The Wingless Angel

by jnzsblzs

Rating: teen
Tags: Pinkie Pie, Slice of Life, Mr. Cake, Death, Sad, Drama, Mrs. Cake, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 12786

Carrot Cake recalls the day he met Pinkie Pie. The worst day of his life.

On a day of broken hearts and unnumbered tears, a day when it became impossible to believe in the good of the world, Carrot Cake will learn to believe in Pinkie. Because angels do not fly. Sometimes, they bounce.

I'm gonna have to thank everyone here briefly. First of all my wonderful Editor the one and only camuflage deceased facial hair on the site: Ninjadeadbeard. Fun fact apart from his meticulus editing work he also provided the wonderful descriptions for the story.
Second I want to thank Xennox who not only made the wonderful cover art but made sure there is SFW version avilable so I didn't have to burn my eyes out when I cropped it. Cover art used without permission.

And last but definitely not least I want to thank Toriandthehorse who started the editing process. He didn't get to finish it but still, his contribution was invaluable. I want to dedicate this story to him.
Angels might not always have wings and sadly in real life they are rarely immortal, but they are there. And that's enough. Hang in there Tori.

Published 2019-11-22 02:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-11-22 02:10:01 UTC

A weird pet, a slice of cake and an empty room.

A hard day’s night. It is around nine PM when I hear the most dreaded sound a tired husband could hear at this hour in his own house.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarling!” The false sweetness in my beloved Chiffon’s voice is more ominous than a thousand ancient prophecies.

“Yes, honey?” I turn around and reply nonetheless. After all, facing any danger is what a brave stallion like me does, isn’t it?

“I know it’s my turn…” she starts, staring at me with the best puppy eyes I’ve seen from her in years. At least tied for first. With all the others.

“You want me to put the kids to bed?” I cut her short with tired smile. “Let me guess you’ve had enough of this day for the rest of your life and you just want to take a shower and then collapse onto the bed.” I know her way too well.

“You are the best!” she flashes the exact same bright, sassy smile I’d fallen for all those years ago. How could I ever resist that?

“I know,” I sigh, “just try to remember it the next time I forget to take out the garbage.”

She answers something cheerful but I’ve already zoned out. Truth, be told I‘m not faring much better than her. I feel like I could fall asleep standing right there and then. But I know she still got the short end of the stick. While all I had to put up with was a bunch of batter and whipped cream, she had to stand her ground against the charmer known as Spoiled Rich.

Thank Celestia, Pinkie has already done the hard part. She’s bathed the foals and has put on their night-time diapers. All I really have to do is tuck them in, and tell their bedtime story. She would have done even more had she not had to head to the Crystal Empire for some official Pony-Yak business. Official Friendship ambassador to Yakyakistan. How far she’s really come… It seems like yesterday when I met the little rascal in the hospital…

And just like that, a dangerous thought occurs to me, a thought so unimaginably ludicrous it clears my sluggish mind in an instant.

I quickly glance in on Pound and Pumpkin. They're ogling me impatiently, no doubt waiting for me to read them their story. Something from their favourite book, for the hundredth time. It now seems a like an (even more) extraordinarily boring proposition. I glance back at the book and realise I don’t even remember taking it from the shelf. “No, this wouldn’t do,” I mutter. I look back at the foals, and say, “I think it’s time you listen to my favourite story, and not the other way around, for once.”

They show absolutely no reaction. They’d be the perfect serial killers, I think to myself for a moment, but quickly think of something else, something that promises a bit more success. “Do you want to hear a story about your aunt Pinkie Pie?”

Just as I expect her name does the trick:

“Pinke!” shouts Pound

“Pie!” laughs Pumpkin

That is all the self-engineered encouragement I need. Chiffon wouldn’t like this and at some level I very much agree with her. But still, this story is ultimately about life and one can’t shield them from that forever. Pound and Pumpkin are going to face it sooner or later. And it’s not like they’re going to understand anything anyway, right? Right.

“Okay, now where do we start?” I ask myself trying to remember that day after burying it so deep into my memory. I look straight ahead at the wall behind the foals’ crib. I feel it's probably easier to start the story looking at something neutral.

And in a second the walls turn white, the drapes turn green, and the foals' crib disappear to give way to an empty corridor. I'm no longer in my house but in a Manehattan hospital some fifteen years before.

I start talking, barely recognising my own voice. It's like I was no longer in my body, but was merely observing a memory about my younger self. It was a such a stupidly average late October day. I wished it wasn’t. As if the world out there was just trying to mock how insignificant I was. In novels, every time something happens, the weather just seems to mirror the mood of the main character, as if the weather pegasi didn’t have anything better to do than to just annoy ponies. I mean, in Ponyville she doesn’t, but that’s a different story.”

And just like that I fall out of my memory. I sigh. I was blabbering. I know why of course but if I am to get to the end of this story,I have to speed it up a little. So, I decide to change the approach.

Kids. If there is one thing I can say about your old man, it’s that it’s not easy to make me cry. I only did it three times in my life. Once as a foal when big old Pristine took my strawberries. Once when your mom told me she was pregnant with you, and that day.”

*Okay this is progress. I’m almost telling the story now.*

I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t pretty. I didn’t holler or make any sounds really, I just opened the waterworks and let it all pour quietly in the corner.

I pause for a second glancing at the foals. They are both ogling me with unflinching interest. Just as I feared. I'm very much tempted to stop the story there and then but I don’t want to disappoint the foals. Although I still could just read from their book. It is still in my hooves I could just open it and get this whole thing over with in a flash. I fiddle with the cover for a moment but ultimately decide against it and stand up to put it back on the shelf.

*What have I gotten myself into?* I think with equal amount of shame and giddy anticipation as I put the book back on the shelf. This really isn’t a story they should be listening to yet.

But it is the story I want to tell. I'm growing more sure of that with every passing moment.

So, I sit back onto my chair and continue. I remember sitting there in those ugly orange plastic chairs flooding the entire corridor, oblivious to the world. I cried and cried without ever intending to stop. It all just seemed so unfair. One day I’m the happiest pony in the world living with the pony I loved the most, doing the job I’ve always wanted to do in the city I was born and raised in, looking ahead for the joys and challenges that laid ahead. It seemed perfect. I stop for second because I know what is coming. It's happened every time I’ve ever thought about this, and I've had ample opportunities to do that in the last fifteen years.

Until that faithful night. I’d continue but the memories of that night just explode into my mind washing away anything that was in there before. Chiffon tapping my shoulder, saying there’s something wrong. Me rushing down to get the phone. The sirens. Holding her hoof on the whole journey to the hospital. Seeing her being taken to an ER room. A couple hours of frantic pacing on the corridors without hearing a word. The doctors finally coming out and telling me their… verdict. And finally: the orange chairs.

