It was getting late, and the sun had just set, Luna’s brilliant moon rising slowly. Everypony was indoors, and the town of Ponyville was quiet. Most ponies were getting ready to go to bed. It had been another brilliant summer day. It had been a busy day for Sugarcube Corner, the local sweets shop. Ponies had been in and out of the shop all day, keeping Mr. and Mrs. Cake and Pinkie Pie busy filling orders. Pinkie had told Mr. and Mrs. Cake that she would finish the last of the orders herself, and told them they should go home, that they had been working way to hard lately. They had thanked her and went off to their house, leaving Pinkie with two or three more orders of pastries. She had handled them with ease, the last customer leaving shortly before sunset. Well, the second to last.
Berry Punch had walked into the shop ready to pick up her order of a half dozen cupcakes for herself and her daughter. Unfortunately for her, she was, as she usually was in the evenings, completely drunk. Pinkie knew she would probably passed out before making it home, so Pinkie offered her own bed to Berry Punch. Pinkie told her that she would go and watch Berry’s daughter for the night. Berry had reluctantly accepted the hospitality, only to wake up in the basement of Sugarcube Corner tied down to a table, Pinkie Pie standing at the end wearing an apron and holding a long carving knife. Her hair had flattened from its usual curls, despite the grin on her face.

Now with the moon rising, Pinkie was shuffling her way to the shower, ready to clean the remnants of the town drunk out of her pink fur. She was muttering to herself that she had gotten carried away, that the alcohol in Berry’s system made her blood too thin for the cutting to last longer, that she would have to go for Berry’s daughter next. As Pinkie pulled the shower curtain closed, she wished things were as simple as they were back when there were more clones walking the streets of Ponyville. She could no longer have dramatic conversations with Rainbow Dash as she sliced away bits and pieces, now that there was only one Rainbow Dash left. Pinkie knew this was the last Berry Punch. As Pinkie scrubbed the blood from her chest, she shuddered, startled by a gruff voice from outside the shower calling her.
“You really messed that one up, kid,” the voice scolded. Pinkie threw the curtain back, looking about angrily. She gritted her teeth as she caught sight of the table across from the shower. Sitting on the table were a few assorted items which she had grown to dislike. She gaze was stuck on a pile of rocks. “You should have waited until morning, when the alcohol had worked its way out of her system.”
“Shut up, Rocky!” Pinkie snapped at the pile of rocks. She pulled the curtain closed again, scrubbing at her chest again. “If I had waited until morning Mr. and Mrs. Cake would have come looking for me. Things would have become even more complicated.” Pinkie shifted how she was sitting the shower to scrub the back of her arm, but another voice caught her attention.
“I would have waited for a different pony, one who still had copies walking around town.” Pinkie recognized the voice or Sir Lintsalot. She peeked around the curtain at the ball of lint sitting next to pile of rocks. “There are still plenty of Colgates and we haven’t even touched a single Fluttershy.”
“Yeah, I was hoping we could have some fun with one of those pretty pegasi,” called a bucket of turnips on the other side of Rocky. “We haven’t taken one single pegasus aside from Rainbow Dash and that Spitfire wannabe.”
“Mr. Turnip!” shouted Pinkie. “You know very well that Fluttershy is too sensitive! We’ll get that derpy pegasus next, if you’re that ada—“
“Ever since you used Madame le Flour to make those Rainbow Dash cupcakes, you have been slacking,” interrupted Rocky. “You never cared about a pony being too sensitive before tasting how atrocious those cupcakes were. You’ve gone soft on us, Pinkimena!” The others began joining in on verbally attacking Pinkie. She continued scrubbing her arms and legs, trying her hardest to ignore all the insults. Her head already ached from the Berry’s screaming. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to act as a painkiller? Pinkie shook with a silent rage as she watched the diluted crimson water rinse out of her mane and with it poured the cruel words of the inanimate objects on the table outside. The shaking grew more violent as Pinkie began to grit her teeth and breathe harder. The calmness she gained from taking Berry’s life was gone.
Pinkie tore open the shower curtain, returning to the room where she had killed Berry, momentarily making eye contact with the corpse. She shivered with irritation as she picked up the carving knife again. With a shout of frustration, she took the blade to Berry’s face, removing her eyes with deadly precision.
“Don’t give me that look, unless you want me to keep it,” muttered Pinkie, finding little comfort in her pun. She shivered with a sadistic giggle that she was forcing out, in hopes that it would bring out real laughter. Pinkie shuddered at a sudden low cackle from the three objects on the table.
“That’s more like the good old Pinkimena we know and love,” called Mr. Turnip. The others murmured in agreement. “Now, we have to have a Flutter--”
“Shut up!” Pinkie yelled. “You are not real! You have no say in what I do!” Pinkie was walking towards them with the carving knife in hoof. “I am not your to control. I created you. Stop talking!” Pinkie raised the carving knife over her head. She stabbed it down into the bucket of turnips, pulling out a few that she impaled. Swinging the blade to the side, the turnips slipped off and flew to the end of the room. Pinkie reeled back a hoof and swung it at the pile of rocks, sweeping her arm and knocking it over. The rocks fell to the floor and rolled in about the floor.
“Pinkimena, please calm down,” pleaded Sir Lintsalot.
“Oh, Sir Lintsalot,” Pinkie spoke softly, “I’m calmer than I’ve ever been.” She stabbed her knife into the table, just beside the ball of lint. Then, she swept it up, carrying it up the stairs with a serene grin. She opened the door at the top of the stairs, walking over to the kitchen. She flipped open the door to the oven, sliding a tray out of it. Pinkie set Sir Lintsalot in the middle of the pan.
“Please, Pinkimena! Don’t do this!” begged the ball of lint.
“Funny,” muttered Pinkie as she slid the pan back into the oven. “That’s what they all say.”
Pinkie closed the oven door and turned it on, watching back to the door. She stopped, noticing that she had tracked blood and water through the shop. She decided to finish showering, and then clean up the mess before going to bed. It was still around midnight, after all. Pinkie trotted down the stairs, locking the door behind her. She hopped back into the shower. Just as she turned the water back on, the voices returned.
“We always come back, Madame,” said a voice in a heavy French accent.
“We’re more than just objects, Pinkimena,” said Rocky.
“We’re part of you, Pinkimena,” said Mr. Turnip.
“We’re going to be together…” began Sir Lintsalot.
“Forever…” Pinkie mumbled with eyes wide, horrified expression across her face. She slumped down onto her rump and sat, watching the diluted crimson water runs out of her mane again. The shaking returned as she wept softly, the blood and water hiding her tears.