• Published 6th Nov 2012
  • 4,198 Views, 66 Comments

Gold Star - Mindblower



Mom says that families who work really hard get to put a gold star on the inside of their windows.

  • ...
3
 66
 4,198

Tuesday

Gold Star

I was shifting in my bed, hugging my comic books, when Mom started yelling at me to get downstairs or I’d be late for school. I blinked my eyes open, slowly pushed my blankets to the side, and did something between a yawn and a sigh. Muttering a word I’d heard Ms. Cheerilee say once after school, I rubbed crust from the corners of my eyes, swung myself out of bed, and half-sleepwalked to the bathroom.

After rinsing my mouth and lazily combing my light blue feathers, I walked down the stairwell, sliding against the wall for support. I didn’t really need to, but I was in what mom calls the ‘Tuesday mood’ where you just don’t wanna do anything.

Sometimes, though, I kinda felt that way every day of the week.

Mom wailed for me again, though, derailing my train of thought. “I’m coming,” I shouted back, my as-of-yet useless wings fluttering in irritation. Just so Mom got the message, I started pounding my hooves on the hardwood floor whenever I took a step, just so she would know I hadn’t passed out in the hallway.

“Not so loud!” she snapped at me as I stepped into the kitchen. Light was peering in through the mostly shuttered windows, and I shivered as the chilly outside air started to seep indoors. I thought Mom said we were going to do something about this cold.

My unhappiness evaporated, though, when the toaster dinged. I sensed crisp bread thrust into open air, and I leapt up instinctively, successfully catching my prey between my jaws. This, however, provoked another of Mom’s seemingly endless supply of reprimands.

“Don’t play with your food,” she said as she pushed an egg around on a hot skillet. Blue rollers hung loosely off her light brown mane, and though she was yelling at me earlier, I could tell from her expression that she was in a Tuesday mood, too.

I shrugged, mumbling a halfhearted apology through my mouthful. I spit my slice onto a plate and went to get some butter, but when I opened the fridge, I saw that the tray was scraped clean.

“Where’s the butter?” I asked incredulously.

“There isn’t any. Not in the whole town,” she added just as I was about to suggest we just go buy some.

I sat down at our little three-chair table and crunched my bland, dry toast unhappily. “Mom, are we poor?”

Mom scraped her eggs onto a plate, breathing out and closing her eyes. “Times are tough, Chip.”

“You always say that,” I replied.

“Times have been tough for a while,” she said simply. “We just have to do our best and keep working through it,” she added, glancing at the flag that hung on our window, plastered to the inside of the glass. It had a single blue star in the center of the white cloth, and it had been there as long as I could remember.

I would have been satisfied with that, were I a year younger. Now, it just sounded like she was making excuses. I pushed my plate away toward the center of the table, only a few inches. “M’not hungry,” I mumbled, getting up and turning my back to Mom as I walked sulkily toward the front door.

“Chip...” Mom trailed off, not sure what to say.

I flicked my tail at her in response. “We’ll never get a gold star while Dad’s away.”

I grabbed my backpack and was out the door before she could answer.


It was supposed to be a warm day, even though it was late fall. I could tell that the ground was starting to get warmer as the sun steadily rose above the horizon, but I didn’t really have time to think about it because of how late I was to school. I picked up my pace to the schoolhouse, feeling the sun’s rays beat down on me as I scurried to my destination.

On the way, I saw out of the corner of my eye that a lot of ponies were clamoring around outside Sugarcube Corner as Mayor Mare and somepony else I couldn’t place my hoof on tried to calm them all down. The stallion I didn’t know looked like one of my Dad’s friends. He and Dad both wore the same clothes.

I didn’t look at it too long, though. I raced across the posters littering the ground and arrived just as Ms. Cheerilee was calling my name.

“Chip Mint...” she said, looking up from the little chart on her desk as I snuck to my seat in the back of the class. I don’t think she noticed I just got into her class, and, for that matter, neither did anypony else. Maybe they were all in a Tuesday mood, too.

For me, that was the only really important part of the school day. When Ms. Cheerilee scribbled down a mark next to my name so that the records would show I had served my time in what many of the advanced students call “Habilitation Therapy,” my job, as far as I was concerned, was done.

