Sunshine

You are my sunshine...

When I was little, I told everyone I had superpowers. My tail would twitch, my eyelids would flutter, my knees would shake, with little patterns I could pick up on to tell the future. They were my own little secret language with the universe, and I was the only one who understood it. My own little sixth sense. Sometimes, other ponies would ask how it worked, but I didn’t need to explain it, because it was all pretend and make-believe.

Only, it stopped being make-believe. My Pinkie Sense became real. Pinkie really did have superpowers.

Pinkie. That’s me. Pinkie Pie. Spirit of laughter, baker at Sugarcube Corner, player of no less than 43 different instruments, and organizer of parties.

Parties. Are. My. EVERYTHING.

“Pinkie, isn’t it time you got home?” Mrs. Cake asked, her voice warm with the sort of motherly concern it has.

But, what? Home? Me? TODAY? Not yet! No way!

“I mean,” Mrs. Cake continued, “It is getting pretty late, and we can finish up the last of the frosting.”

“Ohno, Mrs. Cake! I can’t leave yet! Don’t you know what day tomorrow is?”

“Er, no, Pinkie, I’m afraid I don’t...”

“IT’S CHESTNUT’S THIRTY-THIRD HALF-BIRTHDAY!”

Mrs. Cake smiled nervously. “Oh, I didn’t know that, dearie. But, uh, you still should probably go home soon...”

I shook my head. “No! I have to throw her a party!”

“But Pinkie, it’s late, and I have the fillies to take care of, and that’s not until tomorrow, so, Pinkie...”

“Right! I will go! But, I have a cake in the oven!”

“Oh. If that’s why, then that’s fine.” She smiled, finally grasping the importance of this cake getting done in time for the superduper ridiculously awesome amazing cool surprise party for Chestnut tomorrow.

I beamed and started telling her all about the cake and how I was going to make a carrot cake but then I saw that Chestnut had been buying strawberries lately and did you know what goes well with strawberries? Whipped cream! And if I wanted to have whipped cream, I had to have a LOT of whipped cream, so I got lots of that and carrots don’t really go with whipped cream so instead I made it with lots of whipped cream and chocolate and strawberries and I still needed to cut the strawberries and what if I shaped it like a giant three because it was her thirty-third half birthday and also there were going to be SPARKLES in the confetti and could Pound and Pumpkin go and I’m superexcited for the party because I want to see all of the Ponyville ponies and what comedy act should I do that would make more ponies laugh, do you think, and should I bring Gummy, and how Gummy has been gnawing my new slippers that Rarity gave me and how I wondered if maybe Rarity could make a new brand of shoes that were just for alligators and I think Fluttershy would-

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Cake excused herself to get it, so I clamped my lips shut with my hooves so when she got back I could finish telling her about Fluttershy and Angel. When she came back, Twilight was with her.

“Hey, Pinkie, what are you doing here so late?” Twilight asked, trotting over to me.

“Twilight! It’s Chestnut’s thirty-third half-birthday tomorrow and I need to have this cake finished!”

“Pinkie, we have to get up early tomorrow, and you need energy.”

“Energy? Twilight, I ALWAYS have energy!”

She frowned, then laughed. “I guess you’re right. Is there anything I can do to help?’

“Are you kidding me? OF COURSE there’s something you can do to help!”

“Are you sure about this? I don’t have all that much experience with baking, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“I’ll teach you!”

And I did.

My only sunshine...

And then I woke up.

I woke up.

From Ponyville.

I was confused.

I stumbled out of bed, tripping over my own hooves, my pink fluff of mane even messier than usual. I didn’t know where I was, but this certainly wasn’t Ponyville. The colors were muted and dull, all browns and greys, unlike the cheerful rainbow of color that enveloped Ponyville. The floorboards here squeaked, the walls had not been painted in far too long, and the ponies in the pictures on the walls were unsmiling and grim.

I wandered about in confusion until I discovered a set of stairs, which led to a sitting room with four serious-looking ponies sitting there. They seemed familiar. I had names for them. Yes. But, but these weren’t Ponyville ponies. I knew everything about everypony in Ponyville. These faces hardly had a place at all in my memory.

The oldest mare, the one who my memory called Mother, looked up.

“Well, look who’s finally awake!”

The stallion looked up and spotted me. “Pinkamena! How are you doing?”

