//------------------------------// // Hope to See You Soon // Story: This Town Will Never Let You Go // by RB_ //------------------------------// Breakfast conversation was light in the Apple family’s kitchen, that morning. Big Macintosh’s seat at the table was empty; he had already excused himself and gone out into the fields. No farmwork had gotten done the day before, he’d said, so he was getting a headstart on today’s double load. Apple Bloom didn’t feel much like working. Neither, it seemed, did her sister. They sat across from each other at the table, Apple Bloom poking at her oatmeal. It was Applejack who finally broke the silence. “So, uh…” She swallowed. Her voice was rough. “How are you holding up?” “I’m alright,” Apple Bloom mumbled. “Now we both know that ain’t true,” Applejack said. “Not after that.” Apple Bloom winced. “You were real out of sorts yesterday, is all,” Applejack said. “We were worried about you.” “Mm.” “Not that I can blame you,” Applejack continued, leaning back in her chair. “Celestia knows I wouldn’t be much better if I was in your horseshoes.” Apple Bloom sighed. “I’m as alright as I think I can be right now,” she said. “That’s not very alright, is it?” Apple Bloom ran her spoon around her bowl again, her eyes tracing its path. “No, not really.” In truth, Apple Bloom couldn’t remember much of what had transpired after she’d seen what she’d seen. Even at the time, following the shock, it had felt like her mind had been enveloped in a haze. She’d had to walk back to the station, her and all the other passengers, she remembered that much. They’d been told the train wouldn’t be moved until the mess was cleaned up. Those had been the conductor’s words: ‘the mess’. She hadn’t wanted to stick around to watch them pick the pieces of the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother out of the train’s grinning maw. She remembered the motion, and how it had felt like someone else must have been moving her limbs for her, because she certainly hadn’t been up to the task. She remembered, with strange clarity, how all she could think about was how she’d left her bag on the train. Then the haze had taken her completely, and when it had finally cleared again, she’d been lying in her bed in the middle of the night, listening to the muffled sounds of her siblings’ voices through the floor of her bedroom. “Did you manage to get any sleep last night?” Applejack asked her. “I don’t think so.” She certainly didn’t feel like it, and the shadows under her eyes seemed to agree. “I know it’s hard right now,” Applejack said. “It’ll get better.” “I know,” Apple Bloom said. She kept her gaze down. Applejack sighed. “Look, I just… You’ve never had to deal with this sort of thing, but your brother and me, we’ve been through this before. And… it’s gonna be hard. No denyin’ that. It’s gonna be hard for us too.” She reached across the table and placed her hoof over Applebloom’s. Applebloom looked up at her. Applejack’s smile was weak, but sincere. “So if you need anything, or you want to talk, we’re here,” she said. “I promise.” Apple Bloom smiled back. After a few moments, Applejack released Apple Bloom’s hoof and returned to her side of the table. She stood up, her chair squeaking in protest as it rubbed against the floor. “I’ve got to get to work in the orchard,” she said. “You don’t have to work if you don’t want to. Mac and I can handle it for today.” Apple Bloom blinked. “You sure?” “After what you went through yesterday?” Applejack said. “Sure I’m sure. You rest up. And if you need anything—” “You and Big Mac’ll be around,” Apple Bloom finished for her. “I got it.” The shadows under Applejack’s own eyes deepened as she smiled. Then, she turned around and headed for the door. Apple Bloom remained at the table. She glanced down at the bowl in front of her, then pushed it aside. She wasn’t hungry, and her oatmeal had cooled off a while ago. She propped her head on her hooves and let out a long breath. The house seemed so quiet, all of a sudden. Apple Bloom knew her sister had meant well by giving her the day off, but honestly she would have been grateful for the work. As it was, the walls of the farmhouse quickly became too suffocating to bear alone. Unfortunately, she soon discovered she wouldn’t have to, because within half an hour of Applejack’s leaving, the first of the well-wishers began to appear at their doorstep. Following those first few ponies, there came a steady stream of knocks on the farmhouse’s door in rough ten-minute intervals. Most everyone in town had known Granny Smith (she’d been