It didn’t have to end this way.
Pinkie knew that from the moment she had seen the carnage of her own creation. Her soft blue eyes were coated with a thin sheen of moisture as she watched the greedy flames devour those limp, lifeless bodies. The heat was blistering, melting their faces like wax until only the charred insides remained. From the smoldering ashes, smoke rose like a departing soul to the heavens, spiraling higher and higher, contaminating the air’s precious oxygen until Pinkie wanted to gag. Yet she remained motionless, frozen in place despite the flames. She would not move, would not run away, even if that meant burning along with all the others. She was the perpetrator of this scene, and she would see it to the end.
An accident. Ponies weaker than she would hide behind that excuse. It was an empty word. It meant absolutely nothing. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, but what did that mean to those crumbling into ashes before her? Lack of intent wouldn’t save their lives. All that mattered was that this disaster could have been prevented, and it wasn’t. She had failed. And this was the result.
Pinkie stared into the eyes of one of her unfortunate victims with morbid fascination. They were of an azure hue, so similar to her own it was eerie. Innocence was reflected in those eyes, even when gripped in the coldness of Death. Maybe if Pinkie reached into the flames and switched out her eyes, that would be enough to rid herself of guilt.
Somewhere in another world, an alarm rang, but still she kept her watch as a silent sentry. Even when the flames had finally eaten their fill and lay down to die with their prey, she stayed and watched transfixed as congealing blood like chocolate bled out the victim’s eyes and fell drip, drip, drip, onto the floor.
Far off in the distance, someone called her name. Pinkie turned to see Mrs. Cake run towards her, concern written in her eyes.
“Pinkie Pie?” she cried, looking around at the kitchen, now in disarray. “Oh my goodness. What happened here?”
The filly bowed her head in shame. “I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Cake,” she said with a sniffle. “I just wanted to help you bake, a-and you were with a customer, so I put the c-cookies in the oven for you, but then… then…”
After opening all the windows to let the smoke clear out, Mrs. Cake looked back and forth between her guilty apprentice and the burnt gingerbread cookies. “It doesn’t matter, Pinkie,” she told her sternly. “You’re nine years old. I’m fine with you decorating, but you’re too young to be using the oven.”
A hiccup, then a tiny sob. “I know. I’m sorry, ma’am,” Pinkie murmured, choking on her words. “I’m really, really sorry.”
The mare’s eyes softened. Such a peculiar filly, so eager to work and yet so reserved about herself. So... fragile, like there was a shell around her just about to break. “There, there, it’s okay,” she cooed, kneeling down to brush away Pinkie’s tears. “It was just an accident. There’s no need to cry. It’s all okay.”
“But it’s not okay!” Pinkie insisted. “Those gingerbread cookies were for the shop, and now they’re ruined!”
“Cookies can be replaced, dear, but you can’t. What’s important is that you’re safe.”
Pinkie rubbed the tears from her eyes. “So… so you’re not mad?”
“Well, yes, I’m a little mad that you didn’t listen to me. But you’ve learned from your mistake, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Cake,” Pinkie replied dutifully. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“Then everything’s alright,” she said, smiling down at Pinkie with gentle reassurance. “I understand that accidents happen, but as long as no one’s hurt and it doesn’t happen again, then it’s fine, Pinkie, just fine. There’s no need for tears. Tears are salty; they’re terrible ingredients for an apprentice baker who wants to make something sweet. Come on, won’t you smile for me instead?”
Smile. Smiles were rainbows streaking through the sky. Smiles were parties filled with music and dancing. Smiles were her family, the family she had left behind. Truth be told, she didn’t quite know how to smile without them.
Pinkie looked up into Mrs. Cake’s kind, smiling face, so full of warmth and love. She didn’t know if she could ever stop missing home enough to smile like that.
But she could try.
Mrs. Cake’s beaming expression only brightened as Pinkie hesitantly turned up the corners of her mouth. “Lovely,” she praised, clapping her hooves together in a final sort of manner. “Now then, why don’t you clean up, and then you can help me bake another batch. Then I’ll teach you how to use an oven without setting the house on fire. Okay?”
Pinkie nodded vigorously. “Okay!” she agreed, her hair bouncing back to its normal poofy self. Then, with her former tears forgotten, she ran off in search of a broom, with the biggest grin on her face all the while.
Mrs. Cake only watched with a smile and shake of the head before tossing the cookies into the trash.
An accident.
The words rang in Pinkie’s ears like the clanging of a bell. They were whispered in the frigid winter wind, screamed in the blaring sirens, but echoed the loudest in her memory of that fateful day from ten years ago.
An accident. It was what the firefighters told her, what her friends told her, what she even told herself. But it wasn’t true. Accidents didn’t happen twice. Accidents didn’t hurt the people she loved. At least, that was what Mrs. Cake had told her.
Just the thought of her summoned tears to Pinkie’s eyes, tears that blurred the world into pixels of orange, red, and black. Angrily, she brushed them aside. Come on, won’t you smile for me instead? That was the only thing she ever asked of her, and she couldn’t do it.
So instead, Pinkie Pie stood and cried as she watched Sugarcube Corner burn to the ground.
All around her, an army of firefighters swarmed the building, trying to quell the flames, even though it was useless. The only ponies of value had already burned. She just wished they would stop trying. She already had.
“Come on, Pinkie,” murmured Twilight, taking her by the hoof. “That’s enough now. It’s cold out. Let’s go wait in the Boutique. Pound and Pumpkin are waiting for you.”
Pound and Pumpkin. “No, I can’t see them, Twilight!” Pinkie cried, shaking her hoof free. “Please, I can’t, not after this…”
“Pinkie, sweetheart, they don’t blame you,” Rarity said, watching as Fluttershy ran over to hug Pinkie just as she devolved into tears once more. “Nopony does. It was just an accident.”
Pinkie bit back a retort at those painful words. She shouldn't get angry. They couldn’t know how she felt. They couldn't know how she had just broken a promise to one of the most important ponies in her life. They were just worried about her, just trying to help in the only way they knew how. She should be grateful for that.
It felt like she was ripping her jaw out, but eventually the corners of her mouth turned up into a watery smile. “Thank you,” she just managed to choke out. “I’m fine. I’ll be just fine.”
The words tasted of pure salt.
Numbly, Pinkie let herself be led away from the fire, with the smell of gingerbread still wafting in the air.
