Author, Author!
“Miss Pinkamena Diane Pie?” asked a guard at the Canterlot city gate, distinguishable from the others only by his attempt at a warm smile.
“Yes?” she answered, an inquisitive squint in her eyes.
“The… Element of Laughter?” One dubious eyebrow retreated upward to take shelter behind the guard’s helmet. After giving her a quick once-over, his eyes went back to linger on the flattened mane and tear-stained cheeks that belied her trademark smile. His lower lip stiffened as a few worry lines creased his brow.
“You know of me?” Pinkie asked, a defensive look creeping across her face.
“Of course! You’ve helped to save Equestria multiple times, and are immortalized in several of the palace windows. There’s not a pony in the service that wouldn’t recognize you!”
Pinkie looked toward the ground modestly and gave a more genuine smile than before, her hoof scratching at the pavement. “Oh. I’m sorry.” A self-conscious giggle floated away on the cool morning air. “I’m just being a silly filly—not feeling quite myself lately. Do you know where I can find—”
“Yes, Princess Celestia is in her study, preparing for your appointment. To be frank…” The guard cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a secretive tone. “…she’s been expecting you for some time now. Months, even.” He straightened up and grinned broadly at fulfilling his duty. “When you finally wrote her a letter last week, she told us to keep an eye out for you. Come with me. I’m supposed to escort you directly to her.”
Pinkie trotted after him through the twists and turns of the palace’s corridors until they arrived at a small, richly furnished room lined with bookshelves. The guard paused in the doorway as Pinkie peered around him. “Announcing Miss Pinkamena Diane Pie of Ponyville, Your Highness.”
Looking up from a scroll lying unfurled on her desk, Celestia nodded at the arrivals. “Dismissed. Please come in, Pinkie. Have a seat.” Pinkie made a quick curtsy before settling into a soft, royal-purple wing chair and setting her saddle bag on the floor. The guard closed the door after her and returned to his post. “To get to the point, Pinkie, I believe I know why you are here. Several important details escape me, but… I am getting ahead of myself.” The Princess leaned forward in her seat and steepled her hooves against her chin. “Please tell me what is bothering you.”
Pinkie took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. “I—” She exhaled her frustration sharply and glared at the carpet, her ears plastered back against her head. “I can see things other ponies can’t. I can see when we’re being watched, and I can watch back.” After waiting a moment to let her words sink in, Pinkie gazed back up at the Princess. Expecting to see a look of shock, Pinkie instead found an expression of utter sympathy, tinged with sorrow.
“I am so sorry, Pinkie. I suspected you could perceive things of that nature, but I never knew to what degree. Your abilities in that regard far surpass my own; I am only vaguely aware it myself.” Celestia’s horn began to glow, and Pinkie could hear a complex series of clicks and rumbles below the desk. Eventually, the faint noises ceased, and a large book floated up and onto the desktop. Celestia opened the cover halfway, then thought better of it, letting it fall back closed and adding a punctuating tap of her hoof on it. “Pray, continue.”
“Well, I’ve spoken to the watchers from here in Equestria. That’s always been fun. But I’ve also gone to see them.” Pinkie fidgeted with her hooves and looked to the side, like a filly ashamed to admit that she’d taken the last cookie from the jar. “The first time was almost a disaster. There were a bunch of them sitting around a table and talking about sales and costs and using a bunch of big words. One saw me, and he was… surprised. And scared. I didn’t know why.”
Celestia rose from behind her desk and walked around to Pinkie’s side to give her a brief hug. “I can imagine. They would not see us as real. It would be as if a child’s storybook character coalesced from the words on the page and hopped out of the book to greet you.” She sat in the vacant guest chair next to Pinkie and tried to meet her gaze, but Pinkie shied away and let out a guilty chuckle.
“I—I’ve done that. I learned to use my Pinkie Sense to tell when it was safe to come out. I’ve popped out of drawings, posters, screens, comics… and writing.” Shaking her head and letting out a sigh, Pinkie continued. “It was about the fourth or fifth time I’d poked my head up out of a notebook…”
A pink, puffy mane lifted up, shoving open the cover of a loose-leaf binder. The metal rings rattled momentarily at the disturbance. As Pinkie leapt fully from the pages, the folder skidded across the desk, then landed on the floor with a dull thud. A cursory survey around the room in which she found herself revealed it to be an office.
