DARKLY DREAMING PINKIE PIE
Secrets. Everyone has them. Everyone has secrets. Big ones, little ones. Secrets about themselves, about others. Secrets about their past. That skeleton in the closet. That spot in their history that they wish they could forget. They wish could just go away. People have things they don't want anyone else to know. Some things that make them... seem bad. Me? Nobody knows me, really. The things I've seen. The things I've done.
Who am I? You'll know in time. I've learned it's better to ease into these kinds of things. To slow down and savor the feeling of things being revealed in order. Slowly. It's not who I am that's important. It's about what someone else did and what I did about it, and what I became.
I live in a charming little community called Ponyville. It's... quaint, to say the least. It's not the bustling streets of Canterlot or the bright shining lights of Manehattan, but the people here are... friendly. Everyone knows everyone else. It's a small town, but far from boring. Some days, there will be a crazy adventure or two going down in this place. I don't like to partake in these things so much as others do. They seem to be able to handle it pretty well on their own. They don't need me there.
No, I'm always needed elsewhere, out of the spotlight, away from the public. Out in the forest is usually a good place. Lots of animals there. Not that anyone appreciates me for what I do. Or what I keep myself from doing. Most people don't even know what I do. They just see me and nod slightly as they pass on by, the usual greeting for me. They don't know me. Most people don't see me out in town often, mainly because I don't like people. It… stimulates urges of mine. Urges I must keep under control. If I were to run rampant, doing whatever I felt like I needed to, well… That would be bad for a lot of people.
I don't talk much, mainly because there ain't anything worth saying. I think I let my actions speak for themselves. If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many is a strong action worth? I sometimes think that they think the reason they don't see me a lot is because I have a lot of work to be doing or something. I don't know why they would think that. I guess it's true that I do have work that must be finished and I am a busy person, but I take time off to do things I enjoy. Some… recreation, some hobbies. I like animals. At least, I pretend to.
Pretend. There's something I do a lot. I do it every waking moment. Pretending. Pretending to care. Pretending to feel, pretending that I am normal. It's all I've got. To not feel empty, to not feel so bottomless, to not feel alone. Even though I was.
Until I met her.
Once, a long time ago, I knew this one girl, Pinkamena Diane Pie. Pinkie Pie, as most people called her. She didn't like her real name all that much, even though it was her last tie back to her past. Her real past. Sometimes, when people asked about her past, she liked to make up stories about hardships and rock farms, about sonic rainbooms and parties in silos. That's bullshit.
I knew the real truth behind Pinkie.
Pinkie was the kind of pony that everypony knew. She was friendly to everybody, and knew them all by name. Anyone that lived in Ponyville and just beyond, she knew them all. Including me. Ever since we first met, we knew there was something underneath each other. It didn't take her long to figure me out. Nor for me to figure out her. I knew her. What she really was inside, beyond her charade. That's not to say she was bad at hiding it, oh no. Except for me, she probably had the whole town fooled. But I was just that good.
From the day we met, we had this... unspoken code. I didn't tell anyone about what she was, she didn't blab to anyone about what I was. It was perfect. We'd silently agree that what we were was... weird, as some might say, but necessary. We were the same. We understood each other. Maybe that's why she always hung out with me. I know it's a hard and lonely road, sometimes it's nice to be able to know someone else is suffering the same as you.
But, that's where the similarities ended. I appeared silent and strong, she was humourous and fun. I was reserved and calm, she was always so outgoing and happy, so full of energy. Quite the expert in facade, if I do say so myself. I know how to keep my appearances up at all times, to act like I care, even when I really don't.
We had each other's backs. We kept each other safe. Safe from prying eyes. Safe from others. Safe from each other. The parties she threw, I didn't understand them. I still don't. I don't understand the reason for celebrating things, let alone all the things she celebrated. Maybe it was just to keep up appearances. Maybe she really just was that crazy.
So yeah, Pinkie and I? We were friends on some level or another. More than just the regular friendships she kept up with everypony, we understood each other. We were the same. It was in our blood. It wasn't our fault. Something in our past made us this way. Something we didn't remember about. Something that we couldn't control.