As for learning, well, it depended on whether or not I had stayed up past my bedtime reading Captain Equestria comics. In today’s case, I was so worn out from seeing the Stallion in Gold kick Enemy flank that, when I rested my head on my desk to catch a breather after practically flying to class, the gears in my head slowed their turning to a crawl.

Meanwhile, Ms. Cheerilee was blabbering on about something that happened yesterday. I couldn’t really tell because I was completely out of it, but I think she said she had lost something. Then she got into the actual lesson and I zoned out for real this time.

I was snapped back to reality when a sheet of paper landed on my desk, poking me in the nose. I nearly stumbled out of my chair, wondering if Ms. Cheerilee was distributing homework, when I realized she was giving us all a quiz, instead. I looked up at her, expecting her to punish or embarrass me for falling asleep in her classroom, but she just looked dazed. Like her heart wasn’t in it that day.

I shrugged and started looking at the problems.

1. Three pegasi are carrying five incendiary charges north for two hours. On departure, they, combined, weigh one hundred and fifty kilograms. When they return, they weigh only one hundred and twenty-five kilograms. How much does each charge weigh?

I pulled a blank, like I usually do when it comes to pop quizzes. I stood up, the paper in my mouth, and walked up to my teacher’s desk.

It took about half a minute for Ms. Cheerilee to notice I needed help. “Yes?” she asked with an uncharacteristic lack of energy.

“What’s an ‘incendiary charge?’” I asked out of curiosity.

At first she looked like she misheard, but then she blinked and said, “Oh! You must have the advanced class's quiz. I’m sorry, it must have been mixed in by mistake.”

She took my quiz and started to open a drawer and retrieve the right form, but I still wanted her to answer my question. “So what’s an incendiary charge?” I repeated.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Ms. Cheerilee said in a hushed tone, shuffling through her papers. “It doesn’t relate to the quiz. Did you know, you’ll be learning all about division next year! Won’t that be exciting?”

I began to get frustrated. “But what are they?” I asked for the third and final time.

Ms. Cheerilee forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Now sit down take your quiz,” she added sternly.

I wasn’t really happy with that answer, but I had the right quiz at least, so I sat down and worked through the addition and subtraction. The numbers fought battles in my head. In one of Dad’s letters to me, he told me to think of addition as reinforcements arriving and subtraction as Equestria and the Enemy duking it out on the front. The two groups go head-to-head, and only a few of the victors remain. It made math easy enough, at least. I had to be careful, though, to make sure that Equestria always had the bigger number.

After that was over, I gave Ms. Cheerilee my test and rested my eyes once more. Hours passed before a student accidentally bumped my hoof with her own, jolting me awake. I heard my classmates shuffling out the door. Class must have ended. I yawned, stretched, and got out of my seat and out of the classroom. It was one of my quickest school days yet.


After that, I started my usual walk toward Sweet Apple Acres to meet with Rumble. I saw a lot of ponies hanging gold stars on the inside of their windows. Mom told me that families who got gold stars got sugar and flour and candles as gifts from the Princesses. I guess a lot of the ponies in Ponyville started working really hard all of a sudden.

Usually Rumble and I would just hang out or do odd jobs so that we could pay for the newest issues of Captain Equestria. There was always somepony that needed something done. Today was different, though. When I saw Rumble, he was watching the three fillies that were one class level below us.

It had rained yesterday, so the ground near the outskirts of the Acres was moist and soggy. I heard squishing and sploshing sounds under my hooves as I awkwardly trekked toward my friend.

“What’re we doing out here?” I asked.

Rumble pointed. “Them.”

I squinted; the trio was about thirty meters away from us at the base of a hill. I think their names were Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle. They were barely recognizable. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom looked hopelessly dirty, digging with their hooves and some spades a long and deep hole in the ground. Scootaloo, on the other hoof, was draped in a heavy coat and shouting orders.

I raised an eyebrow. “What in Equestria are they doing?”

Rumble shrugged. “Weird stuff. C’mon, the Cakes are going to pay us to move the latest shipment of sugar. Should be easy, and it pays enough for a week of comics.”

“...Nah,” I said, my insatiable curiosity taking hold of me once more. “You can go if you want. I wanna see what they’re doing.”

