//------------------------------//
// Exploring Estes Park 
// Story: Vacant Niches 
// by Jongoji245 
//------------------------------//

Thanks to binge eating pizza, you slept like a log in your new home. You open your eyes, let out a yawn and stretch out your toes, feeling a little pop in each. Feeling the cool breeze rushing under your PJ's, you start to shiver, shuffling to your dresser and take out a long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans. Feeling warm, you relax your body and walk with confidence to the kitchen. What was left of the pizza was left to the elements. Fortunately, no mice have scurried into the box, so you decide to help yourself to breakfast. As you chew the half stale piece, you see a white paper. Holding the crust in your mouth, you pick up the note.



“Anon,

Went to work for training day. Make yourself comfortable, stay out of trouble, and get used to the town. Visit a few places, you shouldn’t be cooped up in this house. 

Have a nice day, Sweetums.

Mom.”



Reading the word “sweetums” in reference to you made you shiver. The reason is pretty clear; being an only child, you are your mother’s greatest treasure. It’s just that her calling you that every school day doesn’t bring the best mood in you. You finish your meal, grab your house keys and head out. Hooked on an old flagpole is your ten speed; you didn’t have much of a use for it in southern swamps, but on firm ground, it’s a useful tool now.





Riding downhill, you easily gather speed as you feel the wind brush against your cheeks. Seeing the sidewalk angle upwards you pinch the brakes, using your legs to get back to speed. The buildings, it seems, are different; they’re not made smooth and retain their red brick texture. There are some exceptions, buildings like the one labeled “Barnyard Bargains” are of glass and steel, and those like the one labeled “Carousel Boutique” have window drapes.

“Watch out!” You look forward, seeing a young woman with orange skin and violet hair coming towards you on a scooter. 

With the dilemma before you, you immediately turn to your left. Narrowly dodging an SUV, you get back on the sidewalk, getting a warning honk from the driver. In your haste, you pinch the brakes. You look around a little, calming yourself after the near death experience. But your tummy says otherwise, the pizza wasn’t enough to satisfy your biological cauldron. You follow the corner to your right, finding before you a small restaurant with a cupcake on top. “Sugarcube Corner” the sign reads, your belly screams its desire for food. Treats aren’t the best food, but if it’s anything to get your stomach to shut up, you take your chances. You hitch your bike at the stand, making sure the lock is snug. With a nod, you go to the doors, grab the handles, and pull with all your might, yet they do not open. You catch a white card hanging behind the glass.



“Owners on vacation. Will return in one week.”



You look inside; the lights are turned off and the tables and booths covered in plastic. Your tummy growls at you once more.

“Damn.” You mutter as you release your bike.

Your stomach protests like mad as you continue your crusade for food. You could have returned home, but it’s too soon to have groceries in the fridge. There are restaurants in your direction: the burger shop Phil’s Grills, the Oriental buffet Genghis Khan, and the Italian restaurant Pezzettino to name a few. While good for your tummy, you feel it might be heavy to your wallet. What you need is fast food; your bike for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. 





Your quest takes you to a less civilized part of town. There are still buildings, just smaller than those downtown. Surrounding them are thin trees standing so tall you couldn’t see the mountain range. You look forward just in time to see a tree slam on the asphalt you rode on. Your head follows the tree trunk, finding a girl, a very, tall, girl peach in skin color with lighter patches all over her body.  

“Sorry!” She says, lifting the fallen plant with surprising strength before dragging it away from you.

You pedal further down the neighborhood, turning your attention to an elementary school known as “Great Valley Elementary.” From the kids in the playground, you imagine this as the school you should have gone to. But outside appearances can be deceiving; good thing you're out of middle school. High school, that’s another story.

Your stomach began taking control of your body; it’s desire for just one decent meal gave it dominance to your legs. You moan in pain as your pedaling is reduced to a crawl. So slow in fact that another older boy, charcoal black in skin color with a red and yellow mullet ran circles around you. Hearing your stomach growl he says, 

“Notgoodtoeatonanemptystomach.” So fast that you had no idea what he just said.

