Appledashery Vol. Two

by Just Essay


Applebuckery

The cock crowed.

Morning mists and condensation.

Applejack awoke in a blink.

Seconds later, her able-bodied limbs tilted out of bed.

She landed on all four hooves, yawned once, and marched evenly towards the washroom.

Ready to start the day.


Her yawns had ended by the time she reached the kitchen on the first floor of the Apple Family Home.

With memorized motions, she heated up the stove, gathered baking materials, and started making flapjacks.

Within half-an-hour, a full breakfast had been prepared.

Awake before most of the household, Applejack sat at the table, poured on some syrup, and munched away in silence.

Less than fifteen minutes later...

...she got up, washed off her plate, and left the rest of the breakfast warm and prepared for the other three ponies who would be waking within the next ten minutes. She made a lunch for Apple Bloom, bagged it, and headed out the kitchen door just as she heard the hoofsteps of Granny Smith and the youngest member of the Apple Family.


The barn door was already open. Big Mac had been by already. Without wasting a second, Applejack trotted inside, threw a tarp off a wagon full of baskets, and hitched herself to it.

She trotted outside, dragging the wagon behind her. In her peripheral vision, she spotted a muscular red figure headed towards the heart of Ponyville. He vanished beyond the crest of a hill before she could even hear his deep, humming voice.

Gathering a few tools, Applejack threw them into the back of her wagon and trotted briskly for the orchards. She caught glimpse of two figures in her opposite peripheral—one green and the other yellow. There was a distant voice—Granny Smith wishing Apple Bloom a pleasant day at school.

Then all was creaking wagon wheels as Applejack made for the orchards.

Alone.


Hours later, Applejack was bucking her thousandth apple tree.

She was a living capsule of pain and sweat. It was invigorating.

Breathing evenly, she heaved a basket full of fallen apples into the back of her wagon. Then she moved the wagon over to another tree, placed an empty basket beneath it, and resumed bucking with wild abandon.


Even more hours later...

Applejack slapped another basket full of apples into the back of her wagon.

Her mouth felt parched.

Panting for breath, she hobbled around towards the opposite end of the vehicle where a casket full of water hung. She put her muzzle directly beneath the spicket, released, and drank its lukewarm contents.

Then—thoroughly quenched—Applejack doused her neckerchief in the liquid and used the wet rag to wipe her freckled face.

It was the first time all day that Applejack had stood perfectly still.

Her body stung all over... but even that went away.

Eventually, she lowered her neckerchief and stared out from beneath the brow of her hat. Her forehead and eyelashes were moist from the water. The sensation numbed her—however briefly, so that she spent the time staring out with absent-minded contemplation.

Rows and rows of apple trees loomed before her. All was green and vacant in between. A few songbirds flitted overhead, but that was all.

Applejack breathed in silence.

Slowly—with stiff limbs—she turned around and looked the other way.

Orchards and orchards stretched.

Nopony whatsoever.

A blue sky yawned over the beautiful emptiness, filled with the scent of apples. Familiarity.

Applejack breathed. She looked to her left... to her right... and forward yet again.

The more seconds that limped by, the more her ears rang to fill the void.

So she filled it with something else instead. Marching up to another tree, she prepared a basket and struck her hooves against the trunk with all her might.