Pinkie Floyd: The Wall

Pinkie looked up at the wall, wondering how strong it was. She stood, walked closer to it, and began to feel it. Pinkie's hooves crawled up and down the wall, scraping and clinging to it desperately. She felt the sudden need to get out, she felt completely and utterly isolated. She pressed her ear to the wall, wondering if she could hear anything beyond it. She could not make out a single sound.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Pinkie took a few steps back and stared at the expanse of the wall. She ran, then leaped forward onto it. She slammed her hooves down on the hard, cold stone and heard the wall echo. She could not move past it, however. She was trapped. Determined, she tried several more times to break the wall somehow by slamming herself into it. No impact was made.

Finally she stepped back and observed the wall. She threw herself onto it one last time, and slid down to the floor in shame.

As a struggle continued on in her head, Pinkie compulsively cleaned her hotel room. She arranged every little thing she'd thrown on the floor into neat rows. They looked so beautiful and perfect. She crawled around the floor, picking up everything.

She picked up the lamp, she swept up tons of broken glass, she sorted tiny screws and little pieces of various electronics. She spent a few moments cleaning off her favorite acoustic guitar, now broken, and she placed it gently in the row.

Utensils, money, pop cans, pills, cigarette boxes...

Everything was neat and tidy after a few hours. Meticulous care had been put into the apartment, and Pinkie was quite proud of herself. Now she needed to change, there were too many little hairs on her face bothering her.

Pinkie stepped into the bathroom and filled the sink with water. Her bloody hoof was quickly clean, and looked to be healing. She smothered her face in shaving cream, and looked all around her. The whole bathroom was covered in white tiles, and was very clean. She quickly shaved all the tiny pink hairs on her face. She felt it then, and looked calmly at the mirror. She certainly looked different. The pink fur all over her body still felt disgusting and irritating. She smothered her whole self in shaving cream, listening to the aerosol can hiss as she pressed the button down.

She shaved a straight line up her body, removing just a streak of hair. Next, she made small strokes up her chest, removing pink fuzz. There were a few cuts, especially around her nipples, but she could hardly feel them. The pain almost felt good. She splashed her body with the water in the sink, staring at the strange pale figure that looked back at her. She was still pink, but she definitely looked more intimidating. Little trails of red snaked down her body.

Next, she reached a hoof up to her eyebrows. They were definitely bothering her. It was time to get rid of them. Pinkie unscrewed her razor quickly, putting the pieces other than the blade itself on the white tiles. They were splashed with blood, but Pinkie didn't mind. She took apart the razor, then held the blade delicately. She bent it calmly, hearing it snap, and she broke it apart into two pieces.

Plip plop.

After a few minutes, a silhouette of Pinkie Floyd could be seen pressed up against the bathroom door, bloody hooves and all. She opened the door, hearing the sounds of her television, and stared into the distance. Her body hair and eyebrows were missing, and her hair was cut to the chin-length it had been as a foal. Pinkie found herself to be quite beautiful.