Maybe I should have seen the signs. Mommy just had been complaining about a little tummy ache for a few days, but we didn’t even really pay attention to it. It was supposed to be normal. Later I was told there was nothing we could have done even if we rushed to the hospital at first notice but I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I did anything just a little bit differently. Maybe if I didn’t serve some of the ridiculous dishes she craved for the moment she uttered their name? Maybe if I didn’t let her be her usual exuberant self after I learnt she was…

I have to stop. My eyes are already tearing up I've just started to tell the story we sealed up into the bottom of our heart with Chiffon. But I refuse to cry. Pride might just be the anaesthesia that deadens the pain of stupidity, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t do a great job of it. So, I close my eyes, swallow my tears and say the sentence that’s been torturing my mind for the last few seconds.

Maybe your brother could read your story and not some stuttering old schmuck.

I open my eyes but I don’t look at the foals. I’m aware that I couldn’t tell them straight up what happened, even after 15 years and I’m not interested in what they might think of me right now. Petty? Very much, but so be it.

But I guess I wasn’t meant to have a son just yet. I sigh, my eyes are still sore but I know I’m over the worst part. I take a deep breath and continue.

So, there I was, crying helplessly in those ugly orange chairs when I noticed something warm around my hind left leg. I looked down and I saw pink ring of fur and fluff wrapped around my pastern. I lifted up my legs to take a better look, but it wasn’t obvious what it was. It was most likely alive though because it seemed to be breathing.

My immediate thought was that it was someone’s exotic pet that took a liking of my leg. I know it sounds like a weird assumption, but it wasn’t that farfetched in Manehattan. And hurting something and then having shouting contest with its owner seemed like just the thing to take the edge off, so I lifted my leg up and started to aggressively shake it up and down.”

I finally dare to glance at the foals and they seem strangely energetic. Usually this far into the story they should be a lot sleepier. This story might be a little too interesting for their own good. Or it might just be that it felt longer to tell then it actually has been.

Anyhow, though it took a few seconds but the pink ring of fur finally flew off of my leg curled up into a ball, bounced around in the waiting room for a few seconds and then landed in my lap. There the pink ring-ball folded itself into a small little pony, and looked up to me with the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and asked: “Are you alright?”

It took quite a few moments to register what just happened in the last 2 seconds. A foal no more than ten years old flew off of my leg, bounced back from the ceiling onto the window, then the floor and lastly back onto my lap, and it had the audacity to ask if I was alright?!

“What… I mean the what? And how? And What???”

And then she laughed. Kids, you’re growing up happy with her being your caretaker, you get to hear her laugh every day. That bright syrupy sweet laughter that echoes through even the darkest depth of one’s soul. I guess my fate was sealed the moment I heard it. though I didn’t know it yet.

“Silly pony, none of that makes any sense. Also, you can’t answer a question with a question you should know that. But don’t worry this place is full of very-very smart ponies who can get your talk right in a sec."

That… hit way too close to home. I'd just about had enough of those very-very smart ponies and their solutions for the next few millennia. I pushed her away gently, I didn’t want shove her right off my lap but I made sure she understood that I wanted to be left alone. She caught on instantly which of course that got her all worried again.

“Oh no you’re going all sad-sad again. I must have said something wrong. I’m so sorry.”

That expression sounded so silly I just had to ask.

“Sad-sad? What’s that?” Though I’m not sure, I always imagined I sounded like the proverbial grumpy old whack on the porch.

And kids, you should have seen her face! It was so fascinating how quickly and how honestly she could go from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. Her head turned down, her ears flopped down, even her fluffy mane seemed to deflate a bit. But she still didn’t take her eyes off of me as she talked.

“You know ponies are often sad, and then they frown, and then you must turn that frown upside down. But when they are sad-sad they don’t need jokes or tricks. They just need you. They need you to be there to let them know they can give you one of their sads when they are ready to be just normal sad again.”

If I ever told anypony that I got my best piece of marital advice from foal not old enough to go on most roller-coasters everyone’d think I’d gone mad. Including Pinkie, and that’s saying something. Yet it was so simple and heart-warming I couldn’t help but break a smile at her naïve sensibility. I guess it was not the magic of the tree which made her an Element of Harmony. She was merely the worthy one from the get-go.

“I guess that’s true.” I said hesitantly. “Thank you ermm…”

I just realised that I haven’t even asked her name yet. Luckily she was ready to help me out.

“Oh-oh-oh! My name is Pinkamina Diane Pie but you can just call me Pinkie! And I’m so happy I’ve met you!”

Her enthusiasm was so contagious, even then at my lowest I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit elated. With a small but almost honest smile I answered.

“Thank you Pinkie, it’s very nice to meet you too. But I think I’m better now. You should go back to your parents.”

To this day I don’t know why I wanted to send her away. I felt like I wanted that at least, I wanted to be alone. I guess that is why grief is such insidious killer. It makes you desire the very thing that keeps you down. Like a drug without a high. And it’s honestly unbelievable how good you are at rationalising the objectively worst thing you can do. Like me sending Pinkie away because she was supposed to be with her family. It sounds so honest, so logical, dare I say noble? Yeah, just what a wounded person needs. A shot of ego to deaden the pain of stupidity until the latter kills you.

Luckily whether Pinkie stayed with me was not up to me to decide.

“Oh, you are better now?” she squeaked “That’s so great we are going to have so much more fun together now! Operation Happy Cake is officially a GO!”

And with that she jumped off of my lap and pranced away. Bounced actually. It caught me so off guard I only managed to shout after her.

“Wait, what? That’s not what I meant.” My Celestia, this was the last thing I felt I needed. An insatiable little machine of fun that was hell bent on cheering me up without having any concept about a universe where it’s plausible to take no for an answer.

What was even more worrying is that despite being fairly sure I never told her my name, she seemed to know it somehow. I guess it’s connected to my cutie mark but it’s still not something she should be able to guess just by looking at it.

Either way, this pony was something. Making me forget about why I was in hospital even just for a minute or two was no small feat. Yet she made it look so natural, so effortless. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Granted I wasn’t trying very hard because in her absence my thoughts quickly went back to… darker places.

I take a deep breath. He’s gone now, there is nothing I can do about that apart from concentrating on what I have. He would want this too. The bitterness of these lies hasn’t been dampened by the years but at least by now I have hope that someday I will finally believe this crap.

Anyhow kids your auntie didn’t take too long, and when she came back, she was bringing a slice of cake with her. This explained why she choose the name ‘Happy Cake’ for her little stunt. Though with each passing day I know her I grow less and less certain that she didn’t know my name back then.

As to how she managed to keep the slice on the plate while bouncing up and down, that is still beyond me, but at least by now a I’ve learnt to trust her ability to keep anything steady under any condition.

“Hey Mr. Sad sir!” Though I knew a lot of pony being able to speak with a cigarette in their mouth Pinkie was the first one who could do the same with a plate. I was solidly stunned between being amazed and aghast.

But before I could get up and do something about it, she put down the plate and looked up at me. And then she started to sputter so fast she would have put 2-Prance to shame.

“Look what I brought you! A cake! But not just any cake! A Happy Cake! My Nana Pinkie used to say that cakes are the best thing to give a pony when they are sad.”

It was I this point I started to wonder what happens when she runs out of breath.

