Blue Frosting

"You smell like Scootaloo did," Apple Bloom said with disgust. The air was filled with the fetid aroma of pony poop. She picked up the last piece of the last dirt-covered cupcake that had fallen within reach and put it in her mouth. She limped over to her water bucket and took a sip of stale, dirty liquid to wash it down. Then she lay down and stared at her captor which was the only thing to do. She had planned on rationing out the frosting to put off the pain of withdrawl a little longer, but she couldn't help herself and licked off all the blue within an hour.

Yesterday morning, as she had a hundred times before, Pinkie had thrown open the cellar doors and come dancing down the stairs with her basket of drug-infused treats. Apple Bloom could smell the crisp morning air and the dew on the grass. Unfortunately, the dew was on her captor's hooves as well, and at the second step she slipped, falling backward onto the stairs and then bouncing over the side. Her basket flew up, sending cupcakes flying up and then crashing down to the cellar floor. About half of them ended up with their frosted crowns in the dirt.

Likewise Pinkie flew up, and over the side. And just as with the the cupcakes, she landed on her crown. But instead of a quiet frosted-cupcakes-hitting-the-ground "splut" sound, her crown impacting the floor was accompanied two popping sounds, one right after the other.

Pinkie landed on her back, rolled onto her side, never moved again. Several hours later the smell began as her excretory system let go, a consequence of her shattered spine and the loss of nerve control to her lower body.

It was hard for Apple Bloom to remember that there had been a time when Pinkie was her friend. Now, staring at her twisted body across the dirt floor, Apple Bloom wanted to be mean to Pinkie. She wanted to hurt the pink monster who had killed her friends, broken her leg, torn off her ear, and made her hurt all the time because she was addicted to the blue frosting. She was scared and cold in the cellar and Pinkie had made her do fillyfooler things to get the blue frosting.

She glared at the broken mare lying just beyond the reach of her chain. Sometimes she couldn't control herself and she would pick up a rock and throw it at her paralyzed jailer. Apple Bloom tried to bury her head in her hooves to shut out Pinkie Pie's incessant rambling. She had been insane for months, capturing the Mark Crusaders and torturing them in her cellar. Pinkie had been babbling unabated since she fell, but in the last hour the constant prattle had slowed as she was getting hoarse from dehydration. Even when addressed directly, Apple Bloom tried to ignore her, saying as little as possible, hoping Pinkie's end would come sooner than later.

"Party Pony? I can't move my arms or legs," croaked Pinkie. "How can I hang decorations if I can't move my legs? All of the other Party Ponies will laugh at me."

Apple Bloom tried to distract herself with happy thoughts, found none, but contined to ignore Pinkie.

"Party Pony? Are you there?"

"I'm not your party pony. Just shut up, Pinkie."

"If I die will I meet the Queen of the Party Ponies?"

Apple Bloom did the meanest, most spiteful thing she could thing of. "No, Pinkie," she shot back. "You will never meet the  Queen of your stupid party ponies."

"Why, did I do something wrong? Did she not like my party?" Pinkie started to cry. "All I wanted was to meet the Queen and have her tell me I was a good pony and that she liked my party." She sobbed quietly for about fifteen minutes.

"Apple Bloom?"

The prisoner raised her head. It had been a long time since Pinkie had used her real name.

"Apple Bloom, I'm sorry I smell like poopy; I couldn't hold in any more. I don't have any strength left."

The last remaining Cutie Mark Crusader sat up, her eyes beginning to tear. Those were the words that Scootaloo had said when she messed herself, and Pinkie hadn't even been in the room. Maybe deep down inside there was a little bit of her friend left.

"Apple Bloom, I'm scared."

The victim wanted to hate her so much; she did hate her. But at the same time she knew that Pinkie was a very, very sick mare. Not a spots-on-the-body sick or sneezing-a-lot sick, but a thinking kind of sick that made her do the things she did. She remembered that right before Pinkie attacked them, the not-yet-insane mare had said it was her birthday. It clearly wasn't, but Apple Bloom had apologized anyway for not remembering to bring a present.

Maybe the little filly, broken herself, had that one last gift to give.

"Pinkie?"

"Yes, Apple Bloom?"

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Pinkie, I'm sorry I lied to you. I saw the Pony Queen here while you were asleep. I saw her talking to you and saying how proud she was of your parties and that you are the best Party Pony Princess she has ever met."

"She really said that?"

"Yes she did." Apple Bloom continued her white lie. "She also said that when you die you can come and join her in her big Party Palace."

Pinkie cried softly to herself for a while.

"Apple Bloom?"

"Yes, Pinkie?"

"Thank you."

That was the last think Pinkie ever said. A few hours later the soft breathing of her tormenter ceased, and Apple Bloom was alone.

A few days later Apple Bloom was reunited with her friends, and she never hurt again.