Sometimes we just need a little faith and cuddles...
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Pink Ponies Have Existentialism
Sometimes we just need a little faith and cuddles...
I had a dream the other day.
It was of Equestria. I’m sure you all know what it is by now, so I’ll skim past the descriptions. It was a dream anyways, so the background was in a constant state of change, solid as the cobblestones of Ponyville at times and then suddenly becoming as fluid as Discord’s home. To describe each change would be far too long, but I believe I traveled most of what I imagined Equestria to be like.
It was a strange dream because inside it were other dreams. Pony dreams to be exact. I could walk around, poke one dream to take a peek inside to see what the sleeper dreamt of. I saw Earth ponies fly without the aid of wings, pegasus fighting impossible monsters with a devil may care dream, and unicorns practicing their smiles. I saw these dreams and many more.
It felt almost voyeuristic, seeing some of their daily desires, so I always backed off quickly after fulfilling my curiosity.
Some were nightmares, but each one I touched would quickly change to become a better dream.
Not of my own doing. As soon as I touched it, something else dove into the dream and gently pushed me away. The first time it did this, I tried to push back to try to help the filly watching a house burn. The presence became warm and then the filly laughed as the burning house transformed into a field of grass that she ran around in.
I think I could have spent the whole dream just peeking in, but eventually the shifting landscape of the world, settled alone on one very pink dream.
This one wasn’t a dream, but it wasn’t quite a nightmare. There was no sense of fear or hopelessness, but more of a sadness. Inside it was the familiar pink mare that was Pinkie Pie. While her mane and tail weren’t deflated, it was still clear that she was crying.
Like any good brony, I didn’t like that and pushed through. I expected resistance and the problem being fixed, but there was none and I suddenly found myself standing behind her. I immediately stepped towards her before realizing that perhaps it would be awkward for a complete stranger, let alone strange creature, hug her.
“Why are you here?” Pinkie Pie suddenly sniffled, “Shouldn’t you have already begun leaving?”
I didn’t move, letting her speak.
“Your pretty little fandom is dying,” she continued on, “Next year will be the last Bronycon. Glacon has ended. Everfree Northwest may follow and then what? What will your precious little fandom-”
I slapped the clearly hysterical pony . Not hard, mind you, but just enough to get her to stop her spiral of despair. Besides, she represented my subconscious fear of Brony-dom dying, so I was well within my rights to slap a version of me.
“You slapped me!” Pinkie Pie said, narrowing her eyes.
I shrugged in response, saying, “I tend to skip long dialogue in games. Especially when it’s something that tends to be repetitive.”
“Why you-” she growled, before tackling me angrily andd pounding my face. I didn’t take it lying down and fought back.
She may have been a tiny pink pony half my size, but damned if her solid hooves didn’t hurt. I fought dirty, using locks and grapples and scratches to get her to relent and back off. Eventually, we both laid side by side, wheezing.
I recovered faster, having been in brawls before and sat up, scratching my chin and wincing, “So… Want to talk about what’s really bugging you?”
“...Are you going to forget us?” Pinkie Pie asked, “Are we just going to be another fandom that dies away?”
I rolled my eyes, and turned around to flick her on the schnozz.
“Ow,” Pinkie shouted, holding her nose, “That hurt you little-”
She delved into a truly lovely string of curses that insulted my character, my appearance, and at one point, my future progeny up to the seventh generation and all of my ancestors. I didn’t bother taking mental notes since it was so long. Also since she represented some deep seated fear in my subconscious and therefore the insults were already stored in there.
As she breathed heavily at the end, I rubbed the back of my head and said, “I don’t think I would be comfortable doing that with my kids, sorry.”
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously!?” Pinkie Pie shouted angrily, “Why aren’t you defending yourself!?”
“Why should I defend myself?” I shrugged again, my shoulders feeling very loose with all the shrugging I’m doing, “I’m talking to a fictional character in a dream of mine that I’m oddly lucid in. I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end.”
