APP: The Shadow of a Pink Pony
Sense. Sensation. Something deep inside stirred. Had something awoken, long forgotten, or was this new? It felt like that strange sensation you get while swimming, when some quiet voice in the recesses of your mind tells you 'just breathe normally, it's fine, you can breathe underwater'. Part of you knows you will drown, yet some silent force urges you forward, insisting you have this hereunto unknown superpower. So what would it be; sink or swim? Breathe or drown? Was life truly worth exploring the unknown, or was the safety of this dark cocoon cold comfort enough? It seemed the choice was not entirely her own. Maybe it was better that way.
From the murky depths a small, pink hoof emerged, coming to rest on the rocky bank as droplets stained the dusty floor. First the one, then a second, followed by two ears and a slick mane. As her nose and mouth breached the surface, she instinctively gasped for air, not for need of oxygen, but an almost primal call of existence to the world; 'I am here. I live.'
The room around her was hazy, devoid of details and stained pitch black. Where was she?
The bitter chill of the water prompted her to lift her body onto dry land, planting all four hooves firmly on the stone floor of the cave she found herself in. Turning, she considered the small underground pool she had climbed from. How did she get here? Where was this? ... Who was she?
A sharp chill coursed through her body, causing her coat to stand on end. She would catch her death if she didn't dry off. She didn't have the energy to shake the damp from her entire body, but shook each leg in turn before taking another look at her surroundings. It was a large cavern of some kind, as rich in minerals as it was untouched by pony hooves, lit by the faintest, otherworldly glow of the pool she had emerged from. The only external light sources came from two distinct holes: one high above to the right, and another up a winding slope to the left. The choice was obvious. Perhaps there was somepony outside who knew where she was, or who she was?
Passing the threshold of the cave's terrestrial entrance, the light of the outside world was overwhelmingly bright, despite the overcast sky. With one hoof over her eyes, she soldiered forward, forcing her way through bushes, brambles, ferns, and trees, until she found her way to what could be considered a lightly trod path. There was absolutely no sign of intelligent life betwixt the thick, intimidating trees of this forest. Despite her lack of memories and unexplained origin, something about this place remained familiar, as though she had only just been here. She turned her head to the left and right, assessing the path in both directions, trying to decide which would be the most fruitful route to proceed along. The path stretched on to the right with a slight curve beyond which she couldn't see, while the left was much longer and straighter, but appeared to end at some sort of structure she couldn't quite make out. A beastly roar from her right and a flurry of disturbed birds crossing the sky made the choice for her. With a slightly hurried trot she made her way towards the grey mass in the distance.
Beads of lake-water rolled down her straight, magenta mane, leaving a trail of stains upon the floor as she went. The first sign of life she noticed were marks on the ground; nothing terribly clear, but left by somepony—or something—for sure. The hard-packed dirt of the grassy path had been torn up and scarred by what seemed to be a mixture of hoofprints and claws, fairly jumbled in their direction, quantity and depth. The second sign was a far more concrete proof of life: a red bag. Her red bag. A red and white-polka-dot bindle, to be precise, though currently separated from its stick. How did she know this was hers, and what was it doing out here? Did she drop it? It appeared to be in a somewhat worn state, as though something very large had trodden on it. Despite trepidation, the desire to gain answers to the questions filling her mind like a black smog was overpowering. She reached down, tentatively untying the knot holding its contents within.
Like a burning poker rammed into her temple, the items within the package were enough to send her reeling backwards, mind aflame with a migraine like she had never before felt. Backing herself into a tree with enough force to dislodge a number of healthy leaves, her forehooves clasped the sides of her head, close to shrieking in agony. It was all there; all the memories she had forgotten, or at least as many as answered her questions. Ponyville. Rainbow Dash. Applejack. Rarity. Fluttershy. Gummy. Twilight- Sparkle. The name couldn't even be thought without being spat. It was all so clear, so vivid. As potent as a snakebite. The pilgrimage from her adult home to her childhood house and back, cast away by even her closest family members. It had almost been a blessing that Maud was not there at the time, as she would not have survived a similar rejection from her elder sister. The last thing she remembered was collapsing after walking in a stupor for miles upon miles. But how did she end up at the bottom of an underground lake? At this point she hardly cared. What did anything matter anymore?
Calming her senses and regaining her poise, she returned to the opened cloth satchel, ready to face the bittersweet memories within. The first item to meet her gaze was the most bitter of them all; a framed photograph of her and the other five ponies, once playfully called 'the mane six', posed together as the closest of friends. It was in bad shape, having taken the brunt of whatever had happened to the bag. Its wooden frame was split in half and the glass utterly shattered, which she took care not to touch as she indifferently brushed it aside. Next was a slate-framed picture of her family, in slightly better condition that the other, with its frame split lengthways and its glass a mess of cracks, but otherwise together. She ran her hoof across its crazed face listlessly, as though the memories of those ponies were locked behind their own frosted pane; familiar yet distant. Beside the image was a rank apple, crushed to a pulp and oozing a clammy, choking ichor. Its stench made her eyes water, but she was beyond such trivial things brought by her senses. The foul putrefaction was spread across an assortment of colour paper scraps, a large, fractured lollipop, smaller wrapped candies, and a few other knick-knacks. Trash, all of it. All of it but one...
