Imaginary Friend [UPDATED 28/09/2013]

~x~ Chapter 1 ~x~

 

>They say writing a journal is a good practice, so here I am.

>If you’re reading this, chances are that I’m either dead or I’ve finally snapped.

>Regardless, as you read the entries of this book, you’ll most likely come to the conclusion that I’m crazy.

>Know this: I’m far from it.

>Like the usual drones of society, I too had a job, a home, and people I deemed “friends”.

>If you had met me in person, you would have considered me what people call normal.

>But the definition of normality ranges from person to person.

>Some people find ingesting worms to be normal, while others find it to be disgusting and vile.

>The point I’m trying to get at is I’m not normal, and neither are you.

>The things I see, however... even I know they’re not right.

>You see, I can see these sort of ghosts, if you will.

>No, I’m not going Sixth Sense on you, but it something oddly similar.

>What I see are ponies. Not your usual miniature horse kind of ponies, but small, marshmallowy cartoon ponies.

>It sounds messed up and just plain stupid, but I can’t deny what I’ve been witnessing all these years.

>The thing about these ponies is that they live among us: playing, laughing, working.

>You’d think they’re almost human.

>I watch them every day, walking by without so much as batting an eye my way.

>They don’t seem to acknowledge me, no matter what I do.

>It’s safe to assume that they are like their human counterparts: they have no way of seeing or hearing us.

>That is, until I met her.

>It was just like any other day.

>I woke up at four in the morning, took a shower, ate some breakfast, and headed down the street to work.

>Sure enough, the early morning ponies were up and about, roaming the block, performing their daily routines.

>It was something I was used to and, to be blunt, didn’t care about now.

>As I opened the store’s front door, I flipped the switch and let the light fill the room.

>The motes of dust floated in the dim lighting, leaving an empty feeling to the place.

>With a heavy sigh, I threw on my apron and rubber gloves before starting my work day.

>I was the porter of a small, family owned bakery.

>Every day was the same: clean the shit off the bathroom walls and make sure the store’s dining and display rooms were clean enough to eat off the floors, not that it stopped the usual pigs that rolled by there.

>After about fifteen minutes or so of dusting and polishing the counters, I walked out front and began sweeping the storefront.

>Fall was starting to make way for winter and the trees were clearly showing it.

>The streets were littered with blotches of red, yellow, orange, and brown.

>It looked pretty and all, but it didn’t stop me from cursing under my breath from the extra work it provided.

>For the past few days, I did nothing but sweep leaves from the sidewalk.

>If you ask me, it’s a useless endeavour: they’re just going to get blown right back by the wind.

>Alas, my manager thought differently.

>“If it rains, those leaves get slippery as all hell. The last thing I need is for someone to twist an ankle on them and have a major lawsuit on my ass!” he would always tell me.

>To be honest, I think he was just nervous about his financial problems, what with his store not doing so well and his wife coming closer and closer to giving labor.

>I really couldn’t complain.

>Had it not been for that man, I’d still be out on the streets, eating out of garbage cans and fighting with other hobos for a place to sleep.

>A few years back, I used to scavenge through his trash cans for leftover pastries and goods until he finally caught me.

>Instead of shooing me off or beating me like a wild animal, he gave me a proposition.

>He was to give me a job and a place to stay, and I in turn would stop eating out of his trash.

>Of course, I took the offer, which led me to today.

>Anyway, as I swept away the leaves and continue cursing under my breath, I watched as the ponies performed their usual tasks.

>It’s strange to watch, really: When one of them would lift something, I wasn’t able to see the object, but their facial expressions and body language clearly showed it.

>It’s kind of like watching a mime, even if mimes really freak me out.

>As my eyes gazed around the street, I began to drift off, imagining what their world looked like and how easy they had it.

>One in particular stood out, however.

>Every day, when I opened the store, there was a pink mare that like to roam the area, sniffing at the ground.

>She was a... unique character, so say the least.

>Her fluffy, cotton candy-like mane really ravaged my mind: It was messy, but well kept at the same time.

>The mare was always cheery, much like her equine friends, but that wasn’t what made her stand out.

>I could swear that every so often, the mare would meet my gaze, almost as if she sees me...

>“Hey Anonymous.”

>I nearly jumped out of my skin at the mention of my name.

>My manager was notorious for popping up when someone was slacking off.

>I swear it’s some kind of spidey sense or something...

“Morning, Mr. Offa,” I grunted, failing to sound even the slightest bit awake. “How’s everything going?”

>The short, chubby man removed his hat with a grimace plastered across his face.

>I felt my heart sink.

>Whenever Mr. Offa did that, there was something amiss and I was about to get the short end of the stick.

>“Eddy called me last night. He quit to move on with his culinary career.”

>And into the pit of my stomach went my heart.

>Eddy was the baker at the store.

>The only baker.

>Even though Mr. Offa owned the place, he didn’t know the first thing about baking.

>He knew everything when it came to statistics, like money managing and sales, but the actual baking job itself flew straight over his head.

>“It doesn’t help that my wife broke her water last night, either.”

>He let out another disgruntled sigh before shaking his head.

>“I’d hate to do this to you, but I need you to take care of the store today.”

>Shaking my head in bewilderment, I tried my hardest to convince him otherwise.

"Mr. Offa, why not just close the store for the day?" I pleaded.

>Porting was the only thing I knew how to do.

>There was no way in hell I could bake.

>Placing his hat back on his head, he gave me a disheartened sigh.

>“I can’t afford to close the store, even for a day. Look,” he assured, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I trust you. The instructions on how to make the morning bread are written on a piece of paper over the counter in the kitchen. God knows it’s the only thing we sell nowadays.”

>Before I could even retort, he climbed into his car and drove away.

>There I stood for what felt like an eternity, staring at the empty spot in the street where his car had been before, trying to piece everything together.

>Looking at my watch, I checked the time.

>It was already four-thirty, which gave me an hour and a half before the morning rush came in.

>I couldn’t just let him down, but I didn’t know the first thing about baking!

>“I can help you out!”

>Turning around, my eyes met with the pink pony again.

>Her blue irises shined in the sunlight, looking determined and ready to help a friend in need.

>I checked all around me: usually the ponies interacted with one another and I got caught between it.

>It drove me mad at times, thinking that they were actually talking to me.

>But there wasn’t another pony around for her to talk to, which only meant...

“Are you talking to me?” I asked her, pointing at myself.

>The pink mare’s eyes widened as the words escaped my lips.

>Her smile grew larger, making me a tad nervous as well.

>“Oh! You see me! Oh my gosh!”

>She began to jump around me, bouncing like a jumping bean.

>“You’re the first one to ever respond! I’m so happy!”

>My heart began to race like wild.

>I wasn’t going to lie, I was just as excited.

>After all, the years of seeing these ponies and not being to interact with them was pretty demeaning.

>But there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound rude and abrupt, but you said you could help me out, right?”

>The equine stopped dead in mid-air, something that to this day I can’t figure out.

>With a slow descent, her smile grew as she came down to the ground.

>“Yep! I know all about baked goods, especially bread. White, rye, wheat, pumpernickel... Hehe! That’s such a funny name! Pumpernickel! Say it with me! Pumpernickel! Pumpernickel!”

>She started her bouncing again, leaving me hanging there in complete dismay.

>Figures the one pony I end up being able to communicate has the attention span of a goldfish.

>After a few more bounces, she stopped again and turned to me with a look of concern.

>“How mean of me! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Pinkie Pie! What’s yours?”

>’Pinkie Pie?’ I thought to myself. ‘What a strange name. No matter. I need her help, regardless of how crazy it seems.’

“My name is Anonymous Unknown,” I replied, extending my hand out for a shake.

>Pinkie looked at it for a moment, trying to comprehend what I was doing.

>With a steady leg, she raised her hoof up and attempted to shake my hand, “attempt” being the keyword.

>As soon as her hoof touched my hand, it went right through it.

“It was worth a try...” I muttered under my breath.

>Standing back up, I proceeded to enter the bakery with Pinkie not too far behind.

>It was strange: I’ve seen many ponies walk through walls but watching her do it in front of me sent an eerie chill down my spine.

>Entering the back room, I checked the spot Mr. Offa said the paper would lie and, sure enough, it was there.