“You know they’re crazy, right?” Rumble asked me.

“Yeah, but it’s Tuesday. I’m not in the mood to break my back over sugar,” I said with a shrug. “You comin’ with me or not?”

Rumble rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not really in the mood, either, really.”

After we came to this decision, we slogged through the mushy grass and field to the three fillies. Our wings were fluttering slightly, trying to separate our bodies from the cold mud that was the ground, but it was an exercise in futility. After a few minutes of slogging, though, we eventually made it down the hill, practically sliding to the base of it, and greeted the trio.

“You aren’t authorized to be here!” Scootaloo barked. She seemed to have smeared mud on her cheeks, Celestia knows why. Her face was taut with imagined fury, and her voice was hoarse and squeaky, as if she had been yelling all day.

“Uhm, what’s up?” I asked.

I ask the questions around here, bub!” Scootaloo snapped at me. She turned back to her two friends, who were both panting and leaning on the edge of their hole. I absently noticed there was another, similarly shaped hole a few meters away from the one they were currently digging. After noticing that no mud was being flung in-between the two pits by the tireless fillies, though, Scootaloo turned to them and yelled, “You think this is nap time?”

“No, ma’am!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed, hurriedly returning to her digging.

Apple Bloom sighed wearily. “Scootaloo, we’ve been at this all day. Can’t we take a break?”

“You get a break when I say you get a break, and I say you get a break after you finish the second trench!” Scootaloo snapped back. She erupted into a fit of coughing, kneeling for a moment and trying to catch her breath.

“Are you okay, Scootaloo?” Rumble asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Scootaloo insisted, snapping to her hooves once more, though she seemed slightly wobbly. She approached Rumble, staring at him beadily. “Did the General send you two as reinforcements?”

I glanced at Rumble. He shrugged. “Uh... yeah?” I guessed.

“Great,” Scootaloo rasped. She blinked. “I mean, that means that you two are to address me as Major or ma’am, got it, Privates?”

Rumble sniggered at Scootaloo’s mention of privates, but I simply nodded. “Okay, uh, ma’am.”

“Now get digging!” Scootaloo ordered, pointing to the trench.

“Uh... why?” Rumble asked.

Scootaloo narrowed her eyes, getting right up in Rumble’s face. “Would you give your life for your country?”

“...Yeah?” Rumble answered, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.

Scootaloo thrust her hoof back toward what she called a trench. “Then you can dig a hole for it!”

We glanced at each other. “Uh... Actually, no,” Rumble said.

Scootaloo’s eye twitched. “What was that, Private?”

“No, I mean, we’re not actually reinforcements,” Rumble added. “We’re, like, the Enemy.”

Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “You are?”

Rumble looked at me. Then he looked at Scootaloo. “Yeah, we kinda are.”

Scootaloo grinned. There was something off about her grin, though, something that I didn’t really like. “Then get in the other trench,” she said. “We’re gonna play a game.”

Both Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom stopped digging.

“What kind of game?” I asked.

“Simple,” Scootaloo said, pausing to cough. She wiped her nose on her heavy coat, and I realized that she must have been roasting in it, especially in today’s heat. “You get in those trenches. We get in ours. Whoever gets out first, loses.”

“Whadda we get if we win?” Rumble asked.

“You’re the Enemy,” Scootaloo said. “You never win.”

Rumble laughed. “Okay then. Whatever. See you in the trenches.” We trotted over to our pit and both got inside, hearing Scootaloo scream declarations of war for the whole town to hear.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked Rumble.

“Duh. I don’t wanna dig holes all day. That’d be almost as bad as hauling sugar,” he replied, cozying up against the slick walls of the meter and a half-deep hole. “Still. Scootaloo obviously has a screw loose or something.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. She was fine yesterday, though. I wonder what happened to drive her nuts.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, pausing as some mud landed with a loud smack on the other side of our trench. We heard Scootaloo screaming for something called artillery to fire.

“Soo...” I trailed off, growing slightly bored. “How does it feel to be the Enemy?”

Rumble laughed. “Weird. Y’know, aren’t those three the Enemy, too? Just, y’know, of us?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” Another mud bomb splattered next to me, spraying dirt into my face, and I laughed. “They should just send for Captain Equestria and get it over with.”

