Pinkamena Diane Pie. She was a nobody. There were only a select few people who actually knew her name. People had a number of things that they said to make a reference to her, though even those were small in amount.

The girl with the long pink hair that swung in front of her face. The girl that never talked. The girl with haunted, blue eyes. The girl that wore pink, light blue, or yellow long sleeved shirts, jeans, and a baby blue hoodie everyday, no matter the weather outside. The girl with the tall, dark blue boots that went up to her knees.

That's what people knew of her. But this is what people called her.

Retard. Slow. Stupid. Freaky.

That's just a sampling.

Pinkamena Diane Pie grabbed her books from her locker and stowed them in her dark blue book bag. One half of her face was concealed by her silky soft, pink hair that trailed down her back and shoulders. She shifted her backpack onto her shoulders and shut her locker softly, all the while looking at the floor. She took a deep breath and began walking forward slowly, hunched over as not to show anyone her face.

A girl with boyish looking hair came strolling down the hallway. A lock of long hair was swept across her forehead, slightly above her left eye. The hair was dyed red, orange, and yellow. The rest of her short hair was green, blue, and purple. She flashed her rose eyes across the pink haired girl and gave her a small smile. She was wearing a pair of sky blue basketball shorts and shoes, along with a white team jersey that had the number 3 on the front and back, with 'Dash', written across the back near her shoulders. "Colts" was the team name, written in yellow letters, right above the number, which was red. 'Dash' was in blue. A basketball was tucked under her arm.

Her eyes sparkled as she saw Pinkamena. "Hi, Pinkie Pie," the sporty girl snickered. She held out her hand in a fist bumping gesture. Pinkamena stared at it blankly. The girl's smile turned into one of pity. "Not today, either, I guess. I'll get one out of you someday, Pinkie." She gave the pink haired girl a wink and entered the gym. That was Rainbow Dash. Best athlete at Equestria High. Talented in everything from basketball to track, she was the four year in a row winner of the 'Most Talented Athlete' trophy. She met with Pinkemena one time in freshman year, wanting an answer for a math problem she was struggling on, and had formed a somewhat one-sided relationship with her after she had given her the solution. Although she never spoke a word, Rainbow would always try to be pals. Even after four years, as they were seniors now, she was still determined to be friends. The sporty girl always tried to be nice to everyone she met, even if you wouldn't expect it.

Pinkie Pie was a nickname that Dash had also bestowed on her. She never said it to anyone else. It was her little secret. Although she didn't admit it, she actually liked it. It made her seem fun, even when she was not.

So after Rainbow Dash left, Pinkamena continued walking. She kept her hunched over position. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge anyone else in the halls.

"Pinkamena! Can I talk to you for a second?" a small, possibly the smallest voice you've ever heard asked. Pinkamena stopped in her tracks. A taller girl with lengthy, light pink hair walked up to her shyly, clutching a biology book closely to her chest.

The girl was wearing a light yellow shirt with butterflies on the front. Her grass colored skirt went down to her blue sneaker-covered feet. Her teal eyes glanced around nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything you might've been doing, but-but I wanted to know, if, maybe, I don't know, you'd like to-- I mean, wouldn't mind doing--" she squeaked, hiding in her hair. "Maybe, maybe. . . oh, never mind. I'm sorry I wasted your time, which you could totally be spending doing something else, but. . sorry," she whispered. With that, the tall girl snuck down, seemingly evaporating into the crowd of students leaving the high school.

Pinkamena blinked once and continued walking. That train wreck was Fluttershy, the school's shyest person, and also quite possibly the most apologetic one. That girl said sorry over almost everything, even something as simple as reading something wrong in class. She had a closer personality to Pinkamena, but she still didn't say a word.

And so with that gone, another person came into contact with the pink haired girl. A blonde chick with a cowboy hat on and hair pulled back in a ponytail glanced sideways for a second and ran straight into her.