>The instructions were rather simple.

>I was to make ten loaves of white bread and attached was the recipe which was clearly printed from the first site he googled.

>Looking over the paper, I began grabbing the ingredients from the fridge and pantry.

>“Why are your forelegs like that, Anon?” she asked me as I carried the bag of flour to the prep station.

>Looking down, I made sure to double check that the bag was in my grasp.

“You can’t see the bag of flour in my hand?” Pinkie shook her head, eyeing me weirdly.

>More and more questions began to ferment inside my head as I readied to pour the flour into the giant mixer along with the other ingredient necessary to make the dough.

>“What kind of flour are you putting in?” Pinkie questioned before I could pour the bag.

>Looking at the cover, I read it aloud.

“Pastry flour.”

>Pinkie’s eyes widened to the size of saucer plates.

>“Nononono! You never put pastry flour for bread!” she shrieked, trying to swat my hands away from the bag, even though it was proven before that she would not succeed at such a feat.

>“We need to use all-purpose flour. The bread is supposed to be chewy, not flaky. Besides, we have to mix all the dry ingredients before we put in the flour!”

>Wrenching the bag away from the machine, I ventured back into the pantry and looked around.

>Sure enough, the flour packages looked the same but held different labels.

>This entire operation would have been ruined if it hadn’t been for that mare.

>I don’t want to bore you with the details on how to make bread, (that, and I’m too lazy to write it out) but I have to say, Pinkie Pie certainly knew how to bake, even if she’s a horse.

>Also, a note to those who read this: don’t call them horses.

>If Pinkie could actually make contact with me, I would have had my ass h̶a̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ hoofed to me.

>Apparently it’s a racial slur of some sorts, like calli—I’m not finishing that. I’m not racist.

>Once the timer rang, I pulled the bread from the oven and proceeded to cut them into slices before bagging them.

>The bell on the front door rang as I finished packaging the last loaf, so I grabbed it and headed to the sale’s floor.

>An elderly man of no less than seventy walked in, showing clear signs of struggle as he held his cane for support.

“Good morning, Mr. Jennings,” I naturally greeted.

>He wore a weary smile as he grabbed the counter to hold himself up.

>The old man came in every day, bought a loaf of bread, and wobbled back to his apartment four buildings down the street.

>He was a good man; he always gave me a tip for “keeping the place spotless”.

>I honestly think he just wanted to get rid of his money because he had nothing else to do with it, being so old.

>“Morning Anon!” he croaked, bearing a toothless grin. “Where’s Eddy? Is he sick today?”

>I rubbed my shoulder awkwardly, trying to figure out how to tell this man his favorite baker was gone for good.

>“Who’s he?” piped a squeaky voice behind me.

>I had completely forgot about Pinkie Pie.

“Eddy... is no longer with us,” I said, wearing an uneasy expression as I ignored Pinkie.

>Mr. Jenning’s eyes widened, completely taken off guard.

>“I’m so sorry to hear that! I was certain that I would end up going before he did.”

>It took a moment to realize what he said, and when I did, I couldn’t help but slap myself for it.

>“It’s okay, Anon! He’s in a better place now!” Pinkie cooed, trying to soothe my pain with a stroke of her hoof across my leg.

>So badly did I want to swat her away; she wasn’t making the situation any better for me.

“No no, Mr. Jennings, Eddy quit.”

>He began to chuckle at the misunderstanding before slapping the counter.

>“Boy, you had me going there for a moment,” he laughed, trying to regain his composure. “Well, I guess I’ll be off then. I know Offa can’t bake to save his life, so I won’t eat anything he makes.”

>As he grabbed his cane again, I reached into the bag of bread and pulled out a slice.

>I couldn’t let one of biggest customers just leave and never come back!

“Actually, I made the bread today.”

>I saw Pinkie Pie throw me a glare out of the corner of my eye before I could finish my statement.

“With some help, of course.”

>The old man grabbed the slice and bit into it, with what small amount of teeth he had left.

>For what felt like forever, he stood there, chewing away at it, his indifferent expression changing to a relieved one.

>“Wow,” was all he said.

>I didn’t know what to feel; he was either mocking me because he thought it was going to be horrible, or he was genuinely amazed that it didn’t taste like crap.

>All I did know was that he handed me a five dollar bill and grabbed the bag before thanking me and making his way for the door.

>“Have a good day!” Pinkie squealed, making me jump for the umpteenth time today.

>Shaking my head, I made my way back to kitchen, but not before hearing, “I will!” as the door closed.

>Wrenching my neck back towards the door, I stood there for a moment, watching the old walk down the street and away from the store.

>So badly did I want to run out after him and ask the question that was irked me.

>“Did he just hear me?” Pinkie asked, looking at me with excitement.

>Before I could even think of an answer, she bolted out of the building and towards the old man as I stood there in awe.

>For the rest of the day, I performed my usual duties while waiting for either of the two to come back: cleaning, selling, and generally sitting on my ass.

>But neither of them showed.

>As I mark off this day in my journal, I leave one note to remind myself if I ever forget.

I am not alone.

 

 

~x~ Chapter 2 ~x~

 

>It's been three days since my last entry and there's a good reason why: nothing interesting happened.

>Three days, and the most important thing that happened was that I stubbed my toe on the prep table making a loaf of bread.

>But that's beside the point.

>Today, as I walked like the mindless zombie I am to work, I ran into Pinkie again.

>She sat in the middle of the road outside the bakery, waiting like an obedient dog for his master.

>I'd say I was a bit concerned, what with the rain pouring overhead and cold chill in the wind, but I wasn't sure if the same was happening in her world.

>If it was, I'm pretty sure that poofy mane of hers would have been drenched.

>As soon as she caught sight of me, she galloped over and attempted to pounce on me with no success.

>One case of head trauma and a bit of consoling later, I somehow got her to calm down.

>Or at least, what I think her version of calm was.

>Pinkie wasn't like all the other ponies; she was... unusual, to say the least.

>While other ponies acted what I could only assume was normal, Pinkie was always bursting with energy and couldn't sit for more than thirty seconds.

>It proved rather difficult when I kept trying to get any bit of information from her.

"What did you find out about Mr. Jennings?"

>Pinkie's smile widened at the mention of the old man's name.

>"Oh! You mean Kibble! He's so funny!"

"Kibble? Like dog food?" I repeated, completely bewildered by the name. "Whatever. So can he hear and see you as well?"

>Pinkie put a hoof to her chin, deep in thought before cracking another huge smile.

>"I have no idea!"

>Smacking my hand against my forehead, I proceeded to rub my temples to vent out my frustration.

>This mare was becoming a workout on her own.

"What do you mean, 'I have no idea'?"

>Pinkie shrugged.

>"I kept asking him questions, but he wouldn't answer any of them."

"Then where were you for three days?"

>It was none of my business to ask, but it was rather difficult to find a ghost amongst ghosts you could talk to.

>Being alone in a sea of ponies to find one that I could actually communicate with was rather refreshing, so it was only natural I'd be concerned about her.

>"Well, I had to go to work at Sugarcube Corner and there was Twilight's party for organizing the library. She wasn't exactly happy about the mess... I had to help Applejack with moving a ton of apples, Celestia wanted to have another tea party, and the giant hydra was running rampant in the swamp again, so I was a bit busy," she said in a quick spurt.

>Shaking my head, I tried to piece together whatever she said, but it was impossible.

>Not only did she speak fast, but half the crap she just said made no sense.

>What the hell was a hydra doing there?

"So you didn't find anything out about Mr. Jennings?"

>"Kibble," she growled, giving me a small glare before turning back to her cheery self.

"So you didn't find anything out about Kibble?"

>Pinkie nodded her head.

>"I did find out today is Kibble's birthday! He’s turning eighty!"

>Before I could even ask the question, she was already answering it.

>"His son called him on the macaroni shaped thing."

>I could only assume she meant a phone.

>"He said he wouldn't be able to see him for his birthday. He sounded really busy, but Kibble was okay with it. Then someone else called and offered him something called 'Viagra'."

>She giggled to herself for a moment before continuing.

>"He slammed the macaroni down and screamed, 'Fucking telemarketers!' It must have been somepony pranking him."