Pinkie Pie may have known me, but she didn't know all of me. As close as I as to Pinkie, he didn't know all of me. No one knew. She thought of me like her. Just pure uncontrolled urges, like hers. No, I was different. I was secretive. I kept it all inside, and released it pleasurably when the time came. Sometimes the urge becomes unbearable, the building pressure inside. Sometimes in need release. In those times I would make a "spontaneous" visit to my old friends. They always helped.
So anyway, Pinkie and I were close. I thought I knew Pinkie. But, just like she didn't know all of me, I clearly didn't know all of her. I thought she was bad.
She was worse.
It was a sunny day. The clouds where gone, the birds sang and the rainbows glistened. It was a miserable day. That day I was out in town to mingle with ponies, so I didn't seem shunned away all the time. It's good to get out and clear your head, they say. I guess for some people a walk could do that.
When I went by Sugar Cube Corner, the local bakery and the home of friend Pinkie Pie, I noticed the pegasus, Rainbow Dash, enter.
Rainbow Dash was the only other one than Pinkie that I didn't feel disgusted about. Her arrogance, her pride, her eagerness to win. All a cover up for the real Rainbow: a scared, broken and lonely girl with an inferiority complex.
She was broken, like me. Trying to cover it up, live a normal life and move on.
I don't know what actually happened to her, but I felt a small connection. Perhaps, if I had tried, we could have made something work out.
But it's too late, now. Too bad.
Anyway, Rainbow entered Pinkie's place. I decided to check out what was going on. I don't know why I was so curious. Maybe I wanted to know how social interaction with someone like me looked like from the outside. What signals we gave off. How our masks looked compared to others.
Or maybe I just wanted to see Rainbow Dash.
I observed from the window. Pinkie gave a cupcake to Rainbow in a friendly act of kindness and friendship. How thoughtful of her. I expected Rainbow Dash to accept it, eat it, pay, and then go away. When she ate it, however, I saw Dash appear to be woozy. She mumbled something as she fell asleep.
I knew what would come next. I probably should have stopped her, but I was too curious to see her technique. See how others like me did it in action. Now, not stopping her is the only action I've ever regretted.
Now, I understand. I can't believe how blind I was. I used to think Pinkie had a system she worked from, like me. Of course she had no system. No bullshit 'numbers', it was all at random!
I followed as she hoisted Dash down into the basement. As much as I wanted to stop her, I was curious to see what was happening. I couldn't do anything, so I hid in the corner, under some boards. Luckily, I was able to slip under them before she came back.
She tied Dash down onto a table and spread her legs and arms and locked them into the table. I couldn't see much at the time, it being too dark, but I smelled terrible. I sensed a dark presence, like bad things happened here.
Soon, Dash awoke. And the 'fun' began.
It was absolutely amazing. Throughout the entire time, Pinkie kept up her charade of 'wacky fun party pony'. It was an eye opener. For a few people. I thought that Pinkie was like me: hurt, broken, damaged. I thought she was masking her true self under a coat of randomness, parties and friendship. Now I see Pinkie's true face. And the nut is the same as the shell. She loved it every moment of it. In fact, she enjoyed it almost too much. She almost reminds me of me. When I let loose, all bets are off. I let go and let my true form reveal itself. I am different than what most people think, but I hide who I am to protect the innocent.
Pinkie? She's the same pony in both ways. She purely enjoys it as much as I do, but harder, purer and more malevolent. She enjoys doing it for the sake of doing it. She embraces it. The only reason she hides to true self is to play a waiting game with everyone. See how long each player lasts before they lose their life.
No. No, I was wrong. We're not the same. She may be damaged, be she's also bad. Bad to the core. I thought she was better than this. No, she's not in the same boat as me. She's the trash that must be taken out. She's the spot that must be cleansed. She's the weed that must be rooted.
The only thing I don't understand is how she's been getting away with it all. She leaves blood everywhere. She leaves the bodies hung upon the walls. So many people go missing, and no one suspects thing. How does no one notice this?
No, she must prepare it for her victims. Hangs the decorations up for the festivities and packs them sway when the holiday's over. Just like Christmas.
All in all though, she was pretty good at it, I'll give her that. Her style was incredible. Such passion and initiative. Sloppy workmanship, though. She obviously hadn't been trying to develop a mark. She was experimenting. Trying to see what else she could do and have fun with it. She was just doing what she felt like. Not thinking about the consequences to her actions. She just cared about the fun of it.
Well, now. The fun stops.