“Though that’s odd because she had more cats than cakes, but you have a cake cutie mark you must super-duper like cakes and they are easier to get around here than cats anyway so I thought I was gonna get this for you.”

It was at this point her face started to turn blue.

“But then I realised if I brought both a cat, and a cake you would be twice as happy so I wanted get one for you but then I remembered that Gerhardt once told me I shouldn’t…”

And it was at this point when I decided I had to intervene before the rascal just passed out from the lack of oxygen. Though it would be wrong not to admit that a not insignificant part of me would have appreciated that eventuality.

“Pinkie, stop.” I put my hoof over her mouth to stop her from talking. “Just breathe,” She wanted to object so I quickly grabbed the plate and lift the cake up. “Don’t worry Pinkie I’m already eating the cake” And with that I took a solid bite out of the chocolate sponge cake.

And let me tell you kids that was a baaaaaaad idea. Because while I wasn’t expecting any sort of delicacy from a hospital canteen, that… thing was probably the best argument for euthanasia I’ve ever tasted. I almost spat it out, but I knew it would break Pinkie’s heart, so I held on and with my most forced smile I’ve ever put on and said: “It’s great Pinkie” The sheer effort to keep the bite in watered my eyes which I guess made me look even more grateful. It took a second or two of heroic fighting against my gag reflex to swallow the ball of yuck this bite of incompetence had turned into in my mouth but I managed. I quickly put the plate down and tried to change the subject.

“Sooo why did you bring me this… cake” Yes, yes, I know I managed to change the subject from the cake to the cake. Sue me! Trust me kids, after tasting that you wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else either for the next few seconds.

“I wanted to help you of course.” She looked at me as if I’d gone mental.

“And why did you want to help a stranger?” As I asked her with undeniable elation with my voice. That filly was just too pure for anypony to hoofle.

“Don’t be so goof you silly goose!” she giggled innocently “We are not strangers, I knew we were friends the moment I saw you!”

“How so?”

“Because I wanted to help you,” she said.

My soul was engulfed in a warmth I’d honestly thought I could have never ever felt again. It felt wrong to just spoil it with any retort. What would I have told her anyway? ‘Thank you?’ Then what should I tell the next pony who hoofs me the breadbasket? ‘Buck you bitch?’ Based on the amount of gratefulness I’d feel in their respective situations it'd be fair. Also untenable.

No, saying anything would have been stupid. But still I felt complied to do something so I stooped down and kissed her on her forehead.

I looked at her a bit hesitantly because I’d just realised I shouldn’t be kissing random younglings I’d just met, but all my worries were groundless. Pinkie was Smiling. I know she almost always is, but I know you guys know there is a difference. Usually smiles because she enjoys life and she wants to share this feeling with everypony. This time, I knew I was able to give back a little bit from what she’d given me. Honestly now that I look back at it this is the only action I took that afternoon I haven’t second guessed once since.

I don’t deny that the next few seconds were a bit awkward. Neither of us really knew how to go on from where we were. I had the ingenious idea that it would probably be best if I sat back onto my chair and continue my cake. While it had the benefit that it finally broke the spell of awkwardness and it allowed Pinkie to bounce off to Celestia knows where, it also came with the disadvantage of Pinkie bouncing off to Celestia knows where. Also, the cake didn’t suddenly turn edible either.

Of course, I understood that she had to go. She was just a foal after all, her parents were probably looking for her and I couldn’t force her to stay with me if she didn’t want. Yet I was sitting there alone in my orange plastic chair morosely chewing on that dreadful disgrace of a cake, I almost felt the fangs of my gloom sinking into my neck, injecting their woeful poison into me. But the colours of the world around me were slowly fading as I was submerging back into my memories I suddenly grabbed onto a thought.

The cake. Who paid for it? It must have been purchased somewhere in the building because the foal was not gone for too long. Maybe if I find the cafeteria, I can pay it back. Maybe there, somepony can point me to where Pinkie went. Maybe if I find Pinkie, I can finally meet her parents, and I can thank them for raising such a wonderful child. Or maybe I can just break down to tears and bawl like baby the moment I see her family.

In either case, it was a risk worth taking.

Finding the cafeteria was actually quite easy. Turns out all you have to do is just follow the signs. I brought the cake with me partly because that was doing something with the cake that was not eating it, mostly because that way I wouldn’t have had to explain to the cafeteria mare what cake I wanted to pay for. I swear kids, if I had to describe what I felt about that cake the Equestrian government would have probably replaced the legal definition of hate-speech with my exact quote.

Instead I just put the cake down on her counter and asked her, “I’ve got this from a little pink pony by the name of Pinkie Pie, around the age of ten. Do you know anything about her?”

“Oh yes, of course I know her. She’s just been here to ask for a cake for a really sad-sad pony as she puts it. I guess it’s this one then. How did you find it?”

Instead of answering her honestly and say ‘I’m not legally responsible for what I’m about to say’ I managed to force some manners onto myself and dodge her question with another one.

“What? Ask for it? You mean she didn’t pay?”

“Well, no. She is such a cute little filly and I know she would never ask for a cake unless it’s for a really good cause so I usually just eat the loss myself.”

Trust me, you’re not the one eating losses here. I thought immediately but I felt it wouldn’t exactly be conducive for my long-term goals. “But what about her parents? Aren’t they here with her? And what do you mean about ‘usually’? Does she come to the hospital often?”

“Ermm… No. To all of that I guess.” Her behaviour turned so timid I would have sworn she was a relative of Fluttershy. I mean, I could have sworn I’d known her back then.

“What?”

“Well you know Pinkie is a bit of mystery around these parts. A few days after that big rainbow she showed up and started cheering ponies up. The staff, the patients, the relatives, everywhere she went laughter followed really.

First we didn’t think much of it, she was just lively little kid with a knack for comedy.” She seriously looked like she would have been just about anywhere else “Everypony here just assumed she had a sick relative and she has to stay here a lot and this is how she copes with it. But days turned to weeks and we still didn’t see anypony regularly with her so it started to get suspicious. We asked her who or where her parents were but her answer were… strange. I mean they made no sense. She said she came from a rock farm from the other side of the Equestria”

“A rock farm? You mean a quarry?” I know kids, I know. It was the truth, it just didn’t sound like it.

“No, an actual rock farm. She said they were farming rocks, eating rocks she even said two of her sisters had pet rocks.”

I wasn’t sure the pet rocks are worse than the dietary ones but to each their own I guess.

“Great… so you alerted the foal protecting services, and then what happened?”

“Yes, we have just done that they should be here any day now. But if you don’t mind I should… go back to the kitchen and take out the… cake from the oven. Yes, yes it should be just ready now…” And she practically cantered back to the kitchen.