>I felt a tug at my heart hearing her swear.

>Something about an innocent pony saying "fuck" just didn't feel right.

"Pinkie, that's a bad word. Don't ever say that."

>Her ears tilted back like a dog who just got caught soaking the carpet.

>"I'm sorry. I didn't know telemarketers was a bad word."

>At this rate, my forehead was going to fracture from slapping it so much.

>Pinching the bridge of my nose, I readied myself to scold her, but something—or someone—cut me off.

>"Morning, Anonymous."

>Turning around, I looked up at none other than Mr. Offa.

>"Who're you talking to?"

>Standing up, I looked around the street in panic.

"Uh, no one! I just saw... a cat! Yeah!"

>Mr. Offa furrowed his brow, but immediately shrugged it off.

>"Whatever. How have you been the last three days? Did we sell anything?" he asked, a bit of worry evident in his voice.

"Actually, we sold more than usual."

>Mr. Offa did a take back before his mouth dropped in surprise.

"Two days ago, I had to make six extra loaves of bread to keep up with the customers, and yesterday I sold twenty-two."

>A smile etched on his face as he laid one of his huge mitts on my shoulder.

>"I knew I could count on you, buddy!"

>With a heavy pat on the back, he nearly smacked me down to the ground.

>"Not only did you keep me in business, but you actually attracted more customers!"

>I looked out the corner of my eyes at Pinkie, feeling pretty bad about not giving her the credit she deserved.

>The only thing she did was smile at me, bearing her pearly white teeth before whispering, "I only helped. You did all the work," as if Mr. Offa would hear her.

>Turning back to the chubby man, I nodded in agreement, though I still felt bad.

>Mr. Offa guided me towards the front door, muttering to himself about how I would save his business bring it into an age of prosperity and about his new baby, Dill.

>I'd write more about it, but I wasn't really listening at the time.

>I had only one thing on my mind that moment.

>Kibble Jennings.

>As six o'clock rolled by, I pulled the twenty-five loaves from the oven and began slicing them as I drowned out Pinkie's voice (which, mind you, is not an easy task).

>As I finished the last loaf, the front door's bell echoed, cutting Pinkie off.

>Her ears perked as the sound of wood tapping against tile rang throughout the store.

>The only thing I saw was a pink blur as she sprinted off into the next room.

>Bagging one of the loaves, I entered the sale's floor to witness her bouncing around Mr. Jennings.

>"Kibble! I missed you!" she exclaimed, not taking a second to relax.

>Placing the loaf on the counter, I extended my hand out for shake.

"Good morning, Mr. Jennings."

>Pinkie stopped mid-stride and gave me a look that screamed, Say it!

"And happy birthday."

>The old man extended his hand once he made it to the counter and shook mine with a suspicious look plastered across his face.

>"Morning, Anon. How'd you know my birthday was today?"

>Sweat beaded on my forehead as I looked to Pinkie for help.

>She merely shrugged and continued bouncing around the room.

>Wiping the sweat with my forearm, I chuckled and shrugged as well.

"You told me a while back, remember?"

>The old man's face scowled as he eyed me skeptically.

>"I may be an old man, Anonymous, but my memory is still as good as it was sixty years back. I never once told you about my birthday."

>It felt like I had swallowed a rock; the sweat was beginning to run down my face as I picked at my brain for an excuse.

>If this man really couldn't see Pinkie, and he found out I could, I'd definitely be put into a psych ward or something.

"That's right! Mr. Offa told me. Sorry, I must have mixed it up," I lied, letting out a nervous chuckle.

>Kibble raised an eyebrow, still staring me down as if he was digging into my very soul.

>I rubbed the back of my head and pushed the loaf forward.

"Here's your loaf, fresh from the oven."

>His expression changed completely as he reached into the bag, grabbing a slice of bread from the bag and sinking his teeth into it.

>With a crooked smile, he purred like a cat as he chewed on the baked good.

>"Eddy may have had the experience, but he certainly couldn't make bread like you can, boy."

>I felt my cheeks heat up from embarrassment as he chuckled at my uneasy expression.

>"See, he knew how to make bread. But he was like a robot, making bread for the sake of making bread. You... you make it with care. I can taste the time and love you put into it."

>"He learned it from me!" Pinkie blurted, jumping between the two of us.

>It was the truth; she taught me that not only should I take the time and care to make the bread, but I should also put my sweat into into.

>Figuratively, of course.

>"Well, with that, I have to get going now," he said, grabbing his bag and cane.

>As the old man made his way towards the door, my thoughts were screaming at me.

‘Ask him! This may be your only chance!’

>I reached my hand out as Pinkie curiously watched.

"Wait, Mr. Jennings!"

>The old stopped almost instantly, his hand on the door handle.

"Would you mind if I passed by later? You know, to give you your birthday gift?"

>For a moment, he stood there, not saying a word.

>I was afraid he had stopped breathing or finally croaked where he stood.

>"Sure," he whispered before leaving the store.

>I stayed at the counter for a moment, trying to piece together what had just happened.

>Then I realized something.

>I had to get him a gift now.

>Turning to Pinkie, I pointed towards the kitchen.

"Mind helping me make a cake?"

>With a single nod, she followed me into the room as she listed off the things I needed to make the dessert.

>She stopped for a moment as I dug through the small cabinet under my prep station.

>"I thought the flour was in that tree last time," she said, point towards the pantry.

>From that alone, it was safe to say that she couldn't see my world either.

>Pulling the box out, I stupidly showed it to her like she would see it.

>Pinkie stared at my hand in confusion before I read it out loud.

"Cake mix."

>Her eyes dilated as she bit her lower lip, almost like she got sucker punched in the gut.

>"No!" she screamed, making me jump. "Anon, haven't I taught you anything? That's not the proper way! Kibble will know the difference."

>She ran up to swat the container from my hand, only to hit nothing but air.

>Something was wrong though.

>I felt something when she swung at me: soft, luscious fur.

>Pinkie stopped her antics and looked at her hoof.

>It was apparent she felt me too.

>Running my hand over her foreleg, I felt it again as she winced from my hand.

>"That's weird," she mumbled, looking at her foreleg.

>I had to agree with her. I couldn't feel her entirely, but I could make out her fur.

>I'm pretty sure she could feel my skin, too.

>“Whatcha up to, Anon?” said a voice behind me.

>I swear, my manager is a part time ninja.

>As I turned to the heavy set man, he looked down into my hand and smiled.

>“Making a cake, huh? Yeah, you’re gonna need practice if you want to be the baker around here.”

>Two things in one day I didn’t expect to happen now.

“W-wait, you’re making me the baker now?” I stuttered.

>I wasn’t ready for such a responsibility.

>With a heavy laugh, Mr. Offa patted me on the back with his huge mitts.

>“Of course! You seem to have a natural talent for this!”

>As much as I wanted to fight against it, I couldn’t.

>He had helped me in my time of need, so it was time for me to repay the favor.

>Putting a fake smile on, I nodded and looked at the cake mix in my hand.

“Yep, it’s almost as if another voice in my head walk me through it,” I said with an uneasy tone as I glanced over at Pinkie.

>She giggled at my uncomfortable expression as I placed the box back inside the cabinet as my manager chuckled at my joke.

>“Well, be careful back here. If you need to use ingredients, be sure to conserve them. We’ll need them with the small amount of money we have in this place,” he grumbled before sulking out of the room.

>I felt bad for him; the man had a lot on his plate, figuratively speaking.

>I don’t want him reading this and thinking I’m talking about his weight.

>Anyway, after quite a bit of flour, Pinkie’s giggles, a snowman made of dough, and two hours of my time, I finished baking the cake and readied the frosting.

>Grabbing a spatula, I dipped into the frosting and began spreading it on the cake.

>Pinkie looked at me for a moment, her smile slowly fading away as I worked on my first masterpiece.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her, noticing her sudden change in emotion. “Am I doing something wrong?”

>Pinkie shook her head, bringing herself back into focus.

>“Oh, no! You’re doing fine. I was just thinking about Kibble. He’s just so lonely, all by himself in that apartment.”

>I remember her eyes looking over the cake, making her smile again.

>“But once he gets this cake, he’ll be so happy!”

>Nodding my head, I found myself etching a smile.