Pinkie Pie stared before seeming to shrink in upon herself and sobbing.
I sighed and looked up at the markless sky, wondering how I screwed up yet another simple talk. Shaking my head in disappointment, I reached over and grabbed Pinkie Pie into a hug, the back of her head hitting my chest with an off. Slowly rocking her back and forth, I whisperied, “I’m not the best at comforting. I’m even worse when it’s with myself to myself. But I’m going to try anyways.”
Placing my head on top of her mane of curls, I muttered as I rubbed the frogs of her hooves comfortingly, or as comfortingly as I could, “But work with me here and tell me what you’re actually sad about, Pinks or whatever bizarre corner of my mind you came from. It’s not the best thing to instantly insult someone who’s trying to help.”
I stayed silent, rocking her back and forth, trying to soothe her as best as an idiot like me could.
“... I feel like we’re going to be forgotten…” Pinkie Pie whispered, tucking her head into her chest, “Galacon’s gone, Brony-Con’s ending, I’m scared we’re going to be forgotten. Our show is almost done and we have maybe one movie and then that’s it.”
Humming thoughtfully, I rubbed my head against her mane of curls and asked, “And why does that scare you?”
“You don’t get it!” she shouted, pushing my head back and away so she could stare into my eyes with her blue ones. Taking a deep breath, Pinkie Pie snapped, “Your world created ours! We need people from your world to watch the show to validate our existence. Without you, our world is nothing!”
Looking back now, I can say for a fact that I had eaten something weird if the representation of my Brony fandom dying was getting alarmingly existentialist. I really should stop eating re-wrapped Subway sandwiches I find in the trash.
“What you’re saying is that your world needs an observer to continue functioning? To prove its meaning?” I clarified. Upon feeling the nodding head, I hugged her tight and whispered into her ear, “You’re being idiotic.”
“What!?”
“Yeesh. You got a pair of lungs,” I complained as I dug a finger into my ear and began digging it out, “And I stand by what I said. Your world exists because we create you? Maybe that’s true. All things dreamt by men exist and all that fun shite. But your world needing us? More like the other way around.”
“What do you mean?” Pinkie Pie asked, shuffling in my hold to place her hoof against my chest, “What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe we kickstarted your world,” I lifted her up, grabbing under her armpits and made her hop up and down on her backlegs for a bit. She giggled a bit before reforming a resolute scowl, “Maybe we designed you silly ponies. But your story? Your story may have been written by us, but it was not lived by us.”
“... I’m Pinkie Pie and I still don’t get what you mean.”
Rolling my eyes, I stood up and placed her on top of my head like some sort of living hat, “Here. Let’s walk and talk.”
I chose a random direction and began walking. As I gathered my thoughts, Pinkie Pie began humming a cheerful little ditty before switching it to a mournful dirge at my peppy bounce.
It seemed that she still held a grudge for some reason. Nevertheless, I walked peppily and began speaking, “Did you know that there’s a huge theory that my world is a giant computer simulation?”
“Huh?” Pinkie Pie asked right as we stepped out of her dream. As we walked by the shifting landscapes, she murmured, “I’ve been to a lot of dimensions but this is a new one. Princess Luna is really touchy whenever ponies go here.”
“Neat,” I commented, idly shuffling that factoid away before continuing on my little diatribe, “Anyways, there’s a whole idea that my world is a giant compouter simulation. Everything in it is predicted, every scenario accounted for, every decision already made. Everything in it is just little bits of code built up until i’m me, the world’s there, and everybody exists.”
“But that’s not true!” Pinkie Pie refuted, “If your world isn’t real, then how could it have made mine! Unless…” Pinkie Pie nibbled my head thoughtfully as she realized.”
“You get the idea. My world’s a simulation that creates a simulation that is yours and so on and so forth. Not that it matters,” I smiled before pointing excitedly at a certain cottage, “Oh hey! There’s Fluttershy’s cottage! Wonder what’s in her shed?”
