Taken for Granite
It was a cool Spring morning on Sweet Apple Acres, the morning light bringing a warm embrace to all, the air damp and chill from the dew that graced the young blades of grass so delicately. The crisp blue sky was dulled slightly from fog, a sense of privacy surrounding the orchard in a content aura. The morning had just begun to ring with the happy chorus of birdsong, and a drop of condensation joyfully ran down the cheek of a large boulder.
The stone had existed from the beginning, before any creature in the land, since the hellish birth of the peaceful terrain in which he now sat. He had watched the neighboring town sprout from the settlers’ original village in a heartbeat, seasons changing in the blink of an eye. No effort of the pony inhabitants concerned him; civilizations seemingly came and went like mayflies to the ancient stone.
On this particular morning, however, something caught Tom’s attention like nothing ever had before. An orange pony, wearing what Tom would assert to be a rather silly brown hat, trotted down the gravel path. Tom winced, his brothers assaulted so by the careless creature. The distasteful equine carried with her a small seedling, which she carefully transplanted a short distance away from Tom, humming contently with the avian orchestra as she went about her work.
The boulder turned his attention to the seedling. It was unlike any Tom had seen before—a wonderfully curvaceous specimen, its stem reached courageously for the morning light. Tom smiled an inward, bittersweet smile; he knew that all things must end, but he was struck by the hopefulness with which the plant carried itself. He decided to name this tree; it deserved a name befitting its courage, its steadfast dedication to grow into a strong and independent tree. He decided to name her… Bloomberg.
Tom had, of course, witnessed the lives and deaths of thousands of trees. He could see a great number from the hill on which he sat day after day, but with Bloomberg’s arrival, all of them seemed dull and utterly devoid of any individuality. It was only Bloomberg that brightened Tom’s eternal existence; it was only Bloomberg about which Tom could really care.
Bloomberg was a hearty apple seedling, and she observed the world around her with youthful vigor. She noticed scores upon scores of hearty trees in the orchard, and someday, she wanted to be just like them. She smiled to herself at the sight of a large boulder that sat atop the hill on which she was planted; the stone was merely a few yards away from her. It had a strong, guiding look to it; it reminded her of her father. Not that she knew her father, of course; Tom’s stony visage just had a very fatherly look to it.
As Bloomberg grew into a sturdy sapling, Tom smiled to himself. The seasons seemed to slow; Tom’s apathetic view of the world around him gradually brightened into a kindly observance, a protective gaze upon the rolling hills of the orchard, upon Bloomberg. It filled Tom with joy that Bloomberg—his Bloomberg—would succeed so greatly in her quest to someday blossom into a sturdy apple tree. Tom, for once in his ancient lifetime, was happy. All his life, he felt—the troublesome and violent churning inside an unstable volcano, even being crushed and superheated between layers of igneous and metamorphic rock—was worth it for this moment, for Bloomberg.
There Tom and Bloomberg sat, entirely enthralled with one another. Bloomberg hardly noticed the fruits of her laborious photosynthesis and cellular respiration being taken from her, and Tom could barely concern himself with the wearing of the winter ice upon his features. They had only one regret, a regret that they shared.
Tom and Bloomberg were, however tragically, a handful of long yards apart. All Tom wanted was to roll against the hearty young tree and forever be one, to share his most intimate of feelings with her, to witness every moment of their lives together. All Bloomberg yearned for in her life was to lean gently on the stone, to cradle it in her wooden embrace, to live her life beside the only one she could ever love. But it was not to be.
Tom despaired. His Bloomberg was unreachable; he could never confess his true feelings for her. Tom cried softly, condensation rolling down the bitter minerals that composed his features. How tragic that he could never touch the one he loved, that the one thing that made his existence worth anything was just outside his grasp! Was he truly to be born into this world, suffer so, and have no purpose? Surely it could not be! —But it was.
Bloomberg, so wrought with agony at their separation, barely noticed—or could indeed care at all—when she was rooted up by an orange equine and put on a train, only distancing her further from her only love. Bloomberg gazed silently at her lover as she was carried away, despair wrought upon the cracking bark of her aging body, every fiber of her being protesting the very injustice that separated them so! If they could not be together, what truly could? Was all existence in this world for naught? Was that what her life was to be? It couldn’t! It wasn’t.
Tom sat there, bitter rain starting to pour down on the hill. If he couldn’t live with his only love… he wouldn’t live at all. And so, on that dark night, his ancient existence, a wealth of sentient knowledge that the creatures that passed him could not begin to comprehend, snuffed itself out. A pall of darkness overtook the hill on which the lifeless and unforgiving boulder sat, certain hues softly fading along with him.
As Bloomberg was planted on a hill overlooking the young town of Appleloosa, she shuddered, feeling her lover fade from the world. With him went her will to live, and the sturdy tree that sprouted from such a courageous and robust seedling began to wither sadly, a crack of thunder announcing a downpour of revolting and bitter rain, Nature herself mocking the two lovers.
* * *
A flash of light pervaded the scene.