>It felt good to do something nice for a someone I hardly knew.

>After about fifteen minutes of decorating and trying to figure out how to properly use an icing bag, I finished my project.

>Placing it in the box, I looked up at the clock.

>It was already time for me to close up the shop.

>Poking my head into the manager’s office, I found Mr. Offa fast asleep at his desk.

>It was understandable: the poor guy has been worrying about his wife and store nonstop for the past three days.

>Giving him a nudge, he woke up and look at me wearily.

>“What time is it?” he mumbled, checking his watch.

“Closing time,” I grunted, pointing at the door. “You should get home, Mr. Offa. You need sleep.”

>With a tired nod, he got up and put on his jacket before following me to the front door.

>“Hey, Anonymous.”

>I turned to the man with a confused look.

>“Thanks for helping me out. I’m sorry to drop this all on you so suddenly, but know that I really appreciate your help and dedication.”

“It’s nothing. If anything, I should be thanking you for back then—”

>He raised his hand to interrupt me.

>With a tired smile, he shook his head. I knew how he was.

>He didn’t like bringing up the past, especially when it involved me.

>Shutting my lips, I opened the door and let him out as I carried the box with me.

>Mr. Offa headed to his car and started it up, but not before rolling down his window and asking me a question.

>“You want a ride home? I could imagine how tired you are after today.”

>Shaking my head, I pointed over at the building down the street.

“No, thank you. I have to go visit Mr. Jennings and celebrate his birthday.”

>With a shrug, Mr. Offa rolled up his window and drove away.

>Looking down at my feet, I met eyes with a grinning Pinkie who looked as if she was about to burst from excitement.

>“Oh! We should get some streamers. And balloons. And games. A—”

“Pinkie, Mr. Jennings is an old man. He doesn’t have time for things like that.”

>Pinkie gave me a shocked look as I made my way for the building.

>Looking over the mailboxes, I found the apartment number he lived under.

“Jennings, Kibble.”

>Sure enough, Pinkie was correct on his name.

“Apartment six.”

>As I expected, the apartment was on the ground level.

>Any landlord that gave a man like Mr. Jennings an apartment on a higher level deserved to be beaten with a tactical badger.

>After knocking on the hardwood door, I could hear the sound of a wood meeting tile.

>Pinkie ran off through the door and immediately began yammering on about the surprise I had for him.

>Slowly, the door swung open, revealing the old man.

>“Oh, hello Anon. What brings you here?”

“Your present, sir,” I said, lifting the cake up for him to view.

>He adjusted his glasses and smiled before dipping his finger into the frosting and licking it.

>“Chocolate. My favorite,” he chuckled before moving aside to let me in. “Please, come in.”

>The house smelled... well, like an old person’s home.

>I don’t know what it is they do to create that smell, but it was rather strange that it didn’t change from home to home.

>It was a rather nice place; plenty of nice furnishings, pictures of what I could only assume as friends and family, and one thing that stuck out the most: a single rose, framed right over a table.

>“Please, sit down,” Mr. Jennings said, breaking my train of thought.

>Placing the cake down on the coffee table, I glanced around the apartment.

“I’ll go grab some plates and forks.”

>I ventured into the kitchen and found it rather quickly: the kitchen was rather small.

>Returning with two plates, two forks, and a knife.

>Pinkie threw me a glare as I sat down in the seat across from the old man.

>“You forgot mine, Anon!”

>Giving her a deadpan stare, I handed her mine which her hoof went through.

>With a cheesy smile, she closed her lips before taking a seat next to Mr. Jennings.

>I could feel the tension as Kibble grabbed the knife and cut himself a piece of cake.

>Raising his fork, he placed the morsel into his mouth and slowly chewed.

>“Made from scratch. A little too much sugar, but still good.”

>Breathing a sigh of relief, I grabbed the knife and started cutting my piece.

>“I assume the extra sugar was thanks to our friend here?”

>I nearly dropped the knife.

>Pinkie gave him the same look as my tongue stumbled over my own words.

“You... her... see?”

>He merely nodded and took another bite of his cake.

>“I see them too.”

>I didn’t know what to say or do, for that matter.

>Placing the plate down, I tried to figure it out.

>This man in front of me has been experiencing the same thing for God knows how long and has somehow kept it quiet this entire time.

>So many questions began to race in my head.

>How long has he seen them for?

>Was Pinkie the only one he’s ever interacted with?

>Were we the only two who could see these ponies?

>Before I could even ask a single question, Mr. Jennings placed his plate down on the table and groaned.

>“Ah, been a while since I had something this good. Well, thank you for the cake, but I must be getting to bed soon. Please, come by anytime and visit.”

>He stood up from his chair and made his way toward the front door to show me out as I sat there baffled.

>“Please don’t keep me waiting. I’m an old man, I need my rest,” he insisted, waving his hand towards the door.

>Standing up from the chair, I walked to door, trying to think of a way to keep him from kicking me out.

>As I entered the hallway, I turned around, raising my finger to interject him, but was quickly cut off.

>“I’ll explain everything in due time. It’ll be too much to take at once if I tell you everything at once.”

>And with that, he closed the door and locked it, leaving my brain to buzz like an angry beehive.

 

 

~x~ Chapter 3 ~x~

 

>I couldn’t sleep last night after writing my journal entry.

>No matter what I did, I kept thinking about what Mr. Jennings said.

>It was a relief to know that I wasn’t the only one who had this ‘problem’, but all it really did was raise more questions.

>I looked at my alarm clock to find it was already eleven at night, which would normally be concerning since I have work in the morning, but thankfully tomorrow was my day off.

>Sitting up in my bed, I grabbed my cell phone and looked through my contacts.

>I didn’t have many people in there since I tended to keep to myself.

>The only people I had on my phone were family, coworkers, and my best friend Fernando.

>As I looked through the phone, my fingers seemed to move on their own and open Eddie’s contact.

>I stared at the phone for a couple of minutes before starting a text message.

>”Hey, you mind meeting up with me? I need to talk.”

>After sending the message, I laid my head down, not expecting any sort of reply and hoping to drift into a wonderful slumber.

>Several moments later, my phone vibrated, its screen light illuminating the room.

>With a heavy arm, I reached over and grabbed the device to see his name displayed on the screen.

>”Yea meet me @ the usual place.”

>I cringed for a moment. Most phones nowadays came with full keyboards, so typing out a message like this was just plain retarded.

>Excuse my pet peeve; just felt I should put that out there.

>Anyway, I got up and threw on some casual clothing—a t-shirt and some jeans—and headed out towards ‘the usual place’.

>It was some shitty bar down the street by the name of Pour House.

>During the weekends, the place was filled with college kids looking to get drunk, but during weekdays, the place was deserted except for the usual alcoholics, one of them being Eddie.

>As I sulked through streets, I watched as a few ponies walked around.

>Some tired, some drunk, just like their human counterparts who were dragging their feet along the sidewalk.

>Once I reached the bar, I opened the door and retched from the smell.

>A cloud of smoke from the cigarettes and cigars rushed into my nostrils and mouth, causing me to almost vomit where I stood.

>Taking in one last breath of fresh air, I entered the building and looked around.

>Older men, around the age of fifty or sixty, sat at the bar, taking sips of beer from their mugs and complaining about how my generation was nothing like theirs.

>A man in his early forties sat in the corner, slowly picking at his rugged beard.

>He beckoned me over, a smile creeping onto his face.

>As I took a seat, he signalled the bartender with a wave of the hand.

>“Anon! How’ve you been? Mr. Offa treating you alright?”

>Shuffling in my seat, I gave him a deathly glare.

“Well, since you bailed on us, I’ve been the one doing all the work around the place.”

>Eddie placed a hand on my shoulder with a shit-eating grin stretched across his face.

>“I didn’t bail on you guys. I told you everyday, didn’t I? T—”

“—his place isn’t for me, I gotta get out of here. Yeah, I remember,” I groaned. “I just didn’t think you would do it.”

>Before I could get any further into it, a familiar face popped up over my shoulder.

>“Is he crying again?”

>Placing my hand over his face, I shoved him back into the table behind me and withheld my chuckle.

>The scruffy looking guy picked himself up and wiped the dust from his clothing before taking a seat next to me.

