//------------------------------// // She's Your Daughter // Story: She's Your Daughter // by Ribe_FireRain //------------------------------// She's Your Daughter A Story by FireRain *** *** *** They grow up so fast. Where does the time go? One day, you witness the miracle of your child being born, fresh from the uterus of your partner, and the next, they are already taking their first steps and talking. After that, they are already on the road to their teenage years. Gone are those years of goo-goo-gaga baby speak and those heavily encouraged potty training and walking exercises. There will be no more Peek-a-Boo! as Daddy hides behind his hands and elicits a laugh from his Little Cherry. All of those fond memories, all of the small things, they were something that he missed dearly. In his daughter's bedroom at the family farm on the edge of Canterlot, Dad stood by the open door, standing slightly slumped and still by the doorframe. He gave a loud, deep, sad sigh as he took in the sight. The room was large, and it had been her's since the day she was brought home as a newborn. Her cot where she had snoozed peacefully and awoken in a fit of parent-calling cries, an act of begging for a warm bottle of milk to lull her back to sleep had transformed into a full-size, wooden-framed bed as she grew up. On top of her bed were neatly-laid and freshly-washed sheets of the colour that matched her mane - a deep, candy apple red that was designed in a checkered pattern of darker and lighter shades of red. Dad recalled the many times he had opened the door to check in on her as she slumbered, seeing her small, cream-coloured face kissed by the light that broke in through the crack of the open door. He remembered how her mouth was always morphed into a silent 'O' shape as she slept peacefully, her eyes gently closed. Next to her bed was her little wooden nightstand, a few trinkets sitting on the top of it, such as a small silver locket and a framed photograph. There was also a small hand mirror, laying beside the framed photo. There was a small bureau with a large, oval-shaped mirror affixed to it, nestled between a pair of jewellery drawers. Where the person would sit, there was a large, long drawer that was hanging slightly open on its rollers. It had been emptied sometime before, about a few days ago. Apple Bloom used to always sit in front of that mirror, always gussying around with her hair, tying in her pink bow, a gift bequeathed from her mother, passed on to her through her Dad. It always amused him how he'd always tell her to hurry up, otherwise, she'd be late for school to start, and she'd always respond with, ''Jus' another second!''. Of course, 'another second' usually meant 'another twenty minutes'. Apple Bloom was like her mother in that sense. She always wanted to look her best, to ensure that everything was just perfect and nice and dandy. Thinking of her mother, his then-wife, Dad became sad, mournful. She would be so proud of her daughter. She would adore and admire her for what she'd become and all the things she's accomplished so far in her short life. How he wished that she had lived to see it. All of those memories of raising a child on his own as a single father, it had taken its toll on him, a hard but rewarding feat, and he wished he had somebody to share those moments with. He knew that she must be smiling down at them both from above, wherever she might be. He liked to think that she was. Dad entered the room and slowly trudged across the old wooden planks that served as a floor. A red and black rug dotted with apple designs was spread out in the middle of the room. Sunlight drifted in an touched the middle of the rug from a window directly across from the doorway, overseeing the apple orchard and fertile rural land. He came towards the bureau and leaned forward, gazing into the polished glass and staring at his own reflection. Green eyes stared back at him, lodged in a smoothly-sculpted face with narrow cheek bones and a cleft chin and five o'clock shadow. A light blue shirt was tucked into the waist of his faded blue jeans, held up by an off-brown leather belt with elegant curves, a Father's Day present. He never went a day without wearing it. In Dad's mind, a ghost of his daughter, a memory from years' past, was sitting at a non-existent chair in front of the mirror. Her youthful and chipper face was observing herself as her hands were fiddling behind her neck, her fingers intertwining as she did up her bow. All the while, her lips were pursed together lightly as she was humming a song to herself, a happy tune that made you want to tap your foot to the rhythm. Dad had come up beside her, seeing that she was in a vainful struggle to tie the knot in her bow. He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her amber-gold eyes rolled to meet his own in the mirror as she gave him a curious look. ''Here, let me help you with that,'' He said, moving up his hands to finish tying the troublesome knot for his little girl. Once he had finished his deed, he patted her on the back and said, ''There. You look gorgeous,'' and it always made him laugh how it made her blush. ''Thanks, Dad,'' She said gratefully, turning around to face him, giving him a loving hug, wrapping her arms around his back. He returned the embrace and gave her back a rub. ''Anytime, my Little Cherry,'' He said to her, although she was by no means applicable for