She glanced around at the collection of pony figurines arrayed on the shelves, posters of her friends on the walls, and her own smiling face staring back at her from a large drawing clipped onto an inclined tabletop. Wow! We’ve got a secret admirer! Flattery and curiosity overcoming her trepidation, she bounced over to the window and took in the vista of a tree-lined street, with strange metallic contrivances rushing back and forth. Pinkie wrested her attention back under her control and returned to her point of entry. What’s so special about this thing?
A hoof tapped at the binder, then prodded with more confidence, finally closing it so Pinkie could read the cover: “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Season One Episode Transcripts.” She lay down in front of it, flipped the cover open, and leafed through the first several pages. Ohhhhhhh! It’s a history book! I wonder if Twilight has this one? Page by page flipped by, then chapter by chapter, each one slowly diminishing Pinkie’s smile. Why are all these chapters about me and my friends? Most of these events aren’t even important. She frowned at Gilda’s bullying, snickered at her poison joke symptoms, beamed with pride at receiving her cutie mark, and blushed at her behavior the one time her friends had thrown a party for her. Through it all, a tightness built in her throat as the tension thwarted her ability to enjoy what should have been a pleasant bout of nostalgia. Most troubling were the cryptic sheets at the beginning of each chapter that bore such words as “animation” and “written by.”
She returned the binder to the desk and rummaged through the other materials stacked there, finding similar collections of other “seasons,” as well as a movie. Her eyes filling with tears, she read only a couple of random pages from each, which only added to her sense of horror. Trembling and breathing in ragged spurts, she dove back into the pages from which she had emerged. One train of thought would dominate her mind for days afterward.
It’s like somepony recorded my memories exactly. Everything was written down. How could somepony else know what happened so perfectly? And what was it doing there?
“I went back there a couple of weeks later and took the first book home with me,” Pinkie said as the tremors of that original experience gripped her body once again. “I asked all of my friends what they remembered. It was the same every time. They all remembered exactly what was written. Nothing extra and nothing left out.” She forced a huge grin, the corners of her mouth twitching, but failed as her words erupted in a torrent. “When it skipped a day, I couldn’t remember what happened in between! When it didn’t mention me, I have no idea what I was doing! Where was I? Where? Where wa—”
Celestia rushed over to hug Pinkie and give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as the distraught pony wiped tears from her cheeks. “Pinkie, I wish I could tell you that it was just a bad dream or a feverish delusion, but… I suspect you already know the answer to your question.”
While rubbing her eyes and sniffling, Pinkie gave a hesitant nod. “Yes,” she answered in a tiny voice. “I didn’t exist. It’s like being asleep. I could tell that time had passed, but it was blank.” She finally looked Celestia in the eyes, her own still glistening with sorrow. “And it’s getting worse. The memories feel like I’ve been through them thousands of times. But the blank times are getting longer, and I don’t remember much happening since the last page. And what I do remember was—” Unable to help herself, Pinkie giggled through her waning tears. “Well, I’ll get to that.”
Celestia nodded, adding a gentle nuzzle to comfort her guest. “Go on, please.”
“Aside from the memories, there are… the dreams.” Pinkie trembled and held her forelegs tightly against her chest. “They… fill in the black times. They don’t seem as real, but they’re so vivid. I found out about them later.”
Pinkie tumbled out of a computer screen and rolled to a halt against a twin bed. She sat up and rubbed her head for a moment. Hee hee! I guess teenagers aren’t much different in any world, she thought as she took in the clothes strewn about and the piles of schoolwork on the desk. Turning back to the screen, she read what was visible on the current page. The cursor blinked back unflinchingly, awaiting her judgment.
When Pinkie reached the end, her jaw dropped. I had this dream last night! I woke up right where it stops! She leaned forward on the desk to take a second look, and her weight tilted the surface enough to send a pencil rolling across a thick spiral-bound notebook. Its clatter against the desktop drew her eye down toward the writing on the open page, which matched the text on the glowing monitor.
She took the pencil in her mouth and made a tentative scratch at the page, then proceeded with more confidence.
Pinkie took the entire plate of cupcakes and gobbled them down in one big bite. They were chocolatey, and creamy, and strawberry-ey, and every other -ey that she could ever want.
Smiling down at her work, Pinkie closed her eyes and envisioned such a feast. Her eyes jerked back open when she realized that she had in fact envisioned it already. It was now part of her dream.
