I wrote something. "Can We Talk?" · 3:41am Jun 23rd, 2014
Here. I wrote a something a little while back. I've attached it here because I was working through some emotions at the time and I don't know where my mind was, but this is what's there and I really like it. I wish I knew what I was thinking as far as where I wanted it to go, but I feel if I do get wind of where I want to take this, I feel like you'll see this show up properly.
As for The Literary Appeal, I actually need to read it again myself so I can remember all my plot threads. We're in the third act and I need to start remembering where everyone is and why so I can tie up my loose ends. Oh, and guess who shows up for the first time? I'll give you a hint: She's my favorite pony.
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“Applejack, can we talk?”
“Hm?”
“Applejack, can we talk?”
“Sure thing, sugarcube. What do you want to talk about?”
“Applejack, can we talk?”
Applejack turned, suddenly aware of the blackness that surrounded her. “I… who’s there?”
“You still don’t know, do you?” The voice was isolated, and Applejack spun around. Her world felt dizzy. “After all this time you still don’t know me.”
“I’m sorry!” Applejack felt cold. It grasped at her heart and pulled her down to her knees, locking her into the ground. “Ah didn’t mean to– to—” To what, exactly? She felt hot tears on her cheeks, and relief from where it boiled.
“You never mean to. It’s hard to mean anything. Heart on your hoof, and yet is anypony in your heart?”
Applejack’s eyebrows narrowed, her hoof stomping against the blackness. “Now you listen here, my family is in my heart. Apple Bloom, Big Mac, Granny Smith! I let ponies in—”
“Why won’t you say my name?”
Stepping back, Applejack’s ears fell to the side of her head. “I, what?”
“Applejack. Can we talk?”
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Kicking against her sheets, Applejack dragged herself up. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she felt her eyes raw with salt. “Third time this week,” she grumbled, her voice cracking. Slipping out of her bed, she walked toward the window, watching the sun just beyond the mountains starting to peek through the summits, a stubborn blanket wrapped around her leg as she dragged it with her. She sighed and violently kicked about until the offending fabric released its hold. As the rays of the sun reached her windowsill, Applejack thanked Celestia that at least this time she woke up at a proper time.
Heading downstairs, Applejack was unsurprised to see Big Mac already seated at the table, reading from yesterday’s newspaper and wearing a small pair of reading glasses. He sat himself alongside the window, letting the first light of day illuminate the paper. Applejack silently passed him, her mind focused on breakfast. Big Mac looked over his glasses and grunted as she walked by. Applejack grunted back. Picking himself up, Big Mac disappeared up the stairs, which suited Applejack just fine.
She was determined not to burn breakfast this time. She lit the logs under the stovetop and set to work, every movement measured and every ingredient gathered in order. As she worked, Big Mac re-entered the kitchen. She paused only a moment, trying not to let his silence bother her. They’d been through this the last two mornings. They’d talk about it, nothing would get done, and Applejack would spend the day overthinking something that was fake. Imaginary.
Applejack looked briefly toward Big Mac. She glowered. But before she could look away, Big Mac reached out and placed her hat on her head. “Forgot yer hat,” he said, turning to walk away. “Come on to tha’ living room and I’ll do yer hair up the way you like it.”
“Good morning to you too,” she spat. She realized that her mane fell to either side of her face, painting her the picture of a petulant teen. “Ah can’t, I’ll burn breakfast.”
“Breakfast’s burnt already. Ain’t a good mornin’ an’ you know it.” Big Mac said, disappearing into the other room. Applejack made as if to argue, but as she turned around, she realized she had thrown the milk in the pan and it had sizzled into a horrid gas, and the lettuce was in the blender. Scowling, Applejack led herself into the living room against her worse judgment.
Big Mac was already sitting alongside the couch. Applejack slowly stepped in front of him, turned around, and sat down hard. Putting her hat down beside her, she huffed, trying to make it clear that she wanted nothing to do with talking. She let Big Mac reach around and pull her mane back. As he worked on it, she sniffed. He must have pulled her hair too hard. Applejack twitched as she heard his rhythmic breathing. She felt a comb through her hair, which meant he was going to braid it. He hadn’t braided it in a long time. Applejack loved the way he braided her hair. It was always so large, rather than Rarity’s tight and perfect way. It was rough and tumble, and it was the Apple way. “I had the dream again last night,” she heard herself say.
He grunted. Applejack felt a tear drop from the edge of her muzzle.
“I never say her name.” Applejack’s mane had a knot, but Big Mac dealt with it like a professional. She hardly felt the tug before he worked his way through it. “I thought after everything, I’d say her name.” Big Mac stared at his hooves, trying to figure out where all this hair came from. “Does this mean I don’t love her?”
Applejack felt her head pulled back, but Big Mac just kept working on the braid. “She says I don’t know her, but darn it all, I do. At least, I reckon I do. Don’t I?” Big Mac grunted, and Applejack absentmindedly handed him her hair tie. She stayed silent as he seemed to struggle with keeping the braid intact and slipping on the tie. There was only so much he could do with his hooves, powerful as they were. With a resounding snap, she felt her hair become more stable. She moved to get up when she felt the brush on her tail. Her hooves tensed. “I—”
“Not done yet.” Big Mac said. “Reckon it’ll take me a little while.”
Applejack slumped back down, her tail twitching in his hooves. She felt like Apple Bloom, being treated like she was a little filly. She wasn’t a little filly, though, she could braid her own tail. She didn’t even have to braid it, she normally didn’t.
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That's where it ends.
I wish it didn't.
so far, so good.
There is a lot of weight in what is there. Maybe a little mind drifting would pull more in. Can't help but think who could she be and where is she now? Mac clearly knows something I don't...