living in it for so long she’d practically become a part of the landscape), and so most of the town had their respects to pay. Many of them brought food, dinners and baked goods. Some of them she could swear she’d never seen before in her life. Apple Bloom accepted their gifts and whatever words of encouragement or sympathy they had to offer, but she turned away anyone who asked to come inside. It didn’t feel right to her, somehow, to fill the hole in the building’s occupancy so soon after it had been opened. It wasn’t until around noon, long past the point where the pies and little containers of lasagna had taken over their fridge, that Apple Bloom finally answered the door to the one pony she actually wanted to see. “Hey, Sweetie,” she started to say, but she was cut off immediately by the smaller mare’s legs wrapping around her. After a moment, she returned the hug. “I only just heard,” Sweetie mumbled. “I’m sorry.” “S’ alright,” Apple Bloom said. “It don’t make no difference.” After a few moments more, Sweetie drew out of the hug. “Are you doing okay?” Sweetie asked her, quickly amending it with it with: “I know that’s a stupid question.” “It’s fine,” Apple Bloom said. “I’m… I don’t know. I’m doing. You want to come in?” “Can I?” “Yeah, sure,” Apple Bloom said, stepping aside. She snorted. “Heck, help yourself to some lasagna. Celestia knows we aren’t gonna be able to eat it all.” “So she was just… there?” Sweetie said, eyes wide, cheeks a little green, one hoof risen to cover her mouth. “On the tracks?” Apple Bloom nodded. “I can’t even imagine,” Sweetie said. “I, I mean, that’s… that’s just horrible!” “Yeah,” Apple Bloom said, dryly. “It was.” The two had taken refuge in Apple Bloom’s bedroom, on the second floor. They’d both taken to the bed, Apple Bloom sitting up against the headboard and Sweetie laying across the foot. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room in all its sparseness. The suitcase still sat by the wall. Sweetie swallowed. “How did…” she started to say, but seemed to think better of it and trailed off. “How’d she get out there?” Apple Bloom finished for her. Sweetie nodded. “I’ve been wondering that myself.” “You don’t know?” Sweetie bell asked, her eyes widening. Apple Bloom shook her head. “No idea.” Her gaze drifted over to the door. “It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” It didn’t. And the more Apple Bloom thought about how a mare who could barely make it out of bed on a good day could have walked several miles to land in the path of her train, the more impossible it seemed. “Still doesn’t feel real,” she said, looking back at Sweetie. “Like you’re dreaming?” “No,” Apple Bloom said. “Not like that at all.” Downstairs, someone began knocking on the front door. Apple Bloom made no motion to get up. Sweetie raised an eyebrow. “You gonna get that?” “No.” The knocking continued. Apple Bloom shrugged. After a few more moments, Sweetie slid off the bed and headed for the door. It took a few minutes before she came back. “That was the Cakes,” she said. “They brought a pie. I left it on the counter.” “You should take it home with you,” Apple Bloom said. “We’ve got plenty.” Sweetie ignored this and slid back onto the bed. They sat in silence for a little while. “So, uh,” Sweetie began. She swallowed. “What are you going to do now?” Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “Like, about…” Sweetie swirled her hoof around in the air, then sighed. “What are you going to do about Fillydelphia?” she said. Apple Bloom blinked. “You’re really bringin’ that up now?” “I was just wondering.” “Well, nothin’s changed. Babs is still waitn’ for me, anyway. She can’t make rent on her own.” “So you’re still going, then?” “Yep.” “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sweetie lay a hoof on Apple Bloom’s leg. “Y’know, with you… like this… it might not be the best idea to—” Apple Bloom brushed her off. “It’s okay.” “Apple Bloom, it’s not okay. You’re not okay.” “I know I’m not okay!” Apple Bloom snapped, raising her voice so suddenly that it made Sweetie jump. “How could I possibly be okay after something like that?” Sweetie flinched. “I just meant—” “But I ain’t gonna be any more okay if I stay here,” Apple Bloom said. “If anything, I’d be worse off. So yeah, I’m still goin’. Just as soon as the funeral’s over with.” She laid her head back against the headboard and turned her gaze up at the ceiling. Her momentary frustration waned just as quickly as it had erupted. “Why would you be worse off staying with us?” Sweetie’s voice was low, and timid. Apple Bloom saw the look on her face and immediately regretted having said anything. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, quieter now. “You know that.” “I know,” Sweetie said, but the timidity hadn’t left her voice. Apple Bloom let out a long breath. Then, she sat up. “C’mere,” she said, holding her forelegs out. Sweetie accepted the embrace. “It ain’t you,” Apple Bloom said. “I promise it ain’t you.” Sweetie sniffled and said nothing. Eventually, Sweetie pulled out of the embrace and wiped her eyes with a fetlock. She let out a weak chuckle. “And here I thought I was supposed to be comforting you,” she said. “I’m not doing a very good job, am I?” “Nah,” Apple Bloom said, smiling. “You’re doing great.” “You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” Apple Bloom said, as Sweetie Belle stepped out of the house, the light of the sunset staining her white coat orange. “I dunno if I could keep going without you.” “Of course,” Sweetie said, smiling. “That’s what friends are for, right?” “Thanks, Sweetie Belle.” “Anytime, Bloom.” Sweetie turned towards the road, and Apple Bloom pulled the door closed. Once more, silence ruled the Apple family farmhouse. Floorboards creaked in familiar ways as Apple Bloom made her way back towards the stairs. As she passed the open doorway to the kitchen, she glanced inside. There was that pie Sweetie had told her about, sitting on the counter. Obviously, she hadn’t taken it with her. She’d intended to return to her room, perhaps to take a quick rest before heading out to help Big Mac bring the farm tools in (she certainly didn’t feel like greeting any straggling well-wishers), but as she stepped onto the landing a curious expression overtook her features, and she found herself turning towards the other end of the hall. And, in particular, the door to a certain now-vacant room. She’d meant what she’d said, earlier. It didn’t make any sense. By Apple Bloom’s estimate, it had to have been at least a five-mile trek from the farm to that part of the tracks. Granny Smith could barely walk ten feet without her joints locking up, so unless she’d pulled a Twilight Sparkle and suddenly sprouted wings, there was no way she could have made it that far on hoof. But if she hadn’t, then… how had she gotten out there? What if the answer was behind that door? Apple Bloom took a step towards it. She wasn’t sure who had closed it, but she could only assume it had been Applejack—respect for the dead, or something along those lines. Applejack had been in the kitchen, but she said she hadn’t seen any sign of her leaving, so she couldn’t have taken the front door—unless Applejack had been getting less observant in her own old age, but Apple Bloom didn’t buy that for a second. If she hadn’t taken the door, then how could she have gotten out? Her window? But that would have taken her onto the roof. There was no way she could have gotten down from there on her own, even getting out the window would have been difficult for her. Unless she hadn’t been— Apple Bloom halted in her tracks. No. She was being silly. Granny had somehow made it out of the house and committed suicide by train, those were the facts. It didn’t matter how, and it didn’t matter why. All that was important was that she was gone now, and that she wasn’t coming back. She forced herself to turn around. The door remained closed behind her. Besides, she thought, as she walked away. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen in Ponyville. … The mare in the dark opens her eyes. Or—she thinks she does. It makes no difference, anyway, not down here. She groans. The sound echoes off of the smooth, solid walls of her prison. The room stinks of sweat and urine, but she’s long stopped noticing it anyway. She rolls onto her back. She can feel her muscles protesting, feel her skin tightening around her ribcage. She reaches out a hoof, feels around until she finds what remains of the loaf of bread that had appeared at the door that morning. She takes a few bites, forces them down her parched throat. She has already finished the mug of water that had accompanied the meal. At least they will not let her starve. The bells above ring once, twice, three times. Her prison fills with sound. She has not slept more than an hour since she got here; the bells will not let her. She wishes they could make her deaf, but no such luck. She must endure it. Four, five, six times. She screams, but she can’t hear it. No one can. Seven, eight, nine… Even as she screams, she smiles. Ten. Eleven. She smiles, because she knows she’s never getting out of here. Twelve.