Crumbs

by daOtterGuy

Apple Bloom

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Once upon a time, there were two married ponies Bright Mac and Pear Butter who lived with their mother Granny Smith.

One day, Granny Smith said something unforgivable to her beloved daughter Pear Butter. Overhearing, her son, saddened by what Granny had said, took several baked goods and left with his wife on an early delivery to Trottingham, following the well worn trail.

Unfortunately, the trail was destroyed by a sudden storm and Bright Mac and Pear Butter were lost. Wandering the woods without direction, they came upon a cottage owned by a witch.

The witch tried to eat them and succeeded as Bright Mac and Pear Butter were no match for the witch.

Granny Smith, very apologetic for the horrible things she had said, waited for them to come home, but they never did.

Then Granny Smith never lived happily ever after.

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Apple Bloom didn’t really know what to make of the situation. She was old enough to understand something was wrong, but too young to understand the grief of losing her parents. Thus, on a hot summer day, Bloom found herself thoroughly confused by the three way standoff happening in the kitchen.

She sat at the end of the Apple family dining room table. To Bloom’s left was Granny merrily baking apple pies while humming a wordless tune, a large stack of premade crusts towering next to her that was meant for purposes other than consumption. Baked apples permeated the room, made stronger by a light breeze that blew in from the open window.

“Are you gonna use those ones for pies too?” Bloom asked as she pointed toward the stack of pie shells.

“No, those are for tomorrow,” Granny replied.

An angry snort caused Bloom to look to her right where Applejack tended to the dishes, washing each with an intense fervour and a glare that could scorch wood.

“Waste of perfectly good crust,” Applejack muttered darkly.

“What’s that?” Granny asked. “Can’t hear ya over the runnin’ water.”

“It’s a waste,” Applejack repeated louder.

“Maybe for those that don’t wanna see their parents again.”

Applejack glared harder at the dishes as she muttered words low enough to be drowned out by the tap.

The sound of a heavy sigh drew Bloom’s attention to the last member of the Apple family who sat at the opposite end of the table from her. Big Mac sat hunched at the table, his bulk squeezed into a ball of misery. The bags under his eyes were deep as was the burden on his back that caused it to sag when he trotted about the farm.

She couldn’t understand it at the time, but, when she was older, she would learn that when Granny and Applejack were fighting, it became harder for the chores to get done. When that happened, somepony would have to put in extra work to ensure it was completed.

Big Mac always ended up being that pony.

One was cheerful in her delusions, one was angry at the other for ignoring reality, and the third was just desperately trying to keep everything together. But Bloom was too young to understand that. The part she did know was that her family was sad and she didn’t like that.

“Story?” Bloom called out.

Granny brightened considerably as Mac and Applejack both flinched at the request.

“Certainly!” Granny happily exclaimed. “I’ll grab the book right after I finish up these pies.”

“She don’t need those stories,” Applejack muttered.

“Speak up,” Granny said.

“She don’t need those stupid stories!” Applejack slammed her latest clean dish into a rack, rattling the whole piece from the force. “We already got one pony going crazy, we don’t need a second!”

“And who exactly do ya think has gone crazy?” Granny narrowed her eyes.

“Who else?!” Applejack shouted. “Mac barely says anything anymore—” Mac hung his head lower “—so I’m obviously talking ‘bout you!”

“How dare you!” Granny angrily retorted. “You can’t talk to your granny like that!”

“Don’t even give me that load of hogwash, you—!”

The argument became muffled as Bloom snuck into the adjoining living room. Her ears were pinned to her head and guilt at starting their latest argument caused her to whimper quietly. She’d only wanted to make everyone happy, but instead made it worse. She had to fix this.

Scanning the room for something to help, she was quickly disappointed by the drab room with nearly nothing but some old knick knacks and various momentos of the past. There were some puzzle boxes and books, but Bloom didn’t feel that anyone would be up for that at the moment.

One item managed to pique her interest. A photo frame tucked neatly between some books in a night stand near the couch. Trotting over to it, she pulled it out and perked up as she took in the two smiling ponies in the dusty frame.

She had only known them briefly, enough to know they were her parents and that they gave her a feeling of warmth and safety. Curiosity filled her as a desire to know them took over her thoughts. In a rush, she realized she could solve both her desire to know more about them and get her family to stop fighting. If everyone was busy telling her about them, then they couldn’t keep arguing with each other.

Bloom rushed back into the kitchen, tuning out the ongoing argument between Granny and Applejack, and placed the frame onto the table with a wide grin on her face.

“Look what I found!” Bloom exclaimed.

All three members of the apple family turned to look at the youngest’s find. On looking, each reacted in a different way.

Granny stared at the photo, eyes wide. She put a hoof to her mouth, the limb shaking from a turmoil of emotion. She started to say something, but couldn’t speak. Seemingly unable to handle the sight any longer, she shuffled out the kitchen door and onto the porch.

Applejack was equally distressed, her facial expression a mixture of sadness and horror. Her mouth opened and closed, no words coming out.

Mac, of all ponies, was the one to answer Bloom. “Where did ya find that?” He asked.

“On the shelf,” Bloom answered, her tone uncertain. “Can ya tell me more about’em?”

That was too much for Applejack. She raced out of the kitchen, past Bloom, and up the stairs, each step creaking as she climbed to the second floor.

When the noise stopped, Mac cleared his throat. “We got a bunch of stories about’em.”

“Can you tell me?” Bloom asked, a note of desperation in her plea.

Silence fell between them. “Maybe when things get better,” Mac finally responded.

“When?”

Another silence stretched between them. In answer, Mac rose out of his chair and left through the door behind Bloom, the banging of the front door indicating his exit.

Bloom hung her head at the table. Old enough to know something was wrong, too young to understand why.

Tears fell from her face as Apple Bloom sobbed, the tears staining the wood.

Comments

[EileenSaysHi]

This story does an excellent job hitting each of its big “OUCH” moments. Poor Bloom…