“Uh… Thanks?” You assume that was a compliment while seeing him jog. Your stomach gets yourself moving, reminding you again of its desire by burning your gut. One little gust of wind offers you a glimmer of hope; when you inhale, your nose hairs pick up an odor. A sweet odor, a warm odor, an odor that makes your mouth water. Your stomach kicks your legs into overdrive.





What your efforts have done is lead you to an even more forested area. When you make a left turn, the asphalt road gave way to a trail of bedrock. The seat of your bike continuously bumps against your crotch, yet your legs churn faster than your brain can fight your stomach. As you maintain your balance, your shaky vision finds a clear area at the end of the broken forest. As you get closer, the road becomes soft dirt, relieving your family jewels from being juggled. The scent getting stronger, your legs relieves command of your legs, and so you stop with a sharp tilt from your bike before looking at the signage above you.

“Sweet Apple Acres?” You read out loud, looking ahead and seeing a red dot in the distance. You pedal on your own free will, a slow and more relaxed pace. 

You look to your right and find a blue-green compact car at the entrance when your head collides with a hard object. It’s a sign that reads, “No taking property from land.” You move forward again, bumping into another hard object. It’s another sign that read, “After hours, trespassers will be shot.”

“Should be a sign that says, ‘beware of signs.’” You mutter, moving again when you stop. You look forward; no signs to jinx you this time. You sigh with relief and continue your journey.

The trailer is skinnier thanks to a couple fences on both of your sides.When you hear a bleating sound, you turn your head right and find a flock of fifteen sheep. The herd of wooly mammals travel in unison as they find better pastures, not that the land around you isn't bad. When you look ahead, you notice a brown object in your peripherals. To your left was a yellow horse with a black mane just following you from its side of the fence. Whether it was curious or not didn’t worry you; as long as it doesn’t jump over the fence, you continue to pedal. Out of the sake of fun, you pedal faster, making your four-legged foe get into a gallop. Seeing the fence corner getting larger, you pedal like crazy. As you pass the post, you turn your head; the animal had to stop to avoid injury.  

You see the enlarged version of the red dot: a barn and a red house. From the apple trees around it, you could say that this color scheme justifies your view of a picturesque farm. The house you find is where the scent is strongest. Of course, you couldn’t just bust through the door and demand the food. Besides, your mom wanted you to make friends. You pedal around the house, going off road to find any such people. The grove you ride through had buckets placed at the trunks of each tree. It didn’t make sense to you, as you find the fruit unripe. You continuously look left and right, but you couldn’t find the owner. Your best chance of finding them is going to higher ground.  You pedal harder, climbing up a steep hill. Panting and groaning, your effort is worth the sight presented at the top. In the distance are the mountains, closer to you and as far your eyes can see, the land was covered in apple trees: each bearing a different colored fruit. One patch of trees had green apples, another patch bore yellow apples, between them having red apples. The sight you see, the scent you smell, the birds and wind you hear, this could just as well be a second paradise.

“Okay, Dapplewood, just ease in on the reins.”

Hearing that sound, you lean forward, seeing more of a small lake. Suddenly, you lose your balance and fall straight into the blue abyss. The force of the dunk fills your nostrils with water, causing you to choke. You try to kick your legs, but in your blind state, you feel your legs bound with your bike. You use your scrawny arms as a last resort. The strain on your muscles and lack of air proved too much. Just one day away from your first day in High School and your life is about to end. The last object you see is a bright light in an otherwise dark pool.  

Then you feel a sudden pull your shirt, flailing your arms and legs. Your body breaks the surface, the influx of air causing your cough water and snot while you feel your feet drag along the sand.

“Hand me the blanket.” You hear before feeling something hairy wrap around you. Wheezing one last time, you open your eyes to strange company. Before you was the yellow skinned male with violet head and facial hair you met on your drive here, and the boy who stared at you sitting on the back of a heavily built horse compared to the one you raced. The new face between them was much taller than the two of them, reaching to the height of the horse’ withers. He had pink-red skin, orange hair, and green eyes (though they do have a shade like grass when looking at the younger, yellow and violet man next to him). Seeing the yellow one lean down, you try to keep calm at any question he might throw at you.

