The Fourth Wall, Pinkie, And Me
I could add some fancy embellishment to this introduction, like "It was a dark and stormy night," or "It was a bright and sunny morning," but I'd be lying both times. To be honest, it was a dull and boring afternoon, and I was desperately searching the dark caverns of my brain for something to do. I was lying on the couch, my head hanging over the edge with my neck on the armrest. I opened one eye and gazed out of the sliding glass door that led to the balcony at the sun shining through a thin layer of clouds and sighed. If I were anywhere other than where I was, I'd have been outside running around, or playing ball with my neighbors. But I couldn't do that, because I live in an apartment. And I learned the hard way at the parents don't like it when a nineteen year old guy comes and wants to play baseball with their kids a decade younger than him.
I sighed and sat up on the couch, cradling my head in my hands as my lightheaded-ness from sitting up too fast blinded me for a second before I leaned forward and snatched the remote form the coffee table. I turned on the TV and opened the guide, browsing the channels in a vain attempt to find something other than crap and reruns. I gave up quickly, and opened the list of recordings to find the same exact thing, with an added twist. It was still all crap, but at least it was recordings of crap and not just straight up crap.
I shook my head and reminded myself that crap is still crap, whether it's recorded or on live TV. I sighed and turned off the cable box, leaving the TV on. Then I reluctantly stood up and walked over to the bookcase that held all of the DVDs. I skimmed over the titles on the spine of every case, finding not only crap, but good quality movies that I'd watched too much. So basically, it was still all crap.
"I wish I had something to do," I sighed, sitting back down on the couch and turning the TV on again. I turned it into The Hub, where Transformers was playing. I laid down to watch it; what else was there to do? The next thing I knew, I was waking up to find a shattered TV screen and an unconscious girl.
What the hell? I thought to myself, getting off of the couch and picking the girl up. She wasn't exactly dressed, but I didn't notice that at the time being. I was more focused on the fact that she had vivid pink, wavy hair that reached the small of her back. Normally, I'd disregard it as dyed, but it didn't look dyed at all. The color was uniform throughout the length of her hair, and didn't fade into brown, blonde, black, or whatever at the roots. It was just pink. Also, she had a tattoo in her face; a tattoo of three balloons. Two of them were blue, and the third was yellow. I knew I recognized them from somewhere, but I couldn't exactly figure out where.
I looked down at the rest of her and discovered two things:
1 - She was naked.
2 - She was covered in cuts from broken glass, and I had to clean them out.
I'm not the best person when it comes to medical treatment, so I did the best thing I could figure out to clean out the cuts of a naked, unconscious girl. I poured a crapload of soap in the tub, filled the tub with water, mixed the soap in, and then slowly lowered the girl into the water, bracing myself for the screaming when her multiple cuts came into contact with soapy water. However, my fears were not realized. Her face cringed up like she was in pain, but she wasn't revived from unconsciousness. She was still asleep.
I let out a sigh of relief and stood up before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I quickly left my apartment and walked a few meters to my friend's. I pressed the intercom button, and was met swiftly with an answer.
"Yo, what's up?" The Australian voice on the other end asked.
"Hey, Camille, it's Andrew," I answered. "I'm in a bit of a pickle now, and I don't-"
My sentence was interrupted when the door opened and I was enveloped in a hug. "Andrew, long time no see!" Camille said.
"It's been two days, Cam," I said. "And like I said, I'm-"
"Only two days?" She interjected again. "Wow, it's felt like way longer than that!"
"Camille, seriously, I need-"
"I mean, really! It's felt like three months!"
"SHUT UP!" I shouted.
"Oh, right," Camille said. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away."
I put my temples between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand and sighed. "It's fine, Cam," I said. "I just need to borrow some things, okay?"
"Sure, what do you need?" She asked, walking into her apartment and gesturing for me to follow.
I shook my head and followed her. I swear this girl is bipolar. I thought while saying, "Well, it's an odd request."
"Considering some of the stuff I've borrowed from you, I don't think any of your requests could top mine," She said, giving me a jokingly superscillious look.