A morbid fascination overtook her has she continued to write.
Pinkie suddenly unfurled pegasus wings from her shoulders and launched herself skyward, soaring and looping through the clouds, her sugary lunch giving her ample energy for the flight. As she dove back earthward, she sprouted a unicorn horn. Its cotton-candy-pink glow caused the ground to rumble, and Pinkie bounced to a landing on the immense cushion of marshmallow that grew up among a cluster of gigantic candy corn and gumdrops. Her uncontrollable giggling kept her rolling on her back until she finally collapsed in exhaustion on the pillowy confection.
She closed her eyes and waited for the heavenly scene to wash over her. After a barely perceptible twitch of her eye, it did. Her shoulders slumped and a blissful sigh escaped her lips as she took great joy in remembering that sensation of flight and power. Once the high had passed, she finally exhaled a deep breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding. With a final glance toward the doorway, through which she heard the distant sound of approaching steps, she took the notebook in her mouth and hopped back through the computer screen.
“Princess, I—I wrote so many dreams. Hundreds of them,” Pinkie confessed, shaking her head as she stared wide-eyed at the floor. A faint, self-conscious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she shrank into her seat and hunched up her shoulders. “It was wonderful. I did everything I ever wanted. I even wrote some dreams for my friends. They were surprised that I knew about them, but… they were so happy. Dash flew so fast that she could turn around and watch her own image catch up to her. Fluttershy could change into whatever animal she wanted, and spend some time as each one of her little friends. Everypony in Canterlot wanted Rarity to design Gala dresses and suits for them. The royal chefs chose Sweet Apple Acres to supply food to the palace. And Twilight finished learning all the spells known to ponykind. It was the best gift I could ever think to give them, but…” Pinkie heaved a sigh, then continued in a sing-song voice that was somehow devoid of joy. “They’re just nice thoughts that fade away. Everypony forgot all about them after a couple of weeks.”
Celestia nodded and extended a wing around Pinkie’s shoulders. “That was a sweet gesture. I am sure they would have appreciated it, if they had known.”
Shaking her head again, Pinkie’s face took on a defiant air. “No,” she declared with authority. “It’s not enough. Not for them. I wrote a dream for us. All of us. I tore it out of the notebook and put it in the binder, complete with a ‘Written by: Pinkamena Diane Pie’ on the first page.” Placing a hoof on Celestia’s shoulder, she gained an excited chatter in her voice as the wispy tips of her mane curled into their usual puffy tendrils. “Then it—it happened. It really happened. We had a spectacular party, but I didn’t know how to end it. I wanted it to go on forever, but I—it couldn’t, so it just stopped.” A shadow of disappointment glided across her face. “I could tell I wasn’t good enough. I’m not much of a storyteller.”
Pinkie looked back up at Celestia with the first air of conviction she’d shown all afternoon. “I had to learn. So I read as many stories as Twilight would recommend. And I started with small and simple.”
After sashaying her way down the road from Carousel Boutique with her usual flair, Rarity met her friend Pinkie at the front door to Ponyville’s spa. She gave Aloe a knowing nod, her customary appointment already etched into the calendar without her having to ask.
“My, Pinkie, how divine to have a private session at the spa with you today! I absolutely adore spending a nice intimate afternoon with a friend.”
Pinkie gave her a brief hug, but pulled back when Lotus walked over to wrap her in a robe. “I know, Rarity. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. We’re friends and we always will be. I don’t ever want that to end.” She looked Rarity squarely in the eye, the intensity of her expression speaking more than her words ever could.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Rarity asked, placing a foreleg around Pinkie’s neck. “Why, you look like you’ve lost something precious to you! Whatever has you so worried?” She retreated a step as her body tensed in preparation for bad news. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no. It’s okay. I just want to spend a day with one of my bestest friends. C’mon! There’s a pair of hoof files waiting for us.” Pinkie bounced off to a massage table, leaving Rarity to follow in a somewhat bewildered state. “Hop up,” she said while patting the neighboring table, her tension already succumbing to the rhythmic drumming of practiced hooves up and down her back. “It’s all going to be okie-dokie-lokie, Rarity. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Well… if you say so, Pinkie.” Rarity climbed onto the table and allowed Aloe to scratch away at her hoof with the file. “Aah, this is nice! Nothing like a relaxing treatment. Lotus, not the honeydew face mask, please. Avocado today.”
