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// The end 
// Story: An old timers tale 
// by Ecthelion_Yuda 
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As the train draws nearer to Ponyville, I realise for the first time just how much the world has actually changed. Sky scrapers and high rises have shot up everywhere, obscuring the once beautiful view of the Everfree Forest. The train pulls into a very modern looking railway station, not wooden like the old one but entirely metal, glass and plastic. My hooves clank on the floor as I walk and there is a strange coldness to the place that is completely different to what I would expect from Ponyville.

I walk out of the railway station and witness first-hand the effects of modernisation on my old home. The streets are lined with huge buildings, and I recognise logos everywhere from my connections in Hidden Gem. The sight of a Hidden Gem store sends a shiver down my spine and I’m almost physically sick there on the pavement. Whose life did I ruin to put that there? Was it someone I knew? I shake my head and try not to think about it.

Up ahead there is a bizarre looking wall, stretching for miles in both directions. It seems very out of place because it is made of brick and is radiating with the warmth of the home that I remember. While it doesn’t fit in with the surroundings, it is the only thing that seems to suit my memories of Ponyville. A large red and white sign has been nailed to the wall: “Ponyville Old Town, Heritage Site.” I glance to my left and notice a small gate with a turnstile. I feel a sudden rush of hope that perhaps something does remain of my old home.

The other side of the wall causes floods of memories to return to me. Nothing here has changed at all, it’s the same Ponyville that I left when I was nineteen. Rarity’s Carousel Boutique still stands proudly, albeit the paint is beginning to flake off the walls. The Town Hall still has a few scorch marks from where Derpy tried to ‘help’ Rainbow Dash and the leaves from Twilight’s library reach into the sky like an outstretched hoof towards God. Sugarcube Corner is full of boisterous life and jovial ponies enjoying their cakes, pastries and treats. Everywhere looks exactly the same and I long to wander these streets for an hour or so, just taking in the essence of Ponyville again. But I can’t. None of these places are the reason why I’m here and I still have a job to do.

There are still ways in which I can surprise myself it seems. My hooves, despite not having felt the ground here for ninety years, still remember the way back home. Applejack always did say that even a rolling tumbleweed always finds its way home again in the end. As  walk I can’t escape the feeling that the road seems longer than before, but I suppose that is down to my age more than anything else. Everything seems so hard for me these days.

Eventually though, it all comes into view once again. I’m standing on top of a small hill overlooking the vast army of trees that makes up the Sweet Apple Acres Orchard and the whole farm is laid out before me. The barn is in a terrible state of disrepair and is losing its paint very quickly, and the orchards have become overgrown and unkempt. But this is home. This is definitely home.

I walk slowly down the hill, mostly to avoid causing myself an injury that would prevent me from completing my mission but also because I feel that perhaps I no longer belong here. Ninety years ago I turned my back on this place and never returned, so perhaps I was no longer welcome here. The gate has completely fallen down and there are fragments of the sign that proudly marked the entrance to our land scattered all over the place. Big Mac’s cart lies in the dirt, one of its wheels has fallen off and is lying beside it waiting for the weather to destroy it once and for all. The whole place looks so sad, it is clear that no one has lived here for years. I suppose, once Applejack and Big Mac passed away there was no one left except me. I can’t bear to think that a house that holds so many happy memories for me should stand empty, devoid of love and attention. But there is nothing I can do now.

Pushing gently on the front door I enter my old house. The whole place is covered in a thick layer of dust, but I recognise every inch of the front room. Granny Smith’s rocking chair sits motionless in the corner and the photographs on the walls have faded into brown and yellow blobs in dusty cracked frames. In the kitchen, one of the doors on the cupboards has fallen off and lies on the ground. On the countertop sit the jars that should have been filled with Zap Apple Jam years ago, but the rainbow coloured fruit has already rotted away in the corner to non-existence. Coming back into the living room I turn my attention to the staircase in the corner. As I step on one I hear it creak loudly, but after a few seconds I determine it to be steady enough to stand on. Slowly and very carefully, I climb the stairs to the first floor.

I manage to get to my bedroom, but once I’m there I can’t hold back the tears at all. I fall backwards and sit on the floor and cry. They kept it the same. Nothing in my old bedroom has changed or been moved or anything. The thought occurs to me that perhaps my family kept my room the same just in case I ever decided to come back. They kept it the same just on the off chance that I might one day come back. They were waiting for me, both of them, until the day they died. And I never once came home for them. They were waiting for me for years and I didn’t have the decency to come back and see them once!

