...And She Feels Pretty Bad About It
“No, you really need to sleep, Pound Cake!” she shouted as soon as the little pegasus took off from the crib’s sheets. Feeling pretty tired after a whole day of their sudden mood changes and their irregular response to her games, she wasn't in the mood to take any more of it. The little colt just looked at her and began to fly away, in direction to the closed door. Pinkie grabbed him tight and tried to bring him back to the bed, but soon both of them were off the ground, flying around the room in irregular circles before clashing against the door with an impressive force.
A door swung open inside the bakery. Two figures could be seen flying away from the door frame, one of them growling beneath its teeth. The silence around the staircase was lost as the two figures flew over it in direction to the lower floor, replacing it with the confusing sounds of an incomprehensible fight. The strange sounds resonated through the entire house, their location changing accordingly every time they got into a different room. After a minute of their irrational struggle, they finally entered the front room. As the two bodies went through the door, a pink leg extended over to the edge of the frame, in an attempt to halt all movement using her body as a lever. As soon as the wall’s resistance appeared in their trajectory, they were unwillingly forced to give a sharp turn.
Howling something barely comprehensible about how she was going to get him in the crib with the same certainty her name was Pinkie Responsibility Pie, she gave her everything to the mission of holding her leg against the door frame. After some seconds of rising tension, between his giggles and her incoherent exclamations, she felt her leg being separated from the door frame, her body entering the room in front of her as the little pegasus gave a simple spin that amplified its force as it passed through Pinkie’s body. Her hooves had been losing grip seconds ago, and she was out of strength to keep on holding to Pound Cake’s body. Her forelegs gave, being separated from the flying pegasus. She was sent flying barely more than two meters, landing on all fours.
With nothing else than force of determination, she gave off a war cry as she launched herself with all her might in a try to catch him as abruptly as possible. The little pegasus just flew away, going back to the room they had been just seconds ago.
"Wait, Pound Cake--!" she shouted as the little pegasus colt flew away from her hooves while she tried her best to grab him. She was starting to get tired of having to track down the Cake twins every time the Cakes were out of their bakery. It didn't happen too often, but it sure left an impression on poor Pinkie every time it did.
She was on the floor now, her front hooves pressed against the wall as his giggles resonated in her mind, playing over and over as she began to lose her patience. She closed her eyes for some seconds and stood up tall again. She opened her eyes once again, a look of pure willpower appearing on her face. She was ready to get him, as she kicked her hooves against the bakery's floor. The little colt had flown over the door that gave to the front room, in direction to the inner bakery. The same door was blocking her vision, as he appeared as completely invisible to her. She could still hear his distant chuckles and the flapping of his little wings, though, so he wasn't too far away.
Slowly, she walked up to the door frame, looking around. Everything seemed to be in order and peace. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself to barge in at any moment, as soon as she heard something going on. Her eyes were fixed on the seemingly empty room: but how could she think it was empty? It could have been devoid of any action to anypony, but to the keen, attentive eye, it was clearly full of possibilities.
Her attention was picked when a hit was heard inside the room, and a white mass rapidly passed from the lower right corner of the room, going towards the opposite point. She launched herself against the figure almost instantly, her hooves extending, ready to take down whatever it was: hopefully, Pound Cake.
“You’re not getting away from me!!” she harshly screamed, her eyes focusing on the pale mass and nothing else.
And then, it hit her... rather literally.
Her hooves were splashed with a sticky substance, its smell filling her nostrils: frosting. She had caught a somehow flying piece of frosting.
Confused, she allowed herself a better look at her surroundings.
"In the kitchen room of the bakery... Check. Mass of frosting flies for no apparent reason and I try to catch it... Check. The room has many pastries... Check that off, don’t know why. I’m still in mid-air and there’s a cake in my line of flight-- wait. Oh no, no, stop--!" she rambled on, her inner voice becoming rather desperate as she noticed her inevitable fate.
In a failed attempt to catch the pegasus colt, she had instead caught a somehow flying piece of cake frosting, and was now in a position only describable as 'diving in towards the cake'. Physics had betrayed her, not allowing her to change her route of flight like she used to do: in the last moment, she closed her eyes, sorrowfully whispering:
“I’m so sorry, Cakey Applesson.”
The sound of the cake breaking under her weight was a mute shriek that gave off a message of pure desperation and suffering.