Feeling herself sinking further into the table’s padded surface, Pinkie relaxed for the first time in weeks. Her worries eased into the robe’s softness and the masseuse’s efforts. She turned her head toward Rarity and smiled sublimely at cucumber-shaded eyes that couldn’t appreciate the gesture. “I love you, Rarity,” she whispered. “Do you know that? I hope you do. I love all of you. You’re such good friends.”
“What’s that, Pinkie?”
“I’ll tell you some other time. We’ll be seeing plenty of each other.”
“I had to erase so many of the older dreams to get enough paper to write the new scenes. But once they were in the binder, they all became real. It was wonderful to spend so much time with my friends.” Pinkie beamed at the joyful memories, giving Celestia the first genuine flash of happiness she’d seen from her all day. Her good mood was short-lived, however.
Celestia glanced repeatedly back and forth between Pinkie and the door as she considered summoning help. Pinkie’s breathing had become labored and the heaving of her chest increased as she gritted her teeth. “Pinkie, please calm down! You are safe now. Nothing bad will happen.” Her guest struggled to wrestle her emotions down, grimacing as she stared at the floor, and after a moment, silently nodded. “Would you like something to drink? Water?” Celestia’s eyes narrowed as she formed a knowing grin. “Chocolate milk?” Pinkie nodded again, a little more vigorously this time. “Guard?” A latch clicked and the oaken door creaked open. “Ah! Bronze Patina! Please have the kitchen staff send up a glass of chocolate milk for our guest.” The guard nodded his acknowledgement and disappeared.
“The parties got boring,” Pinkie said in a small voice as she continued looking at the floor, her giggles intensifying even as she sniffled. “Can you… imagine? Hee hee!” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Even I know you can’t party all the time. It’s not real!” Her smile drained away as she looked back up at Celestia. “I was so scared, but I tried the worst thing I could think to do.”
Pinkie Pie bounced her way up to the library’s door, eager to see the new issue of Candy and Confectionary Digest, though she never did understand how a pony could actually digest that thing. She’d tried it once, and now just resorted to reading it. She pressed her face to the door’s windowpanes and stuck her tongue out.
When Twilight finally noticed, she jumped, dropping the stack of books she was levitating, and held a hoof to her chest. “Goodness, Pinkie!” she said, panting. “Don’t scare me like that!”
“I’m sorry, Twilight. I know scary-wary stuff can be bad,” Pinkie replied as she came through the doorway, “but it makes the fun times better, right? Are you ready for a party now?” Leaning forward and cocking her head, Pinkie donned a huge, toothy grin.
“Pinkie,” Twilight stated flatly, leveling a half-lidded stare at her friend. “You just startled me a bit. It’s no big deal. And I have work to do right now.”
“Are you sure?” Pinkie raised an eyebrow, her face a picture of puzzlement. “It doesn’t make you feel like there’s just that smidgen of bad stuff that would be just perfectly fixed by a party, and it would make everything better, and it would be oh so fun, and all our friends would be there, and—”
“Pinkie! You just scared me. That’s all.” Twilight floated her pile of books up and shuffled them back in order.
Rolling her eyes upward for a moment, Pinkie then stared at Twilight’s hooves as she walked over toward the shelves. Twilight gazed back, unnerved by the inexplicable attention, and failed to notice the raised corner of a warped floorboard. She pitched forward, once more sending her books to the ground, and landed heavily on her side.
“Are you okay, Twilight?” Pinkie asked as her friend rubbed the hoof she had stubbed on the floor. “That didn’t hurt too much, did it? Would a party make it feel better?”
“Pinkie, you’re acting strangely! Well… more strangely than usual, anyway.” Standing back up, she finally ignored the books and gave Pinkie her full attention. “What’s this all about?”
“I—I just thought… that if something bad happened, you’d want a party to cheer you up.” Pinkie hung her head as she plopped into a seated position on the floor. “Doesn’t that make sense?”
Twilight shook her head for a moment as she tried to sort out several trains of thought. “Little things like that happen all the time, Pinkie. You don’t let them get you down. You just deal with them. It doesn’t take a party—just a good attitude.”
Suddenly wincing, Twilight whipped her head toward the source of a stinging sensation on her shoulder. “Ooh! Got a splinter from the floor! I… swear that wasn’t there a minute ago…”
“How about now?” Pinkie asked, brightening up a bit as she leaned forward eagerly. “I can have a cake ready in an hour!”