The two other ponies, both female, Inky and Blinkie, watched silently. Everyone was waiting for an answer. I struggled to catch my breath, to get my bearings, to find my words. I finally managed a sentence.

“Where am I?”

Father looked extremely disappointed. Mother frowned disapprovingly. “You’re home, Pinkamena.”

Home? What?

“I don’t understand.”

Father looked angry and was about to say something, but Mother shushed him. “The doctors said it would take her a while to get a firm grip on reality. At least she’s here.”

“If she is. Just because we knocked some of her crazy out doesn’t mean she’s fixed yet.”

“Don’t you talk like that in front of her!”

Reality?

Crazy?

“I don’t understand,” I repeated.

Father buried himself in newspaper, leaving Mother to explain it to me.

“It’s okay, honey. You’re okay now.”

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“You’re safe from the hallucinations.”

Hallucinations?

No.

Nono.

No no no no no no no no no.

No.

“I don’t understand,” I insisted.

“Pinkamena,” she whispered, trotting her way over to me. She touched my mane.

“What’s going on?”

“Look at you. Your mane is a mess.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“You’ve been away for a while. But you’re back now. Everything’s real now.”

“Real? What do you mean?” My heartbeat sped up with every word, screaming the word hallucination with every beat.

“I mean you’re home now, and the doctors have fixed you all up. You’re here with us now. In reality.”

“I don’t understand.”

She tried explaining it again, but I was just hearing “in reality” echoing in my head. No. No. Nonono no no no no nononononono no no no no no no no no. No. No no no no. No. No. No. No. No.

“Where are they?” I yelled.

Mother looked confused and upset. “Pinkamena Diane Pie, what in the world are you talking about?”

“Where are they? Rainbow Dash. Twilight Sparkle. Applejack. Rarity. Fluttershy.”

Mother stared at me blankly.

“Where is Ponyville?” I demanded, my head spinning and chest heaving.

My Father looked up. “There is no Ponyville,” he shouted harshly.

“There is! There has to be! Chestnut’s party and Gummy and ice skating and Sugarcube Corner and the Cakes and the ponies and Twilight and Rarity and Dashie and Applejack and Fluttershy where are they what happened what did you do?”

Mother looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Pinkamena. None of that was real.”

“Of course it was real! I was there! It happened!”

“We took you to the doctor. He said that you had an overactive imagination, to the point of illness. But he gave us medicine and fixed you up, so now you are here, and everything is normal and real, so you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“I don’t want this to be real! I want Ponyville! Bring me back!”

“Pinkamena. We all have to grow up someday, and grow out of our silly fantasies. You can’t have Ponyville. It’s not real.”

“You, you, you, you, you, NO.”

Twilight Sparkle.

Rainbow Dash.

Rarity.

Applejack.

Fluttershy.

Ponyville.

These were the things that I knew were real.

They had to be.

“Pinkamena! Get back here!”

Those laughs had been real.

Those friends had been real.

Those ponies had been real.

Those memories were real.

“PINKAMENA, LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER!”

I was from Ponyville.

No medicine could fix that.

I was from Ponyville.

But the creaky floorboards and drab walls, the wooden furniture, the clouded windows, the unfamiliar scent everything had, was all a reminder that although I was from Ponyville, that was not where I was now.

You make me happy...

Mother combed my hair out so that it was straight and flat.

Inky and Blinkie do not talk.

I tried to bake a cake. It burned.

My Pinkie Senses don’t work.

I don’t smile.

I wait for someone to come get me. I wait for someone to tell me that this has all just been a cruel joke, and that of course I’m from Ponyville, and of course I’m going back, that this is all just very temporary, that I can see my friends again, that I can go home.

No one does.

I spend all of my time in a room. Mother and Father call it my room. I do not call it my room. It is not mine. This is the room of a stranger. This is a room of someone who makes their bed and collects nothing more interesting than dust. This is a room of dark colors and eerie shadows. This is a room of cleanliness and order, of unfamiliar walls and an unwelcoming, dim light. This is the room of a stranger. This is not my room. It is a room.

I spend all of my time in this room.

Every morning, I wake up, and then immediately wish I hadn’t. Ponyville still lives on in my dreams while I sleep, and every time I wake up, it’s like the opposite of waking up from a nightmare. Every time I wake up, I have to realize that this is what is real, and there will be no escaping this. This is more than any night terror I have ever experienced. This is something that cannot be laughed off. And I don’t want to. I do not want to laugh in this place. I cannot laugh in this place. There is no happy here.

