Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Show rules for this event
The Weight
Pinkie found her quiet place and laughed until she cried.
Here she could see most of Canterlot, but nobody heard her shrieks and whoops or the sobs that followed. This was Pinkie time. No sisters to shush her or parents to scold her, no new teachers droning on with new rules. No walls of humanity closing in, getting their feelings all tangled with hers.
She giggled through her tears, then hollered, “Ha-HA! You can’t hear me! Nobody can hear me! I’m really good at this game!” Her voice went high and honking as she dissolved into laughter.
Pinkie tried to catch a breath and took one like a mallet to the chest. Not a little mallet either, she had time to think, but like in the cartoons--
Then her mind was overtaken by a singular coldness. She knelt in the leaves and held herself tightly, trying to breathe, then trying not to try. If this was panic, she couldn’t struggle. Her dread was joined by a grief that didn’t belong to her. It crushed like a stone, but she kept breathing.
Slowly, she sang to herself. Her sisters’ names, Maud’s favorite rocks, cake recipes. She sang louder as the weight retreated, hoping it wouldn’t come back.
“Sorry,” said someone behind her. Pinkie screamed.
“I scared you, I’m sorry,” the voice continued.
Pinkie whirled and rose to face a gaunt, dark-haired girl. Her own shock retreated at the stranger’s expression.
“It’s okay! Are... you okay?”
The girl gave her that same shadowed look, and it tightened around Pinkie’s heart. She tried again.
“What’s your name?”
“...Shea.”
“It’s okay, Shea. I’m Pinkie Pie! You look sad. Can I help? Do you want to talk about it? I’m a great listener!” Pinkie stuck out a hand.
“NO!” Shea shrank away. “Please don’t. You should get away. It’s not safe.”
Pinkie had never given much thought to the steep inclines along this wooded ridge, but the other girl’s fear lashed out at her. She moved.
“I know you’re scared,” Pinkie ventured. “But I want to help.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I’ll believe a lot! I love believing things!”
There was a silence, then a sigh. “I do need help.”
“What is it?”
“I need you to tell someone I’m dead.”
Pinkie felt the cold return. ”Dead?”
“Dead.”
“But you’re--”
“Dead. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, I just, I’ve never met a ghost before. I’m sorry. What...what happened?”
“I fell. All I remember is falling. All I do is fall, over and over. I feel like I’ve been here forever.”
“That’s awful.”
“Will you help me?”
“I’ll try.”
“Come with me.”
Pinkie followed her down the ridge to a jagged rockslide. From where they stood she could see nothing unusual, until she noticed a dusty black clutch spilled open above the rocks.
“Look in there and you’ll find out where those things belong. To...my parents, I guess. Take them and tell them what happened. Bring them back so they can find me.” Shea pointed down.
Pinkie swallowed hard.
She returned what felt like a lifetime later, with two haunted looking parents and a grim-faced detail of Canterlot Police. Pinkie watched anxiously as a search team scaled down the rock faces, crawled under the boulders, combed over the scree. Another lifetime later, a muffled shout. Someone found a broken body hidden by the stones. Her hair was red.
“That isn’t Shea,” Shea’s mother said.
“Where is my daughter?” her father demanded. “She’s been missing for days. Is this your idea of a joke?”
They were closing in on Pinkie Pie, their pain and anger grasping at her throat.
“N-n-no! Shea! Where are you? Hehe--hehehe--”
She was trying to say “help” when the sobbing laughter wracked through her again. Everything seemed to stop until it was joined by a keening wail.
Shea had reappeared, floating out of the trees as the pale red girl was brought up. “Amaranth!” she called.
“SHEA!” her parents cried.
“Amaranth,” she repeated. She collapsed over the body of the other girl. “You fell. You fell.”
“Come here, sweetheart,” Shea’s father pleaded. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s not safe,” she echoed, looking dazedly around, then back to Amaranth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shea,” said Pinkie Pie.
The girl looked back as if they’d never met, but finally she said: “I’m not a ghost.”
“You’re not a ghost.”
Shea shut her eyes. Her shoulders shook. And she laughed until she cried.