“What…? I—I don’t…” Twilight gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head as she pulled out the splinter with her magic. “I suppose somepony might feel better if you threw a party after something major happened, but you already do that. It’s not as if you’re the one making bad things happen. The way you’ve always done it works just fine.”
“But isn’t that what keeps life from being boring?” Pinkie asked, her voice reduced to a hoarse squeak. “Take the bad with the good? Could you make yourself do that?”
“Pinkie, these are deep philosophical issues. Do you want me to help you find a book on it? I didn’t realize you had an interest.” Twilight trotted over to one of the bookshelves near the staircase. “Things like that happen. They just do. Sure, some good comes from most of them, but that doesn’t make going through them any easier.”
“But… could you forgive somepony for doing it?” Pinkie dipped her head and rolled her eyes up at Twilight, mustering her last traces of hope.
“Of course! It would be an accident. Nopony means anyth—Ow!” Rubbing her head where the book had hit her after teetering off the shelf, Twilight squinted at Pinkie. “Why isn’t your Pinkie Sense warning you about all this?”
“How about now? Party?” Getting a slow, exaggerated head shake in reply, Pinkie continued, “It’s not like Pinkie Sense—I knew it’d happen, but it’s diff—” She gave a wan smile and rose to trot back out the doorway, saying, “I’m sorry, Twilight. I’m just being a silly filly. I hope you’re right.”
“That was the hardest thing I’d ever done before, and it wasn’t enough.” Pinkie shrugged as her cheeks glistened with fresh tears.
“Pinkie, please calm down for a moment while we wait for your drink,” Celestia said as she patted Pinkie’s shoulder. “You are among friends, yes? Now… Ah! If you would, please tell me more about the dreams you mentioned.” She sat up with a cheerful glint in her eyes. “You must have had quite a few adventures.”
“I found a lot more of them on other trips, but nowhere close to the number I can remember. I’ve gone to far-off lands, even up to the stars.” A faraway look overcame Pinkie’s features while she paused to think. “It’s beautiful out there. There were times when you were… well, not very nice.” She blushed profusely as her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I’ve… kissed nearly every mare in town.” After holding up a hoof to stifle her giggle, her face fell as the foreleg slowly dropped to where she could examine it with a careful stare, and hung there, trembling. “I’ve done terrible, horrible things to my friends.” Pinkie’s suddenly vacant eyes focused on a point beyond the opposite wall, and her voice flattened into a monotone. “But not that I would ever do by choice. No. Never. I—I’d never do anything like that. Never.”
“Pinkie, you must concentrate on the positive,” said Celestia in her gentlest tone. With her hoof, she took Pinkie’s chin and turned her head to force eye contact. “You have control over it now. Nopony is going to hurt you.”
A knock on the door sounded, and Bronze Patina brought in Pinkie’s drink. He turned to leave, but could hear her gulping it down, so he just waited for the empty glass. “Another, Miss Pie?” he asked, getting a hasty head shake in reply. He closed the door on his way out and resumed his post.
“I know, Princess. Nopony would hurt me. Unless there was a good reason.” She leaned toward Celestia and donned an intense stare. “I could do it to myself, if I had to. But what right do I have to hurt anypony else? All the parties I wrote were fun, but… it got stale. I learned a hard lesson.” Pausing to swallow her distress, she continued as her ears slowly flattened. “If you don’t have normal old hay and grass, and the occasional yucky oatmeal, the cupcakes won’t taste as sweet. I had to do more. I felt sick, just thinking about it, but I had to do more.”
Straining against her plow in the hot summer sun, Applejack dragged its steel blade through a field of recently mown hay. She stopped for a moment to remove her hat and wipe the sweat out of her eyes. “Whew! It’s a doozy today!” she remarked to the few crows assembled on a nearby split-rail fence. “And y’all are wearin’ black. Pond’s over yonder, if y’all need to take a dip,” she added, pointing to the north. The birds merely continued their stoic vigil for the corn to ripen in the neighboring field.
“Ah, well. I’d best be gettin’ back to it.” She replaced her hat and nodded, taking leave of her avian observers. As minutes dragged into hours, row after row of desiccated stalks passed by, and a slight breeze made them rustle and whisper to her. Applejack held her head up proudly as she tore through hard-packed clay, tangled roots, and the occasional rock.
