A chapter a day keeps the Flim Flam brothers away.
Dear Diary,
We've not known each other long, you and I. We haven't taken the time to get to know each other, but seeing as you're not the talkative type, you probably won't mind hearing about me.
My name is Deekin... Or, at least, that's what I tell everypony else. You can call me Heartmender, though. That's my real name. I was actually named by my mother after my own cutie mark. That's right; I was born with my cutie mark already branded on my flank, and my mother always thought it meant that my special talent must be something really special. She was right, but unfortunately, she was the the only pony who was able to see that. All the other foals made fun of me for it, and I even cried myself to sleep sometimes because they hurt my feelings so much.
My special talent is reading the hearts of other ponies, and my cutie mark is a big, hot pink heart. That's right. I'm a stallion with a giant pink heart on his flank! It doesn't seem like something that would go along with a well built chestnut brown stallion with a chocolate mane, does it? What's worse is that I have pink eyes. I'm glad you're not able to laugh at me for it. Everypony else does.
I needed a diary, really. I love to listen to the thoughts of others, but it's nice to have somepony or something that listens without talking back. Ponies can't tell at first sight that I'm actually a very accomplished, miracle working therapist, but I am. In only four months of being in the field, I've volunteered and successfully brought remedy to two ponies in particular that both seemed as though they could never be helped. The first was a stallion who was obsessed with bathing in jelly. I'll have you know that I'm a very accepting pony. I believe that mares can like mares, and ponies can be physically attracted to all kinds of things, but... Jelly? I wouldn't believed it if I hadn't been there to see him wallowing in a tub of grape jelly with his hooves pulled up to his chin like a bunny, and the stupidest of grins on his face. I didn't entirely cure him; I introduced him to the wonders of toast, and now he at least spends more time eating jelly than wallowing in it. I hope he doesn't contract some disease from consuming so much sugar.
The second pony was a nervous young filly who had a teririble habit of chewing her hooves. The poor girl; she couldn't help it. If somepony wasn't there to stop her at all times, she would end up chewing past the quick until she bled and cried. As it turned out, she just needed some encouragement from me to accept some encouragement from her parents. It only took a week to get her on the right path, and within a month of speaking to her, that filly got her cutie mark, and she was a dancer. I gave her a gift that I myself was never allowed to have: Something that made ponies like her, and something that provoked admiration in lieu of derision.
This is why I have the job that I do, my ever silent diary. I like to see other ponies happy, and I'll do anything to make another pony's life better. I only have purpose so long as other ponies need me.
Pardon my abrupt leave, diary, but I've only just now received a letter regarding my volunteer application for a certain pink mare, and I'm eager to learn what is so "extreme" about this mare.
Thanks for listening when nopony else would.
Heartmender
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Heartmender's magic quickly snapped close the brass clip over his diary and slid it into his upper desk drawer, and the drawer slid shut. Now a thrice-folded parchment with bold text hovered in the air where his diary had only moments before. It read:
Deekin,
the Asylum has received your volunteer application for our patient, and it is with great honor and reluctance that we would like to accept you into the rehabilitation plan. Our team has deemed it necessary to give you more details on her condition before you take the first step. Your progress as a therapist far exceeds that of what we would find impressive, but it is important that you understand what you will be dealing with.
The mare in question is named Pinkamena Dianne Pie. Pinkamena was admitted one year ago today, and has shown no signs of improvement. All administered medication has had no effect on her, and she shows intention of cooperating with any of the few ponies who are willing to evaluate her. We have enlisted the most accomplished and learned psychiatrists in Equestria to try their hoof at understanding her, but up until this point, everypony involved with her treatment has collectively concluded that she cannot be helped. Policies regarding patient confidentiality and the like prohibit the distribution of her specific condition with you, but we must assure you that they are like nothing we have ever seen.
We are reluctant to enlist such an inexperienced stallion as yourself, even if you are well accomplished. Still, if you feel you can keep your wits about you in the face of the most extreme case of psychosis that Equestria has ever seen, we are eager to collaborate with you in hopes of rehabilitating Pinkamena.
Doctor Winters
Heartmender smiled. He smiled just as hard as he had smiled in his first memory, one in particular that he cherished above all others. If they think she's that hard of a nut to crack, then it's time to show the world what I can really do. So what if she was the worst case they had ever seen? Heartmender thought his arrogance to be justified. He was already a miracle worker, and although he suspected that his next patient may even be a murderer, he was not intimidated. How bad could she be?
Heartmender rose from his office chair, and his horn flared as the blinds of the windows let the light seep in that would illuminate his study. Heartmender was a stallion of simplicity; the only features of the room were his desk, an empty waste basket, and a simple book shelf that only had two items on it: A copy of Predictions and Prophecies, and a small bauble resembling a draconequus. Heartmender didn't know anything about the creature, but he knew that it must be interesting at least.
To the meeting with me!
Prologue: Lost♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫
Doctor Winters, a solid white unicorn stallion sporting a doctor's attire and his round glasses, cantered without enthusiasm down an echoing corridor that more effectively resembled a high security prison than it did a place of rehabilitation. Doctor Winters was now walking through what was one of the least-known facilities in Equestria, and it was also the most infamous to the few who knew its name. The only ponies who were ever permitted upon the grounds of the Equestrian Asylum were either particularly accredited psychiatrists or accomplished masters of psychiatric medicine. Only the most extreme of cases were referred to the asylum, and Doctor Winters' current patient was by far a more extreme case than even the most unspeakable of horror stories he used to be so fond of reading.
