My Name is Pinkamena Diane Pie
My name is Pinkie Pie. When you first come to Ponyville, I’ll be the mare you’ll meet first, without exception. I’m the pony everypony is best friends with, it it won't be long before you're included in that long list. As far as anypony else knows, I’m always happy and at most times oblivious to anything with hint of seriousness. I've heard them whisper about me, in a half-joking way that hides their very real concern for me. Is it the sugar? Is she on drugs? Does she have some sort of disorder?
I seriously doubt it, but perhaps somepony has wondered at the story I tell for how I earned my cutie mark. It certainly seems ridiculous, but then again, ridiculous is right on par for Pinkie Pie. The truth is, the entire story is a lie. I know Pinkie is a very silly pony, but her family sure wasn't. Such bleak folk would hopefully be smart enough to know that you can't actually grow rocks. Sweet and cuddly as it sounds, Rainbow Dash didn't actually have anything to do with my cutie mark. There's not "special connection" between us. I really can’t stand that wishy-washy nonsense, but my friends love it. I've had to endure and sometimes create far too many of these moments for their benefits, and it makes me sick.
I lived far, far away from the center of Equestrian civilization; the closest town was a 5 hour ride on the fastest train in our station. We were the end of the line, the no-pony's-land that didn't exist on common maps. As a result, we were incredibly poor. You couldn't tell that from the average citizen's face, though, if you ignored the dirt and grime covering their features. Ponies greeted each other with a wave and a smile, much like any other Equestrian town. That made me the odd duckling. I was a small, quiet, blank-flank filly that looked like she was wearing a thin gray film over her entire body. I was that pony everypony recognized, but if you had asked for my name, they wouldn't be able to provide one. I didn't much talk at all, not even to my family.
We did own a farm, but we grew simple grain, not rocks. My two sisters, Mother, Father, and I all worked hard in the fields tending the crops and trying to coax something edible out of the hard ground. We made it by better than a good portion of our neighbors. From the time we were old enough to understand business, it had been made clear that we three siblings were to inherit the farm. My sisters were quite content with their futures as farmers' wives; I felt only a gaping emptiness that was always lurking beneath my features.
By the time I was growing into my teenage skin, I still had no cutie mark and frankly didn't care about finding my "super special talent". In desperation, my parents sent me to a boarding school that might as well have been on the moon. It was about as familiar. My sisters had discovered their talents and were beginning to take over the farm from Mother and Father. I hardly received any letters, and when I did, the cold impersonal tones left me feeling even more abandoned than silence had. At least in silence I could entertain a small hope that maybe my family was overly busy with a rare bumper crop, or off on some wild adventure. Eventually I severed connections with my hometown completely. I wasn't interested in farms anymore.
Sometimes I wish I hadn't burned my bridges; the school was the most unfriendly place I had ever been in. The teachers didn't care about their jobs, and some didn't even have teaching as a special talent. The staff room held specters of broken dreams and desperation that followed the teachers around and infected their classes. The other students immediately cast me off when they saw the sad little- they assumed- emo filly with hardly a bit to her name. They didn't even have the decency to be kind to me. I found out soon enough that this was a school for "wayward foals". If I'd had any emotional capacity I think I would have burnt up in hatred for my parents.
The foals didn't even bully me in the usual way- there was no shoving Pinkamena into lockers, no shredded homework. Instead, I was singled out and ostracized as a psychopath and a murderer. Ponies wrote warnings on bathroom stalls, made pictures, even once wrote a horrible story about me.
The worst part is, the bystanders drank it in like they would a ghost story on Nightmare Night. Ponies would dare each other to peek into my room, to see if I had a collection of knives and organs. They whispered that my uniform was made from pony hide, and that I spent my spare time turning ponies into assortments of baked treats. I lost my lunch the first time I read that horrid story. For a week, I didn't poke my head outside my dorm except for classes. The rumors flew faster than a tornado. Who will her next victim be? Ponies chatting outside my room in hushed voices swore to Celestia that they heard muffled screams coming from inside and pointed out gum stains on the sidewalk, claiming they were blood spatters.
