It was a rainy night on the streets of New York city … I walked down the stone pathways … sounds of a woman crying.

She embraced me fully … I placed my hand on her back … attempt to relieve the tension and sadness … the tears slowed.

I began leading her to my apartment … I decided some warm drinks were in order … chocolate tea … hot cocoa … my silent mission to care for her until the time was right …

I gave her something better to cry about.

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It was morning in the bustling city of New York. There’s not much more to say about it than that, not if the old adage was true. I could tell you the birds were chirping, and the sun was shining in through my wonderful view of the city. I could tell you about the grace that is the morning commute. I could regale you with tales of comradery throughout the city, but none of that would be true.

A passing tourist might see a post card depicting the glory of New York city. It would boast of crystal towers, accented with gold and silver; rolling hills of metal and glass, so steep that only the bravest cragsman would dare attempt to reach the peak. It would show rivers of gold and crimson light, flowing in opposite directions, heedless to the call of gravity. It would display a vast ocean of water so clear as to reflect the beauty of the night sky in all its splendid glory. All of this could be captured in a single photo, but only from the sky.

What the card won’t show the tourist, is what goes on down below. On the ground, the city is intimidating. No longer does it show off its gems and lights, now it towers over you, taunting and laughing at how small you are. It threatens you with the darkness of alleys and old roads, forcing you to stay on the traveled path that’s been beaten to stone.

All of these good and bad qualities combined make New York the great city that we’ve come to know. New York has been a focal point of many cultures, clashing and mixing to breed all new customs. It is one of few cities that have gained the honor of a household name; if anyone were to think of New York city, their minds would imagine the beauty of the post card, how it shines and shimmers, inviting all to come and indulge in its wonder. Only those that call this place ‘home’ could tell you the cost of living here.

Everyone has their opinions, and I believe they are entitled to them. However, I do not live in the post card. I live in the one bedroom, one bath apartment, with a small kitchen, and poor heating. I live in the apartment with a window with a view of an alley and the lovely brick building not 4 feet away.

I haven’t let it get to me though. I’m not one to look on the downside of things, an attribute that gets on the nerves of some of the few people that I truly call friends. As such I took to making this small apartment my home. A few posters and paintings, some shade plants in a window mounted flower bed, as well as regular maintenance and cleaning all keep my apartment livable with a happy atmosphere. That happy atmosphere, however, feels different today.

It wasn’t the rare bird searching my flowers for nesting materials or food. Nor was it the occasional child outside laughing and playing with their friends. Today was something new entirely; someone was singing… in my house.

The previous days exploits came back to me in a rush. For a moment I had the common sense to be bewildered with all that had happened. I wouldn’t have believed it if not for the cheerful singing coming from the kitchen. I could hear the stream of water running in the sink, a few cupboards opening and closing, as well as a few pots and pans drumming about. There was also the faint flowing stream of a gas-powered stove that was running.

Despite my optimistic nature, it seemed prudent to at least investigate this small issue. After all, there’s no point in losing one’s house for the sake of a few more minutes rest.

With that I pushed off my covers and stumbled out of bed. It’s one thing to be introspective and analytical in the morning, while lying in bed, it is an entirely different thing to remove oneself from said bed. Along with being an optimist, I was also a night owl. There’s nothing truly wrong with enjoying the night hours a bit more, in my opinion. However, it makes things difficult when the rest of the world is in a different time zone compared to you.

I opened the door only to be shoved back inside when I received a sucker punch to my nostrils. As a single man, and not much of a cook, it had been a very, very long time since I smelled the wonders of fresh home cooked pancakes that didn’t come frozen out of a box. Steeling my resolve, as well as my nose, I attempted a second push towards the door. Not quite ready to announce my presence, I observed my acquaintance from the other night as she worked. You could hardly consider it creepy, my curious gaze had taken on the character of a scientist attempting to learn how a musician plays so gracefully.