After I finish wishing I had never woken up, I stumble down the stairs, where I ask my Mother if today is the day that I can return home. She sighs and reminds me that “This is what’s real, Pinkamena. This here.” as my Father throws down the newspaper in frustration and heads outside. It pains them to see me want to go home so badly.

Good.

Then I turn down whatever food Mother is offering me and head back to the room. I stare at the wall for a while, until I hear a knock at the door, which I ignore. After a while, I get adventurous, and decide to stare at a different wall, until there is another knock at the door, which I also ignore, but my Father enters anyways. He tells me about the glory of rock farming, about searching out the rocks with the perfect shine and cultivating them. I count the number of times he mentions tradition or ancestors or anything like that. One day I counted eight. Then he asks me if I want to try rock farming. I tell him maybe tomorrow. He leaves. I stare at the ceiling for a while, until my Mother asks me how I am. I ignore her and wait for her to leave. Then I try to sleep.

And then, if I’m lucky, I dream.

If I’m lucky, I get to go back to Ponyville. I get to forget all of this ever happened. I get to forget Pinkamena Diane Pie and become Pinkie Pie. I get to forget this room. I get to forget. I get to live and laugh and smile and make others smile. I get to throw parties again. I get to be happy.

If I’m lucky.

And even if I am lucky, then I have to wake up again.

When skies are grey...

I laid there, trying not to think, just sitting and staring at the ceiling, when there was a knock at the door that did not fit the schedule. I ignored it. Mother entered anyways.

“Pinkamena, you can’t just sit here in your room all day every day. Your father and I are worried sick.”

Let them worry.

“If anything, you should be grateful that we had your head fixed. You could have been stuck in your hallucinations for the rest of your life.”

And that wouldn’t have been so bad, would it?

“Pinkamena.”

My name is Pinkie.

“Get out of bed.”

I don’t want to.

“At least eat something. I know it’s difficult to adjust, but you have to eat. You can’t possibly just starve yourself.”

Oh yeah? Watch me.

“Ponyville’s not real. You need to accept that.”

If Ponyville’s not real, then neither am I.

“Please, Pinkamena. Won’t you at least answer me?”

No.

“You have to grow up someday. You have to let go of those childish fantasies.”

And why did I? I didn’t want to.

She sighed.

I waited for her to leave.

She left.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” said a voice from the corner. I whipped around.

“TWILIGHT!” I squealed.

“I’m using my magic to send you a message from Ponyville.”

“What’s the message?”

“We miss you.”

I reached my hoof out toward her. “I miss you too.”

She reached out her hoof, too, but it didn’t touch mine.

“Twilight?” I murmured, drinking in the comforting image of her purple coat.

“Yeah, Pinkie?”

“Are you real?”

She was quiet for a very long time. Then, “I’m as real as you want me to be.”

I reached out the extra few centimeters to her hoof.

It was solid.

I cried.

“Twilight, I’m so lost and lonely and afraid, and I have no idea what’s going on, and everyone keeps saying that the only reason you exist, or any of Ponyville, is because there is something wrong with my brain, but if that’s true, it is the best thing wrong ever, and I never want it fixed and I never asked for it fixed and I miss you guys so so so much. And they’ve given me medicine to take you all away from me.”

“Only, Pinkie, one thing.”

“What?”

“That medicine, apparently didn’t quite work. Because I’m here.”

I hugged her. She was warm and comforting. She felt real. I just knew that she wasn’t. I wished she was. More than I wished for anything else in the universe, I wished for her to be real. Sadly, though, not all wishes come true.

We sat and talked for hours. It was mostly her talking, which was a first between the two of us, because she had to tell me everything that had happened in Ponyville, while I had nothing to say. I didn’t want to talk about how lonely and lost and scared I felt. And besides, with her there, I felt a little bit less lonely and lost and scared. So I listened.

“Um, Pinkie?”

I turned around to see a yellow pegasus with pale pink hair.

“FLUTTERSHY!” I hugged her, and she nuzzled me gently.

“Oh, Pinkie, we’ve missed you.”

“And how do you think I’ve been?”

A new voice spoke. “You’ve been moping, darling, and it’s not at all becoming. Oh, just look at your mane!”

I touched my mane. It was darker than it had been in Ponyville, and straight as a pin. Rarity came over and hugged me, then started messing with it.

“Erm, Rarity, I don’t mean to be rude, but is it really the right time to be doin’ her mane?”

