***AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is based on the first two seasons of FIM, not the entire show, so you may notice some differences on character backgrounds et cetera. Also, even though this story still uses some of the show's terms (e.g. "Pegasus", "stallion"), the characters are humanoid.***
Pinkie Pie woke with the dawn to a house that smelled of delectable pastries. She hardly noticed her stomach gurgling as she jumped out of bed to get ready.
She took a hot shower, scrubbing her skin so hard it hurt and following up with scented lotion once she was dry. Carefully picking out clothes that would accentuate her fun personality and hide her embarrassing thighs and muffin top, she posed in front of her mirror and practiced her smile. Hmm, no. Those lips were too flat. She put on a little bit of makeup, just enough to cover her flaws and accentuate her better features, completing the job with a curvier line for her lips.
Pinkie examined herself once more, making sure everything was just so. Finally she looked perfect. She glanced up at the clock. Eek! It was already time to leave! She ran downstairs to the kitchen and began grabbing dozen-boxes of cupcakes, cookies, and the like.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Pinkie!" Mrs. Cake was obviously shocked. "Where are you taking all these?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Cake! We're having a party at Applejack's today, remember?"
"Well, are you inviting the whole town?" Her voice still had an edge even though she was being funny.
Pinkie Pie giggled, partly going with the joke and partly out of nervousness. "No, I just wanna make sure my friends have a lot of different treats to try!"
"Well, alright, but I'd like you to help me make more desserts when you get back, okay?"
"Okey-dokey-lokey!" Pinkie was standing on one leg, trying to open the front door with her foot. Finally she got it. "See you later, Mrs. Cake!" She pushed the door shut behind herself and sighed.
Come on, Pinkie, we can't get sad now! She regained her composure, striding down the streets toward Sweet Apple Acres. On her way she saw a few friends, greeting them with cheer.
Finally Pinkie made it to the barn where her best friends were planning on meeting and entered.
Applejack was the only one there so far. "Hey, Pinkie! You're early."
"I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time to get things ready before everyone else gets here!" She set the boxes down on the floor and grabbed a broom.
"Aw, shucks, Pinkie, you didn't have to come early just to help me—but I'm mighty grateful." She swept for a moment, then stopped and looked up again. "Ya know, you're always doin' nice things for everybody. Dontcha ever do nice things for yourself?"
Pinkie was caught off-guard. She snorted and stumbled over her words before finally getting out, "Of course I do, silly!"
Applejack shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask. Sometimes I'm so busy takin' care o' the farm that I forget to take care o' myself: eatin' lunch, washin' up, restin' my body when it's tired…. Remember when I worked myself so hard I passed out?"
"Uh-huh." Why is she giving me a lecture? Is she trying to scare me into confessing? Pinkie wondered.
"Anyway, I just wanted to check up on ya."
Oookay. Can you stop now? Pinkie thought.
"…Ya know, you're awful quiet today."
"Oh, sorry! I just wanna save up my energy for the party!" Was that a convincing excuse?
"I understand." Applejack seemed to buy it.
They spent most of their time cleaning and decorating in silence, although this drove Pinkie Pie crazy. She didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts. She couldn't. Whenever she didn't talk, she started having bad memories. All she ever wanted to do was forget them, distracting herself with parties, friends, and desserts. She began humming, an effort to stay far from insanity.
When the rest of their friends came, Pinkie complimented their outfits and asked them how they were doing, saying all the right things. She tried to forget the memories, but they kept coming up. It felt as if she had an itch under her skin or a lump in her throat. She nervously drank cups and cups of punch and ate platefuls of desserts. No one seemed to notice she was on-edge.
Finally, when Pinkie's stomach was so full it hurt, she excused herself and ran to the restroom. She spread some toilet paper on the floor so she wouldn't get her tights dirty, then knelt in front of the toilet and held her hair back with one hand. She shoved her other hand into her mouth, reaching her middle finger as far back as it would go. Up came all the desserts and punch, heave after heave, until every bit had been emptied from her stomach into the toilet bowl.
Pinkie panted, leaning against the wall. The memories began to fade. Good. She reached forward and pulled the lever to flush her puke down, then stood and threw the toilet paper away. Feeling a little better, she thoroughly washed her hands and gargled mouthwash, checked herself in the mirror to make sure she looked normal, then exited the bathroom and made her way back to the barn.
The rest of the party Pinkie spent smiling, laughing, and joking with her friends. It felt good to make others laugh and cheer them up, to forget her fears and memories, to appear perfect. But not even her closest friends knew what she had been through.