On the Courtship of Pink Party Ponies
PART ONE: A Simple Vacation
“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs it is the rule.”
--Friedrich Nietzsche
How I ever got stuck in this situation, I’ll never know.
Okay, to be honest, I probably do know. But at the current moment, any memory of the days before this one escape my mind. I decided only now to write this, because honestly, I felt it my duty to do so before the week is over. I don’t know exactly as to why I’m writing this. Maybe I have a hundred reasons. Maybe there’s only one. But like I said, I don’t know. And I probably won’t ever be able to find that reason.
I’m sitting in the small study of the house we had bought seven or so years ago. Our two children, Bubble Berry and Summer Surprise, are running around upstairs and through the house while my wife and Percy, my pet parrot, attempt to track them down. Berry and Surprise (the nicknames we had given them at birth) aren’t twins, but they might as well be. They both have the energy of their mom, and even though they can think well like me, it gets the two into more trouble than it should. I even remember one time when they almost burned down the Cakes’ Sweet Shop down by the marketplace.
Even to this day, I’m astounded that Surprise was even born. You see, when my wife (I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce her. The name of my wife is Pinkamena Diane Pie, but most know her as Pinkie Pie) was pregnant with our first child (who, mind you, was meant to be our only child), she somehow was already pregnant with another child. Bubble Berry was born just fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary with him. Everything checked out. But for some reason, Pinkie was still having stomach pains even months after Bubble Berry was born. Soon a couple of visits to the doctor’s office told us that she was once again pregnant; the child would be born as our second child and daughter, Summer Surprise. Of course, I was surprised (hence the name), but I didn’t mind a second child for some odd reason. I still don’t know why I didn’t mind, even to this day, but even I know that there is nothing that I can do now.
I’m sorry. I’m going on another one of those tangents again. Rambling like that is another effect of old age. It is, in a way, a terrible fate for one to finally grow old. To wake up every morning feeling the fresh aches and pains of old war wounds, to watch helplessly as my mind and body both begin to fail me. I see now why many an old men and women chooses to seek one final battle, that they might die in a blaze of glory rather than seek a death in bed, long after their best days are behind them. One can only hope that whomever is forced to rewrite this journal into coherent words does their best to do away with these so called ‘ramblings’(1).
1: Actually, to be honest, he’s not that bad about it. But, then again, I’m only the latest in a string of like...nine-hundred or so editors, so maybe the ones who came before me dealt away with all of the worst of it.
You wouldn’t believe how difficult and also how easy it is for me to write this. On the surface, it is hard for me to remember certain details of events so long past, no matter how easy it is for me to see the bigger picture. Some conversations I can remember well, while others aren’t so easily recalled. Sometimes, I might even have to force myself to put something in to fill the empty spaces of a conversation between me and someone else.
Maybe I wrote this because I feel compelled to look back and reflect upon my experiences. Maybe I chose to write this journal so that I can begin to recall those memories which my old age has begun to steal from me. But, as I’ve stated previously, I might never be able to know that reason. I can only hope that I will do my best to remember what I can with what little technology we have. Who knows? I could possibly remember things from the years before and even after the years of this story. But until such times come, we might never know.
I have decided to write the story in four parts. I will call the first “A Simple Vacation;” honestly, it was anything but simple. I hope to describe what life was like before the events of the main story, and maybe a few extra tidbits here and there. The second, I will name “The Dream Carrier,” this time telling of the experiences I had in Ponyville. This part might be the longest, as most of my life happened here; (what I mean is that anything of significance in my life was during these times). The third piece, “The Last Human Stranger,” contains the second half of the important events of my life, mainly of my love life and anything else about the events I feel needs explanation. The final part, which I like to call “The Last Color,” describes in full the events of my life after everything was transpired. Essentially, it is our story’s epilogue.
I’m laughing now. Just now, I heard a crash and bang in the upstairs bedroom. Pinkie keeps yelling, and when she yells, the world shakes. But me, I laugh. It’s still funny to me, even today. I’m sure that whatever was broken or utterly destroyed now is something we can just go and buy from the store downtown. I used to tell Pinkie that she can get herself overworked over everything, and that she needs to calm down. Of course, being the Pinkie I know, she denied everything I claimed, and would usually just send me away. It doesn’t upset me, though. I understand when a woman needs her time to herself, just like the time she’s giving me now to write this journal.
Again. I’m doing it again. I’m sorry for that immense tangent. I hope you can forgive me for that one. Anyways, with long-winded and pointless commentary dealt with, I would like to begin our little story. I think I’ll start it on the first day I met Pinkie, when I first moved to Ponyville. If I can remember correctly, that day was seven years and eight days ago. I think it was one of the more sunny days we had that year…
You know, sometimes I hate the sunlight. Don’t get me wrong; the sunlight is great! It’s just that sometimes, it’s a pain in the backside. I unloaded myself from the train to be greeted by the white blindness of afternoon sun. Of course, I shouldn’t have expected any less. After all, sunlight was more prominent in the middle of July. My heart was almost jumping right out of my chest when I stepped off that train. Ponyville was more beautiful than I thought it would be. Postcards and tourist brochures could brag and boast all they wanted to, but the pictures that they had on those thick pieces of paper paled in comparison to the real thing.