“Applejack, it’s always time to look good.”

“There are other times to focus on beautification. The most pressing matter at the moment is getting Pinkie back to Ponyville.”

“Um, Twilight, didn’t you say she was stuck here? Unless I misheard you, or if you’ve figured out a way...”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t know how to get her back. The medicine they’ve been giving her isn’t letting all of Ponyville stabilize in her imagination, just some of us.”

“So she’s stuck ‘ere on this danged rock farm?”

“Oh, well, at least you have us here, Pinkie. I mean, if you want us to stay.”

“Of course she wants us to stay, miss Fluttershy. Why on Earth wouldn’t she? You do want us to stay, dear, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Then we’ll stay with you. We’re your friends, after all.”

I nodded again and smiled.

“Oh, don’t cry, we’re all here, and we’re going to fix up this room, which is unbelievably dull, I just can’t see how you can stand it.” Rarity wiped away my tears, and only then did I realize I had been crying.

“Where’s Rainbow Dash?” I whispered.

“She’s comin’. Said she ‘ad to, er, ‘prepare’ sumthin, but she wouldn’t tell us what.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Fluttershy said softly. I just sat and looked at all of my friends as they fussed over me and each other, and I felt a severe homesickness. I missed this. I needed this. But, it wasn’t quite real, even now.

I felt Twilight’s hoof on my back.

It wasn’t real. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be.

I heard a knock on the door and looked panickedly at Twilight.

“They can’t see us. We’re part of you.”

I took a deep breath.

“Okay,” I called out.

The door opened, and my Mother stepped into the room. Her dull colors, her sensible hairstyle, her grim expression. “Pinkamena, have you decided to stop sulking and come downstairs at last?” Her voice was tinted with impatience, but ever so slightly, and there was genuine concern as well.

I looked over to Twilight. She nodded. I turned back to Mother, and got up from the bed. Weakly. Slowly. Pathetically. My legs buckled under my weight, which I hadn’t held up myself properly since I was in Ponyville. I was frail, fragile, delicate, but not in a pretty way. A sickly way. A wreck, a mess, someone who had to put so so much effort into getting up.

I stood.

Mother watched, unsure if she should help, pained by my difficulty. It wasn’t her fault that she had never been to Ponyville. She didn’t know what she had done to me.

But she had still done it.

I followed her down the stairs, with my imaginary friends trailing behind me.

You’ll never know, dear...

It was about a week before Dashie showed up.

There are no colorful cakes here, just mush and oats. It tastes okay, but I would prefer the sugary, rainbow sweets of the cake shop. I’ve forgotten the name of it. Sugarcane? Sugar something. I don’t know. I’m forgetting things. Ponyville is disappearing.

But Rarity, Fluttershy, Applejack, and Twilight are here. I have them at the very least. Eating was a chore, but they complained about my hunger, which I would ignore if it wasn’t for them. They urged me to eat, so I did.

Sometimes I forgot that my parents and sisters couldn’t see them. Sometimes I forgot that it was wrong to laugh at jokes they couldn’t hear. Sometimes I forgot that they could hear me if I spoke. I had to keep the little bit of Ponyville I had left locked away where they couldn’t see it, or they might take it away with the rest. But sometimes, I slipped.

Dashie was my fatal slip.

I was eating the colorless mush in a colorless bowl on a colorless table with colorless ponies in a colorless room in a colorless house in a colorless world, and I was looking out onto the colorless moor where we farmed colorless rocks, looking up into the colorless sky.

And then there was an explosion.

Speed.

Color.

Wind.

Happiness.

Curly mane.

All of my friends.

Noise.

Brightness.

Rainbow Dash.

The wind curled my mane, though there were walls to block it, and the color filled my eyes. Dashie was back Dashie was back Dashie’s back Dashie Dashie Dashie!

Before I knew it I was at the window, looking at the explosion of color, the rainbows flooding the sky, and gasping. This was beautiful this was happy this was a piece of Ponyville, no, of proper Equestria.

And then she was standing there, the hero, the pegasus who could fill it all with color once more, Dashie, who performed this legendary feat not once but twice, and now a third time, the mare who could do it all. She stood outside the window, grinning.

And then my Father broke the illusion.

“I don’t care. I can’t have this anymore. Pinkamena, come on, we are going back to the doctors.”

I turned around, horrified.

My Mother nodded slowly.

