A Pony in Passing
So this is it. All over. I give up. After years of fighting, life has taken one of the few things I truly cared about, and now It’s come to take me. I look down at the letter on the table. Doctor’s give me two weeks. Two weeks of pain meds and dementia, as the tumor swells and kills whats left of my brain. No chance of Chemo, too deep in my brain. Experimental procedure only giving a 20% chance of success.
I look down at the gun in my hand. Pawn shop special. Cheap, and unregistered, the owner owed me a favor. I have nobody to care about anymore, and nobody to miss me. With mom dead, there is nobody to even bury me. But in a few moments, none of that will matter. This life will be over, and hopefully a new one would begin. I wonder, would I come back as a good person again, or one of the many selfish assholes that inhabited my world. The ones that always seemed to succeed in life by stepping on others. I hope not. I didn't want to kill myself twice in a row.
It was time. My utilities were turned off, my rent was paid through the month, and nobody cared anymore. Especially me. The landlord was going to have to use my security deposit to clean my brains off the wall. I chuckled at this. Definitely would have to repaint. This wasn't going to be pretty, but in a moment I wouldn't care anymore. Not that I cared now.
I hesitated, trying to decide how to do it, as it’s not something you want to do twice. Against the temple? Under the chin? Or the old standby, in the mouth. Yea, that sounded about right, one last kiss from an inanimate object before I removed the tumor myself, the hard way. The gunmetal tasted funny. Probably the oil. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer that this worked.
“That would work alot better if you took the safety off.”
*click* In surprise, I squeezed the trigger, and immediately knew they were right. Who the fuck were they?
“What the fuck?” I looked around for the source of the voice. I saw nothing. I did the Hollywood cliche thing, staring around pointing the gun at unseen intruders. The door was locked, I was alone, so who the fuck just said that?
“Oh fuckin great, the dementia is starting now.” I plopped back into my chair. First the sounds, then the visions, and next I’m talking to inanimate objects. Well, more than normal, I guess.”
“So, you aren’t going to kill yourself then? That’s good, because it would be very lonely without anypony to talk to.”
My eyes flew open, I hadn't even realized I closed them. I always have been a little off, but still had a grip on what was real or not. Now it seems life was taking that away from me as well. Sitting in front of me was one of the most ironic hallucinations I could imagine.
“Hello Pinkie Pie. What took you so long?” A two foot high pink pony was standing on my desk, looking me square in the eye. Not the usual bouncy Pinkie either, but the straight haired Pinkamina that matched my current morose mood.
“Well, you know. Parties to plan, forth wall to break, depression to fight. That sorta stuff.” The vision before me was really creeping me out. More realistic than the 3D renders I had seen online, and the way she moved, was not like any cartoon I had ever watched. Man, my brain was pulling out all the stops on this one.
“Yea, depression is a bitch, isn't it?” I sighed, and decided to have fun with this. I placed the gun down, and she glanced at it disdainfully. “Welcome to my slow decent into madness.”
“Yea, well we are all mad in our own way, right?”
I managed a smile. “Yea, true. But the question is, why you, and why now?”
The smile was returned, and the sight of a smiling Pinkamina had the usual heart-melting effect. “I wish I knew. One moment, I was having one of my emo episodes, all mopey about a failed party, and the next I was here, looking at you, making out with a gun. I don’t even know how I know you, but I do.”
“Well, most likely, you are just part of my diseased brain, trying to distract me from my self-destructive impulses. Self preservation and all that...” I shrugged and leaned back. “So what now?”
“Well, how about now we find a way to help each other? You are depressed, I’m depressed. Sounds like we both need a party!” She was grinning now, and her color seemed to glow a brighter pink, although her mane remained straight.
“A party with Pinkie? Hellz fuckin yea! That’s what I’m talkin bout.” I smiled and jumped to my feet. I picked up the little pony, and spun in a circle, equally parts surprised and happy that I actually could touch her, feel her, even smell her. This was a real as It gets. Maybe I wasn't hallucinating after all.
And as she smiled up at me, a puppy-sized pink pony, I suddenly didn't feel so bad anymore. This was going to be a great two weeks.
Pain.
My head hurt. Alot. Is this what it feels like when you blow your brains out? I imagined it would be over alot faster than this. I remembered the gun, the taste of the metal, and then... why did my body hurt? I ached and felt clammy, but warm. My head throbbed, but I wasn’t dead. This didn't feel like death, this felt like...
A Hangover.
