I can't believe it's been more than a month since I first found Pinkie. And wow, has it been a busy one!

One time, I came home from shopping and had bought some paints and easels and cleared out the spare room. It was time Pinkie had a room where she could be the messy pony that she was. This was the only place where I would not be allowed to clean. I placed the easel in the centre of the room and squirt out some coloured paints onto a pallet.

I demonstrated to Pinkie how to paint with my fingers, dipping one into some pink paint and outlining a silhouette of a pony. Pinkie copied, only this time, she made a more clumsy looking figure. She giggled as she continued to paint, and I laid out white sheets of paper on the ground for her to paint on.

Soon, Pinkie had started to jump on the tubes of paint, making the colours squirt out. By late afternoon, it seemed like Pinkie Pie had hit the easel with a paint bomb. Her hair was slightly wavy, but covered in paint, as well as the rest of her body. I sighed and put my hands on my hips, showing a goofy smile. "Pinkie," I tutted.

Lately, she's been going in there a lot. I guess because she is a pony of mess, and I'm a person of OCD, and she feels more at home in there. Her hair though, no matter how often I straighten it, has become wavier. Like, I run my straightening iron over it and with one movement, it bounces back to its wavy state.

But still, Pinkie really hasn't seemed to pick up on the speech thing. I've tried to teach her, but she doesn't seem too keen.

I have also taught Pinkie how to bake. Well, sort of. As long as she cleans up afterwards, I'm okay with her baking. She's mastered the art of chocolate cupcakes and cookies, and is now working on cakes. I've had to make numerous trips to the store for baking supplies, which means I have to take Pinkie along with me, just in case she hurts herself at home. I have to practically stuff her into my hiker's backpack, because, who knew, fillies grow quickly. Really quickly. I seriously had to buy a hiker's backpack, you know, one of those ginormous bags that go down to your mid thighs.

It hasn't been that bad, but I've got serious writer's block and am starting to write less and less, and my wallet is getting pretty Jenny Craig. Pinkie hasn't noticed, but I've been going on shopping trips less and less and just been going out when Pinkie wants to. I just haven't had the heart to tell Pinkie, I mean, I don't want to ruin her happy vibe. She's really the only thing that's keeping me going these days.

Tonight, though, Pinkie has gone to bed super early tonight, courtesy of me setting the clocks two hours ahead, so I can get in a good writing session. I can barely remember the name of my main character in the book I'm working on. I've already started on three other books, just trying to get ahead. The keypad on my laptop makes little clicking noises as the bright light from the screen glows on my face. I curse under my breath when I get yet another email about someone commenting on one of my YouTube videos, trying to pressure me into making another video. Fuck them, I have Pinkie Pie now.

I smile as I hear soft snoring coming from Pinkie. I mean, sure, snoring is a sign that the person isn't breathing properly. But this is Pinkie, and it's adorable.

I type furiously through the night, getting up only thrice. The first time was to take a dump, the second was to get some junk food and the third was to set all the clocks back to normal. I'm not used to these all nighters anymore. It's weird being a step mom. Crap, I just wrote that! I sigh as I press down on the delete button.

Just as I begin to describe the texture of the unicorn's fur, I hear birds start to twitter and see the sun rising through the curtains of the window next to my bed. I sigh and look in satisfaction at the seven and a half chapters I have written and decide it's time for a nap break. I save my work and push my laptop onto my bedside table, snuggling into the covers to begin my two hour slumber.

I grab Pinkie's forearms and pull with all my strength. "Mommy!" She screams, "Don't let them get me!"
Tears stream down my face as my hands are slipping. Pinkie is being pulled away by her back legs by something else, but I can't see it. My feet slide on the slippery floor, arms feel like they're going to tear off, but I'm not going to let go. I scream as I hear my bones crack and my hands slip from sweat. "Mommy!" She screeches.

I collapse on the ground and reach out desperately for Pinkie as she's being slowly dragged away from me, into the darkness. I slam my hands down on the ground frantically, reaching for her. My fingers brush past her hooves, but never grab them. Suddenly, I hear one final scream of agony from Pinkie and cry out for her. There's a huge flash of blinding light, and I turn my head away just for a second and close my eyes. I open them again and look back at Pinkie, screaming in shock. Her eyes are gouged out, leaving empty black holes in her skull. Her mouth is hanging open, and she's well and truly dead. "No!" I shout, breathing heavily as more tears flow down my cheeks, and Pinkie is being dragged away, leaving a trail of blood on the black and white floor.

"No!"

"No!"

I scream, waking up, shooting upwards from the bed. I'm tangled in my sheets and covered in cold sweat. I breath heavily, eyes wide. A nightmare? That hasn't happened in a while.

