Pinkie Pie, a mare full of spirit, sat there on the couch motionless, expressionless, completely devoid of life.
Her thoughts all mangled up and torn. Down into a spiral of detachment, her body aches with suffocation. Begging to be rid of her bleak state, and back out into the warm sunny rays and the wonderful deep-blue sky. Her face was fixed with a blank stare at the television: Replaying reruns of TV shows or movies, she only continued to sit quietly. Her mind unraveling right before her eyes, she couldn't have a single thought to distract her emotionally tense state, nothing to breakout the line between fiction and reality. Poems, dozens of them. All lied around her hotel room silently. Taunting her with her own personal demons, demanding to be loved, wanted, cared for. Like she wanted from others at one point in her life. Not her friends, or the ponies in Ponyville. But the being's that made her the mare she was today. Family.
A single, monotonous loop replayed in her head each time. One of her father, and what he did for Equestria in it's most dire of times. A war had broken out between the ponies throughout the world just a couple decades ago, and it ended with the victory of Equestria and it's Princess Celestia. Through her order, her deliberate-attentiveness, her clever and level-headed temper had kept her from being a laughing stock, but also saved the world from it's own self. And where were the soldiers for the celebration? They were given medals of honor, given a better paycheck, given more support, but really they never got the true attention and support that Celestia had within the tip of her own hooves. Many had passed during that turbulent-period, one of which was a certain father-figure that Pinkie never truly got in her lifetime of being on this Earth. Death is ponies worst nightmare of eternity. Each born with the belief of achieving something much greater than themselves, but never truly greater than the hooves of death. Death was everywhere, death was the most popular form of reality known to man. There was certainly more bodies of the dead than the living, that much was certain.
Pinkie only heard of short, faint sounds from the outside in the last little while. Though it felt like hours, it might have well been days from anyone else. Her television continued to flicker vividly, sparse and sporadic images of a erotic scene beamed into her brain and were soon faded away to back of her temple. The dust particles swirling around the room swayed left and right of her vision. Her whole room was a mess, garbage was tipped over, the stench of alcohol was spread throughout the two-bedroom hotel room. The blinds and curtains were drawn shut, the dining table was backed against the kitchen cupboards. The bathroom door left open with the handle ripped out and on the living room floor. She placed her right hoof over the side of her head, he lower leg silently scratched the lower end of the sofa. The sofa was beige green, perfect for the most part except the edges were cut away by a knife, the left side right down to the wood itself. Her puffy hair now was half flattened, half puffy, but it never quite looked the same. Her skin was overall pink, with bits of gray forming around her elbows and shoulders. The hue of the sofa no longer looked beige, but actually darker and more brown around the sides. Her cheeks were flared in orange fire-balled flames. But for the most part, they were passive. Like her dwindling body and image, just completely shutout from the wonders of life. And all the intricate and complicated moments within it. The last glimmer of her old former self seemed to rely on her cheeks, and her pivotal smile. A smile that could bring the moral for ponies all over, if they knew here at all. She might have been well known around Equestria, but the rest of the world couldn't give a toss about her, though she did have some dedicated fans.