By the end, Rainbow Dash was gone, ingredients for a cupcake in her place. If I had a heart, it would be breaking. When you kill someone, you're not just taking a life; you're snuffing out everything that they could have become. All the future things they could have done will never happen. Rainbow Dash wasn't bad. She could have done great things. Amazing things. Now they're all gone. Pinkie didn't see this. What she saw was only more cupcakes.
It happened tonight. And it's going to keep happening. Again and again and again.
Unless I stop her.
Preparation. That's the key to doing it right. Must be prepared and plan for all variables. With Pinkie, it's like an impossible equation, but I'm the master mathematician.
I prepare a place for us. Somewhere we can be alone. Somewhere she can't escape from...
What about her own basement?
It's perfect. The irony alone is fantastic. It'd also be a great place for it: the walls are sound-proof, and no one but she goes in there. I would have plenty of time to prepare my little project.
The next day I prepare. I request Pinkie on errands that will leave her out for the day. She'll be back soon, though. That's okay, I'm gonna be quick, anyways.
She returns in a couple hours. Perfect. I've just finished. She finds the note I've left for her: "Meet me in the basement."
It should be a clue that I'm onto her, and that I've got a surprise. Pinkie loved surprises.
When she came into the room, the first thing she noticed was the room: covered in plastic from ceiling to floor, a cart of sharp instruments and tools next to a plastic covered table. On that special table, I've left a present: a cupcake.
From behind I get her with a tranquilizer needle, potent enough to take down Big Macintosh, the big farmer earth pony. She hits the ground like a sack of hammers.
Soon, the real fun begins.
As Pinkie awoke, she found herself in a position familiar to what Rainbow must have felt like. Trapped and tied in a dark room, not knowing what was going on. She found herself unable to scream for help. Duct tape often has that effect.
I turn around, noticing her fully alerted state of consciousness. Her eyes grow wide when she realizes who it is that has trapped her: me.
"Ghkmh?!" she tried to say my name, unable to speak clearly.
I silenced her with a claw to my mouth, shushing her. We sat in silence for a while, as I contemplated what to say.
"You were the only one I saw as my equal." I spoke in a solemn voice, "I thought you were like me."
I picked up a sharp knife, admiring it as I continued to talk, "That you had trouble blending into normal society because of these... urges."
I began to walk over to her. "I thought you kept these urges hidden away during the day, finding relief here, at night, like I do." I brought the knife close to her cheek. She began to increase her breathing rate. Can dish it out, but she can't take it. "You had to do it. You couldn't help yourself. You needed to do this.."
"But sadly, I was mistaken. You don't need to do it. You do it for fun. Because you want to. You say you don't make the rules. That their 'numbers' just come up. Well, sadly, I don't get to make the rules, either."
I slowly created a light gash into Pinkie's cheek. She winced in pain as blood began to seep from the open wound. I breathed slowly, savoring the first cut. Always so good…
She looked up at me with her big blue puppy dog eyes. They reminded me of how Applejack's dog, Rusty, looked before I killed it. It had to be done, it was yappy and annoying and just overall not too good at farm work. It took some time, but the Apples eventually got over their dog's disappearance, and got a new dog, Winona. She's much better.
If I actually had half the emotions I pretend to have, their tactics might have worked.
"Pinkamena Diane Pie." I said holding the knife high above my head, "Your number's just come up!"
After Pinkie went missing, people began to notice. After just a day if not seeing their favorite pink party pony was enough to make people suspicious. The police eventually investigated her house, checking the basement. Boy, did they have a heyday in that place. At least 40 missing ponies' bodies had been found, murdered in that basement. It was the biggest body count they had found. So far. Pinkie Pie was branded as the 'Cupcake Killer', Equestria's #1 fugitive, and a nation-wide ponyhunt was ordered.
It didn't take long for them to find Pinkie Pie had committed suicide by leaping off of the tallest tower in Canterlot. Celestia must had a great time, taking a leisurely walk only to find that the lower walls of the palace were now a lovely red colour. The Cupcake Killer case was closed, and a massive funeral service was held for those who were killed.
In the back row of the funeral service, held for Equestria's #2 serial killer, sat Equestria's #1 serial killer, dressed in a small black tux. A mournful expression adorned his face, but if it was his way, a dark smile he would wear proudly. I think I should have brought sunglasses; tears are always so hard to fake.