“That way, we can all be home for Hearth’s Warming!” Rumble joked, and we both laughed, remembering last year’s posters.

About a half hour passed, with the two of us growing increasingly, insufferably bored. The artillery rounds never really stopped, but eventually the interval between them increased, so what this ‘game’ of Scootaloo’s amounted to was sitting in silence, bored, until the next mud pie hit the ground.

“Hey, Rumble,” I said, tracing a figure in the mud with my hoof. “You know what an incendiary charge is?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I think we learn about those next year.”

Unsatisfied, I turned onto my side and dozed off for a little while longer. The mud was too cold, though, and the ground too wet to sleep comfortably.

Rumble threw up his hooves. “That’s it. I give up. This is pointless.” He climbed out of the trench.

“What are you doing?” Scootaloo squeaked, scrambling out of her own trench as she saw Rumble cantering away.

“Your game is stupid and boring,” he snarled in response. “We just sit here and do nothing. Sorry, but that’s not really my thing.”

“You’d just give up and leave your country? And do nothing to stop the Enemy?” Scootaloo exclaimed in a barely comprehensible, high-pitched rasp. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom glanced at each other nervously.

“If just sitting around waiting to starve to death is your master plan, then yes,” Rumble snapped, strutting past her and flicking her face angrily with his tail. “Call me when there’s some actual action.

“Ponies die for your country!” Scootaloo shouted.

“Yeah, so? I don’t know ‘em,” Rumble retorted, not turning to face Scootaloo.

I was about to follow him when I saw Scootaloo pick up a stone in her hoof, trembling with rage. “So you want action, huh...?” she mumbled, her voice shaky, her rage uncontrolled. She reared back and threw the stone at Rumble with all her might. “Here’s your action!

“Rumble, look out!” I yelled at the last minute.

Rumble turned around in surprise, able to see the stone flying toward him for half a second before it smashed into his nose.

He fell to the ground, his back legs bucking and his forelegs wrapped around his snout. I heard his muffled, agonized screams leak through his limbs, and despite his writhing, I saw a trickle of red seep down to his chin.

For a moment, we were all paralyzed.

“Oh Celestia,” Apple Bloom said, more exasperated than panicked. She turned to Sweetie Belle. “Go get Applejack, wouldja?”

Sweetie Belle nodded, leapt up out of her trench, and galloped toward the center of the Acres, much to Scootaloo’s dismay.

“Don’t break rank!” she commanded. “Don’t break rank!” Seeing that the pursuit was worthless, she then turned to me, the crusted dirt on her cheeks being suddenly rehydrated by the water leaking from her eyes. “You!” she shouted, even over Rumble’s yells. “If you hadn’t told him to turn around—”

“Oh, so now you’re blaming this on me?” I asked incredulously. “No. Not gonna happen. You threw the stone!”

“He was abandoning his country!” Scootaloo argued, looking as if she were about to explode.

Too angry to censor myself, I got right up in her face and shouted as loud as I possibly could, “What country?!

Scootaloo’s lower lip trembled. Not able to contain herself any longer, she burst into hysterical tears, alternating between sobbing and choking on her own phlegm before breaking away into a gallop even faster than Sweetie Belle’s. She didn’t look like she knew where she was going, but then again, she didn’t look like she particularly cared, her hind legs bucking at me as she vanished into the distance.

Rumble, in the meantime, had calmed down, although he probably wasn’t going to talk to anypony through a mouthful of blood.

“Scoot broke his snout,” Apple Bloom explained, peeling both his hooves off his face one at a time to reveal the crushed and crimson mess below. “Applejack’ll be here soon to take him to the hospital. You’d better go and tell his parents.”

“Any idea what made Scootaloo so weird today?” I asked.

Apple Bloom sighed. “Just look at her window.”


On my way home after letting Rumble’s mom and dad what had happened, I stopped by Scootaloo’s house. I knocked on the door, but nopony answered, so I just checked her window like Apple Bloom suggested. And on it I saw not one, but two gold stars.

No wonder. Scootaloo must be so stressed from working so hard that it went to her head.