Finally I dragged myself outside, if only because of cabin fever. That week, we were allowed to visit the town, Las Pegasus, during the day. I was one of the first ponies there, drinking in all the sights that were a brief reprieve from the heavy, oppressive air of the school. For the first time, something extraordinary happened to me: a complete stranger walked up to me and greeted me like a friend. I stuttered back a polite "hello', which was apparently enough that the mare considered me her best friend. Between bouts of chatter, the mare introduced herself. Her name was Surprise, and she was everything I wasn't. Surprise was a white pegasus with a mane as sunny as her attitude. She took me on a whirlwind tour of Las Pegasus after figuring out that I wasn't exactly the chipper type, all the while incessantly chattering to her new best friend.
The days turned brighter, but not much. Life became a routine where I would spend the entire week wallowing in apathy and self-pity, only to brighten up on visiting days. I would meet up with Surprise, and she took me to new places I had never dreamed of. For her, it was normal friend activities. For me, it was the first time in my life I had felt anything like happiness, or at the very least contentment. I admired everything about Surprise, and fervently wished that I could be like her someday. Soon I started to wonder if I could bring that joy with me to school. The cycle was beginning to drive me mad; I needed more than just these little excursions into Las Pegasus.
"Surprise," I asked, my eyes gleaming with adoration and desperation, "what makes you happiest?" Surprise froze. I doubt she had ever been asked such a serious question in all her life. She sat in the middle of the road and stared long and hard at the ground. I thought that she had forgotten my question when she piped up, "Why, making ponies happy, of course!" "How do you make ponies happy?" I followed up. She fluttered up and grabbed me by the waist, dragging me down the path, and squeaked, "I gotta show you!"
She brought me to a room filled with balloons of all shapes and sizes. I caught a bundle of three traditional ones, two blue and one yellow. "Your talent is making balloons?" One shaped like a castle floated by and Surprise nodded, too ecstatic for words. I mused, "You could throw one heck of a party with all these..."
She took to the idea instantly and threw the wildest- and first- party I had ever seen. I was more than a little nervous when I recognized some of the faces as my tormentors, but was soon caught up in the thrill of partying. When I finally emerged, exhausted but happy, I sported two new features: a frizzled mane and tail and a cutie mark, modeled after the trio of balloons I caught back in Surprise's balloon room. I was inspired to bridge the gap between me and the other students at school, and set out for once in my life to find friends.
My school life began to get better after the party. The other foals couldn't believe what "sad little emo Pinkamena" had turned into, and most became instant best friends with her. They dubbed me “Pinkie Pie”, and I forged an entirely new personality for myself. We made a little gang that always went into town to hang out with Surprise. I became the most popular pony around, even with the citizens of Las Pegasus. Eventually, though, the ecstasy wore off and I began to realize what I had subconsciously done to survive. I had realized that I couldn't get by as Pinkamena, o I pretended to be friends with the foals who had once nearly driven me to insanity in my self-pity. I knew better than to let my "friendships" die away, but I was left feeling only slightly better than I had in my days as Pinkamena.
Years pass and I've become the face of friendliness in my new town, Ponyville. I couldn't bear to lie to my new friends, so I spent weeks coming up with a back-story that better fit “Pinkie Pie”. But it’s almost become too much for me. I've been feeling like a shell of myself. Pinkamena Diane Pie was a torturous existence, but Pinkie Pie is only marginally better. At least Pinkamena had a rational thought or two flit across her brain. Pinkie Pie is all sugar, cupcakes, and giggles. Sometimes the sweetness makes me gag. The others eat it up, though.
I’ve considered telling my friends the truth...I know what my problem is, too. Depression. Split-personality. I can’t possibly tell them. Sometimes I wonder which pony I really am. I'm the element of Laughter, but is laughter always genuine? Maybe being the laughter in the conversation is just a costume you have to put on to make everything balance out. Maybe after all this time Pinkie Pie has started eating away at Pinkamena. Maybe, like in the lie I tell everypony about my cutie mark, Pinkie Pie was the real me, awaiting to be unleashed upon the world. But I don't think so. Even after all this time, Pinkie Pie is still nothing but a mask I use to hide what nopony wants to see. My life isn't about me anymore at this point. It's about fooling everypony into ignoring the strings that hold up my costume, into thinking that "just being Pinkie" is a natural thing.
My name is Pinkamena Diane Pie. Nopony but an eccentric pegasus knows me. I’m not happy with who I am, but at least the face I put on can save my friends from troubling over me.