I watched from the short hallway that led to both my bedroom and bathroom. It was only now, after having a good night’s rest, and ample light, that I took the time to study what exactly I brought into my home (pink was the first word that came to mind). What was currently immersed in a complex dance of cooking in my kitchen appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a small pink pony. Her fur was a subtle and cheerful bubblegum pink, while her hair, well, mane and tail I suppose, took on a slightly darker magenta. She came up to roughly my waist in terms of height, forcing her to stand on her hind legs to reach the counters effectively. This had the benefit of making her look absolutely and undeniably adorable as she danced about the kitchen.

Just so we have things straight, I am no slouch in the macho department, but let it be known today that anyone who should consider my descriptions of adorable quadrupeds emasculate will have my big manly boot to talk to. Being manly involves defending your rights to be the man you want to be, and I want to be the kind of man that can ogle at cute cats all day without getting judged for it.

She was currently turned away from me, hiding the eyes which I already knew to be a bright cyan, my personal favorite color. Exhausting all the normal, well, somewhat normal traits of any living creature, I then noticed that she had a tattoo, no two tattoos on each of her haunches. I suppose If you wanted to get into it she technically had six tattoos, evenly divided. The tattoo’s depicted three balloons on each side floating along her flanks, two of them blue, and one yellow. Err, four of them were blue, and two of them were yellow. This is confusing.

Regardless, she had a grand total of six balloons in two different colors on each of her flanks. Which lead me to wonder why anyone would have an assortment of balloons tattooed on them at all. Unfortunately, my musings were cut short as the pink pony seemed to have a short spasm, and turned to face me, realizing my presence for the first time.

We stared each other down, confirming that what had happened last night truly was real, and that each of us was in the presence of a living, breathing, thinking alien. My pink companion recovered shortly, after me, as I had the time to study her earlier. She gave me a bright morning smile and said, "Oh, you're awake ...and you exist... um, thanks for letting me stay the night!"

She said some of that under her breath and I couldn't make it out. It then occurred to both of us that we hadn't introduced ourselves at all, and so we both did so at the same time. That didn’t work out very well, as any words spoken were washed out by the others equally panicked introduction. Being clearly the more forward one, the pink pony reasserted control of the conversation, and introduced herself as Pinkie Pie.

Not one to be outdone, I introduced myself as Joshua Piers, along with my popular nickname Josh. Seeing as the more pressing formalities were dealt with, we were both at a loss for what to do next. Imagine yourself, if you will, in a room with an alien creature; what on earth (ha ha) would you say, or do for that matter, in such a situation?

The tension was finally broken when Pinkie Pie noticed the sound and smell of her pancakes burning; I shed a tear.

As she hurried to remedy the mess of burned breakfast, I tactfully started up a conversation, saying, “So, you cook?”

A jolt brought her back to my world, as she was lost in her baking, “Oh yes! I bake all kinds of things! Pancakes, cupcakes, sponge cakes, angel cakes, layer cakes, birthday cakes, wedding cakes, carrot cakes, chocolate cakes, fruit cakes, cheese cakes, upside-down cakes, shortcakes, coffee cakes!”

I was impressed, I hadn’t realized half as many cakes existed. I very nearly got a sugar rush from the sheer number of confectionaries she listed, as well as the sugary sweet voice she listed them in.

She continued, saying, “But that’s not all I bake! I make cookies too! Ooh there are just so many cookies to bake! Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodles, macaroons…!”

As the list went on I had to interrupt the conversation, lest I put on a few pounds from the diabetic cuteness and sugary sweetness that radiated from the aptly named pinkie pie. With a short whistle, I said “That’s an impressive list, I wouldn’t call myself much of a cook, but I can fry a fine pork chop when I’m in the mood.”

At that remark her eyes widened, and she took on an introspective look. She then, quite suddenly, blurted out, “Knock knock!”

I was caught off guard, mostly from the suddenness of her statement; and partially because it was slowly registering in my mind that an alien was telling me a knock knock joke. “um, who’s there?” I replied.

She cheerfully replied with, “Doris!”

