Pinkamena Insane Pie

“Careful Inky! Those are awfully heavy!” Called Pinkie’s father, Clyde. He was a deep tan color with a short, messy gray mane almost hidden by a black, broad brimmed hat.

A couple yards away, Inky stumbled about, carrying heavy loads of granite, limestone, dolostone, and Slate in a gray saddlebag that matched her almost charcoal colored mane. Matching her two sister’s style, her mane was as strait as a board and her bangs hid one of her deep, purple eyes. Just like her name, Inky had a coat just a tad lighter than her mane.

“Pinkie! Get working! You overslept by an hour!” Ordered her father as he collected a few stones and put them into a tan  saddlebag.

Pinkie obliged and slung on her pink saddlebag that matched her short, flat, strawberry mane and tail that was slightly darker than her pale pink coat. Most everypony wondered how her pink hair and coat came to be, considering her parents were both the gloomy, gray color.

Almost every day, Pinkie would make up some excuse to go to the bog. The bog had to be her favorite place because of the mud. Pinkamena would plop her hindquarters into the mud, and trace out shapes with her hooves for hours on-end until she could hear the faint sound of her parents calling.

“Father?” She asked as she lifted a large chunk of limestone.

“Yes?”

“Can I go to the bog? I read somewhere that there is lots of Basalt there.”

Clyde sighed, “Yes, but hurry. If you need help call for Blinky.” He pointed his snout to a filly with a periwinkle coat, and somewhat of a light gray mane, with bangs that cut off just above her eyes.

“Thanks.” Pinkie muttered. The bog was about a mile away, but she enjoyed the long run there.

At that, she took off as fast as her little legs could take her. She passed by a wide field of buffalo, grazing on the crispy, dry grass that was tarnished by the amount of sun. She slowed herself to a small trot, being careful to keep her hooves as light as possible, for even the crunching of a leaf could cause a buffalo stampede. Pinkie turned around the bend into a forest, coated with golden-brown leaves. When the buffalo passed through here, their thundering hoofbeats and loud mooing would shake the trees, ridding them of their leaves.

Pinkamena slowed her pace now to a walk. She felt the soft earth beneath her, much different from the hard, rocky soil back at the rock farm. Another thing very divergent from the rock farm was here, she was more free, without her mother’s hawk-like eyes following her every move. Also, there she had to sleep on a scratchy pile of hay in the silo where the coal is kept, because her siblings were taking up the only two extra bedrooms, and them being the youngest, they got what they wanted.

Eventually, when the dirt became more squishy, Pinkie knew she was close. Within a few more minutes, she arrived at the bog. Several dragon flies hummed a nice tune as they buzzed around a few frogs hopping from patch of land to patch of land. Pinkie was about to sit down by her  favorite black spruce tree, when something caught her eye. It was a tiny insect, no bigger than a walnut, that was munching on a large strip of tree bark. It had large, black eyes that were about half of the size of its purple, spherical body. It was rapidly fluttering its silvery wings, but having some difficulty.

“Hi.” Pinkie said, shyly. “What are you?”

The creature turned and blinked at the odd looking pink pony. It cocked its head in confusion, before swiftly gliding to Pinky. He nestled snuggly in her short, pink mane, and closed his eyes.

Despite her utter bewilderment, Pinkie shrugged, and trotted deep into the bog. She loved this, for she could play and splash in the mud, and wash off before returning home. Pinkie finally found a patch where there was a lack of plants, and traced shapes in the mud. Before she knew it, she found herself drawing a picture of her brother, Pac. Her almost smiling expression turned into a depressed one as she recalled fond memories of him. All of a sudden, reality seemed to melt, and Pinkie sank to her knees.