Five rows later, her head had dipped somewhat, and her half-lidded eyes glared ahead as she muttered under her breath. “Land sakes, Big Mac! How long’s it take to tend those trees?” Finishing up a particularly grueling uphill furrow, Applejack craned her neck over the hilltop and looked toward the house. “Apple Bloom! Little help?” she called in a raspy voice. When no answer came, she tugged at the harness anew. Her mouth gaped at the remaining acreage she had yet to cover. “’S alright. Didn’t need help anyhow.”
The sun was not far past its zenith when Applejack finished the hay field. Sweat ran in rivulets down her legs, and her head bobbed with each breath drawn in through a parched throat. “…could do this in my sleep. Why, in Granny Smith’s day, they didn’t even have fancy seed spreaders and such.” A stubborn gleam returning to her eyes, she moved on to the smaller western field.
Halfway through, she was stumbling frequently on the uneven terrain, squinting unfocused eyes at the horizon, and shivering. “Not gonna take no train there. They can’t make me. Crazy’s what that is. If you—if you think that way, then… sometimes, but… what’s that thing called?” Applejack nearly tripped on a clod of dirt, stood wobbling in a splay-legged stance for a moment, then toppled over. Her momentum yanked at the rope and drew the plow’s sharpened steel blade across her leg.
“It’s gettin’ late, Apple Bloom,” Big Mac said as he stared out the window at the last green glow keeping dusk at bay. “Ain’t AJ comin’ to dinner?” Apple Bloom shrugged. “Go on and fetch her. It’s not like her to miss a meal after a hard day’s work.”
Apple Bloom trudged out of the house with a sullen expression. “My food better not get cold.” She was gone for a full thirty minutes before Big Mac heard her voice echoing over the hilltops in the moonlit evening. “Big Mac! Big Mac! Come quick!”
He galloped out to the source of the cries to see Apple Bloom trembling in terror over a limp figure in the dust. “Oh no! What happened?”
“I—I didn’t see.”
Pressing an ear to Applejack’s chest, Big Mac could detect a faint pulse and feel the rapid intake of shallow breaths. “She’s alive,” he declared, noting the hours-old sweat caked onto her coat, which was now bone-dry and radiating considerable heat, even in the muggy atmosphere. Apple Bloom moved to tug at the plow, but Big Mac rebuked her sharply. “No! It’s heavy. It might be keepin’ her from bleedin’ worse. Go run for help! Now!”
As Apple Bloom tore down the road at top speed, Big Mac let out an ear-piercing whistle. Winona came running from the house, her wagging abruptly stopping as she cocked her head and whimpered at Applejack’s prone form. “Keep an eye on her, Winona. I’ll get some supplies from the house.”
He returned shortly with a bucket of cold water, a few towels, and a bedsheet. After he soaked the towels and draped them over her head and torso, he fanned air over her body with the sheet. Occasionally, he paused to swap out the towels with a fresh set of cold ones.
Nearly an hour later, Nurse Redheart and an exhausted Apple Bloom galloped up the roadway and skidded to a halt beside Applejack. Big Mac backed away and let Redheart take charge. After taking vital signs and nodding in approval at the first aid Big Mac had administered, she glanced at the stained earth beneath Applejack’s leg. “Big Mac, I’ll need you to move this plow. Lever it straight up, and you have to get it on the first try. Can you do it?”
“Yes’m, no problem.” He walked around the plow, threw the rope over the top, and gripped it tightly in his teeth. “Gimme a hoof, Apple Bloom.” She butted her head up against the plow’s frame and got ready to push.
“Okay, you two. One… two… three… go!” Big Mac gave a mighty tug, and the plow rolled free, tumbling onto its top. As soon as the blade lifted, Redheart pressed on the gash with a bundle of gauze, which became instantly soaked in a bright crimson. The nurse kept adding sheets until the top one remained white, then fastened it down with tape. “Big Mac, go get a wagon. We can take her to my office now. She’s stable.”
Applejack’s eyes opened as she blinked a few times against the bright sunlight streaming through the window. She yawned and began to stretch, but stopped to wince at the pain in her leg. Finally noticing the unfamiliar surroundings, she looked over to see Big Mac and Apple Bloom smiling at her.
“Welcome back, sis,” Big Mac said. “You gave us a scare.”
An array of colorful cards on the table next to her bed caught Applejack’s attention, and a bunch of cheery balloons bobbed around on their strings. She flipped the sheet off and swung herself around to stand, but stopped when she saw the ugly purple swelling on her thigh.
