Insanity...Sounds nice, doesn't it? Doesn't it just have that...Ring, to it? Makes it sound...Innocent, happy even. And we all think of it in such a vile, disgusting way. "Oh, that's just insane!" "What are you, insane?"
What we believe insanity is is a rough ride, and a ride in which the person is incredibly unstable, and unable to keep their heads on straight.
But, alas, no. It is not. Rather, it is a poetic descent, one that is smooth and joyful. However, the ascent back into what we perceive to be reality is the rough part. When our morals come back, and we realize the implications of what we've done per social standards.
And when we realize what we've done to our friends, it makes it an even harder climb back to what we call "sanity".
And yet, what is sanity? A state in which we are clear of darkness, and able to see what is real and what is fake as clearly as possible? No, no; sanity is just an illusion. As is all of our lives, our simple lives spent deeming ourselves as sane individuals.
And yet, deep down, we all feel that dark monster, prowling in the shadows of our sanity. We feel it trying to take over, and when we let it...The results can be horrifying, to the point of being beautiful.
In my case...It is both.
My ascent began when she begged. When she called me by my name.
As I slowly took her apart, that dark monster growling into my ear with savage pleasure as I tore her organs from her body, gleefully setting about my job as a baker of pastries, both of and for ponies. And I had my fun with her, of course. It keeps my job interesting, and it lets me put their personality into it. Because how a pony reacts to that kind of pain is the best way to learn who somepony truly is. And I always style my cupcakes off of what I learn from them in that single, clear moment. A moment in which everything about them is brought to surface, and all my ideas about them are confirmed.
And then...She surprised me. Proved me wrong.
She begged.
Long after it was all done, and our friends had all consumed the fruits of our labors, those small words stayed with me. They incessantly wheedled away at my reality. And, if I weren't already insane, I would call it maddening.
And now, I stare. I stare deep into those orbs that were once full of life and love, and I feel guilt. Guilt for my job. Since when have I felt guilt for any of this? It's unnatural.
Perhaps it's because she was my friend?
Or maybe it's because I'll miss enjoying her infamous Sonic Rainbooms?
Or could it even be because she begged? Surely, that was the sign that she had broken. I had never expected her to beg. I had actually expected her to fight, but, alas; that was not to be.
But I'll never know. I've never understood these negative emotions. I only utilize them to pay the rent.
"Your number came up," I finally declare. "There was nothing I could do."
The red eyes fill with light once more, and Rainbow Dash's mouth begins to move.
"You could have stopped," she says with remorse. "You could have let me help you, Pinkie Pie."
I swallow back a strange lump in my throat. Perhaps it's the pure sugar I ate earlier congealing in my throat? Another mystery.
"But your number came up," I repeat. "It's my job."
"You could have let me help you," she repeats. "You could have let everypony help you."
I frown, and stare deeply into those red eyes. "Nopony can help me. And nopony will. This is my job, and I will never stop doing it."
Rainbow Dash's skull frowns. "Then woe to you, my pink bubbly friend." And, with that, her eyes lose that shine, and her mouth, once again, falls silent.
I stay there, staring at her, making sure she understood that it would not, and could not, be changed.
And besides, the ascent into "sanity" had finally ceased, and I was slowly sliding back down into those dark depths, the depths in which I feel truly sane.
4...9...3...2...
I nod as the numbers are repeated, all in that venomous voice of expectancy and murder. I smile, and prepare my workspace.
- Now calling number 4932; it is your turn to shine! Come on down, my friend; you and I have work to do together! Ah, but you are quite the willing volunteer, are you not? And soon, you will know how beautiful it is to experience my Insanity, and you will join my Wall, my dear friend.
And soon, your number may come up as well.
Pinkie Pie walked up to her boss, all smiles and confetti.
"Order 4932 is done, sir!" She shouted, presenting a cupcake with an oddly familiar design on it.
"Huh...If only I knew where my wife was," he muttered. "She'd like this cupcake. It has a certain...Flair to it."
Pinkie smiled. "Trust me, I put a lot of her into this!"
Mr. Cake smiled, and dismissed it as another one of her crazy sayings. He picked up the cupcake, and bit into it. "Wow," he said through his cake. "It tastes really good."
Pinkie Pie smiled. "Yep, I knew you would say that! I made it with that special part of her that you've always liked!"
Mr. Cake smiled, and the two laughed together. He never tagged any sinister meaning to her words, and never would. Unfortunately, when order 4933 rolled around; that would be his downfall.
"So," Mr. Cake began, "how do you do it? I mean, make the cupcakes taste so great?"
"Well," Pinkie smiled, "I have some secret ingredients, and I always love to put a bit of personality into my pastries. After all, I'm a pony pastry baker!"
Mr. Cake nodded. "Yes, you definitely are."
Pinkie nodded in return. She knew she was taking risks, using the terminology she applied to herself during her Baking. But that was the most exciting part, to her. The part where she could get caught.
And the part where she always continued to party, and to Bake.
7863.