Following the motions, I replied with, “Doris who?”

Finally, Pinkie delivered the punchline, “Doris locked! That’s why I’m knocking!”, and subsequently fell over herself giggling, all the while keeping a careful eye on me.

Her reward was a deep chuckle from me, as well as a toothy grin, which she had secretly been hoping for, “I knew it! You have canines! I learned all about omnivores when I threw a ‘sorry-for-kicking-your-flanks-and-stealing-your-gems-even-though-you-kinda-deserved-it-for-foalnapping-Rarity’ party for the diamond dogs! Do you eat gems too? I know how to make a great ruby red velvet cake!”

Only half of the information she supplied me with made sense. However, it dawned on me that as Pinkie was equine, she would also an herbivore; and I had just told an intelligent herbivore that I was proficient at cooking up pig meat for consumption. I blubbered like a fish out of water, trying to get the right words to apologize for my faux pas. Pinkie simply giggled at my behavior, and so I gave up trying to find the right words to excuse myself.

Throughout our conversation Pinkie Pie was cooking up stacks of pancakes with all the grace and flow of a five-star restaurant, meaning I believe she could run a five-star restaurant single handedly, hoofedly? Eventually, she brought two plates stacked with pancakes to my modest dinette. Seeing the missing pieces of a delicious puzzle, I brought out some maple syrup and butter, along with a few forks and knives.

Each of us sat down, eyeing the stacks of pancakes with ravenous eyes. Neither of us wasted any time after we were both seated, immediately digging in to what our stomachs craved. As the first bite hit my tongue, I was immediately sent into a world of flavorful bliss. If this is what food comas were made of, then sign me into the vegetable patch. The sweet fluffiness of the pancakes before me set the bar so impossibly high that I was sure we’d reach mars through the power of pancakes.

My company clearly enjoyed her cooking as well, seemingly doing away with modesty for the sake of the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted. She took bites that almost seemed too large for her head, and at times I was sure she’d choke. I was too busy to correct her though, as I had my own plate of syrupy clouds to inhale.

Forget E.T. If I had to be stuck with an alien living in my apartment I am pleased to pick an alien that got cooking lessons from Edesia, the goddess of food. I’m sure it won’t be easy, integrating a fluffy, pink, talking pony into human society, whether hiding her or letting her roam free. It’s not like that’s my decision to make anyways, I can’t control her any more than I can make the president of the United States kiss my left boot.

Despite all that, I’ve decided that I will be there for her, I’ll provide any help I can to this lone pony. I wish I could say that it’s noble of me to take her in, or that it’s what I would have done without a second’s hesitation. But instead, I’m doing it because I must. If I were to turn her down outside my doorway then I would throw away everything I value, everything that makes me, me. I am being selfish by helping her, I’m fulfilling my wants and needs so that I can continue to feel good about myself. And dammit if that’s what it takes to give this pony something to lean on then I’m going to be the most selfish me that I can be.

Author's Note

Having recently posted my first story "Something Better to Cry About", I decided to roll with that premise, and so I bring you my second story! This one will be significantly longer, with a story that is meant to achieve more than just the minimum word cap.

This is very much a learning experience for me. I have very basic writing knowledge, but I hope to improve that in writing actual stories. This is still just a hobby for me, so unfortunately I cannot promise regular updates or high quality stories, but I do hope you can all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them (I mean, seriously, writing is the first thing to actually rob me of my sleep).

Another thing please! give a comment or a like down below, your opinion matters! A lot! As far as I know everything I'm doing right now is right, because I did it. If you don't tell me your feelings I can't improve. So please tell me your thoughts, how did my story make you feel? How well am I writing? Where could I improve? where do you think the story could go? I'm not scared of a little criticism, I'm a determined little guy and I refuse to give up writing based on a few negative comments.

Enjoy!

Edit: There has been some very minute editing to tone down the relationship between the two characters in this chapter. Looking back on it that scene was really out of place and as such I have... dealt with it.