Chapter Ten: Life’s A Party

Pinkie Pie waited patiently for Mr and Mrs Cake to regain consciousness. They were well restrained and she could’ve left them there waiting for her, but she was hopelessly excited and wanted to get started as quickly as possible. She was very well prepared; both of her victims were firmly secured to their own sturdy wooden table with modified belts on each leg as well as one on the neck acting as makeshift straps. Pinkie had tilted both the tables to a nearly 45 degree angle so that she wouldn’t have to awkwardly stoop over while interacting with her employers. She had a wheeled tray on standby, stocked with the various tools she’d need. All she had to do was wait for the Cakes to wake up.

Mrs Cake was the first to regain consciousness. She lifted her head slightly and dopily took in her surroundings. With difficulty, her eyes focused on Pinkie, who was now leaning over her with a wicked smile on her face.

“Hi!” the Pink Pony said excitedly.

“What?” was all Mrs Cake could come up with in reply.

“Oh don’t you see?” Pinkie said as she pushed her face up against her victim’s, breathing heavily, “You seemed so desperate to understand me. You kept going on about how you’re so sorry for what happened, and how it’s such a great loss, and how you know how I feel. But you know what? You really don’t know how I feel. So I figured I could give you a little demonstration!”

Pinkie took a step back and wiped the sweat from her face, attempting to compose herself. Humming a happy tune excitedly, she moved to the tray and retrieved a butchers’ knife, holding it clumsily between her hooves. She brushed the knife gently against her victim’s face, wishing to savour every fleeting moment.

“Those dogs - their claws are sharp, you know?” Pinkie said, swinging the blade with all her strength across Mrs Cake’s face. She screamed and tensed up in pain and fear. Blood began pouring down her face as she blubbered in terror.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby” Pinkie said, rolling her eyes, “That was a love tap. Come on, what happened to that sympathetic ear you offered me before?”

Giggling hysterically at her own pun, Pinkie began awkwardly sawing at the left ear. She relished in the victim’s pleas and screams of agony. She laboured away for a good five minutes before becoming frustrated with her lack of progress. The warm blood which had seemed so delightful a few minutes earlier was now more of annoyance, causing her hooves to slip and making the task increasingly difficult. Wiping the sweat off her brow with her bloody hoof, she examined the wound and realised that she had hardly cut half way through the ear.

“Wow, this is harder than I thought!” Pinkie remarked, disregarding the gut-wrenching wailing as she rummaged in her tray for something that could improve her efficiency. Examining a roll of duct tape, she concluded aloud “That could work,” and proceeded to tightly bind the knife to her left hoof. Returning to the laborious slashing, she was rather pleased with how effective her new method was. Finally, Pinkie managed to amputate the ear entirely.

“Thought of that all by myself. Aren’t I a clever pony? Or should I say a CLEAVER pony?”The insane pony chuckled and smiled mindlessly.

“Please,” said Mrs Cake between sobs, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Have to? Have to?” Pinkie scoffed before continuing in an offended tone, “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to keep my thoughts all bottled up or dull them with drugs. I don’t have to run away from my problems or try to hide them. Most importantly, I don’t have to deal with any pony acting like they know how I feel. I’m free now. I can do what I want. I’m in control. You have to do what I say now, so just shut up let me hear you scream like a good girl.”

The landlord realised her number was up. She sighed in resignation. There was nothing she could do. Summoning all her energy and courage, she attempted to overcome every instinct of survival. Mrs Cake made an attempt to fly in the face of thousands of years of evolution reinforcing the importance of self preservation. She looked up at the pink mare - the playful girl she had taken in and given a job and a life where no pony else would.

“You’re sick. You need help,” she spat.

Pinkie’s manic smile was suddenly replaced by a twisted, disgusting look of pure hate. “You idiot! You stupid little foal!” She went berserk and lashed out wildly, hacking clumsily at her victim’s flesh. “I don’t need any pony to help me. I’m powerful and strong! Look at me! Look at what I’m doing to you!”

Pinkie kept striking wildly, taken up in a combination of anger at her victim’s insolence and the uncontrollable desire to assert her dominance over another pony. Each blow increased her want for power, yet each blow seemed less satisfying than the last. She felt totally senseless; as if some great force was compelling her to keep striking. After a time, she began to ease back. Her adrenalin had run its course and she was exhausted. Leaning on the tray, she was disappointed to see that Mrs Cake’s life had slipped away sometime during her assault. Her corpse was brutally mangled and hardly recognisable. She was covered in blood, but she seemed to have stopped bleeding. What remained of her face seemed to be contorted in a grotesque, unnatural wince. Her mouth was wide opened and saliva was running down her chin.

“You just couldn’t do what I told you to do. Well look what you made me do. Look at you now,” Pinkie said spitefully. Wiping the sweat and blood from her face she eventually continued “This wasn’t what I’d planned at all. You ruined everything.” Pinkie felt a terrible emptiness inside her, and became absorbed in depression. Her train of thought was derailed by a whimper nearby. Mr Cake had finally awoken, and was gazing confusedly at the mangled body of his wife as he blubbered pathetically. Pinkie quickly cheered up. Just as well she had a backup ready to go.