Well, whaddya know; That Featherbangs is visiting the farm again
Big Macintosh turned to greet the bothersome stallion staring at him across the apple-wood fence separating the road from his workspace.
“Can I help you?”
For the past week this stallion had been lurking near the orchard every afternoon: same time, same place, same enamoured gaze. Big Macintosh had hoped he’d simply leave if he waited long enough and at last he could be free of distractions, but alas, he continued with his irksome ways even after seven unvarying days.
“Hey there, apple-boy! Don’t mind me, I just can’t get enough of this rustic scenery! All these apples are like a flock of cardinals swooping through the green grasses of a leafy prairie!"
Big Macintosh groaned, “Ain’t ya tired of lookin’ at the same scene every day?”
“What’s there to get tired of? So long as there’s life, every day brings a new scene.”
Really? That’s why you’ve been comin’ here? I reckon you’d find barrel-fulls of life elsewhere if ya just looked for it.
Big Macintosh turned back to his work, bucking the nearest tree with all of his strength before beginning his journey to the barn. The great boughs of the apple tree quivered and surrendered their scrumptious crimson fruit. Featherbangs, still mesmerised by the “rustic scenery,” found himself assaulted by blood-red hailstones of fruit, each filled with the frustration of its harvester.
Not noticing his troublesome observer, Big Mac nearly finished his journey to the barn before he heard the hard slap of flesh on soil. Big Mac whipped his succulent neck back towards the source of the dreadful noise, allowing his soft, amber bangs to flutter to the opposite side of his face.
“Featherbangs!”
Big Macintosh rushed to the limp body, pummelled by sweet red apples. He could hear the distant calls of Granny Smith, asking him to help her with the pigs. He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the barn, but could not leave the pony he had so gravely wounded. With a deep breath, he heaved the feeble creature onto his back and began sprinting to the town. He had to find the doctor.
A stentorian pounding echoed through Ponyville; it was the fierce pounding of Big Macintosh’s hoof on the door of Dr.Horse’s office. The solemn stallion opened the door to the handsome steed, panting and sweating, barely able to explain his urgency. He pushed past the doctor and slid the precious parcel onto the bed to be examined.
“He… I… Help him!”
He gasped for air with each utterance as he stepped aside to let the doctor have a look at the patient. Dr. Horse pried open his delicate lids to shine his military-grade flashlight upon the pony’s bare eyes.
“It’s worse than I thought… He has a concussion; there’s no telling whether he’ll wake up or not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Big Macintosh hung his head as the nurse entered to take his victim away on a gurney. The doctor gave him a light pat on the back before leaving him alone in the examination room. He sat there a moment, tears dripping down his face as he watched his actions prove more perilous than he could ever have imagined. He regretted it all: disturbing Featherbangs, getting irritated by his visits, and most of all, bucking that scrumptious apple tree. He should have known that his powerful haunches would lead to a catastrophe at some point, but he was a fool. He was too careless. He deserved nothing more in this world.
Each thought brought another tear until eventually, the custodians forced him out of the room to dry the floor. Though barely able to live with himself, he managed to drag himself back home to the farm where an enraged family stood waiting at the gates.
“What in tarnation were you off doin’, Big Mac? You’ve left all of us here too sore to work for days! Who do you think has to do all yer work when you go runnin’ off like a cow in a snake’s den?”
“Erm… uh… I had to - uh - help the Cakes with some deliveries! They’ve been struggling to get all their work done ever since Pinkie Pie got the sweet pox.”
“Darn tootin’! That Pinkie was just over here lookin’ for you! Seemed fit as a fiddle to me! What were you really up to?”
Big Macintosh looked at the ground and sighed, “I went and got that Featherbangs stuck in a hospital. They say they don’t know when he’ll wake up…”
Applejack bursts with rage, “You WHAT?! What in tarnation did you do to that pony?”
Big Macintosh couldn’t bear to look his sister in the eyes. He tilted his head to the side, sick with regret, “I… I don’t know. But I’ve done it now, and I gotta own up to it.”
With new resolve, he turned himself away from his family and galloped back to town at full speed. He couldn’t just leave Featherbangs like that. Who would keep him company in these agonising moments? Who would tell his family if it were to come to the worst? There was no other option. He had to stay there with him.
After sprinting for kilometres, he finally arrived and nearly ripped the hospital door off its hinges.
“Where’s Featherbangs?” he cried to the receptionist, desperate to see the unconscious stallion.
She looked at him for a moment before turning to her stacks of paper to search for the name. She returned to him, a sheet of paper in her hoof.
“What’s your relationship to the patient?”
Big Macintosh paused, what was their relationship? Something like ‘stranger’ obviously wouldn’t pass, and even he felt that couldn’t truly describe how he felt about the pony. He glanced to the side, then back to the mare at the counter.
“Friend,” he said, looking her in the eyes.
She nodded and handed him the papers, “He’s in room 409. It’ll be on your left once you step out of the stairwell.”
His heart was pounding; what would it be like when he got there? Would he be awake? Would anypony be there? What would he say? He anxiously ascended to the fourth floor and turned left. There it was: room 409. He took a deep breath, his hooves quivering with anxiety as he pushed the pale, wooden door open.
Featherbangs lay silently on the bed, the incessant beeping of the EKG drowning out his faint breaths. A dozen cords and tubes trailed from his body, all connecting to the strange devices surrounding him, keeping him alive in his weakened state. His face was calm and motionless, yet something about it seemed so filled with agony, Big Macintosh was hardly able to look at him. It was worse than he imagined - worse than anypony could imagine.
“Featherbangs… What have I done? Just this morning you were so bright and full of life! Now… I can’t live with this… Please… Make it stop…”
He hung over the frail stallion, begging him over and over again to release him from his suffocating guilt. It was unbearable: the pain, the regret, the ceaseless beeping of medical equipment. It was as if the world was forcing him to acknowledge his actions and pay for what he had done.
He lay there weeping, collapsed over the now moist bed. Every second passed like hours of the day, long and excruciating. But then, he felt it: a slight twitch from just beneath his hooves. He looked up, tears still wetting his face, and saw what some would call a medical miracle. Featherbangs’ supple eyelids fluttered a bit before revealing the emeralds beneath them. Their eyes met and in an instant, all of his anguish melted away from the warmth of the pitiful steed.
“Y-you’re awake!”
Featherbangs chuckled a bit and weakly flipped his mane.
“Eeyup,” he said, playfully imitating his sole visitor.
Big Macintosh breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the tears from his eyes as he stood up from the hospital floor.
“You’ve got quite the haunches, like a boulder rolling down a mountain. I’m lucky I’m not that apple tree!” he laughs before descending into a fit of coughing and wheezing.
Big Macintosh rushed to his side, handing him the glass of water that had been sitting on the bedside table.
“Careful there, you’re still in rough shape after the apple-buckin’.”
He took a sip of water before lying down again, exhausted.
“You know, this hospital room is awfully lonely… Maybe it would be a bit warmer if yo-”
Just then, the nurse entered the room.
“Visiting hours are over. Please finish up and exit the building.”
Big Macintosh turned from the nurse to Featherbangs, looking distraught.
“What were you saying?”
Featherbangs shook his head, “It was nothing. You should go…”
Big Macintosh frowned, but nodded and walked out the door with a quiet, “Eeyup.”
He closed the door behind him and walked out into the silent hallways of the building, a single tear rolling down his face.