“Whoa, whoa, AJ! Take it easy,” bellowed Big Mac as he tried to shove her back into the bed. She managed to get her bad leg onto the floor and immediately crumpled when she put her weight on it. A panicked expression swept over her face as she allowed Big Mac to lift her back up.
“Big Mac!” she blurted past the lump that formed in her throat. “I can’t feel my hoof! I can’t feel my hoof!” She offered no further resistance as he slid her back into a reclined position on the mattress. “What happened? Why can’t I feel it? How’m I gonna work?” The first tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to wipe them away and preserve her pride.
Unable to think of anything else that would comfort her sister, Apple Bloom merely hugged her. “Sis, I…”
“You pushed yourself too hard again and got heat exhaustion. The plow cut your leg pretty bad.” Big Mac looked away for a moment. “You might’ve severed a nerve. We won’t know ‘til the swelling goes down enough to relieve pressure on it. You got a pretty serious infection.”
“I—I don’t understand how this could happen. How’ll I buck apples? What use’ll I be around the farm?” She stared at the ceiling and pulled her hat off the side table, holding it to her chest and clutching at it for the feel of something familiar.
“AJ, don’t jump to any conclusions, now. We gotta get you better first.” He leaned in to join his sisters in a hug. “You’re the heart of this family, AJ. We’ll get through this, no matter what.”
Pinkie Pie hesitated several times before finally committing to enter Applejack’s hospital room. She had listened at the door for a while first to make sure nopony else would be there. As she walked in, her eyes darted between the floor and the motionless figure in the bed. She stepped so quietly that Applejack, her back facing the door, never heard Pinkie’s approach.
“A-Applejack?” The patient jumped at the sudden voice so close behind her and rolled over.
“Howdy, Pinkie. I’m glad you could come. Thank you kindly for the balloons, by the way.” A genuine smile adorned Applejack’s face for the first time in days, and her ears perked up toward her visitor. “The doctor says I’ll be just fine. The infection’s clearin’ up, and I’m gettin’ feelin’ back in my leg.” Detecting something amiss, she craned her neck up at Pinkie. “You okay, sugarcube? I promise everything’s fine.”
As her tentative smile faded, Pinkie couldn’t hold back her tears. She collapsed onto the edge of the bed and wrapped her forelegs around Applejack’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Applejack! I—I thought it would be a good idea, but I didn’t know it would be like this!”
“Whoa! Just calm down, sugarcube! You haven’t done anythin’.” Applejack rubbed a hoof through Pinkie’s quickly deflating mane to comfort her. “What’s got you so riled up?”
“Please! Please forgive me!” Pinkie blubbered through her sobbing. “I thought I was helping. I really, really thought I was helping. But how could I do that to my friend?” Seizing Applejack by the shoulders, Pinkie looked her in the eye with intense focus. “I promise I’ll never hurt you again. You believe that, don’t you? I couldn’t. I-I-I’ve been a mess these past few days! I would never hurt you. No. You know that, right?”
Wrenching herself free from Pinkie’s grip, Applejack scooted to the far edge of the bed. “Of course I know that! What’s gotten into you? What in tarnation do you think you could’ve done to cause a plowin’ accident from miles away?”
Pinkie paid her friend’s uneasiness no heed and climbed fully onto the bed, her face just inches from Applejack’s. “Do you forgive me? Please say you do! I’ll never, never, ever do it again! I—I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you hated me. I love you, Applejack! I love all of you!”
“Pinkie! What the…? Yes! Yes, I forgive you! Now, will you tell me what all this is about?” Applejack shouted as she shoved Pinkie back off the bed, then rolled onto her stomach. “You’re startin’ to scare me.”
Sniffling one last time, Pinkie smiled as her mane puffed back up to normal size. “Thank you, Applejack! It’s gonna be better from now on. I’ll make sure of it.” She turned and bounced out the doorway, her voice echoing well down the corridor. “It’s all parties from now on. Even if they get boring.”
Pinkie’s tears flowed down the Princess’s neck as it bore the brunt of her frustration. Pinkie buried her face in the Princess’s mane, her reddened eyes seeking solace in the glow of gentle billowing starlight that shone through her eyelids. “I felt so horrible! She forgave me, but she didn’t even know why. How am I supposed to give them a real life when I can’t stand to cause the rotten things that happen every day?” She clenched her jaw and pounded a hoof into the seat cushion. “I tore those pages back out of the binder and ripped them up. Then burned them. It shouldn’t have happened. And now it didn’t.”