“What are you doing here, Fernando?” I said, scooting over to give him more room.

>Fernando is a… special character.

>Not Pinkie special, but special nonetheless.

>If there was anyone who you could rely on in a pickle, it was this disheveled man.

>“Eddie told me you needed to talk about something.”

>His cheery expression quickly dissipated only to be replaced by a glare.

>“It’d be nice if you came to best friend with your problems instead of this schmuck.”

>Eddie grins at Fernando as the bartender places three mugs on the table, filled to the brim with beer.

>He didn’t hesitate to grab the cup and chug his beer.

>Fernando glanced at me with a crooked smirk and followed in suit.

>I’m not a big fan of beer, but it always tastes better with good company.

>I grabbed my mug and proceeded to down the bitter liquid, trying my best to match their speed.

>Slamming the cup down on the table, I gasped for air.

>The two guys rolled their eyes at my pathetic display.

>“So, what’s up, Anon? Talk to me,” Eddie whispered, not wanting the other people in bar to hear me.

>The last thing we needed was the gossiping old men spreading rumors around town.

>Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward, placing my arms on the table.

>“Mr. Offa made me the baker.”

>Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise.

>“He’s closing the place down. isn’t he? Fuck, I knew the place was going to go in the shitter once I left, but—”

>Raising my hand up, I interrupted him.

“On the contrary. We’re actually pulling in more business than before.”

>I swear, if it were possible, Eddie’s eyes would have popped out of his head.

>“Way to go!”

>Fernando’s smile couldn’t be any wider as he slammed his hand against my back in celebration.

>“Hey, barkeep! Open a tab and get us some tequila!”

>Eddie leaned in towards me, a look of pure malice plastered across his face.

>“Whatcha trying to say, Anon?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

>“He’s saying you’re a shit baker,” Fernando joked, playfully pushing him back.

>Eddie chuckled as he patted on my shoulder with a grin.

>“I’m just fucking with you, man. That’s good to hear. I never expected you to be a baker.”

“Neither did I,” I muttered under my breath.

>The credit really belonged to Pinkie, but they couldn’t find out about that.

>To be honest, I think they’d be more concerned about why I was seeing and hearing technicolor equines over how one taught me to bake bread and cakes.

“The thing I wanted to talk to you about is Kibble.”

>Eddie’s happy mood evaporated as the sound of the name.

>“You mean the old man? That bastard hasn’t croaked yet?”

>I tilted my head, taken aback by the statement.

>This was the first time I ever heard Eddie having any resentment toward Mr. Jennings.

>As the bartender placed the bottle of tequila and three shot glasses down on the table, I regained my composure.

“No. I never knew you had a beef with the guy.”

>Eddie grabbed the bottle of mexican poison and began pour it into the shot glasses before passing them out.

>“Don’t get me wrong: I don’t hate the guy, but if he were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t miss him.”

>Well, there went that plan of finding anything out about Kibble.

>With a flick of the wrist, he downed the bitter liquid and grunted, trying to keep it down.

>As we clinked our glasses in a toast, I stared at the drink.

>I’m not a big drinker, so that stuff would hit my head pretty hard and fast.

>But tomorrow was a day off, so I didn’t really care. Lifting my head up, I downed the bitter liquid and resisted the urge to puke.

>Now, as I said before, I’m not a big drinker, but I’m pretty sure any person that downs six shots of tequila, three mugs of beer, and a glass of whiskey on the rocks would be pretty fucked up.

>I don’t remember much about the rest of the night, but I do remember one thing.

>As I was stumbling out of the bar, trying to find any fixated object to hold me up, I noticed something.

>One of the few ponies that were still lurking around the streets caught my eye.

>I couldn’t make out her coat color or anything, but I did notice her eyes.

>Those tangelo tinted eyes locked onto me and, for a moment, I felt as if time stopped.

>We stood there for a couple of minutes before Fernando broke my line of sight, screaming something about his mother’s back pimple.

>I’ll be honest: I’m glad I don’t remember that.

>When I woke up in the morning, I performed my usual morning routine and headed outside to head down to the pharmacy.

>I have to say, the sun is one of the hungover man’s worst enemy, but nothing will beat the infamous Pinkie Pie.

>Her voice made nails scratching chalkboards seem like paradise.

>“Morning Anon!”

>I covered my ears and shook my head.

“Pinkie, please. Keep your voice down. I have a massive headache.”

>“Okay!” she exclaimed, her volume level still staying the same. “By the way, Kibble wants to see you as soon as possible.”

>My heart sank a bit upon hearing that.

>The fact that Pinkie was being used as a middleman—middlemare, whatever you want to call it—seemed a bit jarring.

>But I shrugged it off and made my way to the old man’s apartment anyway.

>Standing at the door, I gave it a few sharp knocks and waited.

>For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

>The sound of his wooden cane hitting the floor made me jump a bit; I had expected the worst with his old age.

>“Anon, please, come in.”

>The smell that I called “old people home” washed over my nose as I entered the apartment and took a seat.

>Kibble took some time to return to his seat, what with his difficulty in the walking department.

>Pinkie Pie bounced on around him on his venture, spitting out words of encouragement along the way.

>“Come on Kibble! You’re almost there!”

>The old man put on a scowl that could scare off any man.

>Even I debated on dashing out of there.

>“Pinkie, I can see how far I am from the freakin’ couch. I don’t need your view on it!”

>I tried my hardest to suppress a chuckle, but it was rather hard.

>Mr. Jennings finally reached his destination, but not before taking another five minutes to sit down on the seat.

>I offered help, but all it did was aggravate him further.

>“I can take care of myself! I’ve been doing it for sixty-two years and I can do it for another day!” he barked, swatting my hand away.

>Backing up, I took a seat and waited for him to finally plop his ass on the seat.

>He looked at the table and groaned.

>“I forgot the tea. I’ll be right bac—”

“I’ll get it,” I interrupted, quickly jumping to my feet.

>I didn’t feel like sitting there for another hour just to get a cold cup of tea.

>Grabbing a kettle, I boiled the water and preparing a tray with the essentials.

>With the tray in hand, I walked back to the living room and placed it on the coffee table before noticing that the old man was out cold.

>I hesitated for a moment, debating on whether I should wake the man up or not.

>Pinkie, being a devious, little prankster, grabbed a trumpet from out of nowhere, taking in a long draw of air.

“Pinkie,” I growled through my teeth, “Don’t do that! He might have a heart attack!”

>Her muzzle stopped short of the mouthpiece before letting all the air out of her lungs.

>The old man’s eyes shot open as he looked at the current scene before him.

>“Ah, the tea’s here,” he whispered, grabbing the kettle and pouring himself a cup.

>I can’t say I wasn’t a tad worried when he reached for the piping hot kettle, but he proved himself to be capable of pouring himself a cup without killing himself.

“So.. you wanted to see me, Mr. Jennings?”

>Kibble raised the teacup to his lips and took a sip before giving me a disgruntled look.

>“You’re the one who wanted to ask me questions, were you not?” he snapped after drinking a bit of tea.

>Grabbing my cup, I nervously chuckled and nodded my head.

>There was something about this old man that made him loveable, but frightening at the same time.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t know where to start.”

>I rubbed my hand against my chin, deep in thought.

“How long have you been able to see them?”

>“Thirty years. Thirty, long, hard years. I thought it was the old age finally kicking in, but I wasn’t the only one either.”

>He turned to Pinkie and pointed at her.

>“And she isn’t the first one to notice me, either.”

>He pointed up at the large frame with a rose in it.

>“She was a special one, she was. One of the greatest mares I ever met.”

>It felt as if I was possessed as I got up and walked over to the frame. I looked at the flower inside, trying to see what was so great about it.

>For moment, I sat there trying to get what it meant, but found myself asking anyway.

“What’s so significant about this rose?”

>The old man chuckled before taking another sip of tea.

>“She gave me that rose.”

>I found myself staring at the plant in awe.

>This old man had some sort of connection with their world and he clearly knew something I didn’t.

“How?”

>“Friendship. Sounded like horse shit to me—no offense to you,” he added, turning to Pinkie, “but the more you bond with these creatures, the more real they become.”

>That explained why I could almost feel Pinkie yesterday.

