Pinkie Floyd: The Wall

Pinkie Floyd stared blankly at the television screen, recounting everything she currently owned. Next to her sat the little black book with her poems, and a little ways away sat her travel bag with toothbrush and comb. There were thirteen channels of shit on the TV for Pinkie to choose from, and none of it was appealing at all. She switched from one channel to another, quickly. War movies, cartoons, speeches, stunts, public access, a mobster flick, Cassanova...

Everything looked terrible. This stage of boredom and distraction was starting to wear off and her hooves ached. The one that had been bleeding seemed swollen for some reason, and Pinkie groaned mindlessly in it's general direction. The clicking of the television remote began to remind her of dialing the phone home and a few tears rolled down her face. She got up from her chair, found her bag of tools, and began dismembering the phone. Now no one could get a-hold of her, especially not Braeburn.

Besides, Pinkie knew that there was nobody home now. When Pinkie would return to Ponyville, Braeburn would have left her for Fluttershy. That hurt. Pinkie frowned and climbed back into her chair, wildly flipping channels once more. She settled on an old war movie and then...

Pinkie could hear the sounds of war, but her eyelids were too heavy. She was knocked out.

When she awoke, she was in dreamland. Sand and brush surrounded her, and the cold was chilling her. She rubbed her forelegs and shivered. Looking in front of herself, she could see that the television was still there. Starting to feel her little pink body freeze, she slammed it up against the leather chair with ferocity. The movement became blurry... all she could feel was the movement!

And suddenly Pinkie Floyd was a filly again. Looking around, she could see that the sun was setting. She got up from her seat, not wishing to be frozen, and began to walk along the sand. The wind whipped her in the face, sending her straight pink mane flying behind her. She came across the bodies of ponies in the sand, but she could not feel anything for them. She squinted as sand hit her in the face, and she grimaced. Sneaking forward, she saw the entrance to an old wartime building underneath the ground. Could these be the infamous trenches in which her father spent so much time? There was only one way to find out. Pinkie entered.

But wait. Suddenly she was in a building with peach-colored light streaming through bright windows. Was this where she came in, or somewhere else? She cautiously made her way forward. Down a long hallway, she could see a huge sliding door. She forced it open, and was now in a gray room filled with empty white beds. Low-hanging yellow lamps lit it up, and the whole area was cold. It smelled like medicine and bleach. This must have been the infirmary. Pinkie walked on, looking from bed to bed. Why was the whole place empty? Where were the patients?

She approached one bed that showed slight signs of previous life. It had an old jacket of sorts sitting atop it, white and buckled. She stopped and peered at it with curiosity, then realized that it was a wrinkled-up straight jacket. Blood dotted the bed. Pinkie scurried away, wondering what on earth had happened there. She turned a corner, hopping into a dimly lit room.

The sounds of wind were evident, and this room was very cold. There were bars on the windows, and tile all around. Looking into the corner, she could see a mare all by herself. She had her face against the wall, and was rocking back and forth. She had a book in her hooves and she was in comfortable linen pajamas.

Finally, life!

Little Pinkie Floyd approached the mare cautiously, but with excitement.

"Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie and-" the tiny filly started, cheerfully, and put a hand on the mare's shoulder.

The mare looked up at her, deranged. She had wild blue eyes, darting all around, and a disarming smile. Most importantly, however, she had one bloody hoof and a straight pink mane.

It was Pinkie Floyd.

Little Pinkie ran away as fast as possible, hoping her older self would stay put. She ran through the room with the beds, past the straight jacket, down the lengthy hallway, and out of the building! Fear coursed in her veins, and her heart beat wildly. She was panting and her eyes were wide with panic. She would never turn into that pony!

Unfortunately, the Pinkie who was not in dreamland knew that she already was that pony. What on earth had happened?