"Oh! Ah'm so sorry about that, Pinkamena! Let me help ya," the girl said immediately. Pinkamena could recognize Applejack without even looking at her. She just had to hear her voice, as that was hint enough. The cowgirl was wearing her signature hat, which were allowed in school, oddly enough. She had a pair of jeans on, with dark brown cowboy boots and a checkered, orange, buttoned-up shirt that had a slight collar on it. Her shirt, as always, was tucked into her pants, all fixed together with a brown leather belt emblazoned with a shiny gold buckle.

Pinkamena shrugged, then turned away. She felt a grip on her arm and immediately broke away, a gasp escaping her lips. She locked eyes with Applejack, whose shining green ones gazed upon her with shock. Pinkamena growled threateningly and spun around once again, trying to hide her tears that started sliding down her face.

"Wait, sugar cube! Ah didn't mean to. . "

Applejack stood, dumbfounded. She was stricken. She would never forget those terrified, baby blue eyes.

Pinkamena wiped at her eyes with her sweatshirt, smearing mascara on the beautiful light blue fabric. She quickly hid it, hoping her mother wouldn't notice it. She stopped, chest heaving, against a locker. There was a light tap on her shoulder. Pinkamena gasped and pressed herself back to the locker.

The beautiful, violet haired teen standing in front of her looked at Pinkamena with a worried glimmer in her sapphire eyes. Oh, Rarity. She was dressed in a light purple tank top with a white overcoat covering the thin straps. A teal skirt was layered over a pair of black tights, which were under her purple high heels. There was a diamond hanging from a string around her neck, and a matching shiny wrist band looped around her arm. Her perfectly curled hair swirled dazzlingly around her back and shoulders. A long twist hung to one side of her face.

"Darling, are you okay? I saw what happened. Applejack didn't mean to hurt you," Rarity said.

Pinkamena opened and closed her mouth, no words forming as more tears flowed down her pale cheeks. She nodded her head quickly and slapped a sleeved hand over her mouth.

"Now, dear, why don't you tell me what's bothering you while I make you a new outfit? You've surely got to be sick of those same old clothes everyday," Rarity added, going for Pinkamena's small hand. The pink haired girl shook her head vigorously and pulled away, running down the hall.

"Pinkamena!"

Rarity's smooth voice faded out. Pinkamena ducked around other students, taking care not to bump into any of them. Her arm hurt badly, but it wasn't from Applejack.

She knew Rarity had been trying to be kind. But she couldn't let anybody know. And besides, there was still one more girl that she knew she would see before the day was over.

Twilight Sparkle. The smartest person in school, as well as the most awkwardly social person. She didn't really know how to talk to people, though she wasn't shy. Twilight was a shorter girl. . .well, okay, smallest girl in the grade (also, very curvy). But, she could pack a punch if you made fun of her height. Now she was hurrying towards Pinkamena as she started her walk home. Both of them lived on the same street, so the indigo haired girl would often accompany her journey.

"Heyah, Pinkamena. You okay?" Twilight asked, still slightly out of breath from her run. Pinkamena nodded. Her tears had dried already.

"Okay. If you say so." Twilight gave her a worried glance and said nothing more. The smarty was dressed in a collared purple button-up shirt, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. She wore a pair of jeans and a pair of white Converse. An indigo tie hung from around her neck, matching her mane that was streaked with dark pink and purple.

They walked on in silence. Soon, Twilight turned, waving. "Well, seeyah. Bye, Pinkamena. Have a great day." She gave her a sweet smile and walked up her driveway. Pinkamena stared for a minute, then continued walking. She was nearly to her house. As she got to the top of her hill, she saw that her mother's car was gone.

Good. Now she could wash her sweatshirt before she saw it.