“No!” I screamed.

There was a blur of hooves and yelling. Scolding. Delusions. Talk of Pills That Make Me Normal and Pills That Fix Me. Fix me? What was wrong? Is happiness wrong? Here, it certainly seemed to be. The blur of fighting took me away, to a room too white and too bright, a room that beeped and smelled of false comfort. I didn’t trust it.

A nurse walked in. She looked like Nurse Redheart, but identified herself as another name. She asked me my name. My Mother answered for me. There was some chatter that I tried my best not to hear, and then Nurse Not-Redheart shooed my Mother out the door.

“So, Pinkamena, they tell me you have a very active imagination.”

I didn’t answer.

“And that’s usually a good thing.”

It is. It makes me happy.

“But you have trouble telling what is real and what is not.”

She knelt down and looked me in the eyes.

“Pinkamena. You can trust me.”

And I knew I couldn’t. I knew that she was there for the sole purpose of taking away what little happiness I have left. She was there to make my family happy, to give me the Pills That Fix Me, to kill Twilight and Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash and Applejack and Rarity. I couldn’t trust her.

“No,” I uttered.

“What’s that?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I can’t trust you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re here to take them away.”

“Honey, we’re here to help you.”

“I don’t want to be helped.”

“Whether you want to or not, we are here for you, Pinkamena.”

“Pinkie.”

“What’s that?”

“Pinkie Pie. Not Pinkamena.”

“No. Pinkamena, the first step to stabilization is knowing who you are and where you are. Your name isn’t Pinkie. It’s Pinkamena.”

“I am Pinkie Pie.”

“Honey...”

They did not understand.

They could not understand.

And I could not leave.

I could have had Rarity and Twilight and Fluttershy and Applejack and Dashie.

If I hadn’t slipped.

But now they had to go.

And it was my fault, for slipping.

I had killed them.

I cried.

How much I love you...

They let me take the pills myself. I couldn’t decide whether that was merciful or cruel, that I had to be the one to kill them, to kill Ponyville, to kill Pinkie Pie. At least I was able to say goodbye this way.

I stood on the rock farm. There were colors dancing on the ground from Dashie’s sonic rainboom, but those colors would be gone after I ate the pill. It was small, white, and unforgiving.

I am sure my family watched me to make sure I took the pill. I’m sure they saw me say my goodbyes. But I wasn’t thinking of them. I would have the rest of my existence to think of them.

My friends appeared around me.

Twilight Sparkle.

Applejack.

Rarity.

Fluttershy.

Rainbow Dash.

Pinkie Pie also appeared.

Her mane was curled, her smile wide, her eyes bright. I looked down at myself. Eating little had worn away my flesh, and I was thinner, frailer, bonier. Her coat was full and bright, while mine had turned dingy and weak. My pin-straight hair hung down lifelessly while hers bounced and curled.

I wasn’t Pinkie Pie anymore.

“Do I have to?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “It’s your choice. It has to be yours.”

“But they’ll make me.”

“There’s always another way out. We don’t want you to take that way out. No one should have to take that way out. But, it’s always there.”

I considered it for a moment. The horrible Way Out. I shook my head. “That wouldn’t give me Ponyville.”

“No. But you wouldn’t be stuck here, either.”

“I don’t think it will be me, after I take this. After my imagination, after Ponyville, after Pinkie Pie is killed. It would be Pinkamena. I don’t know Pinkamena.” I kicked a stone, then looked up again. “What happens to all of you?”

“We go back to Ponyville. With that little bit of you that dies.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. Can’t I go with you?”

“Pinkie.”

I reacted. Pinkie was my name. The little zip of hearing my name, the little perk of my ears. I am Pinkie.

I nodded.

Because that Pinkie I was talking to was me.

She was my happiness, she was me, and I was going with her. I could be her. I wasn’t killing them. I was just breaking the connection between us. And I could choose which side of the connection I was on.

My family needed me, they wanted me to be normal, they did care, they just didn’t understand. If I left them, if I went to Ponyville, it would hurt them. But not nearly as much as it would hurt me if I stayed here.

I could choose where my mind went.

And I knew which one.

I nuzzled them.

Applejack.

Rarity.

Rainbow Dash.

Fluttershy.

Twilight Sparkle.

And I turned to Pinkie Pie.

“Okay. Let’s go. Back to Ponyville.”

I took the pills. And then I smiled.

Please don’t take my sunshine away...