Leaning down, she scooped up one item in particular, bringing it closer for inspection. It was a small, red collar, hanging from which was a disk inscribed with a very important name; Gummy. She clutched the item close to her chest, ignoring the sticky reek that too coated it. Gummy... He was her purpose to continue. It would be an existence filled of bitter hatred and a burning fire for revenge, but it was better than no purpose at all. Twilight Sparkle, you would rue the day you took everything from Pinkamena Diane Pie.
Looking up from the bag of broken dreams, she was close enough to what she had previously thought a structure to now recognise it as a cave; a natural formation of loose rocks and two distinct spires, at the centre of which loomed the inky black abyss within. It might have been an intimidating sight if she still felt a sense of self. It was unclear what drove her, but she felt compelled towards the darkness, as though something waited for her inside. Comforting, yet just as dark as the realm in which it resides. The compulsion to enter its stygian womb was the only guide she had, so she followed it unquestioningly, a mere pawn to this silent inner-voice's whim. Clipping Gummy's collar around her foreankle, she moved on, leaving her old life behind on the floor.
No. She stopped, looking back at the mess of fetid objects. She needed the memory to fuel her rage, to keep the fires of revenge burning inside her chest. It would be a reminder of her goal. A checklist.
Returning to the splayed bindle, she pulled the photograph of 'the mane six' from its jagged shell, catching it on one of the corners. Lifting it to her face, the glass shard had kept the upper-left corner of the image, and by doing so decapitated her old self. A fitting accident.
Picking up the battered frame of her family photo, she slid the reminder of Ponyville over the rock farm, taking its place as a symbol of a far stronger motivation. She looked down at the items that remained, letting her eyes settle on the instant photograph of her and Gummy on his first birthday. She vowed they would be together again, but she couldn't just waltz into Ponyville and take him. No, this would require careful planning, preparation, and most importantly, a safe home to care for him in.
Once again the gaping maw of the cave called to her, and this time she heeded it without hesitation. She did not know what awaited her in this direction—its true intentions belied by her need for purpose in this bizarre, estranged world—but what she did know was that something far greater than herself existed beyond its dark stone walls, something that was expected of her, something she could not escape. Her destiny.
Author's Note
Inspired into the mood by the ill health of my great-aunt, this short story is a spin-off from events that have yet to happen in the comic, but has been planned for some time. It returns to Everfree/Ask-Pink-Pony's roots of dark venting, so the lexicon is notably bleaker than he prequel novella. You could consider it to have the soul of a grimdark story, but without the content.
Written in one sitting on April 26th, 2019.
APP: The Shadow of a Pink Pony
The clatter of hooves echoed down the endless, inky abyss of labyrinthine corridors within the cave. Despite its impressive facade, the inside seemed somehow even larger, cutting off all external light within minutes and leaving her staggering forward in the pitch-black. While she had no inclination of her destination, that invisible force—that silent voice in her mind ushered her on, whispering acrid thoughts in her ear as it guided her past turnings and distractions. She passed an oddly luminescent patch of rocks but paid it no heed; this was not her goal, she had to move on, the blinding void had more for her than simple oddities.
It felt like days had passed as she trotted on with an almost heretical fervour, but just as the first specks of doubt began to flicker in her mind, a blinding light crept around the corner of the upcoming passage. Like a demon embraced by the divine, she edged toward it with trepidation, one hoof sheltering her sensitive eyes as she pressed on, slowly acclimatising to the relatively fresh air and clouded sky-light once more. The moist, heady mould of the living forest gripped her throat, but offered a welcome reprieve from the stale, blood-like taste of the cave. Its exit was very much like the entrance, with four monolithic stone spires reaching towards the sky, but really the only thing of note in the vicinity. Trees to the left, trees to the right, trees ahead... What could she possibly hope to find this deep into a cursed wood? She craned her neck to bite the cloth sack balanced on her back, taking it in hoof to expose the slate frame within. The smiling faces of deceit renewed the acid in her veins and steeled her resolve, but even with that, which path was the way forward? The barbed tickle at the base of her skull was a wash of screaming nonsense, like a violent scribble given voice and just as useful. She was the only thing she could trust now, so what would she do? She looked down at the photograph again, this time at her decapitated body, which was holding its hoof up, pointing forward. Sure, why not.