Her story… didn’t add up. To put it gently. The Rainboom happened a month and a half before this, and Pinkie supposedly showed mere days after it. Let’s be generous and say it was a week. Give them another week or two to figure out that something was wrong with the new pink foal and there was still about one month where she was staying in the hospital eating Celestia knows what and sleeping in… okay it was a hospital so there were clean empty beds all around but still, this was no way to treat a foal. And the line about the FPS is a joke. This was Manehatten after all, if there was a lone kid wandering around and the staff reported it, they would have shown up in a matter of hours not days. At least that’s what I thought because it’s not like I had any chance to get some first hoof experience…

I stop as I catch my voice getting angry suddenly. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. And another one. And third one just for good measure. Then I continue though I don’t plan to open my eyes for few more seconds.

I decided I should find the foal myself if I want to thank her. I asked a few more staff members if they had seen her but they were a lot less talkative then the cafeteria lady. They mostly just claimed they knew no such pony, though I was rather sure they were lying. It just contradicted what the cafeteria lady said, not to mention it’s simply impossible for so many of them not to notice Pinkie. It seemed I’ve managed to ask the only staff member who was willing to spill any beans. Although based on how she baked she probably spilled out a lot of things quite often.

I searched up and down, asked quite a number of patients and relatives but to no avail. It seemed as if I was chasing a ghost. I almost started to question if I’ve really seen her or I just hallucinated because of the stress I felt. It would have explained quite a few things actually. But about half an hour later when I was just about to give up and go back to cry in front of Mom’s room I’ve heard loud cheerful squee and I immediately knew what it meant.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you! I was looking for you all over the place! I looked in the wards, I looked in the loos I even looked at the ceiling because I thought that maybe you are the Spidermare and you can walk on the ceiling, but then I realised that the Spidermare is on holiday in Zebrica taking photos of the Zebramare and the other superheroes like that, and you are here, so you can’t be her. Anyway, look what I found you: A friend. He is just about your age so I’m sure you have lots and lots to talk about. “

And indeed, while I didn’t notice him at first there was adult stallion behind Pinkie. But while me and my supposed friend were trying to make heads or tails of what she just said, she vanished.

On the other hoof, me and Mr. Mynewfriend have very much remained so. I looked up at the other guy and tried to get a measure of him. He was an earthpony with broad shoulders and I’d imagine quite a heavy gait. Though his posture was straight as a nail his back seemed to carry that weight I saw on too many around the hospital. The few-but-deep wrinkles on his face that stood testament for a life well and truly lived, made me realise that in this case “about my age” meant a good 25 years older than me. I thought at the time it was just the mistake of an eight-year-old who thought all adults are the same age. Oh, Celestia how foolish I was.

At this point I realised how stupid I must’ve looked staring at him as if he was some sort of mannequin in a storefront. I looked away cursing myself how stupid I was for not even saying anything. I looked back and caughthis glance instantly. We both instantly realised that we were boned now. We would have to say something. Luckily for me it was him who opened his mouth first.

“Well, did you see that big rainbow that went all over the land? It sure was something.”

I could barely hold back a snicker. Him bringing up a month old random meteorological event as a pathetic excuse for an icebreaker was the perfect way to summarise the situation. It would have been even funnier if I hadn’t had to answer this “question.”

“Yeah it was… something.” I said, once again exhibiting the full range of my wit. “What do you think it was really?” I asked mostly just to say anything and keep this conversation going.

“Ah reckon some of those featherbrains screwed up something fierce up in Cloudsdale and they ain’t telling us. Or it might’ve been some new weapon they be trying to cook up up there. Them Pegasuses have always been one step away from the warpath. And ah mean no disrespect, I know a few great Pegasus myself, it’s just I see no reason not to say how things are.”

Okay kids, I have to stop here to explain something. Sometimes, and it’s not always the case mind you, older ponies can be a bit ra… rough around the edges. They grew up in a different time after all. It’s best to just give them a pass on things like this, sometimes they’re the kindest ponies you meet despite their… hm… quirks. My advice is to just go with the flow, you’re not going to change their lifelong beliefs with a well-timed one-liner, or any eloquent speech.

“Right! I mean what kind of kooky, out-there explanation did they give? Some filly flew really fast and that broke the light spectrum? Who would believe that?”

I know, I know kids! It was the truth again. You don’t have to rub it in. In my own defence, I did not grow up in Ponyville, so I was used to a whole different sort of crazy. And Rainbow, much like Pinkie, is not the kind of pony you’d believe existed if you didn’t see them first hoof.

Anyhow. Another sure trick of mine which I use to deal with these kinds of… inconsiderate ponies is to get the topic changed. Now, that was no easy task given how literally seconds ago we were both struggling to utter a single word but luckily, I was just able to glance at his cutie mark and that gave me an idea. It was a brown cake with a single slice missing and I remembered that the Cafetaria mare suggesting that hoofing slices of cakes out was a somewhat regular thing for Pinkie. I admit it was a bit of a reach, but the fact that he didn’t have a slice of cake on him convinced me I’m right.

“Did she get you a cake too?”

“Unfortunately.” The sudden shudder that ran through both of our bodies quickly spun a thread of fraternity between us.

“Yeah that was not… great. It kinda tasted like…” I tried to find an adjective that was not a cuss word but it was a lost cause.

“It tasted like as if somepony’d taken one-part flour two-part negligence and stinginess, set a six hour timer on the oven and just let it burn,” He said morosely. I couldn’t have found a better description than that one even if I mulled about it until the end of time.

“Yeah that’s about right.”

The suffocating silence settled back on us again. It was like meeting that one neighbour you see every day but never go beyond the daily ‘Howdy?’ and now you are forced to talk with him. In my silent suffering I accidently uttered the one sentence none should ever say in a hospital. The second most important sentence of my life.

“So, what brought you here?” As soon the words left my lips, I knew I bucked up. I flinched and shut my eyes in embarrassment but realised that that’s about the only way I could look cowardly as well as stupid. So, I reopened my eyes and tried to pretend that it was just a slow blink though that was a pretty pathetic lie. I was hoping so hard that it turned out he was just on regular medical check-up but I knew I wouldn’t get off so easily. In retrospect, that fact the he’d even met Pinkie should have been a dead giveaway but I guess hindsight is 20/20.

“Mah wife. She’s got lung cancer. The doctors at home said that the best specialist lived here, so a few months ago I packed everything up, brought her here and I’ve been with her ever since.”

I remember he didn’t look angry or sad. Not in the way you’d expect anyway. He was that kind of hard son of a muffin who wouldn’t cry even at his father’s funeral. He just looked… lost, I think. He lived his life the only way he knew how, worked hard, cared for his loved one, earned everything he got… and now just like that, life pulled the rug out from under his feet. And yet he must keep standing because standing is all he’s got left. He can’t buckle down, can’t take a breather, because he’d never learnt how.

“Och that’s… rough.” I wasn’t sure whom to curse more. Myself for never learning to use language properly to know what to say, or everypony else for exploiting all the wonderful words of our language in every trivial, commonplace, everyday situations, so that when it truly mattered, you feel they are meaningless. But at this moment, like the echoes of a celestial harp, Pinkie’s words came to my mind, about how being present often helps more than anything you can say or do. So, I just shut up and waited if he wanted to say anything more, or until he just leaves. After a minute or two of utter silence, he decided to do the former.