An instant later, she was lying on the room’s floor, trembling just by thinking what she had done.
She looked at her hooves, at her entire body, feeling a sickness in her stomach. She was smeared in an innocent cake’s frosting, a large portion of her body splotched with an undeniable stain made of pure guilt and remorse. How could she be so heartless and thoughtless? That poor cake was just sitting there, doing no harm before meeting a sudden end. It all was just so abrupt and heart-wrenching to her.
She had never thought how hurtful it must be to be a cake and just be destroyed with sheer bad luck. Her mind passed through the memories of every cake that had met a violent end.
With a single tear in her eyes, she thought of the brave cake that gave his life to celebrate the Cake twins’ monthiversary.
“He was a cake of strong and clear ideals. The kind of cake every cupcake looks forward to be like! Just like Cakey. She was… a good cake. Maybe she was just too good for this world.”
The twins’ laughter reached her cake-filled ears. How could something so inoffensive become an insult?
She stood up once again, filled in spots of cream. She looked so hopeless and scarred, so lost in a sea of thoughts but, at the same time, overpowered by a feeling of being forced to avenge the fallen pastry. With an expression of certainty on her face, he slowly walked towards Pound Cake, who was just sitting on a seemingly random spot of the room, completely amused by Pinkie’s brutal cake murder. This wasn’t about her anymore. This was about Cakey and every single cake in existence.
“This is for all the pastries!” she shouted when she was close enough, finally bringing her hooves over him and softly biting down one of his wings as she began to take him towards their room.
It was all over, just as suddenly as it all had started.
On the way upstairs, she couldn’t help but to think about her crime.
It made her feel strange; it made her feel so different. She had never thought about what kind of things cakes could feel, and the voices inside her head were filling her with regret at every step. The simple fact of walking away from the crime scene made her feel like a coward for escaping.
Unceremoniously, she reached her target room and bluntly put Pound Cake inside the crib before telling him not to come out again in a weak voice. Pumpkin Cake was there, soundly asleep. Oh, how she wished both of them were just as calm as they were when resting.
She turned around, preparing herself to confront her actions.
She ran off towards the kitchen once again.
She respectfully sat in front on the splattered remains of what used to be a cake, giving a long and emotional speech about how important her passing away had been: an important mark in her life and philosophy.
“..And I know your legacy of tastiness isn’t going to be stopped, dear Cakey, for I have put all of my skills in finding a replacement. When it didn’t work, I had to take matters in my own hooves; and baked the best cake I could bake, not to disappoint you.” She said in a quivering voice, sounding like she was about to break into tears with every word.
“You may ask why. You may wonder why I put so much effort on something nopony cares about. And it’s… it’s… because I…” she stuttered, unable to finish her sentence.
Gulping down her sadness, she continued, tears welling up in her eyes.
“It’s because I… I know what it’s like to be treated like you’re not important and… and I will do everything I can to stop somepony, or something, from feeling that again!” she said, her trembling voice tone becoming a loud shout of raw sympathy.
“None of you are going to be forgotten, pastries. None of you are going to be left in the dark. None… of you.” She finished, standing up once again.
“If you excuse me, I must cleanse this horrible stain of fault.”
Pinkie cantered off, looking for something to clean up the floor and her body. The damage was done, but the wound had been sealed. She began to dictate a letter in her mind as she cleaned the floor of the kitchen room.
She had learned a lesson about life, after all.
“Dear Princess Celestia,
Today, I discovered that, sometimes, even cakes can become sentient beings when you’re under stress, and that those cakes can present all kinds of quirky actions that can make you feel pretty awful when you stop and think about all the bad things you do and don’t even bother to stop and ponder. I don’t truly know if this is a valid friendship report since I found out about this all by myself, but it’s something I will most certainly hold dear and close to the centre of my heart, and will remember every day.
I found out, as well, that frosting is actually quite difficult to wash off since it’s just so tasty you feel like you’re wasting it while you see it go with the water.
I also found out that foals are trouble, and you do nothing but double that trouble if you throw pastries into the mix. I wasn’t really ready to rumble so I just crumbled under the tumbling weight of responsibility as I mumbled about fumbling cakes. I just ran out of rhymes, so this letter is going to end pretty abruptly. I know, I know, I should have asked Zecora about this kind of stuff. She’s pretty good with rhymes, you know.
Signed, Pinkie Pie, Ponyville’s Party Planner.”
