What did you do when every time you smiled, every time you choked out a laugh, it felt like your face was cracking and your heart was breaking? Well, if you were Pinkie Pie, you threw a party.
There was more to it, of course. Wasn’t there always?
She just… couldn’t, anymore. Couldn’t laugh, couldn’t smile, couldn’t keep her damn mane curled without judicious application of enough manespray and heat to make Gummy choke and wheeze and generally act like a drama alligator, which he was, taking his hard earned crown from her. Well, he could keep it. She didn’t want it anymore, couldn’t want it anymore, and she hoped he was very happy with it when she was gone.
(Gone.)
(Thank Celestia.)
Back in the land of dust and ashes and blank, empty stares and the taste of death, she was planning a party. Her last party, in fact, and every time she looked down at her flank she half-expected her cutie mark to be gone to be gone because wow, this wasn’t fun anymore and that defeated the entire point! She was just going through the motions, a hollow mockery of a party, to let her friends down gently and be a good pony for one last time, and she could damn well handle it and suck it up for just a little while longer. She had to. It wasn’t an option.
So she went on. She gathered presents-- little things to remind each of her friends of her for the years to come, cake for them to snack on at the party, fabric for Rarity to make her funeral outfit out of, even a cute little stuffed animal Granny Pie had sewn for her. That was going in the casket with her, to snuggle with and complete her aesthetic. (That was a funny word, and if she was still okay she’d be laughing at it. Now though, she just gave a sad smile, and continued about her business.)
The invitations were carefully crafted masterpieces, sonatas of folded paper and gold leaf and shaky, loopy script in sparkly pink gel pen, clenched between Pinkie’s teeth until her jaw cramped and her eye twitched from the effort of trying to make her words legible. It wasn’t like it was that different from her normal writing, not a huge change from her usual silly cursive, hard to read and bright, but the tension showed in the jittery curves of the letters.
(Would her friends notice? Would they even care except to try and talk her out of it because they needed the Element of Laughter? She didn’t want them to try and stop her, didn’t have the energy to fight about her impending doom, and she could only hope they would understand. That was what good friends did, right? She didn’t know, anymore.)
(Part of her, the primal part of her brain that screamed, “Survive!”, hoped that they would lock her up, keep her safe and sound and fix her, but she sat on that part of her brain until it shut up. The rest of her was in full agreement -- she needed to die. Her Element was dim in her chest, and so were all of her emotions, clouded over with fog. She was so, so tired. If they were truly her friends, they would understand, even help her end it all.)
“Darling, are you alright-”
“I was so worried-”
“What the f-”
“Sugarcube?-”
“Oh my goodness-”
And they were all talking at once, and it was so loud and each colorful word slammed into her ears like a knife and she skittered away, picking up her little casket doll and hugging it close as she burst into noisy tears.
Fuck.
There went her plan, her wonderful plot to wait, make this as happy as possible and then break the news gently, all ruined because she was awful and couldn’t handle her best friends in the whole wide world being worried about her. Now she knew for sure that she didn’t want to survive, the nagging part of her finally shushed and miserable with it, and the rest of her taking a vicious glee in it. If Pinkie couldn’t even take joy in this, how was she supposed to take joy in anything?
A few broken sniffles later, her friends having been restrained by Applejack from swarming her again, and she wiped her tears on the doll and gave them a brave little smile (number 45; fake). “Um. Sorry about that. You girls didn’t do anything wrong-” lie lie lie and why wasn’t she telling them the truth? She could just get it over with, ruin the whole thing and finish it but she needed to treat them, make them happy before she crushed their spirits and if the same, mean part of her took more glee in that then that was only another reason she should die, “-I just. Am not having a good day, so I’m really glad that you guys are here! We can paaaar-tay all night, and Gummy’s excited to see you too! Just look at his little smile!”
Gummy didn’t give a shit. She wished she could be more like Gummy. (Maybe then she’d still be alive.)
Twilight spoke first, wings ruffling at her sides and a skeptical expression on her face. She was. Really not good at hiding her emotions, but Pinkie really didn’t have room to talk, now did she? Still, she got her inner monologue under control just in time to tune in to Twilight’s speech- “Are you sure? We could leave, if you want, and do this some other time? You seem really upset, and we don’t want to upset a friend.”Well that’s just diddly darn fine for you, but everything upsets me. Change the smile to number 33, childish and silly with a hint of a pout, and make sure not to say your inner thoughts out loud, and, “Don’t worry about me, silly filly! I’ll be fine as long as you girls are here! It’ll be a good distraction.”“If you say so…”“Well she does say so, so let’s get this party in gear!” Rainbow Dash’s enthusiasm should have made her laugh, especially with a cupcake already puffing out her blue cheeks, but.Sigh.“Yepperooski! Party-time~”“...please?”Her hair had deflated, finally, the curlers and manespray giving out under the pressure, letting the locks fall limp around slumped shoulders and cover her face. She was thankful for that. It meant she didn’t have to see her friend’s faces as they realized what Pinkie had asked, thought about murdering her and following her funeral directions.The room was silent, until a sucking breath could be heard.“Yeah, sure. I’ve done some crazy things, you know that, P. Murder’s just gonna be one more hardcore thing for my rap sheet. And. You need this, right? You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t. I get that. So. I’ll help you out.”“...sure.” Rainbow gulped, looked green under blue fur, but nodded, pushing Pinkie Pie away and into hugging each of their other friends, broken and bereaved but /not/ complaining anymore.Twilight had seen the darkening of the Element of Laughter, and knew that Pinkie Pie was breaking.Fluttershy and Applejack sensed that something was wrong.And Rarity. Rarity understood the need for dramatic gestures, for taking control of her own life. She did it with careful stitches, in velvety fur instead of fabric, and she might have been sad, but she wouldn’t interfere.Each said goodbye to Pinkie, whispered a few words into happily twitching pink ears, and Rainbow wrapped strong forelimbs around a soft barrel and lifted her into the sky. They flew up and up, spiraling towards the stars, and Pinkie’s breathing got shallower and shallower. Pegasi were built to breathe thin air, but earth ponies? Not so much. It didn’t matter to her, though, and she squirmed to tell Rainbow Dash when she was ready, looking down on the sparkling lights of Ponyville from above.And then she fell.The wind rushed past her, her ears popped, and tears streamed out of her eyes, but all she could feel was the pounding of her heart and the adrenaline rush. She barely felt it when she hit the ground, only a slight pressure, and she died with a smile.(She was free, was floating in the void, and everything was black and calm and nothing hurt anymore and oh, this was wonderful and she faded out of existence, still smiling.)