I groaned. I guess I chickened out and didn't do it after all. The memories were hazy. I remembered the gun in my mouth, I remembered Tequila in my mouth, I remembered... Pinkie Pie? Oh man, was I hallucinating again? The doctors said that I may start seeing and hearing things. And then there was that burning smell. And the warm lump on my chest.
What?
I lifted the covers to see a bright ball of pink fur curled in the crook of my arm and laying across my chest. Snoring lightly and fast asleep was Pinkie Pie. I wasn't dreaming, the pain and discomfort were evidence if that. And the memories were starting to come back, like fragments of a dream. I carefully disengaged myself from the sleeping pony, and she didn't even twitch, completely out of it. I remembered talking, about my life and problems, about her life and problems. Always trying to be happy and please her friends, always trying not to bitchslap every customer at work that asked a stupid question. Losing my mom, losing her Granny Pie. We shared pain, we shared jokes, we drank. Alot. Despite her size, she matched me shot for shot, until we were both holding our heads up and slurring like drug addicts.
I had been a Brony for months, going through the stages of Bronydom. From denial, to acceptance, closet, to openly embracing the love and tolerance shit. When mom had died, it was the only thing that kept me together. The bright colorful cartoon was like something pushing a big red button in the back of my head, labeled ‘Happy’. And now here was one of those ponies, with all four hooves in the air, snoring loudly on my bed.
She was different than the ponies from the show. I always imagined them to be bigger, mebbe around three for four feet tall, like real ponies. This one looked more like a medium sized plushie. A plushie that was now drooling on my pillow, and pawing at the air in her sleep. She was more the size of one of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but was clearly a full grown pony, Cutie Mark and all. Oh man, my brain was so full of fuck.
I wandered off to the kitchen, and chugged a jug of Gatorade. Hydration first, painkillers second, crazy hallucinations last. I really wanted coffee, but knew it would make things worse, so instead I settled on juice and bagels. As I sat down to the table with deliciously toasted bagel goodness wafting around me, my grip on reality seemed to reassert itself, and some of the pain melted away. I wasn’t crazy, there were no ponies, and I was going to enjoy my last few days in peace and serenity.
“Mmmm... Is that cinnamon raisin I smell?” My pink nightmare wandered into the kitchen, and bounced onto a chair, placing her hooves on the table and looking at me expectantly.
I realized that I had frozen in place, bagel halfway to a mouth that was hanging open. All my denial came crashing down, and I replaced the food on the plate, wordlessly pushing it across the table to the waiting pony.
“Yay, thanks! I’m starved. All that partying last night wore me out and gave me such an appetite!” She started to demolish the food with her stereotypical gusto.
Yet still she was different somehow. She was still pink, smiling way too much, with a laugh that would make the coldest miser spontaneously smile, yet she was alot more sombre, like myself, and without the manic energy that the show version exhibited. She was closer to the sad Pinkie from the episode where she thought she had lost all her friends. A bit more serious, with the straight hair, but alot less psychotic.
Of course, if she was a figment of my diseased mind, she would most likely be alot more like me. In fact as more memories came back, I recalled a very drunk Pinkie spouting some wisdom that can only come from extreme inebriation. “Sho... Think on dish. You only shee meh, but I shee an entire world. Which of us is more crazy? And am I your crazy, or are you mine? Eh, eh? Bloze yet mind dunnit?” And indeed, it had. Who was crazy, the human that saw a pink pony, or the pony that was stuck in a different world. At least I had a medical excuse.
Done with the food, she looked up at me expectantly. “What? Still hungry?”
She blushed, and looked rather nervous. “Uhh, actually... I kinda need to, you know.”
I was still deadpanning, doing my best to keep my thoughts and emotions off my face until I could understand what was going on. It was an old customer service trick that had served me well with strange and angry customers. “You need to use the little filly’s room?” I guessed.
In response she just nodded vigorously. I pointed down the hall, and she disappeared in a flash. I rubbed my eyes and tried to calculate how much anti-depressant medication I would need to make this all stop. Then I remembered I had flushed it all down the drain a week ago. Smart move, dumbass. Instead I got up to make another bagel.
More memories drifted through my fogged brain, of showing her my computer, and playing the show for her to see. It made her giggle to see herself and friends drawn in 2D. She teased me mercilessly about my pony porn collection as well, until I jokingly threatened her with the silicone toy I kept hidden in my drawer. I hadn't even thought about the thing in years, but she shut up real fast, and I got to laugh in return. My internet was still out, so she had to settle with what I had saved to my drive, but it was enough to impress the pint-sized mare.