The path ahead more or less made its own way, and she was in no position to argue with it. At first there was nothing but a corridor of trees to make sense of left and right, carpeted by endless grass and capped with a sea of cloud, but after a while landmarks began to appear along her route. She passed between a small lake and a cave that held aloft the husk of a tree, surrounded by an inexplicable graveyard of wood, as though some ancient terror had killed all life in the area. As unusual as the sight was, it bore no relevance to her journey, and she continued on, winding her way between two desolate crags and into a swamp. The mire's putrefaction was almost overwhelming, with its thick ichor clinging to her hooves with every step she took, slowing her progress down to a crawl. Forcing her way forward, she suddenly found herself knee-deep and steadily sinking, unable to free herself from the devouring, earthen maw. As the cold slime slowly pulled her down, she noticed a thick vine hanging from a branch overhead. Having few options to choose between, she reached into her polka-dot bindle and pulled out the framed photograph, flinging it as hard as she could with a twist of her neck. Spinning in a shallow arc, the carved slate managed to cleave just enough of the cord to bring it down, landing mere inches from her. With a few strained pulls of her jaw, she started to make gradual progress against gravity, pulling herself toward solid ground. As her forelegs grazed the muddy banks, she exhausted her final ounces of strength to exhume her hooves and claw her way ashore.
Lying on her back and heaving in sweat, she turned her head only to be met by those same smiling faces held within the life-saving frame as it protruded from the soft ground, jeering at her struggle. Scowling, she pushed herself up, leaning forward just in time to watch the tips of her bindle sink beneath the brown sludge, forever entombed beneath the Everfree Forest. Gummy's collar, their photo together on his first birthday party, the key to her party-cannon closet, all lost... all useless. Items can be replaced and memories are eternal as long as you are still alive, and she was, for better or worse. She stood to her hooves with a sardonic sigh, picking up the cold frame in her mouth and balancing it on her back. She would stick to the edges of the swamp for the remainder of her trek, wherever it was taking her.
After clearing an ocean of blue flowers and a particularly stubborn, twiggy bush, an unexpected sight appeared before her. There sat a small, run down, rotten little shack in the middle of the woods. It appeared to be abandoned, given its cold and lonely façade, so surely nopony would mind if she sought shelter inside. There was nothing to smile about this conclusion to her journey, but at least it was over—for now. Reaching out for the door handle, she couldn't help but recall the moment she was ejected from Ponyville, sealing her fate with one final, spiteful slam; a barrier of wood closing behind her, and not the last time.
As she stepped into the musky room, the glint of something on the floor immediately caught her eye through the heavy air. A hoof-mirror lay shattered beside the bed. It didn't seem as old as the room around it, so had somepony been here recently? A stabbing sensation pierced her temple, urging her to seek the cold comfort of the bed within. Her mind was as foggy as the dusty air around her, struggling even to recollect how she had arrived here. Perhaps a little sleep would help to make sense of things. Closing the door behind her, she trotted past a large wicker basket and climbed onto the sunken bed, placing her framed photograph on the table beside it. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the black-speckled ceiling's wooden slats, unsure if this wooden box was any safer than the forest outside. Her mind wandered back to the past—back to ponyville and those who had betrayed her. If glares had power, she would be sleeping under the stars tonight. The more she thought about them, the angrier she got, and the angrier she got, the more she hated herself, and the more she hated herself, the more she hated them for changing her. They did this to her. They made her life a living nightmare. Everything had been fine before Twilight Sparkle arrived in town. She'd had friends—lots—a good job, a warm house, a loving pet, happiness... Now she had nothing, nothing but bad memories and bitterness; sweetness turned sour. She wanted to lash out, strike them, convey her pain... but they were intangible. Ghosts of the past, or perhaps projections of the present. Surely they were still laughing at her behind her back after all this time, so far away; or perhaps they had forgotten her completely—a memory left to rot like the hut she lay in.
She turned over, facing those mocking smiles on the table, and noticed an old typewriter in the corner. The keys looked as though they had seen some use, though the ink ribbon was limp, and the only sheet of paper around hung limply off the spool, yellowed and beaten with age. Who would come to a place like this to type messages? Who was there to write messages to anymore? Perhaps the world outside this forest had all been a dream—some fevered nightmare that would fade with time, leaving her to live contently in this life devoid of others. Maybe it had all been a dream, and she had always lived alone in this hut. Anything was better than these memories of happiness that haunted her. The pain you wake with from a nightmare fades in time, but pain in the real world scars you for life. Perhaps if she wished hard enough she could wake from this nightmare, warm and loved in Sugarcube Corner, cuddling Gummy as she ate a slice of cake. No. No cake. The very thought of it turned her stomach as she lay there, despite it aching from not eating in what felt like forever. Maybe that was what the old Pinkie Pie would do, but that wasn't her anymore, not until the memories of this dream faded. For now, revenge on those ponies was the only just desert she craved.
She rolled back to face the ceiling and kicked the wall, causing a bunched-up cloth to fall back over the window and cover the room in a twilight darkness. As much as her stomach demanded attention, the exertion of her travels had drained the energy she needed to seek food. Just a short rest on this lumpy mattress would be enough, then she could go in search of mushrooms, or whatever the beasts of this forest called sustenance. At least there was a well just outside the hut, so until some pony told her otherwise, it made sense to make this her home. 'Home sweet home'...
Author's Note
Despite the first three paragraphs being written a short while ago, the rest of the story and a rewrite of the beginning were brought to life after another dark moment in my life, much like the first chapter. That said, I think this chapter is a bit more story-based than the first, and less raw emotion.
Released: 23rd of October, 2020. (1,568 words)