the title of 'Little'. She was a week away from being fifteen at the time, but, to her Daddy, she would always be his little girl. It was the law of daddy-daughter relationships. Parents are all the same in the sense that they perceive their child as being younger than they actually are, and, no matter how old they might be, they would always be their baby. The memory faded almost as soon as it had transpired, and he'd be The King of the Liars if he said he didn't feel like crying the instant he recalled the memory. He would always be there for her, rain or shine, and he wouldn't rest until he knew for absolute certain that his little girl was happy. She was all he had, after all. Next, he turned his attention towards the nightstand where the framed photo was propped up on its little collapsible stand. Dad headed next to the bed and slowly sat down atop the plush, cotton-smelling duvet covers and rolled his hands down his legs and over his knees as he gave a soft sigh. He reached over and took ahold of the photograph contained behind the thin layer of glass. He brought it in front of his face and examined it. It was of himself and Apple Bloom, him standing beside her with a proud smile on his lips as his hand was clasped firmly but loosely on her shoulder as she wore a royal blue set of graduation robes and a hat atop her red hair. She was smiling widely too, a smile of great accomplishment and achievement, a scroll detailing her prowess held in her delicate hand. He remembered that day so very clearly, a very proud and exciting time for both father and daughter. It was on the grounds of Canterlot High, right after she had accepted her graduation papers on the stage in front of hundreds of other proud, teary-eyed parents. It was a day of celebration, a celebratory event for hard, painstaking days of studying paying off on young, eager and ambitious minds for a chance of a brighter future. Dad had unashamedly cried a little when he saw his girl walk up on stage, now a fully-grown and completely independent young woman. He had flashbacks of her childhood and her upbringing flicker in front of his eyes like a zoetrope on full-throttle as he watched her accept her certificate of achievement. She looked so grown up in those robes, so sophisticated, on the start to a path leading to a brighter future than her father could have imagined. Words could not even begin to describe how amazed he was to witness the sight, to indulge and share in the same proudness and moment of his child's glory with every other parent in the crowd. Apple Bloom was an over-achiever in some subjects, carpentry and engineering, to name a couple, but the one dream and ambition she had in mind for a potential career resided within the filming industry. That was her cause for drive: to become a film director for the silver screen, to be a creative visionary. The picture held in his hand, now that he was looking at it, just moments after it had been taken, Apple Bloom had catapulted her arms around her father and pulled him down to her level. Her Dad gasped in surprise, giving a laugh as his daughter's arms encased him and she hugged him tightly between her strong arms. ''H-Hey, what are---'' He started to say, shaking off his surprise. Apple Bloom only shoved her face into his cheek and nuzzled him affectionately, like a little puppy cuddling up to its owner. Her face was all smiles and her cheeks were tinted a light rosey hue. ''It's all thanks to you, Daddy!'' She had told him. ''If it weren't for you, I wouldn't ever had the courage to make somethin' of myself! You were there ev'ry step of the way for me!'' She said thankfully, her eyes becoming slightly glossy as her joy began to pour out of her. Dad only chuckled and took off her hat for a moment so she could ruffle the hair on the top of her head playfully, replacing it a moment later and saying, ''That's what dads are for, Sweetheart,'' He said, giving her cheek a small peck. ''I'm proud of you, Apple Bloom. I love you.'' ''I love you, too, Daddy,'' Apple Bloom said as she hugged him one last time. They were soon joined by her two friends, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, along with their parents. They all celebrated their educational success by going out that night for dinner in a continental buffet named Cosmos, and all of them savoured in the moment, spending the night swapping stories and discussing plans for the future, telling of each other's personal wishes and desires for what they wanted out of life. Scootaloo wanted to, of course, become a professional racer. She sure was a wild card and an adrenaline junkie when it came to competitive sports. She was also a very agile and pro at riding her scooter with the elegance of a ballerina, if ballerinas were able to do dives, plié and spins on four wheels over a half-pipe. Her passion burned behind her purple eyes, and she was headstrong and daring, willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wanted. He admired that about her. Good kid. Sweetie Belle, on the other hand, wished for something more befitting of a fashionable and well-mannered lady, holding her chin up high for a career as a singer and musical artist. He had heard her sing, too. She had the voice and harmony of an angel, and she looked like one, too. A pretty little thing, was Sweetie Belle. There was no doubt in his mind that she would have no trouble in the slightest in