My thoughts were interrupted by a flushing toilet, and I paused long enough to hear running water. I smiled at the thought of her washing her hooves. My bagel ready, I poured a second glass of juice, and added a straw, then made my way back to the table. It was not long before she bounced back into the chair, then drained the glass with a single slurp.
Unleashing a massive belch, surprising for such a small creature, she thanked me and resumed the expectant stare. I tried my best to ignore it, and finished my bagel and juice in quiet. Finally after I was done, I folded my hands in front of me and returned the look with my best deadpan.
“So.” I intoned.
“So?” she returned.
“So what now? A single instance of seeing something strange is common. Going on a drunken bender with a figment of my twisted imagination is not unheard of for me; I’ve been around. But this has to be the first time one of my brainurisms has woken up in my bed, eaten my food, used my bathroom, and continued to persist long enough to engage me in a staring contest.” I sighed, and put my head in my hands, unable to maintain the cool composure I was trying to fake.
“So you sill think I’m not real? All this is just your head playing tricks, and that I’m just going to poof so you can feel all better?” She sighed, and laid her head on the table. “And I thought I had made a new friend.”
“Yea, well I happen to have a mass the size of a walnut in my brain that is supposed to kill me soon, but not before it drives me insane. So yes, I am having a hard time with it.” I looked up, and my heart sank. Despite my denial, the sight of the little pony crying broke my heart. Even if it wasn't real, it was something nice, and I had just hurt it. So what if she was part of my mind? That meant I had just hurt my own self, something I was very good at.
I sighed, and came to a decision. “I don’t care. You hear me? I don’t care anymore. I don't care if you are real or not. I don't care because I have nothing else to care about. I am dying, and if someone wants to be my friend and make me happy before I go, then I don't care if they are real or not.” I got up and placed a hand on the little pony’s head. “I’m sorry Pinkie. Don’t hate me for not believing, but just understand that I have run out of things to believe in a long time ago, so having a friend is something I’m not used to anymore.”
The pink mare beamed a wide smile up at me, and my heart suffered a meltdown again. Leaping into my arms, she wrapped her hooves around my neck in a hug. Close to my ear, I heard her softy mutter, “I can never hate you. You are my new bestest friend, and my first ever drinkin buddy!”
I pulled back, and looked her in the eye. “Really? Nobody drinks in happy pony land?”
She responded with one of her musical giggles. “Nope. Celestia outlawed alcohol a long time ago, after Luna got drunk and turned into a bitchy Nightmare Moon. That’s why the Cakes have been putting up with me all these years. I help em run moonshine outta Sugarcube Corner!”
“Well I’ll be damned. I got me a rum-runnin party pony!” I laughed.
“Yep, the dread pirate Pinkie Pie makes the best rum in all of Equestria, and nopony suspects where all the sugar cane goes.” She giggled again and squirmed out of my arms.
“Nopony expects the Pink Pirate!” I cheered.
“Arrrr!! Avast ye scurvy dogs! Bring me my rum!” She danced on the table, and made sword thrusting motions in the air.
I fell back in my chair laughing at her antics. Yes, this was going to be a fun two weeks.
Two weeks passes fast at the speed of Pinkie. My bank account was hit heavily, and we made every moment count. Weeks became months, and both me and Pinkie stopped counting. Every morning was a new chance, every night was a new party. With Pinkie at my side, the world was full of color and life. And every time I came home from the doctors, was a new triumph as they were baffled at my refusal to die. They called it the power of positive thinking. We called it another reason to party.
But all things come to an end, and finally the pain caught up to me. As we sat in my favorite chair, little pony cuddled in my arms, we talked long into the night. We talked of friends, we talked of love we had lost, we talked of the fun we had. What we didn't talk about was how much pain I was in.
It had started a week earlier, and had gotten progressively worse. My two weeks had turned into four months. But now the clock was catching up to me, and I knew it would not last much longer. Finally, laughing at it was not going to work anymore, and my little pony knew it. So we sat in our favorite chair, and we cried.
Finally, she looked up at me, tears streaming down her face, and reached out a hoof to wipe away mine.
“Thank you for believing in me.”
I smiled and hugged her close. “Thank you for being my friend, when I needed one more than anything. You’re my favorite little tumor”
She giggled at the long standing joke between us. The giggle filled my heart with joy as it always did. It was a child’s laugh, so innocent and full of wonder. “I love you.”
I hugged her fiercely for a moment, afraid to ever let go. But then I did. “I love you too, Pinkie Pie.” and slowly, I closed my eyes.