“You all right, kid?”

That question, you should be able to answer easily. You take in some fresh air and answer,

“Uh, yes?” Rather nervously. The older teen stretches his arm; while he is offering you his assistance, you couldn’t help but notice he has three fingers. You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. It’s a long silence before you see the youngest among you make a series of motions with his hands.

“So you're the one Dapplewood was talking about?” He asks, putting you on edge. He understands those little hand movements? You wonder as he shuffles left and right, weirding you a little as he sniffed the air. “You must be new here.”

“Y-yes, I am.” You answer again with the same nervousness. That makes them raise an eyebrow when your stomach reminds you of why you are here.

“You’re hungry?” asked the older man with a deep voice. Reminded of your quest, you shake your head rapidly.

“Well, it’ll be a while before we get to the house.” The yellow man and his companions begin to move. Your stomach begins to rumble again.

“How long is ‘a while’?” You ask before your stomach rumbles again.

The small boy gives the horse a gentle kick with his heels, moving forward while the yellow man stood in place.

“You ever see a horse sit on a porcupine?” When the draft horse passes the both of you, you find that the beasts right flank is covered in spiny projections. “Not a pretty sight.”

The largest man in your “posse” gives you your soaked bicycle. It isn’t damaged, giving you a reason to thank the Lord under your breath. You follow them back to the house, sitting on a porch swing. You occasionally cringe when you hear a painful neigh in the barn, giving the implication that they are slowly but surely getting the quills out. 

“Those three better finish what they’re doin’!” You look forward, seeing an elderly woman, with yellow-green skin and white hair, wearing clothing that brings back memories of your nagging lunch lady. The elderly matriarch (you presume) turns her attention to the sight of your soaked self in a blanket. “Why, hello there, sonny. You look new.”

“Yes, my mom and I just moved yesterday.” You reach out and grab her hand; for an aged individual, you can feel a strong grip. “I’m Anon.”

“Well now, welcome to Sweet Apple Acres.” The lady chuckles before sitting next to you. “The name’s Granny Smith.”

“Granny Smith?” Finding her name humorous, you raise a brow. Granny looks up, placing a hand on her chin.

“Well, it was Lady Smith before I became a grandmother of three.” She looks back to you. “So what brings you and your Ma here?”

“Job opportunity.” Hearing grass crunch, you and Granny turn around and find the three boys approaching the house, the largest of whom held a few blood stained quills. Your stomach rumbles again, getting their attention.

“Your tummy’s a callin’, Anon.” Granny Smith begins to stand up, slumping down on the hanging bench. The two older boys help her up. “Thank you. Soup’s on, everybody!” 

You join the elder and the three boys. You look around the interior, the walls are painted in colors that remind you of the various apples you saw before falling into the lake. The furniture is carved in shapes of apples both full and sliced. Just as you enter the kitchen, you feel something sniffing your legs. Looking down, it was a border collie with eye large eyelashes. You stretch your hand, reluctantly getting covered in dog kisses. The dog lets out a bark and runs around.

The meal your belly screamed for ages is very delectable; a double-decker turkey and cheese sandwich, potato chips, a few slices of apple with caramel dip, and a burnt treat sprinkled in cinnamon. You sit down and began wolfing down the food in not the exact same order. Your cheeks stuffed, you chewed very little as your hosts gave you a baffled look.

“You must be really hungry.” Said the yellow man.

“Eeyup.” Added the older man, eating a smaller portion of the meal.

You try to speak, but with so much food in your mouth, you only moved your lips. Granny Smith laughs as you swallow your food, feeling a pain as it traveled through your throat. Breathing like a wild man, you look at how the people older and younger ate smaller meals. You decide to address that. 

“For hard-working men, your grandsons eat very little.” Your speech had them baffled, especially the yellow man and younger boy. “You three are related, are you?”

“Eenope.” The older man ate another bite.

“Dapplewood and I come from a different family.” The yellow man addresses before looking at his older friend. “Big Mac is a good friend, anyhow.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac adds while chewing his food.

Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Dapplewood. That's three names you know. All you need now is the man in front of you to say his name. Fortunately, he offers you just that as he stretches his hand.

“My name's Cosgrove.”

“Cosgrove?” “ You cock your head. “Like Miranda Cosgrove?”

Cosgrove, as he is named, lowers his shoulders, furrowing his brow. “Yes.” He mutters in a monotone voice, looking away from you before chuckling.

You look at Big Mac, happily enjoying his meal, before turning to Granny Smith. “So is Big Mac an only child.”

“Nope.” Big Mac answers in a rather insulted tone.

“Apple Bloom should be back from dance practice with” - Granny begins to stammer - “Tapper, Tend Taps, er someone with that name.”

“Oh, dance lessons,” - You shake your head as you look at Big Mac, Cosgrove, and Dapplewood - “that’s nice.” You see Cosgrove in a silent state of mind, an expression that has even Big Mac look worried. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah.” Cosgrove gets himself back together. “So, Anon, where do you come from?”

“Sarasota, Florida.” You take a much smaller bite this time. “I’m going to Canterlot High.”

“Oh, you’ll love it in Canterlot High. But,” - He lifts himself up, getting his head towards you - “you might want to bundle yourself for winter.”

You draw your lips back, showing your two hosts and other two guests an uncertain look. As you do, your eye spies their well crafted, possibly handmade, grandfather clock reaching four in the afternoon.

“Oh my God, it’s getting late!” - You begin to rush towards the door, stop, turn around, grab an apple fritter, stuff it in your mouth, and turn around again - “Mom will be home soon!”

“You know the way back to town?” 

Granny Smith’s sentence seeping to your brain had you stop. You look to the others, showing them the cooked good jutting from your mouth. You want to talk, but don’t want to drop the food. You simply shake your head. Cosgrove and Dapplewood stand up.

“Here, we'll take you home.” Cosgrove looks out the window. “It gets crowded every late afternoon.”

Waving goodbye to Big Mac and Granny, you carry your bike to the green-blue car outside the farmland. At the same time, a red truck drives by; you couldn't get a full view of the driver, though you could see a pink blur. You lift the bike on top and chain it. You sit in the back seat, grabbing the door handle as Cosgrove drives away from the farm and through the forested regions of Estes Park.





“So, you like it here?” He asks, taking a look at you with the rear view mirror.

“It’s okay so far.” When arriving downtown, you look at the closed Sugarcube Corner. “I was hoping to eat earlier.”

“Yeah, I get you,” - Cosgrove adds while looking at the road - “With Pinkie Pie gone, Mr. and Mrs. Cake have been looking for an applicant. But…” - you hear Dapplewood make a hiss - “they stopped after a while. So where do you live?” 

You look around, paying close attention at the houses similarly tight knitted to each other. It is only by the sight of your mother’s car did you stretch forward as the seat belt could allow you.

“There!” You are drawn forward to the point of choking when the older driver slammed the brakes. Your back slams against the seat, almost giving your spine something to ache about.

“All going ashore.” Cosgrove turns on the emergency lights as you exit the car. You stretch yourself while reaching the stairs. “So, when you come to school tomorrow, feel free to find me and my pals.” You nod before continuing you trek to your house. “Oh, hey. If anytime you and your mom decide to go out one evening, be very careful.

You raise an eyebrow as the two brothers drive away to home. You reach the door, but when you shuffle your pockets, you find it much less cluttered. Unfortunately, that isn’t the feeling you're expecting.

“Shit! I forgot my keys!” You growl.

Fortunately, your mother arrived soon enough. Though she is happy that you met a few people, she is flustered that you lost your keys on the first day. Ashamed, you go to your room without dinner; not that it matters since you have satisfied your stomach’s hunger until lunchtime at school.

What started as a nap became a deep slumber. When you open your eyes, it is near pitch black in your room. With heavy eyes, you lay your head back on the pillow when you hear a strange sound. A laugh you might say. Assuming it’s just the nightlife of Estes Park, you lay you head on the pillow. Ready for your first day in high school.