The day started with the crow of a rooster. Of course, as any experienced farmhand can tell you, every few minutes in earshot of a chicken coop began with the crow of a rooster. It was not exactly the rarest of occurrences.
An experienced farmhand can also tell you that a few straw-stuffed pillows will do wonders at blocking the cry of any nearby cockerels, which makes it that much easier to keep the inevitable end of sleep at bay for a while.
That is, until your elder sister decides to tear away your protective comforter and leave your coat bare to the cool morning breezes. "Rise n' Shine, Applebloom! You got a big day at school today!" Oh, hogwash. Nothing could be so important to disturb such a beautiful dream- the filly was almost on the verge of remembering exactly what her new cutie mark looked like, she could feel the nebulous threads of her dreamland fantasy reweaving themselves into a picture of her true talent, her purpose- earnestly, she tried to force the image that had made her so joyful during sleep to come to the fore. But as any experienced farmhand can tell you, chasing dreams only makes them run further away. Whatever she had dreamt (and had felt, truly felt had happened in reality) was gone. Applejack had proceeded to pull the curtains open revealing the harsh dawn light, making it even less comfortable for her sibling in her pillow-redoubt.
"Applebloom, you best get up before Macintosh brings in the water bucket. You don't want mildew on them pillows come nighttime, do ya?" Of course Applebloom didn't want mildewed pillows- to suggest otherwise would be absurd. But maybe, just maybe, if she curled tighter under the protective coarse cloth and waited long enough, maybe, just maybe, her sister would decide she didn't need to go to school today; didn't need to get up and do her morning chores; didn't need to recite a silly old poem in front of her judgmental peers. And maybe, just maybe, if she waited long enough and kept herself from stirring, she could drift back to sleep and finally recall what her special ability was-
"Mac, get in here! We got a tired lil' filly here who won't get up!"
This was it, this was her death knell. Soon those big meaty hooves would be walking across the gnarled floorboards, each hooffall like a clap of thunder. And then the chilling presence of the water bucket would be upon her, waiting to loose its icy terror on her poor, thin hide.
It began, a single hoofstep a few doors down the hall. Following it was another, its twin. Then another, and another, getting dangerously close to her soft, warm fortress. All too soon, he was there. She could hear the dull sound of a metal handle being rearranged between powerful jaws, the slosh of a liquid too vile to be something as pure as "water". No, that metallic container was an upturned bell full of concentrated villainy, heralding her doom. Moments stretched into hours, hours of pure agony as the cream-colored filly tensed and prepared herself for what was about to come. But the hours slowly folded back into minutes and seconds, and nothing happened. Applebloom heard only silence, could barely feel the presence of her family come to deliver cold justice. She untightened her muscles and began to relax. A détente. Perhaps they had forgotten about her and she didn't hear them leave...
Above, brother and sister shared a conspiratory look, and nodded, committed to their plan of action. "Wake 'er up, Big Mac."
In a split second, Applebloom seemed to fly off her bed like a shot from a cannon, repeating over and over the phrase, "I'm up I'm up I'm up I'm up!" Brother and sister shared another look, of smug satisfaction. The filly, in her panicked, adrenaline-fueled rush, knocked a brush and book from her nightstand, and fell on top of her saddlebags. Stifling a laugh, Applejack leaned over to help- no matter how old you were, you couldn't tie a ribbon to the back of your mane without help of the familial or magical variety.
"All right, now if y'all can bring in some firewood from the shed we can get breakfast started."
* * *
On the way to school now, scholastic supplies neatly tucked away in her unadorned saddlebags, Applebloom pouted privately as she trotted down the dirt path leading away from Sweet Apple Acres. If she had just had a few more minutes, she was sure she could have remembered... Now, how did that poem go, again? Well, she could probably get Sweetie Belle to write it on her hoof for her.