A large boulder, discarded as a worthless stone, dropped onto the hill, far away from its corrupt purpose in Ponyville, and rolled gently, coming to stop against the withered and lifeless husk of a dead tree on a hill overlooking the town of Appleloosa.
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like dis if u cry evertim
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Cool story dude. I liked it.
Bravo! I have no idea what I just read.
This story touched my heart and made me cry more than "My Little Dashie"!
Approved. Prereaders are above! :D
Wow, huge thanks to the prereaders that dropped out of nowhere to deliver some last-minute corrections. Can I keep you guys?
1083978
I would love to help!
Wow, that was a rather touching peace of work. Thank you.
1084243
I'm glad you liked it!
I enjoyed this random romance story that seemed to be innocently perfect
bravo sir, bravo
1084521
Why thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
BLOOMBERGY IS NOW A DEAD TREE. CUE THE FUNERAL MUSIC.
1089294
Was it because of the part where Applejack walks down the road? She's a troll like that.
I have a sad now.
It's so funny and yet so sad. Well done for doing something that is extremely difficult: blending comedy and tragedy.
1090561
Why, thank you. I'd glad you enjoyed it; I wasn't so sure how it would turn out.
1089926
Come gimme a hug Cam.
1090587
You're welcome.
A story of a rock and a tree and it was a sad one
1090587
Can't anymore
Permabanned on FJ
If this was on fanfiction, it would be in my C2.
1091743
That's about what I was going for, that perfect mix of wut and feel.
1094893
I'll take that as a compliment!
1091933
Admin is Admin. :/
1095081
And Walcorn is his rat.
1095081 well you hit it my friend hope to read from ya more
1095212 And drooms, now.
1178502 I don't really know what this is, either.
That was tragically depressing.
So many favorites. You guys are awesome.
1194203 Mission accomplished.
oh god... I'm crying now.
1131751
I was thinking about touching up a few places in here, maybe adding some
fillerwhat's a good word for fillerstuff...plot... devices...since I made this in 90 minutes, 120 including prereaders and "editing"
1225723
No don't cry!
That was just fantastic. I've been toying with the idea of writing my own shipfic with this pairing, but I don't think I'd be able to do any better than this. You managed to make a story about a rock and a tree actually kind of touching.
Excellent work.
1232711
I'm very glad that you liked it!
And I took a class on philosophy. It almost seemed like cheating.
Now this is original! I was laughing hysterically at first, but then it was actually legit sad at the end
. I loved this. Great work! dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Pinkie_loool.png 
1252027
I'm glad you enjoyed it! And I'm glad you thought I was able to make it sad. It's difficult.
Thanks!
It's... it's a damn tree, how can you...
darn it.
That was surprisingly beautiful. Honestly, it's the best ship I've ever read. Wonderfully executed.
1323936
Trololololol.
1324122
I'm glad you think so! Honestly, I'm surprised at the excellent reception I've been receiving. Thanks!
1326561 you say troll, I say art.
Ain't it cool we can both be right?
1327127
Well, you know what they say. Trolling is a art.
1332442 ...I was unaware anypony ever said that
...seems legit
However, one of the greatest achievements art can have is to take us outside our normal boundaries - to have an experience that removes our comfortable assumptions and provides a rude shock of other possiblities.
...of course you just set the bar pretty high for me to ever take another troll seriously
1225791 cool
this is one of the most amazing things I've ever read.
I don't know how you pulled this off.
This is... This is something else. To be quite frank, I'm not entirely certain what this is.
.........
But I like it. A lot.
I legitimately got feels from this. They may not have been extravagant, or all-consuming, or down right oppressive, but they were there. They were definitely there. The whole thing was wonderfully done. A masterfully written and seamless blend of comedy, romance and tragedy. Despite the rather... unorthodox... premise, it was still legitimately enjoyable and a honest piece of work, unlike most other "Stories" you will find of this nature. And despite it all, just behind the surface is a surprising depth, a whole extra layer to be enjoyed by those who look beyond the small shallow musings of prose that it appears to be at first glance. The thin veneer of a comedic face and light-hoofed touch of the story fall away, and the true and honest tragedy comes to light, and the story is all the more gripping and compelling because of it, despite its admittedly short length. The simplistic nature of the piece only serves to amplify the impact of these subtle tones.
I dare say you have yourself a winner with this story. I think I will recommend it to my readers.
~Signed, InfiniteBrony
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geddit! rocks!
(ok I'll leave punning to you
)
1793245
this comment is awesome
I don't know if that was ironic yet, and that is what makes this comment brilliant 
I shall reread this story!
1900607 How many of those do you have?
2414236
65
2416122
And where can I get some?
2416781
Oh I just collected the ones that I liked whenever I found a good one in the comments section of stories/blogs of this cite.
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Agreeing with the others. For such a humorous premise, you really do create actual characters, ones that I actually cared about. And that ending!
I had more feels for a pair of inanimate objects than I normally do for the living props that can often get passed off as characters (and I do include myself in that living prop category).
Take my favorite. Just take it and go.
I just got feels for a rock and a tree.
Liked and faved.