Title:           Imaginary Friend by Pink
Author:          Anonymous
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/raezbK5g
First Edit:      Friday 12th of September 2014 01:08:10 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 12th of September 2014 01:08:10 AM CDT

Chapter 1
 
>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 Vincent.”
>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 Vincent Panem,” 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, Vinny?” 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 h?a?n?d?e?d? 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 Vinny!” 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, Vinny! 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.
 
 
---
Chapter 2
 
>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, Vincent."
>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, Vinny. 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, Vincent, 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. "Vinny, 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, Vinny?” 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, Vincent.”
>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 Vinny. 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, Vinny!”
>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.