Here she could see most of Canterlot, but nobody heard her shrieks and whoops or the sobs that followed. This was Pinkie time. No sisters to shush her or parents to scold her, no new teachers droning on with new rules. No walls of humanity closing in, getting their feelings all tangled with hers.
She giggled through her tears, then hollered, “Ha-HA! You can’t hear me! Nobody can hear me! I’m really good at this game!” Her voice went high and honking as she dissolved into laughter.
Pinkie tried to catch a breath and took one like a mallet to the chest. Not a little mallet either, she had time to think, but like in the cartoons--
Then her mind was overtaken by a singular coldness. She knelt in the leaves and held herself tightly, trying to breathe, then trying not to try. If this was panic, she couldn’t struggle. Her dread was joined by a grief that didn’t belong to her. It crushed like a stone, but she kept breathing.
Slowly, she sang to herself. Her sisters’ names, Maud’s favorite rocks, cake recipes. She sang louder as the weight retreated, hoping it wouldn’t come back.
“Sorry,” said someone behind her. Pinkie screamed.
“I scared you, I’m sorry,” the voice continued.
Pinkie whirled and rose to face a gaunt, dark-haired girl. Her own shock retreated at the stranger’s expression.
“It’s okay! Are... you okay?”
The girl gave her that same shadowed look, and it tightened around Pinkie’s heart. She tried again.
“What’s your name?”
“...Shea.”
“It’s okay, Shea. I’m Pinkie Pie! You look sad. Can I help? Do you want to talk about it? I’m a great listener!” Pinkie stuck out a hand.
“NO!” Shea shrank away. “Please don’t. You should get away. It’s not safe.”
Pinkie had never given much thought to the steep inclines along this wooded ridge, but the other girl’s fear lashed out at her. She moved.
“I know you’re scared,” Pinkie ventured. “But I want to help.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I’ll believe a lot! I love believing things!”
There was a silence, then a sigh. “I do need help.”
“What is it?”
“I need you to tell someone I’m dead.”
Pinkie felt the cold return. ”Dead?”
“Dead.”
“But you’re--”
“Dead. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, I just, I’ve never met a ghost before. I’m sorry. What...what happened?”
“I fell. All I remember is falling. All I do is fall, over and over. I feel like I’ve been here forever.”
“That’s awful.”
“Will you help me?”
“I’ll try.”
“Come with me.”
Pinkie followed her down the ridge to a jagged rockslide. From where they stood she could see nothing unusual, until she noticed a dusty black clutch spilled open above the rocks.
“Look in there and you’ll find out where those things belong. To...my parents, I guess. Take them and tell them what happened. Bring them back so they can find me.” Shea pointed down.
Pinkie swallowed hard.
She returned what felt like a lifetime later, with two haunted looking parents and a grim-faced detail of Canterlot Police. Pinkie watched anxiously as a search team scaled down the rock faces, crawled under the boulders, combed over the scree. Another lifetime later, a muffled shout. Someone found a broken body hidden by the stones. Her hair was red.
“That isn’t Shea,” Shea’s mother said.
“Where is my daughter?” her father demanded. “She’s been missing for days. Is this your idea of a joke?”
They were closing in on Pinkie Pie, their pain and anger grasping at her throat.
“N-n-no! Shea! Where are you? Hehe--hehehe--”
She was trying to say “help” when the sobbing laughter wracked through her again. Everything seemed to stop until it was joined by a keening wail.
Shea had reappeared, floating out of the trees as the pale red girl was brought up. “Amaranth!” she called.
“SHEA!” her parents cried.
“Amaranth,” she repeated. She collapsed over the body of the other girl. “You fell. You fell.”
“Come here, sweetheart,” Shea’s father pleaded. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s not safe,” she echoed, looking dazedly around, then back to Amaranth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shea,” said Pinkie Pie.
The girl looked back as if they’d never met, but finally she said: “I’m not a ghost.”
“You’re not a ghost.”
Shea shut her eyes. Her shoulders shook. And she laughed until she cried.