Wiping some of the tears from my face I trot over to the bed. I peel back the dust covered duvet and lie down, feeling the softness of the underused mattress beneath me. The bed is too small, and some of the springs in the mattress are broken, but I don’t care. For me, this bed is the safest place right now and as the sun starts to set I begin crying again. I cry for the friends that I gave up, I cry for the family that died waiting for me to just come home to see them, I cry for Ray and the cruelty I treated him with and I cry for all of the ponies whose lives I ruined in my race for power. A million faces flood my mind and each one of them is somepony who I personally hurt. I slide down deeper under the covers, resting my head on the dusty pillow and wept myself to sleep, praying that my dreams would be filled with a love that I could have had.

I wake up and half expect to hear Applejack calling me down to breakfast from the kitchen. A phantom smell enters my nose of my sisters brilliant apple pie, but my mind realises that the scent is a fake almost immediately. As I open my eyes I remember where I am again, and who I am, and I remember that there is no one downstairs. There never will be. Looking out the window I learn that I have slept well into the afternoon as it looks like the sun will be setting in just a few hours. I brush the dust off of my body and head towards the door. I still have my last apology to make.

I shut the door behind me leaving the bed unmade. It’s my wordless thank you to the family who kept it ready for me for ninety years. I climb down the stairs and after a final look at my house, I step out into the orchard. I head towards the West Field, there’s something there that I have to see one more time and hopefully there are some ponies there that I need to see urgently too. 

The day ages quickly and it is almost nightfall before I arrive at my destination. But I am glad to see that this too remains. The Cutie Mark Crusaders clubhouse still hugs the tree like an old lover. Memories return to me of that day a century ago that Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle and I first inherited this place. We spent the entire day just fixing it up, painting it, buffing and refurbishing it and generally just making the whole place look good. Every spare hour that the three of us had as fillies was spent in that clubhouse.

I try to climb the walkway, but it creaks under my weight and I swiftly stop. I’m not as light as I once was it appears and I fear that if I were to try and go inside my clubhouse I may never come out again. Instead I content myself with just staring at it for a while. After a few minutes of gazing at the old tree house, reliving simpler days, I decide to try and see what is behind the tree.

And there they are.

I barely notice them at first because of the failing light, but then I register them properly and smile at them. I lie down on the grass beside them and after a few moments of just enjoying their company I begin my story. I tell them everything, how I started out well, broke away from Fancy Pants, started my own business, met a handsome young stallion and how I totally ruined my life after that. I choke on my words as I talk them through how I pushed Grace and Ray away, about how I destroyed hundreds of ponies lives and livelihoods all for my own selfish reasons. I tell them how sorry I am that I abandoned them and ignored them for so long and how I wish that we could just go back to being the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle lie there in silence, not saying a word to me at all. But I’m not surprised. I stare at the two headstones, one for Scootaloo and one for Sweetie Belle and smile at the thought of them choosing to rest here for eternity. Obviously they never forgot this place. This clubhouse was our favourite place to be as fillies, so it makes sense that they would have wanted to rest here. I lie down beside them, telling them stories and reminiscing about the old days and how I wish that I could have done better. 

The night wears on and I can hear the larks begin to sing. The world is peaceful and beautiful in the steadily lightening morning. The larks continue their dawn chorus as I hear her voice from behind me.

“Come on Applebloom, we haven’t got all day.”

Play this for the next section

I turn around and there she is. Scootaloo! But she isn’t like me, old and grey and haggard, weary of life. She’s nothing but a little filly again, a small orange ball of excitement and feathers just like when I first met her. Her flank is blank again and her crazy purple mess of a mane bounces as she trots past me. Behind her stands Sweetie Belle, small and white with her curly mane partially covering her unicorn horn. Both fillies smile at me expectantly as Sweetie Belle bounds over to stand beside Scootaloo.

They forgave me, after all these years. They are offering me the chance to be with them again. The dawn is breaking behind them, flooding the orchard with its pure and brilliant light when a new filly joins them. She is dainty, absolutely tiny and a huge red bow ties her long red hair back from her face. The light from the sunrise is almost blinding me as I watch the new filly run and join the others. The younger version of me runs and jumps and plays with her fellow crusaders again, and I smile as I let my eyes close.

I try to reopen my eyes, but my eye lids are too heavy. I can feel everything winding down and I realise what’s happening to me. My body becomes heavier, more difficult to move. I lie on the grass and feel everything start to stop. I’m not scared of dying now. I’ve said everything that I need to say and all my past sins have been forgiven. I can still hear my friends and I playing in the bright sunlight. I begin to drift into unconsciousness, an unearthly peace spreading throughout my mind and body. As the final shred of consciousness leaves my body for good I can hear the distant sound of the three fillies shouting “Cutie Mark Crusaders YAY!” I want to join in, but I can’t move my mouth anymore. I’m no longer in my body and before I fade from this world entirely a final thought crosses my mind. Ray O’Sunshine has managed to make my final moments in this realm all the better.

“We can have our adventure in another life eh Ray? I’m already looking forward to it.”





End.