Mareijuana, not even once
"So, what you're saying is that I can feel even better than I do now?" Pinkie asked with genuine surprise.
"Yeah, you'll feel great," the shady stallion said. He was covered in red sores that he kept itching, and his forelegs had what looked like long, thin bruises. His teeth were yellow and soft with rot, and as he spoke, one tilted back and forth, seemingly moments away from simply falling out of his gums. "Two hundred bits for the bag, and don't tell any cops or I'll kill your family, got it?"
Pinkie nodded, smiling. She pulled a sack of exactly 200 bits from her mane and hoofed it over to the unpleasant pony. The dark alley seemed to grow even darker as he gave her the small plastic bag of what looked like some kind of green herbs. "Alrighty-ditey!" she said, and pronked off just as something small and hard clattered to the ground behind her.
"Mr. Cake, Mrs. Cake! I'm back from Manehattan!" Pinkie shouted. Sugarcube Corner was closed, so she had to use her key to get in. "Huh?" There was a note on a table, written in large, pink letters to get her attention.
Pinkie Pie,
We will be visiting family for two days. Don't touch our stuff.
"Ooooh, fun!" Pinkie said to nopony in particular. "Well, the stallion told me I should only do it when I'm alone, and here I am... alone!"
Using her tongue, she reached into her mane and wrapped it around the bag of... what was it called, again? Marry-wanna? Anyway, she pulled it out and opened it up. With a short, sharp sniff, she smelled the contents and gagged. It smelled like rotten garbage and burning tires, and was certainly the most unpleasant odor she had ever experienced.
Despite the awful and unnatural scent emanating from the vile dried plant leaves, she still wanted to feel good. Using a clothespin to plug her nose, she reached a hoof into the baggy and pulled out a wad of the stuff.
Here goes nothing, she thought.
Pinkie popped the drug into her mouth and chewed, ignoring the incredibly awful flavor. It was like a salad made of rancid lettuce and dead crickets, topped with motor oil. She resisted the urge to vomit, and swallowed the stuff down.
Pinkie stood in the center of the bakery, panting. Her mouth and throat burned where the toxic leaves had touched her, and even her hoof was red where she had held it.
She waited.
Colors, somehow simultaneously bright and dark, crept into the corners of her vision. She shrieked and turned toward them, but could never quite see them clearly. The room suddenly felt very cold, and she shivered, somehow sweating at the same time.
I don't feel better at all! In fact, I feel awful! she thought. How could that pony have lied to me?
Long, dark lines appeared on her forelegs, and her eyes burned as they reddened. She swallowed dryly, her heart quickening, and she felt like her veins were on fire as the dangerous chemicals spread throughout her body. She wanted to scream, but her throat tightened up, and all she could do was whimper as her own body assaulted her in what felt like punishment for mistreating it.
"I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!" she cried, but her words went unheard, and she remembered she was alone. So very, very alone.
The colors at the fringes of her vision were making their way further toward the center. She began to panic as the world darkened (brightened?) into nothingness. A silent, breathy scream came from her open mouth, and she lost consciousness.
When Pinkie awoke, she saw that she was still in the bakery, but it was dark. Shapes moved against the blackness, and her breath caught in her throat. Despite the darkness, she could somehow see the monsters clearly. They were leafy green plantlike creatures, moving toward her, creeping forward glacially slowly. Her eyes flung wide open, and she ran upstairs to the Cakes' bedroom.
"Where is it? Where is it, where is it, where is it?" she said as she dug through drawers. Then, in the bottom clothes drawer under Mrs. Cake's apron, she felt it. Hard, metallic. It was their revolver.
Pinkie sat in the corner, crying and shivering, pointing the gun at the door. Whatever those monsters were, she was not going to let them hurt her.
Nothing came.
There was some kind of itch deep inside her that she couldn't identify at first. Like a hole in her heart when a friend was sad, or emptiness in her stomach when she had gone all day without eating. Except this need was an emptiness in her veins. She needed more... no. No! She put her hooves over her head and shook it desperately.
No, no, no! No more of the marry-wanna! She didn't need it!
Didn't need it.
She focused on aiming the gun at the doorway.
Her eye twitched.
Her hoof trembled.
She took her hoof off of the trigger and breathed deeply.
Okay, just a little more. Just to take the edge off.
Holding the gun as steady as she could, she advanced toward the open door. No movement. Pinkie's nostrils flared, and her ears twitched as she slowly peeked her head out and down the stairs. It seemed the plant-monsters hadn't followed her.
Unsteady hooves clopped against wood as she descended the stairs carefully, gun at the ready. But by the time she reached the bottom, it looked like the coast was clear. Whatever they were, they were gone.
The small bag was still on the floor where she had dropped it. She threw the gun aside and leaped onto the bag, drooling, and attacked it viciously. Spittle flew as she ate the entire baggy, plastic and all. She was left feeling fulfilled in the most unsatisfying way possible. It was like she had eaten rocks to fight hunger. The drugs only made her feel worse, but she could already sense the same burning desire for more. She doubted that urge would ever go away no matter how much she satisfied it.
She cried. Softly at first, then in heaving sobs, as she realized her life was ruined. There was no more joy to be had. Nothing could ever make her truly happy again, because any good feelings would forever be marred by this ever-present desire for more of the toxic drug she had become addicted to.
Her head turned toward the gun.
No, not that. Never that. She had made a promise.
She crawled over to the revolver with another purpose. She would go put it back, and ride out the terrible high, and then live with the consequences of her thoughtless actions. Yes, that was her plan.
Pinkie Pie reached the gun with a sad smile.
Her smile died when she felt a presence behind her. It was one of the monsters!
She turned, and there it was, towering over her. And she could smell it. The weird leafy monster was... was... marry-wanna! "No!" she cried. "I don't need you!"
Pinkie bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, but even that was overhwelmed by her intense desire for more. She raised the gun, quaking. It couldn't win, she knew she had to beat it. But she also knew it was far too late. Resigned to her fate, she pulled the trigger. A sudden, loud pop! came from the gun that left her ears ringing, and tears came to her red eyes as she crawled forward.
She was utterly helpless to stop herself from taking large bites from the dead plant-monster.
"Mr. and Mrs. Cake?" the detective asked. The two ponies nodded, their eyes red from crying. "I have the complete report for what I think happened to your friend, Pinkie Pie. Would you like to know?"
They looked at each other silently, then back to the detective. "Yes," Mr. Cake said.
"Well, it seems she bought a bag of mareijuana, probably while she was in Manehattan. Once she returned here to Sugarcube Corner, she tried it out. Looks like she ate the whole bag. Then, likely hallucinating, she went up to your room to retrieve your weapon, the colt revolver. She came back downstairs with it, and shot your potted eucalyptus plant there, then ate it until she died from a combination of mareijuana withdrawal and overdose.
Now, I don't want to tell you how to be parents, but I hope this comes as a harsh lesson in the reality of the dangers of mareijuana for your children. I'm sorry that you lost your friend, I truly am, but unlike her, your children still have a future."
The detective placed a comforting hoof on Mrs. Cake's shoulder, and she nodded. "We... we'll do our best. Oh, Pinkie Pie..." she said, fresh tears in her eyes.
The detective watched grimly as the two ponies returned to their shop. "Dammit," he said, "it never gets any easier."
