, she nearly screamed in fright. Everything was black: the walls, the floor and even the ceiling was made of the same shiny black material. The only thing that illuminated the cavernous space were the countless green pods lining the room; each one containing a vaguely pony shaped mass. She could see the outlines of horns and wings through the thick crystalline shells that bound them to their fate.

Her horrified and traumatised brain still registered a number of raspy, almost ethereal, voices in the distance.

“175-DV has lost connecti-”

“Restrain it at any -”

Pinkie peeled herself off the slick floor, the congealed goo coating her making it that much harder. After a brief struggle, she stood on legs that felt like they hadn’t been used in years. She wanted to run. To scream. Yet her body protested, she could do nothing but shamble and whimper quietly; the rasping voices grew louder but try as she might, she could not hope to outrun them. She began a slow canter in a vain attempt to gain distance from the voices, to make it all go away. Yet her lungs burned with every breath she took and every step threatened to send her careening to the dark, hard ground. The voices grew ever closer, and Pinkie only grew weaker; there would be no escape for her.

When they were nearly upon her, she saw a brief flash of green light and her body grew heavy. Her limbs turned to jelly and her mind went blank as she collapsed onto the cool, moist floor. Tears sprung from her eyes, trickling across her matted and saturated dark pink fur. Her straight mane had fallen over one of her eyes, she didn’t care: she knew it was the end for her. The last thing she saw was a fluorescent blue eye, framed by pitch dark chitin, staring down at her in contempt before darkness overwhelmed her consciousness.

Pinkie opened her eyes, only to be greeted by the rays of the warm summer sun bathing her room in light. A soft smile graced her face as she nuzzled her bright pink and white pillow, only then did she realise that most of her sheets had been thrown to the floor, creased and soaked in sweat.

“Jeez... what was I dreaming about last night? Meh, if I don’t remember it then it isn’t important.”

She energetically hopped from her bed to collect her sheets, her hooves hitting the floor with a soft clip-clop as she reached down to gather them up. After making her bed and collecting her saddlebags, she decided to set off to see one of her best friends before Sugarcube Corner opened; she wasn’t quite sure which one at the time.

She unlocked her plain wooden bedroom door and set off into the depths of Ponyville, after passing through the bakery, where sunlight streaming through the window highlighted their goods. The front door wasn't locked, it never was, so she skipped out onto the streets of Ponyville unimpeded, humming a tune only she was privy to knowing.

The weather was as perfect as the day prior. Ponies stopped in the streets to greet the pink mare with cheerful smiles on their faces. Birdsong filled the morning air and there was the faint scent of freshly cut grass being carried on the breeze. Pinkie could've sworn that there was another scent in the air for a brief moment; one that smelled like wet earth and sour milk...

Author's Note

Came up with this idea earlier, hope everyone liked it! As usual, please leave comments.