A young pink filly sat in her dilapidated farm room. The walls were made of old wood, paintless and gray with age. She could see a silo out of her window, colored the same as the house and missing planks from its walls. The sun had moved below the horizon hours ago, and a candle burned beside her. Her hair was messy and curled, and she held a pencil in her mouth, hovering over a scrap of paper.
She sighed around the pencil. She had been up in her room since dinner, trying to come up with the words she needed to say. Endless crumpled balls lay around the room, covered in equally endless scratched out sentences. The filly stared at the paper; how could she break this? Was it even possible to do it? Second thoughts and second guesses blew around her mad tornado of wanderlust and homesickness.
And a single thought cut through the storm. She gulped and put pencil to paper.
I’m sorry. I can’t stay here anymore. It will break me; it will unmake my life and turn me into a stone just like the ones we move. Ever since mom and dad died, it’s been work work work with you two and nothing else. I can’t deal with that; I’m not made for this. I can’t just keep going like nothing ever happened, like mom and dad are just on a little trip. Forcing yourself to work to keep it from coming to mind is just going to put you in a hole next to them.
I hope that this will shock you out of your single-mindedness. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I’m not going to stay around to find out. I already know that by the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. I’m sure it’ll be easier with just the two of you on the farm; I never all that good at farming.
Don’t come looking for me.
—Pinkamena Diane Pie”
Pinkie dropped the pencil. She hefted a pair of very full burlap saddlebags onto her back and carefully crept out of her room. The only light in the hall was the faint glow from the candle and moon outside. She snuck downstairs slowly, avoiding most of the creaky boards.
She paused as she went to open the front door. She looked back up towards the stairs, thinking maybe she shouldn’t leave, maybe if she just talked to them…
The door opened and she stepped into the moonlight.
Commentary from Donny’s Boy
Oh, poor younger Pinkie. What a tough decision she had to face, borne of a tough reality. My favorite part was the moment of second-guessing, when she glances back up the stairs. That was a nice, heart-breaking moment.