I left her a note saying I was sorry on her porch and began my short trot back to Mom. When I got to my street, though, I saw one of Dad’s friends walking in the opposite direction. I greeted him, and he tipped his hat to me, but he looked sad. He was probably in a Tuesday mood, too.

When I went in through the door, I saw Mom huddled on the dining room couch, hugging herself. An open letter was on the coffee table.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

Usually Mom would ask me how my day was, and I would’ve told her about Scootaloo and Rumble, about the ponies outside Sugarcube Corner, and I would’ve asked her what incendiary charges were. But Mom didn’t ask me how my day was.

Instead, she beckoned me closer, wrapped me in her forelegs, and pulled me into a tight hug. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

I was about to remark at how weird everypony seemed to be acting today when I saw our window.

“Hey, look,” I said, pointing at the glass. “We have a gold star!”


Comments ( 66 )

This story was a shot. A fully-charged sniper shot. To the head. Of my feels. :pinkiesad2:

Brilliant as always, good sir.

Too late to read now, maybey tomorrow! :rainbowkiss:
*klicks read later*

EDIT:




Wow........ that punchline, that... wow very good very good!
That really hits you in the end, great job Mindblower :pinkiesad2:

i just looked at the description and was like "that's how you lure someone into a good read."

Pretty good.
Pretty good...
*shadow sinks*

This is a pretty good story, it's verry deep and all but may I ask who is the enemy? considering they have 2 godlike princesses... :P

Here. My feels. Have ALL OF THEM.

:raritycry:

Buck.

Right from the beginning I figured what was going to / had happened, but I couldn't stop reading because I had to know how it ended.

Oh...God...Wow...

Oh good god. This is the first fan fiction to ever make me cry. Whe Scootaloo threw that rock and started crying, I lost it. You could feel her pain. Well done. You have a talent.:fluttercry:

Man, those aren't feels. That's a brick wall of feels. You just up and run right into it. At full speed.

That was spectacular, sir. Well done.

Has anyone ever commented on your name, Mindblower, cause now my mind is blown. You have done a very good job. Also, poor Scootaloo, no wonder she was upset. And I can see someone wishing they had never been so curious about those incendiary charges.

Bring our boys home

damn, that was so heartbreaking, but It was an great story

That was pretty amazing. I mean, the way you told it from a kid's point of view and how innocent they can be and how his mom tried to protect him from the truth for as long as possible... I didn't honestly catch on until he saw the golden stars on poor Scootaloo's window. And that ending was truly heartbreaking.

Bravo. :pinkiesad2:

That was... astonishing. While I didn't cry, I felt that, and the impact was even stronger when I was able to figure out what the gold stars meant before the end.

Author, VERY well done. My compliments.

OH GOD THE SAD.

War. War never changes.

I'm staring blankly at the last paragraph...
I can't do much more at the moment...

To me, this is all pre-canon. All before the show. I know it doesn't make much sense, buuut...
Anyway, yes. Applause. All the applause. You have the envy of everyone for that last paragraph. It's just so godamn neat.

A salute for the fallen.

Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeels. I honestly didn't get where it was going until the end.

I feel like I stepped into the middle of a really good story or movie.

Description is key. As amazing and "feel-provoking" as this is, it doesn't really do much for the reader if there's no story to it. You leave so many unanswered questions here I have no feels.

Making the main character stupid was just annoying. I can understand them thinking that the gold stars were good, but the way you phrase it simply sounds stupid.

When he sees Scootaloo, it becomes so confusing I could barely read it.

That. That was a good end. A very, very good end.

I'm not sure I agree at all with the sentiment above me-- you have enough description here was fine, and the main charcter's lack of understanding is part of what contributes to the ending's effectiveness. Good job.

1639550

Yes this, absolutely this. What makes the story effective is that it is told through the point of view of a child, and thus everything is a skewed version of reality. That's why it works so well.

Nicely done, I love these kind of stories.

Damn.... This diserves a feature

I was 99% sure of the meaning of the title, and when I saw the reference to blue stars, that removed the 1%. Good story, particularly the other references about wartime showing up in everyday life (like math problems in school).

The cause of death was incendiary charges.

