Pinkamena Insane Pie

by Joffreycat

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Dark
Length: 1210

What if Pinkie Pie's past, isn't quite as bubbly and happy as her future?

This is the tale of how Pinkie Pie's life had an effect on her future.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-11 17:26:45 UTC

Breakfast

The small, pink earth pony stretched her hind legs, and clambered out of her small bed of hay. The powerful scent of coal and stone hit her with such powerful force that she stumbled a bit. Pinkamena’s vision focused as she looked around, still dazed. She sighed, remembering the wonderful dream she had.

In the dream, Pinkamena lived in Canterlot, and served the princess. Although it didn’t sound like much fun, serving a princess, staying in the castle, and getting three meals a day sounded like absolute heaven compared to mining all day and serving her parents and siblings.

“Pinkameeeeenaaa?!” sang the voice of her sister, Blinky.

“Yes?” she muttered.

“PINKIE?!” she shouted once again. Blinky banged on the door.

“What?”

“Time for breakfast!”

Pinkie’s face lit up. It had been about three weeks since she had anything remote to breakfast. She quickly shook the hay out of her mane and galloped to the silo door. She paused for a moment to push it open.

I wonder what it’ll be. Pinkamena thought to herself. Bacon, pancakes, cereal- She gasped at the thought “OR A TRIPLE-DECKER HAM CHEESE BALONEY PICKLE MUSHROOM SANDWICH!!!” She accidentally screamed aloud.

“Pinkie!” rang the shrill voice of her mother, Sue.

A gray pony with a dark green mane pulled back in a bun, and gold-rimmed spectacles balanced on her nose cantered around the corner of the large silo.

Pinkamena crouched down, quivering in fear of her own mother.

Sue glared down at Pinkie, her nostrils flaring.

“Sorry for yelling mother.” Pinkie whispered as if she had practiced saying that line her whole life; which in some ways she did.

“What is so exciting that you should wake the rooster before it wakes you?” spat Sue, with a slight Scottish accent.

Pinkie glanced at the roof where the rooster normally perched, where in fact, the bird was stirring.

Pinkie chose her words carefully, “I was...just excited that we finally are eating breakfast…”

Sue furrowed her brow. “What are you speaking of child? We are not eating breakfast.”

Pinkie’s heart plummeted. “But-but Blinky-”

“Blinky misunderstood me. I said we will have breakfast TOMORROW.”

A look of hope flashed Pinkie’s face, before Sue continued, “And it will be oatmeal.”

Pinkie stared at the ground. Oh well, she though at least I get breakfast at all. Still… Pinkie constantly tried to sound grateful, and think of the good things in her life but sometimes, her mind went blank as she searched through her whole life, scavenging for something to be thankful for, when most of the time, it was the sweet smell of hay she fell asleep to.

Sue strutted away leaving Pinkie to think about what she had done.

I’v got a long life ahead of me… she thought, as she trudged out to the fields to start work.

The Bog

“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.