“I don’t know, I really don’t.” he shook his head “I don’t know what’s next.” I had the distinct feeling that what he was saying was a part of a long chain of thoughts. “It’s been moons since I left home, and I’ve been shouldering all the expenses so far from our little nest egg, but it won’t last too long. I can’t very well get a job in baking because the market is fuller than the Apple family barn during reunions. And who would want to hire an old geezer like me with no work experience other than baking things.”

I couldn’t say much. The economy was pretty much in the crapper back then, I was lucky my shop was able to stay afloat. All that thanks to Mom mostly. Without her help, I really don’t know what I would have done. But if nothing else I could tell the guy that much, to make sure it seemed like I care. Which I actually did, it was just really out of my control.

“Yeah business hasn’t been rosy lately. I’ve been a Manehattanite for all my life and I don’t remember seeing the city in such a bad situation. I’m not sure if it’s quite like this everywhere else but it can’t be great no matter where you came from. By the way, where did you say you came from?”

“I don’t think I told you but it’s called Ponyville. Small quiet village next to Canterlot. You probably haven’t heard about it.”

“Ponyville?” I looked up, “I’ve actually been there. My wife’s from there, and she showed me around once. She is actually good friends with the Apple family.” I’m not sure why, but I felt the need to drop the name he just said a second ago.

“Oh really? And who your wife might be if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Her maiden name was Chiffon Swirl and she was a baker’s apprentice… Wait a minute, you must know her!”

“Yeah, I know her alright I reckon.” He smirked “She was my apprentice back in the day. Sweet Celestia, her sponge cakes were so light I could hardly believe they didn’t float!” For the record, I too can still not believe that. You should try it as soon your teeth come out.

“Huh, I’ve heard she meet some lucky fella in a competition and tied the knot with him, in but I haven’t had the pleasure to meet you. Name’s Chuck.” Now, I’ve got his wife to tell me his real name a lot later. It wasn’t Chuck. But as far as you kids are concerned, he’s good old uncle Chuck.

“Anyhow what’s happened to her?”

“What?! Why… or how would you know…?”

“Son, you are in a hospital. All of her relatives live in Ponyville an’ forgive me for judgin’ but you don’t much look like a chump who would leave his wife alone in a time of need, so it ain’t one of your rugrats who doctors are keeping you away from. That sure adds up to me to that it’s her who has somethin’.”

“Oh yeah... That’s right.” I was desperately looking for excuses to slither out of the situation without having to tell him what happened because I was less than sure I could’ve done it without opening the waterworks again. And I wasn’t ready for that. Especially not in front of him. It took me a few seconds to gather the courage - or abandon the hope of escape, not sure which - but I finally said it.

“Chiffon… had an ectopic pregnancy.”

There wasn’t a single word I didn’t loathe in that sentence. What does ectopic even mean? Why do the all the big brain doctors feel the need to cover everything they want to say with three layer of horse dung so that no one aside from them has a chance to actually know what they are talking about? And Chiffon? Me telling that it was her who had it sounds as if I was trying to push aside the blame from myself. And that’s bullshit, I’m just as guilty in this as her if not more. But what should I have said, be like one of those morons who always uses ’we’ when he talks about his wife? To pretend that I can feel even a fraction of the pain she’s feeling?
How arrogant would I have to be to do that?

And what kind of perverted, misbegotten cretin calls something a pregnancy that takes life away instead of creating it?

For the first time in a long while I have to stop again. I don't dare to look at the kids because if they are asleep, which is quite likely at this point, I’d probably convince myself to stop and go to bed. Chiffon is probably missing me already. But I was not ready to finish, not now that I’ve come this far.

I peeked up trying to judge his reaction. Honestly, ponies reactions are half the reason I wouldn’t want to tell this story to anypony. Everypony would be so sorry, but I can wipe my butt with their pity. Not that their condolence would be fake, it was as true as it can be. It was just wrong. It was one of the times in life when truth itself was wrong.

First it seemed as if I didn’t say anything. It almost looked like it didn’t register with him, but I had a hunch he was just burying it under that hardened pokerface of his. And, without a word, he just started to walk towards me. His posture and movements were so calm, it gave his steps a certain sense of inevitability. It honestly made me freeze there on the spot. I just didn’t know how to react. I saw him coming, I felt his legs wrapping around my back, I felt his hooves gently tapping on my shoulders, but I was no longer in control. My senses just stopped working; I mean they registered whatever outside stimuli they were supposed to register but my brain stopped making sense of them. As to why, I don’t know. I just stood there and let Uncle Chuck hold me tight. The only thing I did know that it felt good. It felt safe, and safety was in short supply those days even in the absence of danger.

“Thank you.” I said in a few minutes and he let me go. “And I’m sorry I brought your wife up. It was really inconsiderate of me.”

“Ah, shush son, don’t mention it. We’re even now anyway. But promise me something,” his gaze turned too stern too fast for my liking, “as soon as your wife comes out of her room you put her on a train and take her to Ponyville. The girl needs all her family more than ever and most of them are still there. Not to mention Buttercup. If there is a soul who can cheer her up right now, it’s Buttercup. They’ve been thick as thieves since they were born.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea,” I said automatically because I really didn’t want to talk about the future. For me at that point there was no future outside that hospital building. It’s only makes sense given how everything my life had been leading up to just ended there that morning. Yet minds are fickle beasts and you can’t always command where they venture. And quickly I’ve found mine on the train of Ponyville looking out the window.

It was so beautiful as the endless fields of golden crops were spanning into the horizon. The blue skies where the busy pegasi were moving the shiny white clouds together to water the fields. Princess Celestia’s sun emanating its radiant light but not like the cold white death stare of the cheap hospital lighting. This light had life, and joy, and what’s more hope for a better tomorrow! Colours upon colours changing wherever you look bedazzling you in ways you can’t even comprehend in this dreadful prison of dead whites and hospital greens. And you look back into the carriage and inside there is your wife looking healthy as ever, and smiling. Smiling! Oh, how far even the thought of seeing her smile again seemed to you.

And then I realise this could be me. All I have to do is leave this wretched place for good, leave everything behind and never look back. It felt like my insides were all tingling and my very blood was thrilling me from inside my veins.

“Son? Earth to Son! You’ve been getting all dreamy eyed on me and I don’t much appreciate that look from anypony apart from my wife.”

“Oh yes sorry, I was just thinking about something…”

“Okay, okay, really not interested. Keep it in there, son.” Despite his crassness I actually liked Chuck, quite a bit. I was so sorry that I couldn’t ease his problem in any way. I tried to draw up a few imaginary situations I could put him on my payroll, but they were pointless; budget was far too shoestring. And then an epiphany hit me like a like that baseball in my last pee vee league game. An idea which if it worked could change my entire life forever. And there was only one pony I had to convince to make it work. One that had almost as much to benefit from it as I did. Still, I knew I might get sent to Tartarus but I just had to try.

“Hey Chuck, I have a wild idea.”

“And ‘wild’ means ‘something I should listen to’ in urban-ponish?”