I ran over the list in my mind. A shamisen string, a dirty left sock, the cap from a bottle of extra virgin olive oil, the crumbs from all of my meals from the week before, and a single piece of string. (That's not even the entire list, and each one of them had been asked for specifically.)
"Well, I guess you're right, so here goes," I said, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I need some clothes for a girl, about your size." I said this quickly, trying to get it out of my mouth as soon as I could.
"Huh," Camille said. "You got something to tell me, mate? Have you changed your sexuality or something like that?"
I facepalmed. "No, Camille, of course not! Like I was trying to say earlier, I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I don't have time to explain."
"Fine," She said. "But once you can, you're telling me everything, got it?"
"Of course," I said. "No can you please get me some of your clothes?"
"Sure, I'll be right back," She said before bolting into her bedroom. Almost immediately, she returned with a pair of denim short shorts, a pink spaghetti-strap low-cut top, and a set of lacy lingerie.
Does she think I'm housing a hooker or something? I thought. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure if there's a hooker in my house. "Um, Camille?" I asked. "Why exactly do you think I need the basic outfit of a prostitute?"
"Well, I dunno," She said. "But considering you came in here with messed up hair, a wild look in your eyes, and you said you needed girl's clothes, I think my assumption that you just danced the no-no-cha-cha, but lost the girl's clothes, is justified."
I facepalmed again. "You can make anything seem dirty, can't you?"
Camille playfully curtsied. "I try," She said. "Now make sure to tell me what happened later, got it?"
I nodded and quickly exited her apartment, clothing in hand. "And that is why no man should ever be friends with his ex, ever," I said to myself.
I then entered my apartment as fast as I could, grateful to discover that the girl was still unconscious, and still in the tub. I lifted her slowly out of the tub and dried her off as best I could before carrying her into my bedroom. I laid her down on my bed and wrestled the lacy undergarments onto her, wasting about two minutes trying to figure out how the bra worked. Then I pulled the revealing tank top over her head, and then slid the shorts up her legs and onto her waist.
So now what? I thought, getting up and pacing slightly across my short expanse of bedroom space. Should I try and wake her up, or call the cops, or what? I sighed. I've never really had to deal with an unconscious, naked girl who broke my TV before. Wait, that reminds me, I have to go clean up the glass.
I sighed again in spite of myself and grabbed a broom and dustpan before walking into the living room area. I was almost entirely done sweeping up the glass when I heard a groan from inside the bedroom. I quickly dropped my cleaning agents and raced into the room find the girl sitting up in bed, staring at her fingers and slowly, deliberately moving them one by one.
"Um, hi," I said, causing her to jump. Apparently she hadn't seen me run in. "I found you passed out and naked in my living room, so I cleaned out your cuts and got you some clothes; I hope you don't mind."
"What exactly ARE you?" She asked, looking cocking her head a bit to the right. Her big, blue eyes were giving me a curious look, one that made me believe that she actually didn't know what I was. "You have no idea how unbelievably silly you look! Is that a costume? Because Nightmare Night isn't for a few more months!" I recognized her voice from somewhere, but I had no idea exactly where from.
"I'm a human," I said. "As are you."
"I'm... human?" She asked, her gaze shifting back to her fingers. "Well, I guess that explains these." She wiggled her fingers some more. "Well, I guess that isn't a costume, then! Sorry for thinking you were in a costume, I've just never seen anything like you and I thought that you were dressing up."
"How did you not know what a human is?" I asked, my mind coming to the conclusion that she was drunk or on drugs or something.
"Isn't it obvious?" She said. "I'm a pony!"
Suddenly it all fit together in my mind. Me watching The Hub and falling asleep, the shattered TV, the balloons tattoo on her face, the pink hair, the bouncy personality, the familiar voice... it all made sense. I just had to be sure. "I'm Andrew," I said. "What's your name?"
"I'm Pinkie Pie!" She ecstatically replied, extending a hand for me to shake. "Nice to meet you!"
Holy crap. I thought. Either this girl loves ponies, got high, and broke into my apartment, or Pinkie Pie broke the fourth wall and is now in my care. Either way, I got what I wanted, didn't I? At least now I'm not bored anymore.