That was strange. Not poorly written by any means, but absolutely strange. Not exactly a fan of the content particarly if those were humans. Wish I could be less biased but this story definitely isn’t for me because of said content, unfortunately. The story starts off really strong and hooks you in really well but the actual meat of the story definitely leaves something to be desired. author, of the characters in the middle are ponies, make it more obvious. If they’re humans, scrap that and make them ponies.
I'm lost on this one. The ending confused me completely. There's a laughing motif that seems to imply it's actually crying, and there's a ghost that's not a ghost and another girl... I genuinely have no idea what is going on.
Count me as another that was left confused by this story. The girl was floating, but maybe wasn't a ghost? I think the idea for this story is good, but maybe the word limit hit it harder than most.
I don't know if I'm just not in the right state of mind to read this or it is as confusing to the normal reader. I had to reread the intro five times to figure out if Pinkie had tears out of hidden pain or from laughter, and I still am not sure as going under a bridge just to laugh because others shush you sounds very sad and the signs of a mental disorder. Also, I feel like this is a crossover to something I've never read or watched, as everyone seems perfectly Ok with the floating girl who can apparently channel spirits.
Disclaimer: This is the opinion of a sick person who is too medicated to think overly clearly on top of not knowing what is objectively good or bad writing.
Disclaimer: This is the opinion of a sick person who is too medicated to think overly clearly on top of not knowing what is objectively good or bad writing.
ugh i hate it when my quiet place gets haunted by spooks and spectres
I think we are in Equestria Girls here between the reference to teachers and the "walls of humanity"
I can imagine Pinkie behaving like in the opening just as a normal adolescent angst type of thing, i know i would always go to nature and cry about things when i was younger
the opening has little to do with the rest, in fact let me enumerate the things about this story that do not make sense
- Pinkie's angst has no impact on the rest of the story and acts as a major red herring
- Why say you are dead if you are not? What's the state of mind there? Guilt? I don't understand
- Why hide if your friend has fallen injured or dead and days later ask someone who chances to wander to where you are, personally to contact your parents? Why not call the police and ambulance yourself?
overall the feeling is definitely that there is some vital information being withheld here
I would try to make sense of it and say that Shea and Amaranth are schizoid manifestations of different aspects of Pinkie's personality and that they are a delusion. The black haired girl and the red haired girl you know... however the seemingly very real parents and police and corpse stop me from saying this. Are the police and the parents a delusion too?
actually yes why not i will go with that. it is a psychodrama with "characters" reifying aspects of Pinkie. Shea is not a ghost, Shea is Pinkie. Amaranth is Pinkie. something has broken under the weight
everything suddenly clicks and makes sense! hey, YOU WIN!!
CONGRATS!!
your award is: OBTUSE HIPSTER AWARD
I think we are in Equestria Girls here between the reference to teachers and the "walls of humanity"
I can imagine Pinkie behaving like in the opening just as a normal adolescent angst type of thing, i know i would always go to nature and cry about things when i was younger
the opening has little to do with the rest, in fact let me enumerate the things about this story that do not make sense
- Pinkie's angst has no impact on the rest of the story and acts as a major red herring
- Why say you are dead if you are not? What's the state of mind there? Guilt? I don't understand
- Why hide if your friend has fallen injured or dead and days later ask someone who chances to wander to where you are, personally to contact your parents? Why not call the police and ambulance yourself?
overall the feeling is definitely that there is some vital information being withheld here
I would try to make sense of it and say that Shea and Amaranth are schizoid manifestations of different aspects of Pinkie's personality and that they are a delusion. The black haired girl and the red haired girl you know... however the seemingly very real parents and police and corpse stop me from saying this. Are the police and the parents a delusion too?
actually yes why not i will go with that. it is a psychodrama with "characters" reifying aspects of Pinkie. Shea is not a ghost, Shea is Pinkie. Amaranth is Pinkie. something has broken under the weight
everything suddenly clicks and makes sense! hey, YOU WIN!!
CONGRATS!!
your award is: OBTUSE HIPSTER AWARD
>>RawCringe
What a fascinating interpretation! Thank you. You win the RAWCRINGE AWARD! You are the rawest cringe! (yay.)
>>regidar
>>Dolfeus Doseux
>>Bremen
>>thisisalongname
Thank you all for the feedback.