“Pretty much.”

“Alright, bring it on” he nodded with a more than slightly agitated face.

“You want a job to support your family. I want to take mine somewhere where not everything is a reminder of…” I gestured around “this.”

“I reckon.”

“So, what if we just changed place? You’d be taking my place here in Manehatten and I could take on The Sugarcube Corner. For a time first, and then later we'll see what life brings. Don’t worry about the bureaucrats, the city council would never send an inspector to a business in a time like this, unless you start baking cockroaches into your cakes. If you’re in Harelem, not even then.” I’m not proud of that joke kids, but I knew he would like it, and I needed to convince him. Luckily for me he got it despite not being from the town.

“Yeah griffons need the meat anyway.” He answered, a hearty round of laughter later. “I like your spirit son, you’ve got guts. You’ve probably got guts for brain too but of all the devils I could sell mah soul to, you at least have the common courtesy of coming recommended.”

“So, are you in?” I lift my hoof up.

“I know I’m gonna regret it, but damn you son, you got yourself a deal.” He gave me one firm shake. “But please, tell me your shop is not actually in Harelem.”

“Hehe no. It’s in Princesses, don’t worry. It’s on the Reingram street in Forest Hills, though I doubt you know where it is. It’s a decent neighbourhood, nothing fancy, though I guess it’s one of the less metropolitan parts of the city so it’s gonna be less of a culture shock to you.”

“Good. I don’t very much like this city. Also, how can I know I get good value for the Corner. It’s three story house you know.”

“Yeah, my house and shop are a bit less spacious. But we can iron out the details when we deal with the paperwork.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that housing market in Manehatten is so expensive that a cupboard under the stairs would probably be more expensive than his beloved Sugercube Corner. At least that was the case until Twilight moved to the town. Prices have been soaring ever since. One of the less appreciated ways Pinkie enriches my life really.

I talked for about 15 more minutes with Uncle Chuck about the details of the exchange and how we were going to make it work despite all the logistics.

After that he said he had to go and promised to stay in touch. I, on the other hoof, still had a pink little filly to find and thank so hard her head popped of its place.

It turned out however that the little rascal was much better at hiding than I was at seeking.

No matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find Pinkie. The last set of attempts discouraged me from asking around. Honestly, I felt I was about to be asked by some darkly clad, strangely muscular hospital personnel to leave the premises. But I really wanted get to the end of this. I had way too much to be thankful for to just let it slide.

In about an hour, Lady Luck had decided to smile upon me, and through one of the many identical doors a griffon janitor walked out pushing a garbage trolley full of balloons, streamers, and other party accessories that were normally very out of place in a Hospital. And very characteristic of a certain pink pony.

“Hey Mister! Have you by any chance seen a little pink pony around?” Though my voice was cheerful, or at least I hope it was, I can’t deny I was a bit spooked by the griffon. I guess he was only slightly above average for his kind but compared to a pony he looked huge. Though he probably wasn’t exercising, he had that natural griffon bulk which combined with his size gave him a rather unnerving appearance.

“What I have seen are all the penalties I got removed from my payment last month for not doing my job hard enough. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few bins to empty.”

I might have been young, but I was not going to miss such obvious message. And even if it wasn’t a signal, the dude was a griffon. There was no way he didn’t like good, convincing arguments.

“Are you sure your bins can’t wait?” I asked as I clicked a bit on the floor.

“That depends,” He turned back at the very recognisable sound, looked at my bits, and raised his right eyebrow.

I took out my entire bag of bits with a reassuring smile on my face. Though business hadn’t been great one of the perks of being a baker is always having plenty of cash on hoof. Though I’d be lying if I said could’ve given him the bag without screwing myself royally.

“Yes, I certainly recall seeing a pony you described. But I can’t seem to recall where. What a crying shame.” I knew he wanted the bits before speaking. But I was not playing that game.

“Mister, I have been a baker for my entire life. I’ve never seen a single bit before hoofing over the cake.” I said with huge fake smile plastered over my face.

“Your clientele has the choice to go for any baker in town if they didn’t like yours. You don’t.”

I looked all over him and jiggled the bag a little bit. “Do you?”

As a matter of fact, he did. If he had turned around there and then, I would have been forced to throw my money after him so hard it would have probably knocked the guy out cold. Luckily, his financial situation or his genetics or I don’t know what, convinced him to stay. He even smiled under his beak. I’d like to think he appreciated my cojones.

“Everyone here knows Pinkie. After all, she’s doing God’s work. Or more like whatever’s diametrically opposite to it.”

Now kids, to understand this you must know that Griffons unlike Ponies, are thought of as a religious bunch. At least in the eyes a typical Manehattenite like I was back then. I don’t know much about their religion but I was pretty sure they venerated some sort of perfect benevolent creator of all life to whom the good griffons ascend in the afterlife. Now this picture I had about their god was in a rather stark contrast with either his words or my knowledge about Pinkie at the time. Fortuitously, I was able to extrapolate upon the aforementioned juxtaposition in sufficiently eloquent yet expedient manner.

“Umm… What?”

The janitor just let out an exasperated sigh and meaningly looked up in the sign over the door he’d just come through. It read “Intensive care unit No5.”

“I still don’t get it.” I shook my head confused.

“Yes, that’s kinda the point” he sighed again. “That sign over there is the embodiment of the lie that permeates this place to the very core.”

“What lie?”

“Hope.” He said dispassionately. “Hope that no matter what somecreature’s ailment is we can make it better here. Because when we can’t do that, we just send them in here. The crew just calls it the Slaughterhouse. Ponies go in, meat comes out. It helps to isolate the patients who we know are going to die, from the others to keep the morale up. Of course, the administrators would deny it to their grave, but what can we do? It’s just solid practice.”

“Holy smokes…” I had to stop for second to gather my thoughts. It’s not that I didn’t hear rumours about these rooms. But to see one myself, to see something barely more than an elusive mirage of the collective unconscious materialise before my eyes was not something I was used to back then. I soon decided it was too much to deal with for the moment. I banished it to the shadow it belongs, and asked something much more grounded in reality. “But how does that anything to do with Pinkie? Or God for that matter.”

He rolled his eyes so contemptuously I had to wonder how many times he had to answer this question. “Yes, yes I know you ponies think that all gryphons believe in God because that’s just what we do. But riddle me this, if he was real how would you explain that?!” He pointed at the sign over the door. “What capricious monster would create a world where a filly aged six can die of brain cancer? Or give leukemia to a boy at the age of 13, never to see his sixteenth birthday? Or what about the filly from last week with NF? Poor thing. We had to amputate her legs, front and back both, her tail, and her wings to save her life. What did she do to deserve such life?”

It was humbling, really. There I was mourning the son I never had, never even imagining how much worse it could have been. I mean, I did as far as Mom goes, but nothing more. I know it’s hard to call me selfish for thinking about my own misery in my situation, but I can safely say losing an actual foal like that… it’s far worse than anything I have ever endured.

For the first time in quite a while I actually glance at the twins. They are sound asleep just as I suspected. Good. I am just as unprepared to tell them this next sentence as I am to stop now.