>incendiary charges
It seems like they would go into a more detailed explanation than just saying incendiary charges. You know, saying how the charges killed him and stuff.
Good fic, otherwise. A background story would be great for it.

Salute to the fallen.

This was very well done. All of the subtle hints you slipped in alluding to WWII/Cold War-era homefront life were well played. And the irony of the letter at the end...damn, man.

Right in the feels.

uh...I'm sorry but I don't get it. The stars. What do they mean, really?
Sorry if I sound stupid.

B-7

Hands Held High by Linkin Park started to play in my mind at the end of reading.
That's the really serious writing, and it doesn't contradict with show ideas. But a wartime is the time while everithing reaches extreme levels.

1642364 Signifiers for households that have lost a family member at the Front. Scoots, of course, has lost *both* parents... :fluttercry:

After reading this a second time...

Well, shit.

.... Wow. Just wow. That was such excellence, I can't think of anything to say.

My feels...they are like waterfalls!

Dang good story. I applaud!

The... shiver was strong after that ending...

Eh, it was okay. Feels like I've read it before. Oh wait...

This reminds me of these songs:

When I first read this, I didn't know what an incendiary charge was. Neither did my family. I looked it up. For those of you who don't know... it's basically a bomb, which, after blowing up, ignites a large fire(I'm pretty sure. Ask.com hasn't failed me yet, so...). Which means, either his father was blown up, burned to death, or both.

I... my stomach... it physically hurts. I've read things which have depressed me... but I don't think they've ever gotten a physical reaction out of me before. I think I'm going to go watch some happy ponies. Cheer me up a bit.

J-just know... this is absolutely beautiful. I adore this, no matter how sad it made me. I love you.

Oh christ.

Fuck you, ponies and trench warfare man, it doesn't even bare thinking about.

Great fic. I loved it.

I sometimes think I'm a heartless bastard, but you somehow manage to show my emotions with writings like this.
Thanks you.
Seriously, this was just amazing.

Note: All above comments were made before the following letter was omitted from the very end of the story.

It is our painful duty to inform you that a report has this day been received by the Office of the War Minister notifying the death of (no.)         16929         (rank)        Lieutenant         (name)        Chocolate Mint, (regiment)                 Second Legion,         which occurred at         Stalliongrad on         Monday, November Fifth,         and we are to express to you the sympathy and regret of the Royal Ministry at your loss. The cause of death was         incendiary charges.

First Royal Sister and Princess of the Day,

                        Celestia

See, when I saw the story title and description, the first thing I thought of was "Jews in the holocaust ponified".

Because of my skewed expectations, my reaction to the story was a mixture of relief and "oh, that's it?"

Not that pony holocaust is a good idea, though, it's a horrible idea and I only read this story because I was curious.

The whole using-Equestria-to-mirror-the-horrors-of-the-worst-parts-of-real-life thing isn't really my box of rocks, as I generally use ponystuff (and often, fiction and entertainment media in general) as an escape from the things which make me miserable to think about, but to be fair, this was well-written for what it was trying to be. It was pretty clear from the get-go what the gold star means (there were more than enough hints for even someone who doesn't usually think about this kind of stuff to figure it out), so I think it's pretty classy that you never felt the urge to come out and just say it up front. Well, I guess you did at first, but then you realized how much better the story would be if you omitted that last bit (hint: you were correct to do this).

It did take me a minute to figure out what Scootaloo's deal was, that she had pretty much snapped after losing both her parents. With that new knowledge, though, I can appreciate her scenes a lot more in hindsight. I'm not really going to address my confusion over what must be going on with her living situation; rather, I'll just pretend she's being looked after by some other relative. Must be one hell of a miserable military state if both parents are allowed to go off and die like that, but all the propaganda and lies and general sullenness leads me to believe that's what you were going for anyway, so bravo I guess.

Edit: Thinking about it some more, I'd like to add that it's one of your more well-written stories, and I did give it a thumbs up. You've definitely improved as a writer over the last year, and it shows. This specific story wasn't really for me, but I do acknowledge its quality.

1573748
The ancient egyptian pharohs were considered gods, your point being?:facehoof:

1741404 yeah but the pharohs didn't have awesome alicorn powers xD

Login or register to comment