I climb the stairs two steps at a time, like I always do when I get upstairs from work at Sugarcube Corner. This time is different though. Things happened, and today is not like other days. Today is a Diary Day, which I need to rename (anypony who knew me would say “Wait, Pinkie named that? But that’s so. . . un-creative!”) but I can’t think of anything better for one of the Saddest of Days. Simple things are best, sometimes.
When I get to my bedroom, I open the door quietly, just in case Pound or Pumpkin Cake, the Cutest of Babies (no matter what Twilight says about Flurry Heart-we’re both biased) is sleeping in my cupcake bed. They love it there. I peek inside, and to my relief (or perhaps frustration? I can’t be sure of anything today on this Sad Day) no orange or brown-maned head is lying sideways on the gumballs decorating the cupcake in perfect swoops.
Perfect-what a strange word. (That sounds like something Twilight would say, but it would be because “perfect” had a weird origin or strange spelling. “Etymology” is her fancy word, I think. I don’t know any of that stuff. I say “perfect” is strange for a different reason entirely.) Nopony and nothing is actually perfect-gorgeous and amazing and sweet in every way. I obsess over perfectness a lot. It was especially bad today, though, and I know Mrs. Cake noticed something was wrong. She’s intuitive that way. I know because while I was sitting on the bucket of extra frosting in the back room (storage) she came in and asked how I was doing. I said fine, which isn’t a lie, mostly. “Fine” can mean lots of things, so I wasn’t exactly lying. She also asked what in the sweet, sweet world I was doing sitting on the bucket of extra frosting in the back room for an hour, give or take a few. That’s what Mrs. Cake does-never gives units. In truth I was contemplating a floorboard, so I said I was fantasizing about my imaginary frosting world where I’d eat frosting and cupcakes all day long and never, ever, ever get sick, or even feel sick in the slightest. That was at the back of my head, so again, not really lying.
But the floorboard I was staring at was interesting, and I felt it was mine to look at. Who would notice a floorboard, just plain wood planks so that your hoofsies don’t get tired from stepping on the bare dirt, besides the craziest pony in town? And possibly all of Equestria? Many have said it, I know it’s true, and I know they mean well, but I still don’t like it. It feels wrong somehow, like there’s more to me than craziness and baking and parties and oh-look-there’s-Pinkie-where-did-she-come-from, which is really all ponies know me for. My friends all have complex personalities.
Is it too much to ask to be normal?
And here’s another strange word-normal. Everypony has something that makes them special, so none of us are really normal. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. So many ponies are worried about fitting in and being seen as normal like “everyone else”. I should know - I’m one of them.
I sigh and lie down, gently so I don’t trigger anything with my crazy Pinkie magic, on the pink and blue (or really bubblegum ice cream and blueberry sorbet) colored stripes of the cupcake’s wrapper. In reality, that wrapper is a lot like me. I hold my friends together with laughter, and Fluttershy does as well with kindness. Twilight, of course, is the top point, the most important, the cherry on the cupcake that makes it all worthwhile (what’s a cupcake without a maraschino cherry on top, amirite?), and Rainbow Dash and Applejack are the strong supports. The batter. That takes care of all of us except Rarity-she’s the decoration that makes us look pretty. Without her, we’d just be batter with a wrapper and never get turned into a pretty little cupcake.
Today when I was out with Rainbow, trying to think of new pranks (except nothing too over the top - we’ve learned our lesson), I saw a handkerchief lying on the sidewalk. That handkerchief was the only thing out of place among Ponyville’s orderly, small streets and colorful shops. I felt sorry for that little white handkerchief lying there-it reminded me of me, lying lost and forgotten with no way to reach our high goal. For the handkerchief, the goal was to get remembered and have somepony come back. For me, well… I have lots of goals. None of them are going to get accomplished anytime soon.
You might say I’m not forgotten, I’m not lost - I’m a Hero of Equestria and one of the legendary Element Bearers. But in my own mind, I am much different. I am not a hero, I’m not a legend, and I’m definitely not anypony special. I’m just me, and sometimes being me can be bad.
Sighing again (I’ve been doing a lot of sighing lately, mostly because of Fluttershy’s meditation exercises she’s shared with all of us, meaning all of the Elements), I pick up the leatherbound Diary for which I named Diary Day a mere two moons ago, and a quill from the many I have cluttered in my pink bouncy hair. My mane is wilting slowly, like it always does when I’m upset. And I’m upset more than my friends (or anypony, for that matter) realizes.
I put the quill to the page and watch as black ink spills out, staining the clean white page. Maybe I’m that ink, marring the beautiful surface of Equestria. Maybe it would be better if I could just erase myself. They could find somepony else for laughter, I know they could. What do I contribute to Equestria? What do I bring?
For now, though, I’m floating. I’m staying above the surface, but just barely. And someday, I’ll sink under, like almost everypony else, and that will be the end of Pinkamena Diane Pie.
But not today, I scratch on the page.
Not today.
Author's Note
This is really old, and I was planning to put it in some kind of anthology, but I can't think of what else would go in the anthology, and so here it is. I wrote it quickly, when I was in kind of a bad mood, and I just needed to let my feelings out somehow. It's my first completed story on Fimfic, and possibly only, because I've stopped writing MLP fic as much as I used to. And. . . yeah. Hope you enjoy!