“If I ever lost you guys, I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

I said it. I'm supposed to be proud I guess, but it is washed away by the tidal waves of embarrassment and discomfort that hit me. Though I avoided to look at the kids for the past half an hour because I thought I would chicken out and stop the story, now that I am having to face the dilemma of continuing it is almost comforting to go back into my memories, where all I have to face was a weirdly intellectual janitor.

One, which upon seeing my apparent confusion, was about to speak again.

“It’s times like this I envy ponies. Living their life carelessly without ever dreading tomorrow. Never even bothering what’s on the other side, never facing the futility of pondering on the whims and wishes of some higher power. I wish I could do that. But tell me, Pony, tell me you can just look at that and honestly say it’s just chance and nothing more.”

Just chance… Back then I wasn’t sure if the double entendre was intentional or not but I know better by now. Striking anyone, anytime. without any consideration for their merits or vices. True, unadulterated justice, uncompromised by mortal morality. At some level this concept felt so horrifyingly pure, so unblemished by anything of this world, I understood why the gryphon felt the urge the find the answer beyond the veil.

I looked back at the door of the room and I got an idea. Maybe that door was my veil. Maybe somepony in there could tell me something about Pinkie. Not so much about her whereabouts, because how could those poor bedridden souls know that, but more about what she does. Something about this little pink enigma that had turned my life upside down in the mere hours since she met me.

“May I go in?”

He looked at my bag I put down next to me, deciding if it looked heavy enough to justify him letting me in. It must have been, because he just nodded and opened the door. I walked in and the truth almost knocked me off my feet.

The room was empty.

An empty room telling more stories than a room full of patients ever could. I went in there hoping that something in there could give me a speck of comfort, maybe if they could deal with whatever they had to deal with, then so can I but this? I felt cheated in a way I never felt before. I remember how angry I got at the griffon for not keeping up our unspoken deal.

“Where are they?” my voice was growling like second rate action movie hero’s.

“Gone. That’s the only reason I could even let you in.” Kids that griffon is the living proof that once you become good enough at condescension, you can smirk with your voice. “I took down the party accessories and sanitised the room so the next patient can come in.”

“What? And what about the filly you chopped up to bits like an overqualified butcher to save her life?”

“We caught the infection too late. It already spread to her internal organs. She passed away last night.” Griffons and some pegasi don’t shrug their shoulders. They shrug with their wings. Which is convenient because it makes picturing you tearing them out really easy. But after the wave of murderous intent passed by and I looked around again seeing all the now empty beds I instantly felt drained of any emotions.

I sat down. It was too much to take. This room, when there were dying patients inside, felt hopeless. That’s what it’s supposed to be, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. But without them, this room becomes the antithesis of hope, not the absence of it. A silent judgement rendering everything you felt or did worthless.

And the worst part? It didn’t feel like I was even allowed to be sad about it. I mean, what happened to them was just objectively worse that what happened to me. On the other hoof, how on earth could I not be sad for losing my son? It was just a pitch-dark labyrinth of emotions where every path is a dead end for you to bang your head into if you wanted to get out.

“Pony, you look like me the first time I had to clean this room.” The griffon’s voice snapped me back to reality like I took a bucketful of water to my face. I shuddered so hard I almost lost my balance. I tried to look away in shame, but all saw was his shadow hanging over me. It creeped me out. “One of the reasons why I wanted to show you this, because I feel very few here can really appreciate Pinkie.”

“That is why you are holding her captive here I presume.” I tried to interject with a weak joke but it didn’t deter him for long

“Quite the opposite actually. And just for the record, I’m not sure any authority in the world could keep her locked down against her will, and certainly not us. Her staying here is entirely her decision. Anyhow I’m not saying we don’t know what a blessing she is. We all know too well how scarce of a resource laughter can be in a hospital. But I think few know about her greatest feats, and even fewer care enough to realise the enormity of them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know Pony, patients are not the only ones who want to avoid this place like the plague. Staff wouldn’t step in the same corridor if it was up to them. You think it’s a coincidence it’s me who has to clean this room?”

“You said it was a punishment…”

“A punishment issued on completely arbitrary basis which is, for that very reason, impossible to verify in any meaningful way. Can you imagine any ulterior reason on their part?”

I could. He didn’t have to say it.

“Not that I mind actually. Because this is the only place in the hospital you can get a peek at how much of a gift from above Pinkie really is.”

“Why, what does she do?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t have to.” The griffon shook his head smiling with genuine happiness, which was a first. “All I know that this room by nature is silent like a grave most of the time. But every time she goes in there, I hear laughter coming out. She brings hope to a place all but designed not to have any.”

I had enough. I was fooled by this griffon once; I was not going to fall for his wordplay again. “This isn’t hope.” I stopped and looked down on the tiles on the floor as I tried to gather my thoughts. “It’s the absence of despair, at best. It hits hard, tapers out and leaves you more screwed up than you were before.”

“It’s life.”

“No, it’s not!” I burst out. “Tell me griffon, does this look like life to you?” I flailed my front hooves angrily to gesture at the entire room.

“Yes, this is life you dense moron!” In retrospect I must’ve struck a nerve because he got really angry all of the sudden. “This is what life looks like when you’re shit out of luck. Which is still life, if you didn’t notice, you over-privileged buffoon.” I saw the shadow of his wings snapping open, turning his already looming presence downright threatening. On any other day this alone would have been alone to send me fleeing to the other side of Equestria.

“Oh, I noticed it thank you very much!” I jumped up and looked into the janitor’s eye. “You know what else I noticed featherbrain? Laughter doesn’t cure leukaemia, it doesn’t magically grow back limbs, and it sure as hell doesn’t Bring. Back. The dead!” In the heat of the moment I barely even noticed how generously I sprayed the face of the ginormous griffon with my saliva on those last few words.

And then, when I was already bracing for impact when the bulky griffon suckerpunched me into next week... He just closed his eyes, took a deep breath and decided I wasn’t worth it.

“By God, you’re stupid, Pony. You ponies have nothing, but life and yet you are stuck on death. I don’t know what she sees in you. You don’t deserve her or her gifts. Now get out before I call security.” He pointed at the door.

Realising how close I was to having my brain punctiliously spread all over the walls, I decided to back down before he snaped. I made sure he watched as I lifted my bag of bits and slowly went out the door. If there was one thing I regret from that day, it’s that. I should have left the whole bag for him, stupid as that sounds. And then go to the nearest bank, rob it and then give all that money to him too. There hasn’t been a single Gryphon I've ever accepted a single bit from since.

But on that day, the last place I was going to was a Bank. Although I’m not sure I might have ended up in one eventually, because really, I didn’t know where I was going. I had way too much on my mind and walking seemed like a good way to let off some steam.

So, I walked. I walked through hallways, doors, looking past everyone just putting one leg after the other. I didn’t care if I went somewhere where I wasn’t supposed to. If they want to remove me from somewhere, they’ll say it. I didn’t even care about Pinkie anymore. As far as I was concerned, she was an illusion, a cruel trick of my troubled mind and nothing more. It was a bit of a bare bones explanation but I was sure I could convince myself of it eventually.