Pinkamena entered her house, the cooling systems on. She sighed slightly. The cool air felt nice. Pinkamena took off her sweatshirt and boots, setting the large blue footwear by the door on the small yellow "welcome" rug. She padded down towards the laundry room and began to prepare the washing machine. As soon as the soap and whatever else was added, she closed it and left the room. The sound of a door opening made her stop in her tracks. Pinkamena froze in terror, shoving the yellow sleeve of her shirt in her mouth to stop her frightened breathing.

"Pinkamena! I know you're home, so I'm just here to tell you that I'm leaving for a while! Don't get into any trouble!" a lady's voice shouted roughly. Within a second or two, the door shut and the engine of a car was heard.

Pinkamena sighed happily, sliding down the wall she had been leaning against. The few tears that had been gathering in her eyes rolled down her cheeks in relief. Her mother wouldn't find out. She wouldn't come home for hours. All she would have to do was lock the door to her room tonight, and she would be safe.

Pinkamena sat in bed; hair freshly washed and a pair of light blue pajamas on. She was currently reading a book. The house was silent, the moon rising in the background, shining in through the window, casting its soft glow on the carpet. A white lamp sat on the nightstand next to her, allowing her to read in the darkness.

A loud crash downstairs jerked Pinkamena out of her book. She cringed, sinking into the covers. Her mother was home. And drunk, most likely.

"Pinkamena! Get the fuck down here!" she heard her mother scream. The sound of a breaking beer bottle echoed in the small house. Pinkamena squeaked, hiding under the covers. Her door was locked; she was safe. She just needed to wait until morning. Her mother was always nicer on Saturdays.

"Get the fuck down here, you pathetic excuse for a child! Or I'll come up and get you!"

Pinkamena curled in her bed, tears dripping down her face. Her mother had no right to say those things. It wasn't her fault her dad died. It was an accident. She hadn't even been there, at the crash. She had been but twelve at the time.

It wasn't her fault-- was it?

"That's it!" her mother exclaimed drunkenly, "I'm getting the belt!"

She can't get you. She can't get you. She can't get you. You're safe. You're safe here.

There was a pounding at the door. Pinkamena shrunk down, sobbing quietly.

"Ha! Think that's gonna work anymore? I have a key! Just got it today for this very purpose!"

There were loud footsteps and then the doorknob jiggled. Pinkamena's pupils shrunk to the size of dots and she cowered. She was completely defenseless.

The door opened and in came the drunk woman. Her brown hair was in disarray, clothes ruffled, breath smelling of alcohol. She had in one hand the key to the room and in the other; a folded up belt.

"Get out of bed and get over here!" her mother shouted.

"Please! Mom, just go to bed, please! I didn't do anything wrong!" Pinkamena cried, trying to scoot farther back in her bed.

"That's what you always say! But what you did will forever be punishable!" Her mother stomped forward and lunged towards the pink haired girl trembling in her bed. Pinkamena dodged her mother's outstretched hand and threw the covers off her, running to the bathroom.

"Get fucking back here you disappointing retard!" the woman hollered, her voice slightly slurred.

"I'm not a disappointment! You are!" Pinkamena sobbed, glancing over her shoulder at her mother. That just made her angrier and she came after her quicker than ever. Unprepared, Pinkamena was grabbed by the wrist and shoved down the stairs. She tumbled down, hitting her head and lay crying at the bottom.

"You do not back talk! I'm the master of this household!" The woman stomped down the stairs and grabbed Pinkamena's hair, lifting her face up.

Her mother held the belt up behind her head and brought it down on her daughter's backside. After a few whacks there, she began hitting her back and shoulders.

"Ow! M-mom, p-please stop!" Pinkamena cried, wriggling in her mother's grasp. She curled in a ball, trying to stop the brunt of the pain. She sobbed hysterically as she was beaten. After a while, her mother did stop. She dropped the crying teen on the floor and came back with a lighter and knife in her hands.