achieving her goal. She would undoubtedly make any crowd swoon and croon to the sound of her divine vocals. Dad came back to reality and the precious memory had ended. His Little Apple Bloom was gone now. She had taken her impressive grades and qualifications and put them to use, landing a place in a posh university on the other end of the country. Having her so far away hurt his heart, although, he knew she would be back eventually. Hopefully. In her absence, he had found himself to become bored very quickly, almost instantly, and he had nobody to converse with or to share a laugh with. The farm was dead silent without her around, and after getting used to the endless spouting of noise and cheer that she had brought to the household since she had arrived as a mere baby, it seemed strange and almost foreign to be back where he started before her birth. Having no wife to spend time with only added to the blues that was his loneliness. Oh, how he wished she were still here with him. Back when it was only them living here, they had constantly spoken about starting a family of their own by having a child to love and cherish. He missed those bright blue eyes of her like the morning sky on a cloudless morning, and the sun as the orange-golden rays highlighted those adorable white-ish freckles on her cheeks. He could almost see her there now, standing next to him in her sassy, thin brown leather jacket and loose but fashionable jeans beside him on the bed, her love-filled eyes gazing into his as her sweet, sugary smile greeted him. He loved that smile of hers. He could imaging her saying, ''You done a good job raising our baby girl, Macky. You should be proud of yourself.'' ''Oh, Buttercup,'' He cooed, feeling the tears come rushing back, building up a dam. ''It ain't the same without you aroun' the house. Our li'l girl's all grown up. Off doin' bigger an' better things,'' He said. ''Takes after her mother, don'tcha think?'' Nobody answered. He knew she wasn't there. It was all in his head, and he hated to accept that fact. It was only him and his thoughts. He glanced around the room again. It was basically barren and completely empty, her wardrobe on the other side of the room completely emptied out, all of the contents packed the day before Apple Bloom was scheduled to begin her first year of university. She had taken everything she owned and all the essential items she needed, from toiletries, healthcare products, her clothes, her trademark pink bow from her deceased mother, a few personal items, such as her little diary she kept hidden beneath her pillow, her research notes on directing and, of course, her graduation certificate. Everything she needed, aside from the framed photograph, her locket and her hand mirror. She had left them for him. Dad's hand reached over and his fingertips grazed the chain to the silver locket that Apple Bloom had left behind. This was also her mother's locket at one point in time, but he had given it to her for her tenth birthday. Some time back when they were both dating, Macky had given the locket to Buttercup as an anniversary gift, and, inside, it held two thumbnail pictures of them both, the images surrounded by a heart-shaped frame. Macky pulled the chain lightly and raised up the silver locket, the sterling silver that made it a little scratched, and he undid the small clasp with his fingers to open it. Pulling apart the two halves to reveal the photos, a warmth graced his heart. In place of the photo of Buttercup was a picture of Apple Bloom, smiling sweetly and looking towards the image of her father. She had his hair, and it flowed and shined with grace, and her face held the same trait of natural beauty that her mother had. He stared at the photo of his daughter for a while and he sniffled, gently touching a hand to her face, as if trying to caress her cheek. ''I miss you already,'' He said. ''I don't know how I'm going to get along without you, Sweatheart, but don't you worry none. You jus' worry about knockin' em dead over there. I know you'll do jus' fine,'' He spoke out loud. Her course of study would be over in the span of two years' time, and then she would be back home with him. Like old times. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, and he was going to miss the presence of his little girl hanging around the house and brightening up his day. Her little optimistic and radiant smile always poured such an invigorating energy into his old bones that it made him forget all of his woes in the blink of an eye. It was what kept him going. His little girl had left here as a young woman, and by the time she returns, she will be a fully-developed woman. She'll be everything and much more, wisened and reinforced by the knowledge she would have picked up by the time her course comes to an end, and her father knew that she would prevail. ''An Apple never quits,'' He used to tell her, and it was true. Apples were not meant to be quitters. Stubbornness is what keeps their motors turning, and he knew that Apple Bloom would prove him right. She always did. Until she came back, Macky clasped the silver locket shut and proceeded to droop it over his head, allowing it to dangle around his neck, the cold metal soothing. She may not be here in person, but she'll always be in his heart and on his mind. He couldn't wait until his baby girl came home, and he was willing to wait for her for as long as it might take.