Though I’m not sure how soon after I would have put my head into the noose.

But amidst my mindless trudging I heard a voice, a voice of an unnamed medical professional, a hero saving lives even when she doesn’t mean to.

“Mr Cake? Your wife has awoken. You may visit her now.”

You know kids, there are times in your life when you think your feelings for a certain something - be it a sports team, a food or a person - cool off. Maybe you even think you’ve moved on and found something better. But then, someone says the wrong word or the wind blows the wrong way, and that ignites a fire that burns away any feeling you thought you had for anything else. And then you know you loved the first thing truly. Sure, my love for mom was only in question for that few minutes, and maybe not even then, but I still cherish that feeling like few others. The feeling of forgetting everything else and zeroing in on but one goal: I had to see her again.

So, I walked. I would have paced or maybe even straight up galloped through the entire hospital had I known where I was going. But alas, I was doomed to follow the nurse instead. “Never really thought about it, but it’s funny how similar my raw, emotional state was before, with the gryphon, to right then as I followed the nurse to your Mom”. I had the same crazed outlook too I’m sure, yet it was for the complete opposite reason. Funny how these things work. That’s not to say I was not worried. I absolutely was. I had no idea what I was going to say, what I should do. How can one even approach such situation?

How can I tell my wife she’s going to be okay when she not only lost her only child but the chance to ever have one?

At least, if the doctors had been right. And now that I’m here, and I’ve already had to face this issue, I still don’t know if I did it right. Now that I look back, I can’t even imagine how I had the strength to open the door the nurse pointed at.

But I did, and what I found inside changed my life forever. Or whom I found inside, I should say.

It was Pinkie. Pinkie lay next to my wife in her hospital bed being cheerful as ever, telling a story with all the enthusiasm imaginable, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And there I stood, so dumbstruck I forgot to even leave my mouth agape. My dear wife, who by all means should be broken and devastated, lay in her bed visibly still weak but snickering about the story the elusive little pink filly told her.

“… and that is why my sister Limestone Pie would never let anypony touch Holder’s Boulder again! At least Marble learnt not babble needlessly, but I think she may have gone overboard since…”

I couldn’t say a single word. I didn’t have to. It was already perfect. Words are the oil that keep the machine which is our daily life going. But life is much more than the monotony of your everyday activities, and whenever life gets extreme – regardless of the way it gets extreme – you realise that words are but a sticky mess that isn’t good for much. So, I just walked over and hugged the two most important mares in my life. I was as gentle as possible not to hurt either of them and it was probably really awkward because they were both lying in a bed but I couldn’t care less. It was pure, innocent, and happy.

It was then when I understood the Gryphon’s message. Nothing will change death. Not yours, not your loved ones, not anyone’s. But to be happy, when you’re standing in the shadow of death, that is an invaluable present, no matter how fleeting that moment may be.

Above all, that is the gift of Pinkie Pie.

Of course, someone working with dying patients would learn that very soon. Pinkie just knows it by default. I had to learn that the hard way.

As I was making sure Chiffon was alright and let her cry out her grief on my shoulder for the first of many times. (And yes, kids she cried, like I said moments of joy are fleeting in times like this.) I was already trying to figure out a way I could pay Pinkie back for what she’d done. One thought in particular caught my fancy.

I had to adopt her.

Chiffon and I just needed her, and despite her relative happiness as this impromptu hospital clown she needed a place she could call home. Education, a roof over her head, and as unimaginable as it sounded to me back then: a Family. A family I was going to be part of one way or another. Luckily the rock farm was somehow not under the jurisdiction of the Equestrian bureaucracy, making Pinkie’s parents practically non-existent for the FPS. Pinkie too, but her being there was a pretty good argument for her existence. And while it was not an easy process in the end, I would say everything worked pretty well.

“It was perfect.” A soft female voice says from behind my back and I turn around so fast I fall over with the chair. Luckily the foals took after me and sleep so deep that not even a nuclear catastrophe would wake them up.

“How long have you been standing over there?” I ask, completely destroyed.

“Pretty long, actually.” She smiles deviously as she goes over to the crib and checks on the foals. “I’ve heard quite a few interesting titbits...” She continued teasing and I knew I wasn’t going to get her to say when she walked in on me. She enjoys torturing me, but I love even that in her. On some level I deserve that because there are many things in this story I've kept from her so far. Not that I was worried that she learns about something that happened, but this was my journey, not hers. This has never been a topic I would tell all my secrets about. It still isn’t.

“I never realised how much I owe Pinkie,” Chiffon says as she is looking over the foals. Which is saying something given that she's already known that she owes Pinkie her home and her life as she knows it. “She truly is an Angel.”

“She is.” I've already stood up and stepped next to her. I've waited to see whether she has something else to say but for next few minutes we both just silently watch the kids sleep. Then she turns around and heads for the room and I follow her. As we are walking I realise that I've had a fear I've never been able to share with her because of my secrecy. But now that the proverbial cat is out of the bag, I might as well tell her.

“You know Chiffon I’ve never been sure I made the right choice.”

“Well, that’s very nice to know now, a good sixteen years after our marriage. But don’t worry, you did.” She says with a cocky smile.

“It’s not about that,” I sigh, too tired to even facehoof “I’m talking about Pinkie.”

“Why, what about her?

“I don’t know if I made the right choice. Was I right to take Pinkie from the hospital? To take her from all those in there? I gave her everything I could but is it enough? Could someone else have been a better parent than us?”

She stops on a dime. It's so sudden I almost lose my balance trying to copy her. Her expression is so charmingly taunting. Her entire aura just emanates a cloud of smug, more delicious than ambrosia. Her face is that of a mare who had no doubts about how much smarter she was than me. Which is true of course, but she's kind enough not to flaunt it in my face usually.

“Darling, you’ve been living with her for 15 years.” She states the obvious.

“Yes, and then what?”

“Have you ever been able to make her do something she didn’t want?”

A knot tied by fifteen years of guilt on my chest just got released by a gentle tug of Chiffon. Words cannot describe how much I love her. Or Pinkie. To think how thoroughly and meticulously that little pink filly turned my life upside down and inside out. How she turned the worst thing that has ever happened to me into the best thing that has ever happened to me. Or how she knew she had to do it, I don’t know. As I'm lying next to my beautiful wife and listen to her gentle breaths in her sleep, I can’t help but think about her words about Pinkie: ‘She truly is an Angel.’

Angels: Mythical beings of stories hailing back eons ago, who bestow gifts of immeasurable value to good souls stricken by misery. That day fifteen years ago I learnt that angels did none of the feats the stories talk about. Because they have only one gift to offer: Themselves.

Author's Note

I'd bet that you thought Intensive care unit No5 was reference to Kurt Vonnegut's famous novel. It kinda is, but that was only a happy coincidence the real reason I called it that was because of the fifth commandment in the Catholic bible. "Thou shall not kill."