So first off, "floated" was...a terrible choice of words for that last scene. 3:00 PM Friday Willow knows this. 3:00 AM Sunday Willow was not in her right mind. Up to that point I was trying to convey that Pinkie at least might believe Shea was a ghost, and everything after should have indicated she was not. Shea is a real living person, a human like Pinkie. This weird, obtuse story seemed like a better fit for the human world for several reasons, but my capacity to be wrong is without bounds. I thought about reasons against it too, and I'd be interested to hear other opinions.
At first this was going to be a ghost story played straight. Pinkie meets a ghost girl and helps her move on. I couldn't work out exactly how to tell that story. I thought of having Pinkie prove that a grisly campus urban legend was really just an accident obscured by a prank. Or that someone believed to have killed herself didn't. Maybe one of those stories would have been better, but they felt just a little too raw for me at this time. Death is definitely informing my writing of late, and I am sorry if the specifics of this story caused anyone else pain.
>>thisisalongname
That's fairly accurate, actually (though, aside, she's up on a ridge as opposed to under a bridge.)
The core of this story really is about mental illness, and trauma, and survivor's guilt. They do say you should write what you know, but I guess that doesn't translate easily to humanized pastel ponies. It can translate *well,* I know, because I've seen plenty of authors do it here. I continue to be too ambitious for my ponytailed britches. After about 500 words I realized I wasn't going to do justice to the story I was trying to tell. Maybe with more words, but maybe not. There's a lot of information I failed to provide here, and I wish I'd fit more of it in, though I don't know how much it would have helped.
Pinkie Pie is a freshman at Canterlot High. It's her first year in public school after being homeschooled with her sisters. Pinkie Pie has panic attacks. She's also an extreme version of what some call an empath, the manifestation of her magic in this world. She is hypersensitive to the moods and feelings of the people around her, often overwhelmingly so. She feels responsible for them and has trouble sorting out other people's feelings from her own, which are more than enough to manage. High school is a challenge.
So yeah, sometimes she goes up on a mountain ridge and laughs and screams and cries. It's an emotional release removed from other people she'd otherwise worry about disturbing or being judged by. Or just worry about, like always. For Pinkie Pie, I imagined this playing out as unrestrained laughter at all the absurdity of the world, which she can't quite separate from the underlying sadness.
And then: panic attack! Out of nowhere, 'cause that's how they roll. But her panic here comes with emotional baggage. Some is her own unaddressed pain, but the rest is a powerful grief from someone nearby. There's not really anything supernatural about it, just Pinkie's preternatural empathy, but she doesn't know that. It just makes it easier for her to sympathize and go along with Shea's story. Her "angst" was intended to be a significant factor.
Shea gave me even more trouble, obviously. I realize her tale is implausible to say the least. I hoped it wasn't entirely beyond the suspension of disbelief. Maybe with a better execution. Shea and her friend Amaranth went up the ridge a few days earlier. The ledge they were standing on gave way. Shea got away and Amaranth didn't--I'm thinking they were holding hands until Amaranth began to fall. Shea could let go or fall too, but never had a chance to save her friend. She still thinks it's her fault.
Shea is very much an unreliable narrator, of course. Maybe too much. I didn't delve far into her history, but she wasn't entirely stable even before the accident. Afterward, she has PTSD with extreme dissociation and delusion. She describes going through her version of the accident over and over, because that's what she's been doing. It's easier for her to construct and believe a different story than to face the truth. So she's been "haunting" the ridge. She looks thin and pale because she hasn't had anything to eat or drink and is pretty near death her ownself.
...And when the explanation starts getting longer than the story, you know it probably wasn't right for a minific. I can't say I regret writing this, because I need all the practice I can get. Still, I almost gave up on writing anything around midnight Saturday, and even after posting I almost deleted it when I realized what I had wrought. But so it goes. Thanks again for your reading and responses, and for this opportunity.
What a fascinating interpretation! Thank you. You win the RAWCRINGE AWARD! You are the rawest cringe! (yay.)
>>regidar
>>Dolfeus Doseux
>>Bremen
>>thisisalongname
Thank you all for the feedback.
