Pinkie Pie woke up today, feeling lazy.
That, in itself, was not unusual—Pinkie didn’t consider herself a morning pony, anyways. The scent of yesterday’s cupcakes still faintly wafted up from the shop below. The mirror reflected her own visage, the soft morning light giving it an ethereal look as it had always done. The clock ticked steadily onwards.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
But today, something was different. For Pinkie Pie wondered about not having a nose.
Just imagine it, she thought to herself as she looked into that small makeup mirror on her bedside table. Not that she often used makeup—she was generally comfortable with how she looked. Rather, she had looked into the mirror every morning, framed by that warm glow of the dawn, as a reminder.
It was easy for Pinkie to lose herself in the life of the party. Have all of her worries melt away, and, for a short time, become the party. But too many saw her as nothing else, and she was afraid that she would ever see herself in the same, monotone way. As nothing but an addict of fun.
But in the mirror, with her mane seeming to glow, she understood something. That everypony’s sparkle shifted depending on the light.
The mirror would serve a different purpose today, though, as Pinkie waved a hoof in front of where her nose was. And she imagined it would be covering… nothing. Just empty space between her hoof and her head, without a knob of flesh getting in the way of things. The lighting helped with that, and she giggled.
And yet there was no reason. Everypony had a nose, did they not? But, tapping the tip of her snout, she couldn’t help but think that she’d rather have felt nothing there.
It didn’t make sense. She had a nose. She didn’t get to just not have one.
But… let’s just play pretend. I can pretend, right?
Yes. No. Maybe.
She returned to the mirror. But there was more than just not seeing it; now, she would not feel it on her face. She would no longer smell. Her breath no longer had to flow.
Why did she feel… content? The reason eluded her. But she stared into the mirror, transfixed by the concept of a Pinkie Pie without a nose.
Wait… there was that one time. With Trixie in a magic duel, right? But she could no longer remember why she had been so angry and terrified.
Then, like the sun which inevitably came over the horizon, she understood. Until today, she had not known Pinkie Pie. That nose was not a part of her. Despite how other ponies had seen her—and perhaps might still see her—she finally understood herself.
She would show them.
If only I could go back! Hmm, I wonder if Trixie could do it again. Or maybe Twilight! She’s the super-duper magic expert, after all.
But Twilight, she remembered, was currently on an excursion to study the Mirror Pool, and had expected to be gone for several days.
I guess I’ll just have to wait, she thought, and her hopes evaporated. The scent of cupcakes taunted her.
But then Pinkie had another thought.
What if I didn’t have a left foreleg?
She knew immediately where she would remove it. Two hoofwidths below the elbow, just a hair above the top of her knee.
She wouldn’t have to drag it around with her.
It wouldn’t get in the way of her baking, whenever she needed to open the oven or measure the ingredients.
It would be… liberating.
She imagined herself wearing a prosthetic, but mere imagination was not enough for her. She grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. The right forehoof kept the paper steady on the bedside table as she used her mouth to draw. A circle here, a line there, and slowly the image took shape.
She looked at it, and tears came to her eyes.
Yet, like last time, the euphoria was short-lived.
What if I didn’t have ears? Then, the morning would be quiet. She wouldn’t hear the rattle of carts being pulled along the street, or the sound of some confused would-be customer ringing the shop bell. Songbirds would just be birds. And the ticking of the clock would… stop.
Such a wonderful silence, yet Pinkie wanted more. Or maybe it was less.
What if I couldn’t feel anything at all? Not asleep, though, ‘cause then I’d still wake up. More like…
She suddenly felt light-headed, as if she was an immaterial wisp floating through the air.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Pinkie had never felt like this before. It was wrong that it could feel so right.
Maybe Twilight could help. She’s the expert on this sort of thing, after all.
But Twilight, she remembered, was studying the Mirror Pool.
Wait… I knew that, didn’t I?
She shook her head. Everything was slipping away from her. She looked into the mirror again, trying to regain that sense of clarity from earlier in the morning. It didn’t work.
Twilight was gone, and somehow Pinkie felt that it was important.
Something clicked for her. What if I’m a clone?
But that didn’t make sense at all. Twilight’s watching-paint-dry test should have made sure that I was the real Pinkie Pie… right? Then again, I overheard that one Pinkie Pie who hadn’t been sure if she was a clone or not, either…
Now that she thought about it, that test wasn’t the most convincing method.
Maybe she can invent a spell for it, with all the research she’s been doing! It’d be real nice to know for sure.
But that was so long ago, and even if she was a clone… it didn’t explain why everything only started this morning.
Twilight’s there. If she accidentally did something to the Pool itself, who knows?
Pinkie looked at herself in the mirror, and she could imagine that she wasn’t even there.
Or maybe I’m just going crazy.
Author's Note
Pinkie’s affliction was inspired by the phenomenon called body integrity dysphoria, or body integrity identity disorder. However, I took serious creative liberties in this story, and I am not a medical professional.
Quoting this PubMed link:
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3326051/
Body Integrity Identity Disorder (BIID) is a rare, infrequently studied and highly secretive condition in which there is a mismatch between the mental body image and the physical body. Subjects suffering from BIID have an intense desire to amputate a major limb or severe the spinal cord in order to become paralyzed.
In particular, the symptoms of people with body integrity identity disorder do not change suddenly like Pinkie’s symptoms did.
I have nothing against people who suffer from any type of dysphoria/dysmorphia.
Thanks again to TheWanderingZebra, Arachne, MockingBirb, Shirlendra, and others for taking a look at this story.