“Who was the mare that you ended up befriending to receive this?”

>Kibble stopped pouring his second cup of tea and stared at me with a look that made a puppy seem evil.

>He then looked down at his drink and sighed.

>“Her name was Celestia.”

 

 

~x~ Chapter 4 ~x~

 

>There are two things I learned that night.

>One was that Pinkie is easy to excite.

>Now, I know that I’ve had that experience before, but not like this.

>If Pinkie had been an entity of this world, poor Kibble’s room would be trashed.

>At the mention of this ‘Celestia’, her eyes widened and I’m pretty sure her lungs popped from how much air she took in from that gasp.

>Which brings me to the second thing I learned: Kibble does not like noise.

>Especially high pitched, excited squeals from a certain pink pony.

>The instant Pinkie went into her frenzy, Kibble’s mood went from slightly grumpy to downright infuriated.

>I was rushed out of the house as Pinkie continued to wreak havoc in the old man’s apartment.

>Honestly, I still don’t see why I was the one who needed to be thrown out, but it was probably best to do what the geezer wanted if I wanted to learn more about this… problem.

>Everything was normal from that point on: I went to the pharmacy to get something for my hangover and sat at home watching episodes of Breaking Bad that have been on my DVR for the past month.

>When night time came around, I laid in my bed, looking up at the same ceiling that I saw every night, thinking the same things that I always thought, and finally passed out.

>When I woke up in the morning, my headache was gone, the dryness in my mouth was no longer there, and I felt like I did every other morning where I didn’t drink my liver into a coma.

>The walk to the bakery was like usual: early morning people and ponies were out and about, performing their morning routines, looking completely exhausted.

>I couldn’t blame them; no one wants to be up early in the morning.

>“Morning Anon!” piped a certain pink abomination as I entered the bakery.

>She had her signature smile stretched across her face, stretching from ear to ear.

>Pinkie could be annoying sometimes, but one look at that smile will get one to creep onto your face before you know it.

“Morning,” I grunted, taking off my coat and hat.

>Pinkie hopped over to me, extending her forelegs for a hug.

“Pinkie, that won’t work. I can’t physically touch you,” I reminded her.

>Instead of using common sense and agreeing with me, she shot me a dirty glare and pouted, crossing her forelegs like a spoiled child.

“It’s the thought that counts,” she growled, turning her head away in frustration.

>I couldn’t help but laugh at her expense. Kneeling down to her level, I spread out my arms and wrapped them around her.

>Her eager smile returned as she followed in suit.

>My arms went straight through her, sending an eerie chill down my spine.

>It felt so strange, like ‘jumping into a pool filled with cotton balls’ strange.

>Pinkie’s smile didn’t fade, but I could tell she was a bit upset that she couldn’t feel the hug.

>The smile didn’t mean squat when her eyes screamed of desire.

>The hair on the back of my neck prickled as the front door’s bell rang, signalling a customer.

“Sorry, we’re not open ye—”

>I stopped my statement as I met eye to eye with Mr. Offa.

>He stared at me with a furrowed brow, trying to grasp the scene before him.

>“Anon, what’re you doing?”

>I looked over to Pinkie, then back to Mr. Offa.

“There was something on the floor,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I was just picking it up.”

>“Where is it now?”

>I’m pretty sure my heart stopped right there.

>Swallowing hard, I dug into my pockets, looking for anything that could be classified as evidence to show the man.

>Of course, the only thing in my pocket was my cell phone and wallet and the one time I wanted there to be some lint, there wasn’t.

>Cursing under my breath, I shrugged and looked down at the floor.

“You got me, Mr. Offa.”

>The chubby man moved forward and placed one of his heavy hands on my shoulder.

>His face showed genuine concern as he let out an exasperated sigh.

>“Anon, I know you have a lot on your plate. If something’s wrong don’t be afraid to tell me. I can help you.”

>Looking up at him, I felt that I needed to tell him everything.

>About Kibble, about my problem, about Pinkie; if I got it all of my chest, maybe he would understand and I might have a chance of not being sent off to the looney bin.

>Swallowing hard, I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself.

“I threw the trash over there.”

>His head did a take back as I pointed to a small gap between the counter and the wall.

>He looked back at me, completely bewildered.

>“Beg your pardon?”

“I haven’t had the will to clean up lately, being a baker and all, so I’ve been kinda slacking on my porter duties. I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

>Mr. Offa shook his head again as if he was trying to reconfigure his brain.

>Taking his hand off my shoulder, he let out a distraught sigh and rolled his eyes.

>“There’s no need to get all high-strung about it Anon. I don’t want you overworking yourself. How about I put an ad in the paper to get some help around here?”

>I felt a little bad for lying, but I just couldn’t tell him about it; it would sound crazy.

>It is crazy.

“Well, I’d say yes, but are we really in the position to hire more people? I mean, money is tight—”

>Mr. Offa raised his hand and put on a sinister grin.

>Tension filled the air as his smile began to scare me.

>Last time he gave me a smile like this, we had the local mafia knocking at his store window with a brick.

>“Since I appointed you as the new baker, our numbers have gone up dramatically. We have enough for the rent, even! So as long as you keep baking like you do, we’ll be fine with an extra pair of hands.”

>Even though I was more than happy to help Mr. Offa out, I didn’t really like his plan.

>What if something happened to me and I wasn’t able to work for him any more?

>His business would sink like a rock if he depended on me alone.

>But boss man gets what boss man wants.

>I just nodded my head, grabbed a dustpan and hand broom, and cleaned as much dust as possible from the gap as possible to make my white lie seem like the truth.

>Mr. Offa didn’t even bother to see if it was there or not; he just went off into his office to do God knows what for the next eight hours.

>As I entered the kitchen, the smell of flour and baked goods consumed my nose.

>My skin tingled as I readied myself to start the bread for the day.

>“Ready to start the day, Anon?” Pinkie asked, her pearly whites shining from under her huge smile.

>I nodded and threw on my apron.

>Dumping a bag of flour into the mixer, I prepared all the ingredients according to how Pinkie taught me.

>Her method did not disappoint: not only did it produce an edible loaf of bread, but it actually tasted good, too.

>While I waited for the mixer to do its work, I turned to Pinkie, who sat next to me, humming a cheery tune.

“Hey, Pinks. Mind if I ask you a few questions? I’ve been curious about your world and how it works.”

>Pinkie cut her song short before cracking a devilish grin.

>“Sure, but you have to answer any questions I have about humans.”

“Deal.”

>Grabbing a filter and some coffee grounds, I began making a cup of coffee for myself.

“So, what’s with that tattoo on your butt?” I asked.

>Pinkie turns her head to look at her flank before giggling.

>“That’s not a tattoo, silly! That’s my cutie mark!”

>I gave her a confused stare that she quickly picked up on.

>“Our cutie mark appears on our flank when we discover our super duper special talent.”

>I watched as the coffee pot started filling up with the bitter black liquid before moving onto the next question.

“Who’s this Celestia that you got all excited about yesterday?”

>Pinkie gave me disgusted look, like I met her grandmother behind a 7 Eleven for a favor.

>“It’s Princess Celestia. She’s only the ruler of all of Equestria! And she promised to come down to Ponyville in three days to visit you and Kibble.”

>I couldn’t help myself from chuckling.

“Ponyville? Is that seriously the nam—”

>My laughter was stopped short as my brain finally processed what she said.

>The ruler?

>Coming to visit?

“Pinkie, when were you planning to tell me this?! Why didn’t you bother asking me first?” I asked, a little concerned about this sudden event.

>The mare put a hoof to her chin and looked up to the sky, deep in thought before breaking out a smile.

>“I don’t know.”

>I facepalmed so hard that I was pretty sure I gave myself a brain aneurysm. This pony was going to be the death of me.

“Next time you decide something important like that, can you—I don’t know—maybe consult me next time?”

>Pinkie nodded her head wildly.

>“Okie dokie!”

>I let out a distraught sigh before opening the fridge to grab some cream for my coffee.

>As I poured the caffeine-infused drink into my cup, I asked one more question.

“I know nothing about you, Pinkie. What’s your story?”

>Pinkie’s smile faded as the question escaped my lips.