"I'll cut your stupid little face!" her mother screamed. Pinkamena tried to get up, but was stopped as her guardian brought her foot down on her back. The teen cried and tried to shove off her mother's foot, but in return for her struggling, she was given a few smacks of the belt.

"Don't move or I'll put you over my knee!" her mother screeched, stomping down hard on her daughter's back. She glared harshly at her before resuming what she had been doing. The knife was held up and the lighter under it, the small blue flame burning the sharp metal. Soon, it was hot to the touch. The mother crouched down, taking her foot off Pinkamena's back and instead held the knife to her face.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she hissed in her quivering and crying daughter's ear. Then, without a beat, she pulled the hot blade across Pinkamena's forehead. The teen screeched in pain and sobbed more violently, twisting in her mother's grip. She then rolled up the poor girl's sleeves and ran the knife across the sensitive flesh. Red, hot blood from the wounds dropped onto the floor, staining Pinkamena's clothes and the normally grey carpet. After numerous cuts and stab wounds marked her daughter's arms, face, stomach, and chest, the adult stood up, disgusted. She wiped the blood off the knife with Pinkamena's pajamas and gave her a violent kick in the stomach. The teen was curled up on the floor, sobbing violently.

"You disgust me, you worthless piece of shit." Her mother spat on her. "You're the reason your father died. It will always be your fault. It's on your shoulders, you selfish brat. Fucking die in Hell." She gave her daughter one more look of utter disgust before turning and walking to her room, leaving the broken teen on the floor, bleeding.

Pinkamena sobbed for hours. She laid there at the bottom of the stairs. Finally, when some of the pain had gone, she hauled herself into a sitting position. Her whole body burned like crazy. From the belting to the cutting, this had been one of the worst nights yet. The teen coughed, blood spitting out from her cut lip. She began crawling up the stairs towards her room. Blood dripped onto the wooden stairs, but who cared. Her mother would leave for work tomorrow and she'd be gone all day. Then Pinkamena would clean it up when she left.

Upon reaching her room, she collapsed. Her whole body ached, and after a few minutes of horrible pain, she passed out on her light blue floor.

Pinkamena awoke around noon, her body clenched. She sat up. The dried and crusted blood from last night's ordeal cracked, flakes crumbling onto the carpet. She held her head. She stood up shakily and undressed, observing the wounds inflicted by her mom. The old bruises had just been starting to fade. Fresh bruises and cuts now marked her pale body. She set about bandaging herself.

After that, she just stayed in her underwear. Her chest was taped up to cover the horrible bruising and stabs. As for the ones on her face; well, she had makeup to cover those. Long, wide marks on her back and shoulders, including her backside, indicated where her mom had severely beaten her with the belt. The teen sat at her desk, head swimming. Being thrown down the stairs had probably taken a toll when she had hit her head.

Why did she stay with her mother? All the beatings, all the verbal abuse, all the horrible deeds. Why? Was it because she felt some pity for her mother, who had not only lost her husband, but the son she had given birth to? Her little brother, Lucky Seven, had been killed in that accident as well, not just her father, Cloud Nine.

No. It was because her mother was right. It was all Pinkamena's fault they were dead. She was needing to be picked up from musical rehearsal, and it was up to her father to do that. But on the way, they crashed. It was instantaneous. There was no saving them. So her family, in the blink of an eye, had been shattered. Pinkamena knew why her mother blamed her.

Her eye twitched. She'd known this information all her life, but had refused to just admit it was her fault. Being faced with outright cracking under the pressure and knowledge of what she'd done, even if unintentionally, was enough to make her break.

So Pinkamena did the only thing she could do. She thought of her "friends." The people that wanted to be closer, but her own wits and terrors kept them away. Her mind racing, Pinkamena plopped down in her chair, pulled herself up to her desk, and fished for some paper and a pencil in the drawers. Her hand flowed across the page.