I crawl down onto the floor, expecting to see Pinkie sleeping. I frown when she's not there, and start to panic, remembering my nightmare. I climb up and shield my eyes as bright sunlight pours through the blinds. "Pinkie?" I call.

I hear a clatter of spoons in the kitchen and freeze. Oh no. Has she gone back to her messy habits, like the first night she came here?

I dash down the hallway and stairs and skid into the kitchen to find Pinkie Pie making pancakes. Sure, the bench is a little messy, but meh. Wait... What? How is it that I of all people would go 'meh' to a bit of flour on the bench?

I grab a cloth and swipe at it. Pinkie turns to me and smiles warmly, making some little squeals. Her hair has now become much wavier than a few days ago, now with little curls at the ends. She's also now about ten inches taller than she was when I first found her.
Pinkie picks up a wooden spoon in her mouth and stirs some cream coloured batter in a steel bowl, standing over a pan and dumping a heap of batter into it. It sizzles as soon as it makes contact.

"Wow, Pinkie! You're getting good at this!" I exclaim, and she smiles even wider.

She puts down the spoon and attempts to make a 'th' sound with her mouth. I study it, trying to work out what she' straying to tell me.

"Th...th...tha...thak- thank!" She says with effort.

"Thank you?" I guess.

She nods wildly, and I cheer and clap my hands. She's really trying to get good at this speech thing.

After breakfast, we both sit down to watch some TV. Mainly consisting of My Little Pony episodes, which Pinkie has really grown to like. But unlike all the other times when she watched the show, she looked like she was concentrating. Many times, she would make the 'p' sound. By the end of the first episode, Pinkie said something that made me jump.

"P...p...p...pik...pin...ink...pink...pinki...Pinkie!" She exclaimed, rocketing off of the sofa and doing a happy dance.
"Pinkie! Pinkie! Pinkie!" She laughs.
It's infectious, so I join in. "Pinkie Pie!" She smiles proudly, as I join in with her dance.

We did the Macarena, laughing breathlessly to the credits song. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV up to the loudest, as the theme song vibrated through the ground and through our bodies. "Eh mylilpony!" I chanted in reference to the act algal macarena song.

We swayed out hips, jumped and clapped. By the end, we were gasping for air, slumped down on the purple couch and not giving a shit as a neighbour knocked on our door, complaining about the noise.

I peeked out the front window curtain, waiting for the neighbour to leave, and soon enough, he did.

I look into my reflection on the window and gasp at the sight of my tangled hair and the dark shopping bags under my eyes. I rush to the bathroom to take a shower, tugging at my brown hair with a hairbrush.

After about a two hour touch up, I finally believe I am presentable, and tiptoe down the stair way. I'm wearing a blue wooly jumper and cosy grey pants. My hair is scraped back into a ponytail and the bags under my eyes are seemingly gone because of the foundation I have applied. I'm wearing fluffy white snow boots and a pink wooly hat that covers my ears. I peek into the lounge room to see Pinkie's back turned to me, watching cartoons.
Good.

I slink silently up to my room and open my closet door. Since Pinkie's invasion back in January, I've bought new pony merch, so now everything looks almost exactly the same as earlier. I pull some shirts off of two black shoeboxes and open them. I sigh in relief. Good, she hasn't found them yet. I shuffle outside, and am hit by the freezing cold. It's only started snowing this month, and I haven't really bought Pinkie anything to wear outside yet. I should probably get round to doing that.

The backyard has about the same perimeter as the house. It's closed off into a square by a tall brown picket fence. Snow has covered the ground, and the yard is almost empty, except for a large oak tree in the right hand corner. Hanging by a worn rope is an old, greying tyre, probably made by the last owners.

I trudge over to the patio, where the old sandstone path is slowly crumbling away. A small, round glass table with a black rim around it sits in the corner of the small patio. Luckily the entrance, large glass doors, have the curtains drawn so Pinkie won't see me. I pick up a big, stray stick and make my way to an untouched part of the so called 'garden'. I trace a big circle in the snow and roughly kick most of the snow out, making a shallow trench.

I trudge through the snow and grab a hose connected to the house. I turn the nob so water sprays out of the green tube. I aim the water at the circle, until it became a large, unfrozen ice rink. By the time I get back, it should be solid enough.

I head back inside and walk up to Pinkie. "Hey, I'm gonna go to the shops. You stay here and stay out of trouble, okay? I've put some new paints in your painting room," I say, kindly but sternly at the same time.

Pinkie nods super fast and turns back to her cartoons. That should keep her distracted.

I lock the front door and walk down the driveway, to my small, silver coloured car. Yeah, I know I said "only use it when I really have to" but I really have to? Right now, actually.

I've got to get Pinkie a scarf.