Damn this place! Who in their right mind would put so much time and resources into a facility meant only to house five patients at any given time? Doctor Winters sighed and read his clip board as he continued down the hallway, his hoofsteps echoing quietly in his ears. Every time Doctor Winters' reviewed his patient's case, it became harder to believe how twisted and morbid the details were.
Her name was Pinkamena Dianna Pie, hot pink mare with infatuating sky-blue eyes that made her incriminating deeds seem all the more eerie. How can a pretty face like that belong to such a malevolent creature... This mare had suddenly snapped without warning from being the most jovial, cheerful, and bubbly pony in Equestria to a pony who practically made art out of other ponies. She dismembered her best friend and gouged out her cutie mark... Doctor Winters shivered. He didn't like being in charge of somepony so twisted, he didn't like being the adviser for her care, and he certainly didn't like having to be the pony who personally evaluated her unimpressive progress each month. With each hoof step, he thought about what he was doing. I'm paying a visit to a psychotic mare who is prone to battering her caretakers, who has only spoken a scant ten words in her entire year of admission, and who would kill me on sight if she had the chance. I thought us psychologists were supposed to be somewhat intelligent.
Doctor Winters slowed his pace as to arrive as late as possible to the mare's cell. If he never made it to the heavy, ironclad door, it would be too soon. Eventually, he was forced to face his fears as he stood at the end of the corridor. The flourescent light above his head flickered and buzzed ominously as he stood, hesitating to slide his electronic card through the door. His lanyard was still dangling, and the echo of tinkling keys against plastic and his own breath was almost deafening. You can do this. You just have to establish that she's helpless and wait another month. She's too far gone, anyway. There's no helping her. After a full minute of procrastination, Doctor Winters' horn flared as to open the peeking slit in the door. Winters' leaned closer to ensure that Pinkamena was on the other side of the cell, and what he saw looking back at her gave him the worst kind of nightmares until the day he died.
The cell that Pinkamena resided in was of immaculately white tiles and white brick walls. A window at the far end wrought with iron bars let the sun shine in minimally, which Pinkamena never closed or reacted well to being closed. The single soft bulb installed in the room was off at the moment, and that was what made the moment so spine chilling: Leaning into the corner on the back of her bed before him was Pinkamena, her face expressionless, her mane draping down around her straight jacket and her sky blue eyes locked onto him. Those eyes. Looking at him. Just looking. She didn't blink, she didn't look away, and Doctor Winters couldn't seem to do either. He was as entranced as he was terrified, his pulse was racing and he could only take shallow breaths. And then she smiled. In actuality she was a beautiful creature, and even if Doctor Winters hadn't been petrified with fear, he might not have looked away, anyway. Memories of her deeds and the few scarce words she ever mustered rang in his ears, and when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, something brushed against his flank and he screamed, tripping over his own legs and falling to the floor.
"BY THE SISTERS, DON'T SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!" After Doctor Winters' magic lifted his glasses onto his face, he could see that it was cyan nurse's uniform that had brushed up against him.
"I-I'm sorry, Doctor Winters. I've brought her medicine, and..." The mare swept her straight, dark blue mane out of her eyes to get a better look at Doctor Winters. She noticed his facial expression and was instantly wrought with a similar feeling of dread. "Are you alright, doctor?"
"Yes, yes," Doctor Winters said weakly as he stood to recover his composure. "I just... Never mind that. Rose, I'm not going to make you go in there with her again." He motioned with his horn to the sliding slit in the door, which was still left wide open. "She's not responding well to her medication, and there's no sense in letting her kick and bite at you again." Nurse Rose looked at the wrist and shins of her forelegs, and so did Doctor Winters. A look of guilt settled on his face. "I'm sorry, Rose."
"It's quite alright, Doctor Winters. Really." Her face did not betray any concealed spite, and Doctor Winters believed her. His horn flared briefly as the peeking slit slid shut. "Should I dispose of the medication, then?" Nurse Rose glanced at a miniature cup containing a large blue capsule.
"Yes, please do. If your duties are fulfilled, you should go home early. I'll fill in for the rest of the evening."
Rose nodded and smiled as she cantered happily down the hallway, her hoofsteps echoing just as Doctor Winters' had. "Thank you, Doctor!"
Doctor Winters watched for a minute as Rose walked down the corridor until he realized he was staring. Embarrassed with himself, he turned to gaze at the cell that he had become so afraid of. A soft, deceptively jovial voice tore through the air from inside the cell like an icy dagger.
"Doctor?"
Doctor Winters was too afraid to answer, and so he stood motionless and said nothing.
"Why won't you answer my questions if you send a bunch of doctors in here every week to ask me things, hm?"
Doctor Winters realized that he had been holding his breath, and as he exhaled, he was forced to inhale sharply again at the eerie filly-giggle from inside the cell. She never talks! What's different about today?! Doctor Winters picked up his clip board and half-galloped down the hallway from where he came, eager to get as far away from that accursed cell as possible. Just before went to open the door into the meeting room, Pinkamena's chuckle rang out through the corridor, sending more chills down his spine. It was that very chuckle that heralded every nightmare and frightening thought that Doctor Winters would ever have.
The Doctor stepped into the meeting room to find the other three doctors, all ready to discuss whether to enlist an inexperienced, miracle working young stallion who seemed all too eager to get in touch with a murderer. Still, the patient was always the highest priority, and if the newbie could do what Equestria's finest psychiatrists could not, then that would be fine with them.
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♪♫ Should I continue? ♪♫