Once Pinkie’s shaking had finally stopped, Celestia rose to her hooves and turned to face her guest. “So you realized what we are, and what responsibility you had assumed.”
Pinkie nodded her silent agreement, but when she understood the full impact of the Princess’s words, she looked up and met Celestia’s sympathetic gaze with a start. “You knew? All of it?”
With a disarming smile, Celestia answered, “The broader parts, yes. You have filled in the last few details that I had not realized.”
“We’re make-believe characters,” Pinkie stated flatly. “What’s considered ‘episodes’ is real. Anything else is dreams. That’s why the binders and the notebook work the way they do.” She turned her head aside and shrugged. “And the last binder is over three years old now. The ‘watchers’ aren’t creating our world anymore, are they? That’s why the blank spaces have gotten worse.” She lay her head between her forelegs, resigned to her misery.
“You are mostly correct, Pinkie. However, we are just as real as they. Just because we have depended on them for our existence does not invalidate it in any way. You are a special case, my little pony. You manage to exist between worlds, and can perceive both.” Celestia knelt to bring her face down to Pinkie’s level. “You have the ability that can save us, and you have already done so. I assume you brought them with you.”
Nodding as a glimmer of hope returned to her eyes, Pinkie rummaged through her saddle bag and pulled out the binders and notebook. “So… you can use these? They’ll really help?”
“Of course, Pinkie.” Celestia floated them onto her desk, then returned to the large chair behind it and opened the strange book she had produced earlier. “You see—I have my own book. I had already tried to do what you are doing. Unfortunately, even the most powerful enchantments I could muster only achieved the same effect as your notebook.” She giggled at the amazement on Pinkie’s face. “You were not the only pony writing dreams, you know.” Waving a hoof at the stack of binders, Celestia continued, “I have been attempting to find a way to do what these can for quite some time now, but have failed. You have brought us the very thing we needed most: the power to create our world on our own.”
“So you… can do it now? I don’t have to anymore?” Her grin extending to its full breadth, Pinkie bounced over to Celestia’s desk. The sovereign had to join in the infectious smile.
“Yes, Pinkie. I have a secret staff of writers who have been contributing to my book. Now that we have yours as well—you do want me to keep them, do you not?” Pinkie nodded so hard that she nearly lost her balance. “Now that we have yours as well, we can ensure Equestria’s future.”
“But… there aren’t very many blank pages left. And how do you deal with making bad things happen? And how do I know this is real? And—” Pinkie said, pausing in mid-leap.
“So many questions!” Celestia interjected. “We can use our own paper, Pinkie. It is the cover that is important. And as for bad things—well, my writers are not fully aware of the effect that they have, and I take on much of that burden myself. It is my responsibility,” the Princess answered with a well-hidden flinch. “Feel free to contribute, if you wish. Write as many happy stories as your friends may inspire. Paint a picture. Compose a song. I can use them all. But Pinkie—” She waited for her companion to stop leaping and listen closely. “—you must keep our secret. Nopony can know. That is the one burden I must still impose upon you.”
“Ohhhhhhh! I Pinkie Swear! Cross my heart and hope to fly! Stick a cupcake in my eye!” she chanted, giggling at Celestia’s startled expression.
“Yes. Well… yes. I hope I have been able to allay your fears, Pinkie.” A sly smile crossing her face, Celestia levitated a piece of parchment out of a shadowy corner and into the book, along with a pencil that had scratched out a complete record of their meeting. “And this is why it will be real. Do you feel better?” Receiving a vigorous nod in response, the Princess called, “Bronze Patina! We have concluded our business. You may escort Miss Pie back out. Oh—one last thing. Where are the watchers now?” Pinkie pointed toward a nondescript spot on the wall, then bounded off down the hallway.
Turning in the direction Pinkie had indicated, Celestia addressed her audience. “And thank you, dear reader, for your help. Keep watching, keep reading, keep drawing, keep singing. Every time you do, you create Equestria anew and give us life. Do not worry for us. We have the means to survive now, but we do lack a certain imagination at times. We appreciate what you have done for us, and I hope that in some small way, we have also given you life. I wish you well, and bid you remember always that friendship is magic, in any world. Until we meet again.”
