A Certain Shade of Darkness

One lonely balloon
Drifting alone in the world.
Does it cry for those that floated before it?
If it does, its lament is unheard.

I set out on my daily walk around Ponyville. Every day, I knock on my friend's doors and see if they want to do something with me. They were all busy yesterday. They were also busy the day before that. In fact, all my friends have been busy every day this week. I don't know why I even bother to check anymore. Nopony ever has time for me. I step inside the Carousel Boutique anyway.

"Sorry, darling. I just don't have the time. I really bit off more than I can chew this time."

"Sorry, Pinkie. This is really important. You understand, right?"

"Sorry, Pinkie. I need to train. You can't fly as fast as me without proper exercise, you know!"

"Oh, I'd love to, but I can't leave Sparky alone until he's trained. Sorry."

"Sorry, sugarcube. These apples won't harvest themselves."

Well, it's official. I'm spending the day alone. Again. There's nothing left to do but go to work. Usually, I only have to work a few hours each day. With nothing else to do, I've been working extra hard. I walk through the back door of Sugarcube Corner, into the kitchen. As usual, Mrs. Cake is standing there, working. Right now, she's mixing a chocolate cake.

"Pinkie! I've never seen a pony so dedicated to their work. I'm glad you're here. There's an order for a batch of vanilla cupcakes. You know what to do!"

I sigh softly as I grab a mixing bowl. I freeze as I pass the silverware drawer. Somepony has left it open. I gently nudge it closed, looking away from the neatly arranged knives. When I look at them, I get this really weird screaming in my head. I can't tell what it's saying, it's just... loud. It makes me feel like there's an itch in my head, and I want to tear apart my skull and scratch it. But when I close the drawer, most of the screaming goes away, and I can concentrate on my vanilla cupcakes. Mrs. Cake thinks I'm a dedicated worker, but I know better. I used to really like work, but now I can't stand it. The kitchen has so many things in it that make the screaming louder. I'm always glad when it's nighttime, because I can go to bed. In my sleep, I get a few hours of happy silence.

At 6 pm, Mrs. Cake tells me I can go upstairs and eat dinner. My work is done for today. Grateful to escape the kitchen, I dash up to my room. Before long, I've prepared a green salad and am sitting down to eat. I'm not really all that hungry, but eating dinner makes me feel more normal. As I'm about to start eating, I glance over at my bed and have an idea. I drag an extra chair to my dinner table and set my pillow in the chair. Next, I set an extra plate in front of the pillow and put half my salad on the plate. I step back to admire my work. I'm not alone anymore. I have a guest. I sit down in my chair and start eating. At the same time, I talk to make my guest feel welcome.

"Welcome to my home, Fluffy. I'm so happy to have you here. I hope you're comfortable."

There's no answer.

"Just let me know if you need anything."

Still no answer.

"Would you like a glass of water, Fluffy?"

Fluffy says nothing. I'm starting to get angry now. Why won't he talk to me?

"Why aren't you answering me, Fluffy? Do you hate me? Do you hate me like all my other friends do?"

Fluffy doesn't respond to my accusations.

"Do you have something else to do? Are you a big dumb loser who thinks everything is more important than having fun with friends?"

My new friend's refusal to speak makes me furious. Words explode out of my mouth.

"Do you have tricks to practice? Dresses to sew? Do you need to pick apples or train animals? Is there some stupid paperwork you have to fill out? I bet you have a million things to do, Fluffy. You'd better leave right now! Whatever you have to do, I bet it's ten thousand times more important than spending time with ME!"

My rage consumes me. Tears stream down my twisted, frowning face as I reach for a knife. In an instant, I knock over the extra chair. I'm on top of Fluffy with my knife. Now I'm stabbing. Stabbing and stabbing and stabbing at the soft white body of a victim who refuses to scream.

"Do you love me now, Fluffy? Do you care about me now? Do you think I'm worth talking to?"

Each motion of my knife, each explosion of stuffing, tastes like a chocolate cupcake to my twisted brain. Finally, Fluffy is paying the price for not talking to me. Anypony who doesn't want to talk to me shouldn't get to talk at all. Fluffy needs to be punished. Sometimes my knife goes right through Fluffy and imbeds itself in the floor. It's loud enough that somepony on the first floor might hear me. I don't care. All that matters to me is that Fluffy has to die.

Once my anger fades, it finally dawns on me that I'm stabbing a pillow. Fluffy could never talk. My questions went unanswered not because Fluffy hated me, but because I was talking to an inanimate object. Pillows can't talk. It was all in my head. I gently set down the knife, then collapse sobbing into the shredded pile of stuffing that used to be my pillow. Last time I checked, I was happy. How did my life collapse like this? How did I get to the point where I would do something like this?

How did I become so empty?