She thought of Rainbow Dash, the loyal, determined, brash tomboy who wanted to become the fastest runner in all of the world, the girl who was the best athlete she'd ever known; even better than the professionals, in her mind. She thought of the rainbow hair, cut in a boy's hairstyle with a sweep of bangs across her forehead. She remembered the sky blue basketball shorts she was known for wearing. Her mind went over the colors on her team jersey, the one Dash herself had designed, just for her image. Always having some sort of ball or sport item in her hands. The way she'd hold out her fist for a bump even when she knew she'd never actually get one back; talk about devoted to a cause.

Pinkamena thought of Fluttershy, the sweet, quiet, shy, timid, and tall girl who was the nicest person she'd ever met in her life. The way she talks, the way she walks, the way she smiles and apologizes for every little thing. Her long, flowing hair, her love towards animals, her amazing eyes which with one look, would have you mesmerized. The way she squeaked incoherent answers when she was talking. When she got angry and lashed out, eyes huge and quivering, making even the toughest of bullies cower beneath her gaze.

Pinkamena thought of Applejack, the honest farm girl with the southern accent. The real cowgirl that actually rode bulls and attended rodeos. The way her hair was always in a ponytail, always underneath that dusty old hat. The shiny belt buckle from one of her rodeos, the one that she admitted to polishing everyday. The thump of her boots on the hard linoleum floor of the high school. Her tucked in checkered shirts. The spattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose.

Pinkamena thought of Rarity. She was the most absolutely beautiful girl at the school, maybe even in the state. Her dazzling smile, sapphire eyes, and royal purple hair that swung rhythmically behind her, curling and uncurling with every movement of her body. The way she did one flip of her hair and all the boys in the area would have their mouths on the floor, so in awe of her beauty. The click of her high heels and the occasional boot as she walked. The way she had every boy wrapped around her little finger. The light shining off her diamond necklace and matching bracelet, little rainbows flashing around as the sun's rays were reflected off the surface.

Pinkamena thought of Twilight, the book nerd and awkward socialist. The small bounce to her step as she walked. Her curving bangs flowing over her forehead, leaving a wide space underneath. The streaks of pink and purple that ran through the indigo color. The always present book under her arm. That sweet smile that seemed to beg "come over here and talk to me." Her violet eyes, always filled with caring and compassion. Her slightly darker skin and short stature. How she was always trying to learn something new. How she always walked with Pinkamena on her way home, even if she never talked.

Pinkamena thought of herself. How she wanted to be loved by her mother, how she wanted to not be abused, but happy, and how she wanted her family back. She wanted everyone to know her name and remember it, too.

Finally, the colored pencil in her hand dropped. The paper that had been sitting in front of her was now covered in figures. Six small ponies, in fact. Each one their own color and personality. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, Twilight Sparkle, and Pinkamena-- no, Pinkie Pie. But instead of a flat, boring hairstyle, on her head was now a mane full of bouncing pink hair that reminded her of cotton candy.

Pinkamena stared at the picture. Maybe in real life she was Pinkamena, but in her world, she was Pinkie Pie. She hugged the picture tight and proceeded to hang it up on her wall with a tack.

Then, she turned to her mirror. Her delusional, crazy mind was working on overdrive. The full length mirror held her reflection in it for a few moments longer before it changed. Now, instead of an unhappy, abused teen, she saw Pinkie Pie. The happy pony grinned, showing flashy teeth, and put her hooves on the glass.

Pinkamena giggled. Her eyes twitched, going in different directions. The pony in the mirror smiled larger and began pushing her way through it. Her head emerged, then the front of her body. She sat like that, grinning at the now crying teen. Pinkamena looked with teary eyes at the pony. She gripped her head, a smile on her face. Her left eye continued to twitch, but she ignored it. Pinkie Pie giggled. In Pinkamena's head, her mind was dying. There was now but one thing she could even think of:

Forget your reality.

Author's Note

. . . Don't murder me. I was just inspired when I saw that picture, AKA the coverart.