Fallen Angel

Pinkamena smiled as she finished cleaning the last of the remnants of her latest party. She pulled a balloon down from the ceiling, tying its string around her bag to take home. She recalled her first party. It was the first time her father had smiled. And it was afterwards she found out why. "Pinkamena." Her father's voice never rose above a whisper. "You disgraceful wretch." Every hope the 8 year old girl had of being praised dissolved in an instant. Her father took another step. "We feed you. Give you shelter. Care for you. And all we ask is that you do a simple job for us." He raised a rock in the air. "But no." He took aim. "It's too hard for you. You had to rebel. You had to disobey me." He threw the rock as hard as he could. The rock missed her face. This, at least, was a good thing about alcohol. But it still smashed into her arm, blood seeping from a large gash in her arm. As tears leaked from her eyes, she ran. She didn't know where she was going, she just ran. Ran like hell. This was how she had found Ponyville.

Her father had never smiled once, not even during the party. It was all an act. All along, he only cared about finding gold. He had never cared about supposed "rock farming." He wanted more money to buy alcohol and illegal drugs. One thing he did hit on the head was how cold stones were. "Stone cold" was his favorite expression. It was true. His heart was stone cold. A few weeks after she'd run away, she was living in, and working at, Sugarcube Corner. She had received an email on her phone. Come back. I will find you. She didn't know who it was. But she had an idea. If you are who I think you are, no! She hadn't received any more emails until her twelfth birthday. Come back. I swear to god I will find you. You will be sorry you ran away. She was old enough now that she reported this to the police. They had said they had caught her father, and now he was in jail. But every party she threw she feared his coming.

She opened the door of her house on the outside of the town. Sugarcube Corner had been closed, and the Cakes had moved away, so she had to scrape up what little money she had to buy her house. It still felt like home though, and she had done quite a bit since then. She now had a new job- delivering home-made treats to people around town who missed the loved corner cafe. She had more money now. She walked into her kitchen late that night, as the party had been quite long. The 19 year old girl had been quite  successful, despite her awful backstory. She pulled off her over shirt, a large baggy sweater with her mark on its side. As she pulled it off, her tight undershirt betrayed her painfully thin body. Her ribs were visible even under the shirt, and, due to its being a camisole, it revealed her arms. Pinkamena's skinny arms were covered in scars. Some were inflicted by her father, some by herself.

Pinkie staggered into the bathroom, looking around, even though no one else lived in her house. She locked the door and opened a long since untouched medicine container. Any other person would have thought she was a drug addict, but upon opening the container, a small blade was revealed. She pulled it out, pressing the blade between her fingers. She brought it down sharply on her wrist. The wound was not deep, but crimson blood seeped out all the same. She made another cut on her other wrist. She dropped the blade back into its case and shoved it into the medicine cabinet. She gasped and tears welled up in her sky blue eyes. Her curly pink hair seemed to flatten or deflate as it falls around her face. Pinkie covered her face in her hands. Who was she? What was wrong with her? Finally, she decided to pull on her sweater again and go for a walk.