So first off, "floated" was...a terrible choice of words for that last scene. 3:00 PM Friday Willow knows this. 3:00 AM Sunday Willow was not in her right mind. Up to that point I was trying to convey that Pinkie at least might believe Shea was a ghost, and everything after should have indicated she was not. Shea is a real living person, a human like Pinkie. This weird, obtuse story seemed like a better fit for the human world for several reasons, but my capacity to be wrong is without bounds. I thought about reasons against it too, and I'd be interested to hear other opinions.
At first this was going to be a ghost story played straight. Pinkie meets a ghost girl and helps her move on. I couldn't work out exactly how to tell that story. I thought of having Pinkie prove that a grisly campus urban legend was really just an accident obscured by a prank. Or that someone believed to have killed herself didn't. Maybe one of those stories would have been better, but they felt just a little too raw for me at this time. Death is definitely informing my writing of late, and I am sorry if the specifics of this story caused anyone else pain.
>>thisisalongname
I had to reread the intro five times to figure out if Pinkie had tears out of hidden pain or from laughter, and I still am not sure as going under a bridge just to laugh because others shush you sounds very sad and the signs of a mental disorder.
That's fairly accurate, actually (though, aside, she's up on a ridge as opposed to under a bridge.)
The core of this story really is about mental illness, and trauma, and survivor's guilt. They do say you should write what you know, but I guess that doesn't translate easily to humanized pastel ponies. It can translate *well,* I know, because I've seen plenty of authors do it here. I continue to be too ambitious for my ponytailed britches. After about 500 words I realized I wasn't going to do justice to the story I was trying to tell. Maybe with more words, but maybe not. There's a lot of information I failed to provide here, and I wish I'd fit more of it in, though I don't know how much it would have helped.
Pinkie Pie is a freshman at Canterlot High. It's her first year in public school after being homeschooled with her sisters. Pinkie Pie has panic attacks. She's also an extreme version of what some call an empath, the manifestation of her magic in this world. She is hypersensitive to the moods and feelings of the people around her, often overwhelmingly so. She feels responsible for them and has trouble sorting out other people's feelings from her own, which are more than enough to manage. High school is a challenge.
So yeah, sometimes she goes up on a mountain ridge and laughs and screams and cries. It's an emotional release removed from other people she'd otherwise worry about disturbing or being judged by. Or just worry about, like always. For Pinkie Pie, I imagined this playing out as unrestrained laughter at all the absurdity of the world, which she can't quite separate from the underlying sadness.
And then: panic attack! Out of nowhere, 'cause that's how they roll. But her panic here comes with emotional baggage. Some is her own unaddressed pain, but the rest is a powerful grief from someone nearby. There's not really anything supernatural about it, just Pinkie's preternatural empathy, but she doesn't know that. It just makes it easier for her to sympathize and go along with Shea's story. Her "angst" was intended to be a significant factor.
Shea gave me even more trouble, obviously. I realize her tale is implausible to say the least. I hoped it wasn't entirely beyond the suspension of disbelief. Maybe with a better execution. Shea and her friend Amaranth went up the ridge a few days earlier. The ledge they were standing on gave way. Shea got away and Amaranth didn't--I'm thinking they were holding hands until Amaranth began to fall. Shea could let go or fall too, but never had a chance to save her friend. She still thinks it's her fault.
Shea is very much an unreliable narrator, of course. Maybe too much. I didn't delve far into her history, but she wasn't entirely stable even before the accident. Afterward, she has PTSD with extreme dissociation and delusion. She describes going through her version of the accident over and over, because that's what she's been doing. It's easier for her to construct and believe a different story than to face the truth. So she's been "haunting" the ridge. She looks thin and pale because she hasn't had anything to eat or drink and is pretty near death her ownself.
...And when the explanation starts getting longer than the story, you know it probably wasn't right for a minific. I can't say I regret writing this, because I need all the practice I can get. Still, I almost gave up on writing anything around midnight Saturday, and even after posting I almost deleted it when I realized what I had wrought. But so it goes. Thanks again for your reading and responses, and for this opportunity.