But that wasn’t why I was here. I was here for a job interview with some lady who had placed an ad in the newspaper:
WANTED:
LIBRARY ASSISTANT
LOCATION: PONYVILLE
*Interview on-site*
*Call for more information*
1-880-274-8991
Apparently, the library in Ponyville needed an assistant. I guess they needed help with organisation or something. Although it wasn’t the ideal job I would have wanted, it would have to do. I stepped off the platform of the station with pep in my step and bags in tow. I had only brought two bags with me; one to hold my clothes, and the other to hold anything else I felt I needed, which wasn’t much to begin with. I had grown up in Canterlot, but still, my parents didn’t spoil me like the other kids I knew. They thought it would be better for me to focus my attention on education rather than spend all of my life at home like the thirty-year-old creeps who live in their mother’s basement.
So, back to the library. Yeah, I guess this lady needed help with organising or something. I guess she had become too busy to focus on the library itself, so she was hiring someone else to help and to do it for her. I didn’t mind a little bit of work in a library. I loved books, after all, and it never hurt anyone to just organise a few books and scan a few out of the library. I walked through the station, holding my passport and any other essentials to the officials before making my way into Ponyville itself. And believe me when I say that it was more magnificent on the inside than on the outside.
Now, understand that I’m from a town where everyone forces you to act a certain way, and that acting out of the social norm was “disgusting” and “irrefutable.” In Canterlot, they told you how to dress, how to act, how to write, and even how to think! Now, I could handle writing and dressing, but if there’s one thing that you never say or do to me, it’s telling me how to think or act. But I didn’t care anymore. I was in Ponyville, where people could think freely for themselves, and new ideas were encouraged, rather than crushed away by the social norms!
I stared in awe at each and every inch of Ponyville, taking in each morsel of integrity and smelling all the happiness in the air. Strange analogy, I know, but at the time, that’s how I felt! It was amazing, especially coming from a guy who had spent his entire life up until this point eating all of the fancy, over-priced meals that you were forced to eat (And they were disgusting, believe me). At the time, I still wasn’t sure if I was going to be staying in Ponyville for long, so taking in each and every inch of this town was worth it.
If I can recall, I think that I was around twenty-five. But I’m still not sure, so I could be wrong. The town itself was magnificent. Did I mention that? I can’t remember. Anyways, I continued to walk, admiring the people going about their business like there was no other in the world. It gave me a warm feeling inside, knowing I’d be working around such nice people for the next few years or so.
“Hi!”
“AH!!!” I looked from a large building to see a girl overly-dressed in pink standing in front of me. Her eyes were wider than watermelons, and her smile could challenge the sun in brightness. I jumped so badly that I had dropped my things on the ground. After staring at each other for a few more seconds, I mumbled a few not-so-nice words—which I will not mention here—and began picking up my scattered belongings.
“Hello, stranger! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before!”
Gee. Glad someone here is still a happy camper. I stood up with everything in my hands, and stared at the pinkish girl. “Hi.”
“Wait, are you new here in Ponyville? Because I don’t know you. And if I don’t know you, then I’m not friends with you, and I’m friends with everybody. Which means that I don’t know you, and if I don’t know you…” I took the time to look this pink girl over. There wasn’t really much to the girl. I mean, just about everything was pink! Her hair (which was really, really poofy, by the way. Must have over blow-dried this morning), her shoes, and even her clothes! Just about the only things that weren’t pink on her were her blue eyes and cream skin tone. “GAAASSSPPPPP!!!!” I was interrupted by the same pink girl, whom now was hovering in the air. Her face was that of surprise, and just as suddenly as she had arrived, she was gone(2).
2: I don’t know how obvious it is, but that overly-pink dressed girl was Pinkie Pie. Some of you might know why she gasped like that before running off. For those of you who don’t, just keep reading. You’ll find out.
Well, that was...interesting, was the only thought running through my head at that moment. I sighed and grabbed my bags before making my way to town hall, where the only map in town was located. Quickly scanning the bright mix of color and sunglare, I located the library to be just a little bit south of Ponyville’s main marketplace. With that in mind, I began walking with a strut towards my latest destination.
CHAPTER 2
“If you can’t fly, then run. If you can’t run, then walk. If you can’t walk, then crawl. But whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward.”
--Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Ya know, I probably should have chosen a better job.
What I entered through the doors of the library to was nothing less than chaotic. Papers were flying everywhere, and books were scattered all over the floor.