“Knitting supplies,” Pinkie answered before mooshing my cheeks, “But focus, Anon! What do you mean it doesn’t matter!? I know for a fact that this world’s a creation of yours! I’m not-”
“Real?” I cut her off with a soft upward boop, “Your world may be created but it doesn’t make you any less real. It doesn’t matter whether all the paths are there, all the choices have been predicted, or all the endings are known, it’s still up to you and me and every single individual to walk that path to the ending.”
I sat down, tired from walking. I watched silently with Pinkie, watching dreams flit by and change. I could spend a lifetime describing all the small snippets of life that I saw in the dreams, but it would take far too long.
Pinkie Pie sat down with me before sighing, “But you want to change us.”
She held up a hoof and warded off my complaints, explaining, “Don’t lie. I heard about G5. One more season and maybe a few more movies and then you’ll change us again. You’ve already made a different version of me.”
Scratching my head, I nodded in acknowledgement and refuted, “It still doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if my world forgets you or makes a new one like it, you’ll remember yourselves and that’s all that matters. We may have kickstarted your world, but it’s down to you to maintain and change it to your will,” I chuckled a bit, “ ‘Sides, I think you put a bit too much credit into us humans, Pinks. Your generation is unique. You’ll always have fond memories amongst us. Even if we do forget, we won’t forget. The lessons we saw you and yours live, the adventures we imagined with you, the bonds… Memories will fade, but we won’t forget. We made you so that you could change us for the better.”
“...I think I get what you mean,” Pinkie Pie said softly before jumping off my head and landing in front of me. She hopped up and booped my nose, saying, “Thanks, Anon.”
“You’re welcome, Pinks,” I smiled, booping her in return, “This has been an absolutely strange but wonderful dream. I hope it works out on your end.”
She dimpled before hopping away into the rising sun. Then she stopped and turned around and sprinted back, tackling me with a hug and whispered, “You’ll remember us though, right?”
I returned the hug and replied, “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye. I’ll never forget you. Any of you. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to-” I smile fondly as I remember standing on the edge of a precipice, just about ready to fall “-Not that I ever would, you silly pony. Just promise me you’ll do your best too.”
“I promise," she sniffled, "I promise I'll do my best and be happy so long as you promise too."
"Already did, Pinks..." I chewed on her pink mane, noting that it really did taste like cotton candy, "Already did..."
And then I woke up with a pillow in my mouth.
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“So that’s why I’m getting a tattoo of a pink pony on my back. Make sure you make her sleeping on a bed of cotton candy, ‘kay?”
The tattoo artist scratched her head, saying, “I’ve met a crap ton of weird guys, but you’re way past weird. Getting a tattoo because of a dream?”
“What can I say? I made a Pinkie Promise,” I smirked, “What Tiny Horse Fan could break a Pinkie Promise without shattering their soul? ‘Sides, it’s a reminder.”
“Reminder of what?”
“That sometimes you just need a little faith.”
The tattoo artist stared at me before bursting into laughter and slapped her knees, “First time I heard a man say that with a straight face about tiny ass horses. This one’s on the house.”
I smiled, “Nice! Thanks, ma’am!”
“Don’t thank me yet!” she snickered before prepping her needle, “This is going to sting.”
It stung.
Author's Note
In response to theh news that Brony Con is ending next year.
I was sad, but then I realized...
What is there to be sad about? The fandom won't die. So long as one of us remembers and enjoys the show and the history and the art and the stories and the memories, it'll live forever. There'll be new shows, there'll be new memories, all that matters is that we continue forward and pass on the torch.
The fandom isn't there because of a show, it's there because we enjoy the show.
In the end, Brony Con never dies in a sense.
So let's enjoy it. Let's enjoy this and all of life with all our might. Let's cry, let's laugh, let's play, let's read, let's write.
For them and for us.