>I couldn’t help but feel like I touched a bad nerve, so I raised my hand and shook my head.

“Forget it. We’ll talk about it another time.”

>Pinkie nodded her head and her signature grin found its way back onto her face.

>Grabbing the coffee pot and a mug, I poured my breakfast and added the necessary ingredients to make it just right.

“I guess that’ll do for now. You got any questions?” I asked before taking a sip.

>“Oh! Yeah, I have one. What does ‘fifteen for a tuggy’ mean?”

>Coffee erupted from my mouth like an angry volcano. Her question completely threw me off.

“Where did you hear that from?” I stammered, trying not to laugh.

>The mare pointed towards the street with her hoof.

>“Some human girl last night was asking a human boy who was sitting in midair that last night.”

>I assume by ‘sitting in midair’, she meant someone in their car.

>“She didn’t wear the normal clothes that most girls do. Her’s were too small on her.”

>I looked around the room, unable to make eye contact with Pinkie.

>How was I supposed to explain to her what a prostitute was?

“She was, uh… She wanted a partner for… tug-of-war. For fifteen minutes. That’s it!”

>I gave her the most forced smile I could muster.

>Her eyelids lowered and her brow furrowed.

>It was like she was searching deep into my eyes to ensure I wasn’t lying.

>I could feel the sweat developing across my forehead and slowly fall down my face.

>Her glare dug deeper into my soul, almost as if she had some sort of superpower.

>“Okay! That makes sense!”

>Her elated expression appeared instantly as I let out a relieved sigh and wiped the sweat from forehead.

>“I’ll ask Dashie if she wants a ‘fifteen for a tuggy’ later.”

>To this day, I hope that this “Dashie” character is as naive as her pink counterpart, because if she’s not, that’ll be one awkward conversation.

>I took a few paper towels and cleaned up my little spit take before returning to the mixer.

>The dough was ready for baking and just in time: there was only an hour left before the morning rush came in.

>Turning to Pinkie, I pointed at my wrist to signal the time.

“The morning rush is coming in soon.”

>As I peeked into the oven to check if the bread was its golden brown, one more question crept into my head.

“Hey Pinkie?”

>The mare looked up from the ground and tilted her head like a engrossed puppy.

“Don’t you have work or something to do throughout the day?”

>Pinkie nodded her head and smiled.

>“Yep!”

>Silence filled the room as I stood there staring at the mare, waiting for her to continue.

>She didn’t.

“Shouldn’t you go to it?”

>Pinkie nodded, but didn’t move from her spot.

>Again, I waited for something to happen, only to be disappointed.

>With a shrug, I turned back to the oven and peeked again.

>The bread was ready, so I turned back to grab my necessary tools.

>Something was different, though.

>Pinkie was missing.

“Pinkie?” I asked out loud, trying to find the pony.

>I looked around the kitchen trying to find her with no success.

“Pinkie?”

>“Who’s Pinkie?”

>My heart skipped as I turned to the doorway to find Mr. Offa standing in it.

>I didn’t know what to do; my hands were shaking, my body refused to move, and my brain just went dead.

>Mr. Offa raised an eyebrow and made his way towards me.

>He raised his hand and pressed it against my forehead.

>“Anon, are you alright? You haven’t been your usual self since the day I made you the baker.”

>My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

>I couldn’t say—or think of, for that matter—a word to get me out of this predicament.

>It was almost like the gods had chose me as their toy that day.

>The front door’s bell rang, knocking some sense back into me.

“I-I’m fine, Mr. Offa. R-Really, I am. I have to take c-c-care of that customer,” I stuttered, sliding around the hefty man.

>With two left feet, I stumbled into the storefront and took my position behind the counter.

>A guy in his early twenties stood there, looking bored out of his mind.

“How can I help you?” I asked, putting on a smile.

>The guy looked up at me with his glossy, green eyes and pointed at the front window.

>A sign reading, “HELP WANTED” sat across it.

>I hadn’t noticed it when I came in that morning, so Mr. Offa must have put it up when I making the bread.

“Mr. Offa!” I screamed, making the guy jump.

>“Hey Anon! I got something to show you!” said a familiar voice, making me jump.

>Pinkie stood beside me with her mouth slightly open, almost as if something was in her mouth.

>The guys eyes shot to Pinkie’s position then back to me.

>It was almost as if...

>“Are you here for the porter position?”

>We both jumped as Mr. Offa came in from behind me and extended his hand to the young man.

>The guy nodded, not uttering a word and shook his hand. Mr. Offa smiled and guided him to the office.

>“I have some time, so let’s have a quick interview, yes?” The two made their way into the office, slamming the door behind them.

>Turning back to Pinkie, I looked down at the ground where she ‘placed’ something.

>“Isn’t it cool?!” she exclaimed.

>I stood there for a moment, trying to see what she was talking about before remember something.

>I couldn’t.

“I don’t know, I can’t see it,” I replied with a monotonous tone.

>I had more pressing matters on my mind.

>Like that guy’s reaction to Pinkie.

 

 

~x~ Chapter 5 ~x~

 

>I’ve noticed that a lot happened ever since I met Pinkie. More than usual, at that.

>On top of Mr. Offa thinking I finally lost it and finding out Kibble has the same “problem” as me, this new guy came back the next day with Mr. Offa’s arm around his shoulder.

>“Anon, I’d like you to meet Marios.”

>I extended my arm out for a handshake, which he hesitated to grab.

>After the awkward greeting, Mr. Offa handed him a broom and pointed outside.

>“How about we start you off with something simple, hm? All you have to do is sweep the leaves off the sidewalk.”

>With what I could only interpret as a nod, Marios made his way outside and started doing as he was told.

>Mr. Offa turned to me with a massive smile stretched across his face.

>His heavy mitt landed on my shoulder, nearly knocking me down.

>“This is great!” he boomed, his voice echoing throughout the store. “Now that we have an extra pair of hands, you’ll be able to focus on baking and customers.”

>He leaned in close, mere inches from my face.

>“You can relax now. There’s no need to worry about cleaning up any more, okay?”

>Giving him a reluctant nod, he patted my back, knocking the air out of my lungs.

>I was one for playing rough, but Mr. Offa clearly didn’t know his own strength.

>He made his way to his office, making sure to close his door loud enough to make me acknowledge it.

>I let out an exasperated sigh before heading into the kitchen and starting the usual routine.

>I couldn’t help but look around the room, hoping that Pinkie would show up at any moment.

>If anything, I could use her company right about now.

>As I walked about the kitchen, grabbing supplies and tools, I kept glancing out of the kitchen doorway to check on Marios.

>His dull expression was almost depressing to look at.

>How the hell did this guy convince Mr. Offa to give him a job?

>“Hiya, Anon!” squeaked an all-too-familiar voice.

>I looked around the room, trying to find the pink equine with no success.

“Where are you Pinkie?” I asked, frantically searching, checking inside each cabinet for any sign of her.

>No matter what I looked through, I couldn’t find her.

>“Over here!” she giggled as I follow the sound of her voice.

>Closer and closer, her laughter grew louder.

>I was already out of the kitchen at this point and in the hallway headed towards Mr. Offa’s office.

“Pinkie,” I growled, making sure to keep my voice down, “get over here. I’m gonna get in trouble if I go that way.”

>Pinkie pounced through the wall, aiming straight at me.

>Naturally, I ducked; instinct made me do it, I swear.

>With a loud “thump”, I banged my head against the wall and fell on my ass.

>“Are you alright?” I heard as I rubbed my head.

>Behind me, Marios stood at the end of the hallway, broom in hand and eyebrow raised.

>I stood back up and nervously chuckled.

“I’m fin—”

>“Ooh! The quiet guy is back!” Pinkie blurted, cutting me off.

>I shot her a glare before looking back at Marios, who was inspecting the spot where Pinkie stood.

>His eyes kept shifting between Pinkie and myself, making me more and more nervous with each glance.

>Pinkie imitated his action, looking between me and Marios, her smile wide and devious.

“A-All done with the leaves?” I stuttered, trying to break the silence.

>He continued to stare me down, not uttering a word.

>All he did was nod slowly before turning back to the storefront, his eyes not breaking from mine until his head had completely turned.

