Blade

The one thing Pinkamena never did that she always felt appropriate, was give the voice a name. Nothing quite fit. Lester, Carl, Hammy, Jim, and John just didn’t fit. Those names were nice. A nice name didn’t belong on the voice. It didn’t deserve a nice name. With all of the effort she put in, a name that fit didn’t exist. Any name was too nice. The voice would always say horrible, rotten, evil things to her. The voice would come whenever she was depressed and she would become depressed whenever he was around. The vicious cycle started a couple of days after the little chat at the river. She would go to work in the morning and think about all of the rocks she would have to move. They would make her hooves ache and sting. Then the voice would suddenly say something. The voice wasn’t above her anymore, it was all around. She felt like he was inside of her head, but that was a silly idea.

“You aren’t going to finish, Pinkie. Just give up.” It would start out.

She would try to ignore, but always end up with her exertions in vein. That’s right about when it would say scary things; things that took an image in her head and stayed.

“Rocks are hard. Smash your head with it so I can be free.” It would calmly suggest. “Nopony will miss you. Your daddy will be happy.”

Sometimes, it made her cry. The pictures that rattled in her brain frightened her to no end as she imagined the blood spilling out of her skull while her flesh cooked in the hot sun. For some reason, her father was there smiling a broad and haunting grimace. These pictures never left her. Not even as an adult.

“Your mother has a carving knife in the kitchen. Take it and stab your daddy. He told me he wants you to. Trust me, Pinkie.” It would promise.

Not only did it horrify her, but it impeded her progress on work further. The difference of what she provided got further away from the quota every day. The motivational blows to the face her father gave her were no good. Those only turned blue.

Lilly however, had become the apple of her father’s eye. Never missing the deadline of six thirty and always meeting the quota. It was absolutely fair, not counting how Lilly was faster and stronger than Pinkamena or the fact that she was two years older. She did such a good job that her father lowered the quota every day to reward her. She would also get seconds at dinner and even dessert. Pinkamena, on the other hand, got what she deserved; smaller portions and a seat at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. Her lack of ‘responsibility’ had gotten her grounded from sitting at the table with her family.

Things were wonderful at that point compared to what was in store for the weeks to come.

One night, while she was carrying out the chore of scrubbing the dishes that she had recently been assigned to, she turned to her father.

“Daddy?” She asked very quietly.

Her father turned to her with an impatient frown.

“No talking during chore time, Pinkamena.”

“But Daddy, it’s really important!” She squealed.

Surprised by her change in tone, he threatened her by raising his hoof.

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” He gritted. “This had better be as important as you make it out to be. The back of my hoof is sore from teaching you, Pinkamena. You don’t want to make it even more sore, do you?”

The filly shook her head timidly. Her father lowered his hoof.

“What is it?”

Pinkamena mustered up every bit of courage in her puny bulk and said it.

“There is this voice that says really scary things to me, Daddy.” She told. “I met him by the river and now he won’t leave me alone.”

Her father looked at her, confused.

“Voice? Scary? What kind of scary things, Pinkamena?”

Pinkamena was too embarrassed to say any of the things the voice did. Repeating them was taboo and sick. She wouldn’t have even said them out loud had she been alone.

“It tells me to hurt myself.” She croaked.

Just thinking about it hurt her. She was scared even without anything to be afraid of.

“It tells me to hurt you too. I’m scared, Daddy. I’m so scared.” Tears started to fall from her eyes as she finished. She suppressed her sniffling noises and forced her gaze to the floor so her father wouldn’t see.

“What’s this nonsense about a voice? Are you talking to strangers in the woods, Pinkamena?” He inquired, coy.

Pinkamena’s words barely made it through her sniffles and snorts.

“No, Daddy! I promise! *sniff* I think he’s in my head! *sniff* Please, Daddy! Help me! I’m so scared! I’m so scared!” She moaned.

Despite his disappointment in her, she was still his daughter. Usually when she cried, he felt gratified. He had the feeling that she had learned something. But seeing her cry about something like this, something she didn’t know about, made him feel sympathy. He wouldn’t comfort her, but he instead called a therapist.

Pinkamena was taken to an office in town the next day.

Pinkamena had never seen any parts of town other than the market she had been taken to once. She and Ariel had caused somewhat of a ruckus while they were there with their mother, so they weren’t allowed to go anymore.

The office was drab and dry. The walls were a color that looked like a combination of brown and grey. A scent in the air matched the wall’s color and the furniture was all a droll and pale shade of red and textured with imitation velvet.

Pinkamena remembered the doctor’s name as Shrinkerton or something else boring. His last name didn’t matter, because she was requested that she refer to him as doctor and doctor only.

When he sat her down on the couch, he closed the door and told her to cooperate. She agreed.

“Now, Pinkamena is it?” He began. “Your father tells me you’ve started hearing a voice in your head telling you to do mean things. Is that true?” He asked monotonously.

Somehow, she felt safe in that room. Maybe it was the idea that she was talking to another adult and her father wasn’t around. She felt that if there was ever a time to say everything, it was right then.

She told about everything. About the river and the pictures and the voice. Oh how she told about the voice and the things it said. Doctors got their jobs because they could fix things. She knew that if she could tell anybody to help her be rid of the horrible voice it would be him.

Pinkamena noticed that he wrote many things down on a pen and pad. She figured he must have been writing down a cure. It was a relief to know that things would be alright.

When she finished, she felt lighter. She was still nervous. In fact, she was shaking after all she had said. But relief was still present, nonetheless. She trusted doctors. She was certain things would be better by the end of the session.

But the doctor finished his notes and did nothing but nod his head twice and grunt.

“Mmhmm…I see.” He said. “I think I understand what the issue is here, Pinkamena.”

Suddenly, her hope sunk like a ship at sea that had just been shot through and through by a canon. It sunk to the depths of her gut as it turned into anxiety and dread.

“Will you be able to help me, doctor?” She asked timorously.

“There might be something I can do.” He quickly replied.

That was a lie. She could tell. It was a dirty lie. He would have said it more sincerely had he meant it. Pinkamena wasn’t old enough to know a word that described the feeling she knew he had, but she knew it all the same. It was over. She was going to be stuck with the voice forever.

“I don’t want to have it in my head! It’s horrible! Please! You have to help!” She burst out desperately.

The doctor’s tone didn’t change.

“Be patient. I said I might be able to help.”

After he said that, he opened the door and led her back to the waiting room where her father was waiting. He told her to sit down and wait. Then he asked her father for a few words in the other room. Absolutely frantic for information, she pushed her ear against the door as they talked. Unfortunately, the only words that passed through that were loud enough for her to hear were ‘Electro-Shock’ and some other big word she didn’t understand. It sounded like ‘Skits of Frenia’.

Hearing the tone they were said in, these words didn’t exactly help her feel better. Neither did the awful things they did to her in the following weeks.