>Marios disappeared from view as I bolted towards the bathroom. Pinkie followed not far behind, her elated expression now gone.

>“Anonymous? Is everything alright?”

>I don’t know why I ran into the bathroom, or why my hands were shaking, but something didn’t feel right.

>Something about this guy made me nervous, more than anyone I ever met before.

>It was like he could read my mind, but wouldn’t tell me he could.

>Turning on the sink, I splashed some cold water onto my face and took a deep breath.

>“Anonymous…?”

>I brought myself back to Earth and looked down at Pinkie.

>Concern was plastered across her face.

>“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, drying my face with my apron. “I’m just overthinking the situation, is all.”

>Pinkie pursed her lips.

>“Are you sure?”

>I nodded.

>Pinkie wouldn’t understand.

>She couldn’t.

>If people were to find out about my little issue, I’d be strapped into a straitjacket, cooped up in a small room covered from corner to corner in soft padding.

>I could only imagine that the worst she would get is a strange stare from another pony.

>From the way she describes her world, strange things are always happening.

>Exiting the bathroom, I made my way to kitchen and continued making bread, occasionally keeping an eye out for Marios.

>The entire time I had Pinkie rambling on about something, pounding my eardrums.

>I wasn’t listening, to be honest: I was more concerned about the guy who could possibly see her.

>So concerned, I didn’t even notice the bag in my hand was pastry flour before I poured it in.

“Damn it,” I muttered, digging into the mixer with my hands.

>Scooping the flour out into the empty bag, I cursed relentlessly under my breath.

>Pinkie continued her onslaught of stories and personal philosophies as the vein in my forehead began to twitch.

>If I wanted to be quiet, I couldn’t talk to her, especially with Marios roaming around, but so badly did I want to tell her to shut up.

>No living creature should have had this much interest in the pronunciation of the word “éclair”.

>“Oh! I almost forgot!” Pinkie exclaimed, just as I finished digging out the flour. “Princess Celestia wants me to take her to visit you and Kibble tomorrow at around sunset.”

>“Tomorrow? You told me Celestia was coming by in three days. What’s with the sudden change in plans?”

“Celestia?”

>I felt an eerie chill run down my spine as the name was parroted back at me.

>Slowly, I turned my head and locked eyes with Marios, who stood in the doorway.

>His eyes were wider than your grandmother’s panties and the creepy smile on his face didn’t help calm me down either.

>“Then it is true. You are the chosen one!”

>At this point, I was tempted to just stick my head in the mixer and flip the switch.

>It was all over.

>My job, my life: they were all going to be  dropped for a straitjacket and a cushioned room. Marios advanced and kneeled down beside me before doing something I didn’t expect.

>He bowed down to me.

>I stood there, mouth gaping as this man laid his head on the ground, praising me like god.

>Pinkie turned to me, clearly just as confused as I was.

>She pointed her hoof at him, asking me what he was doing.

>I shrugged and shook my head: her guess was a good as mine!

>“Anonymous Unknown!”

>I began sweating bullets at the mention of my full name.

>I don’t remember giving it to him.

>“We have been watching from afar, questioning whether the prophecy was true. And it is! This is a glorious day!”

>I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

>All I had was a single question beating my brain into a pulp.

“What?”

>Marios lifted himself up, leaning in with his lips puckered, aimed for my cheek.

>I slapped him as soon as I realized what he was trying to do.

“At least take me out to dinner first!”

>Marios collected himself and cleared his throat before standing back up.

>“My apologies. I got excited. Allow me to explain. I am a follower of the Invisible Pink Unicorn.”

“Invisible Pink Unicorn?” I repeated. “Isn’t that like the Flying Spaghetti Monster?”

>“Please don’t compare us to those peasants,” he snapped with a scowl. “We are a serious group who have foretold that one day a man would be meeting with the unicorn Celestia who would open the gateway to the promised land of Equestria where we will live in peace for all eternity!”

>To have Pinkie give someone the look she gave him, it would be safe to assume that he were crazy.

>Pinkie turned to me, her eyebrows raised and mouth wide open.

>“Celestia isn’t pink, though,” she mumbled, obviously confused.

>I turned back to Marios, awaiting his response. He stood there, smiling dumbly.

>I looked between him and the mare before realizing the obvious.

>He couldn’t see or hear her.

>To confirm my suspicion, I asked, “Did you hear her?”

>He looked at me in bewilderment before his eyes darted around the room.

>“T-The Invisible Pink Unicorn is among us?” he stammered, frantically searching for the non-existent being.

>He got the invisible and pink part correct, at least.

“No... but one of her fellow ponies are,” I replied. “Now let me ask you a question. What did you mean you’ve been ‘watching me from afar’?”

>Marios nervously scratched the back of his head, refusing to make eye contact with me.

>“That’s not important right now. What matters is that you contact the princess so you can fulfill the prophecy.”

>Avoiding my question was something that gets on my nerves.

>This guy was weird, even by my standards.

>Obviously he knew more than he was telling me.

“If you want me to ‘fulfill the prophecy’, I suggest you tell me what I want to know. How long have you guys been spying on me?”

>Marios’s eyes shot to the ground as he let out an exasperated sigh.

>“Since the incident with your parents. One of the followers was the psychiatrist who talked with you when you first started seeing your visions.”

>It felt as if my stomach had tied itself into a knot.

>Pinkie gave me an apprehensive look as sweat began to trickle down my face.

>“Anonymous? What’s he talking about?”

>I clenched my fists so hard, I could feel my short fingernails dig into the skin of my palms.

“When I was younger, my parents were killed in a car accident. I walked away with only a few cuts and bruises. I had no other family, so I was left with having to live in an orphanage. It was then I started to see the ponies.”

>Horrible memories began to fill my head as I relived my past.

“When I went for help, they had me talk to a man by the name of Doctor Tiago. He told me my problem wasn’t normal and that I shouldn’t tell anyone about or else they would lock me up forever.”

>Pinkie’s ears tilted back as a frown formed on her face.

>Marios still refused to look from the floor, let alone glance at me.

>Only now did it make sense to me.

>I was being used as a tool for some cult my entire life.

>They preyed on my fear so that I would one day be their puppet.

>It took every ounce of willpower not to rear my arm back and punch this guy in the face.

“Not only did that doctor break the Hippocratic Oath, but he followed me for my entire life.”

>Grabbing the bag of flour, I turned around and headed back to the pantry.

“I have work to do. Leave me alone.”

>For the rest of the morning, no one came to bother me.

>Not Marios, not even Pinkie.

>It was probably obvious that I didn’t want anyone talking to me. I felt like a drone, just walking around doing my job.

>I didn’t feel the enjoyment that I normally felt each day coming into work.

>Bread was no longer a work of art; it was just bread.

>It was apparent to the customers that something was wrong as well.

>When Kibble came by, he took a bite out of a bread loaf and groaned.

>“Anon, what’s wrong?” Mr. Offa asked me around midday.

>He caught me sulking in the kitchen, zoned out as I stared at the mixer.

>I didn’t even bother acknowledging him; I wasn’t in the mood.

>Before long, Mr. Offa shrugged it off and left the kitchen.

>I sat at the prep station, staring at the abomination of a cake I had just baked.

>It was lopsided and the frosting wasn’t even close to being evenly spread.

>Grabbing the dessert, I slammed it in the garbage can, throwing it with all my strength.

>The cake exploded into bits and pieces, sending frosting everywhere.

>I wiped the chucks from my face and strode towards the back door, grabbing my jacket on the way.

>The cold air whipped across my face as I entered the narrow alleyway, making me shiver.

>I looked around at the corner where a few trash cans laid, remembering the day Mr. Offa found me.

>That was possibly the best—and worst—thing to ever happen to me.

>Tears began to swell in my eyes, remembering the day that man offered me a new life, away from hobo lifestyle.

>“Anon…”

>I turned around to see Pinkie standing behind me, her expression uneasy.

>I could feel my legs begin to wobble and before I knew it, I was on the knees crying my eyes out like a baby.

>My voice echoed throughout the quiet alley, scaring off any stray animals and people.

>I couldn’t hold it in any more.

>Years of stress and anxiety came out all at once.

>Instinctively, Pinkie stretched out her forelegs to hug me. There was something wrong though.

>I could feel it.