//------------------------------// // Death of a Dream // Story: Chained to the Plow // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// When Big Mac was a young colt, just barely out of diapers, he dreamed of being a professional candy taster. Everyday, he would try brand new concoctions and give his completely professional unbiased opinion based on a scale of ‘Mac-ilicious’; A personal measure of how good he thought the candy was based on his superior taste buds.  After a visit from cousin Candy Apple, however, he saw the exact results of what excessive amounts of candy looked like, and Big Mac decided that if he was going to live up to his name it wasn’t going to be like that.   After he discarded the idea of becoming a candy taster, Mac needed a new dream. He decided on being a space cowpony. He would fly to the moon on a cow — Just like in Granny’s bedtime story — and wrangle Nightmare Moon so he could return all the candy she stole to the foals.  He would keep none for himself though, since it was honourable to return all the stolen goods and he needed to be light enough to ride a cow to go to space, which massive amounts of candy wouldn’t help.  As he started school and outgrew his juvenile fantasy, he turned towards the dream of becoming a guard.  Protecting the Princess! Fighting Monsters! Being a Hero! Noble pursuits that he could brag about to that mean mare Spoiled Milk to get her to stop teasing him. And impress some cute mare that he could confess to.   By the time he graduated school, Big Mac’s opinion of the guard had soured. He was a fighter, but not a killer. He couldn’t imagine taking a life and knew that he wouldn’t make it in the military.  He then decided he wanted to be a banker. Mentally stimulating, practical, and lucrative. Secure, honest work.  And it wasn’t farm work. Because that was nothing but a waste of his potential.  Big Mac sat on a hill just past the main farmstead where the funeral was being held. The midday sun bathed his straw-blonde mane and apple red coat in warm hues. Stretching out before him, seemingly endless, was the Sweet Apple Acre orchard. Tall, strong apple trees arranged in tidy rows that bore bushels of crop to be harvested. Bushels that would be harvested by his extended family after the funeral and before they left for their own homes across Equestria.   His parents were dead.  His green eyes turned downwards to the tiny, light yellow foal cradled in his forelegs. Her red mane was tidy and she slept soundly with an open, drooling mouth.  He was massive — a fact, not an ego trip — but with his baby sister Apple Bloom sleeping next to his thick foreleg, he felt bigger than ever before.  His thoughts couldn’t make him feel any smaller.  His parents were dead.  He looked towards the Everfree Forest. He had always thought it was the most dangerous place in Equestria, but he was wrong. A small road from Ponyville to Trottingham that was approximately half a day of travel one way was much more dangerous.  It was scenic, generally quiet and infested with bandits. Ponies, Diamond Dogs, smaller Dragons, and the like. The group that took his parents and grandmother from him had been a diverse mix of desperate and mean. From what the Ponyville guard had told him, they were also soon to be dead. A statement that solidified his choice to not become a guard.    His parents were dead.  And he wished he could stop thinking about it so much.  “You’re missed at the funeral, Cuz.” Big Mac glanced over his shoulder towards the source of the voice. A butter yellow stallion with a dirty blonde mane dressed in a cowpony hat with matching vest trotted towards him.  Big Mac returned to staring out across the horizon. “Go back, Brae. I ain’t worth botherin’ right now.” Braeburn Apple sat his rump down beside him. He gazed out over the acres with quiet contemplation on his face. “Big fields,” Braeburn said.  “Eeyup,” Mac replied.  “Real big,” Braeburn continued.  “Sure is,” Mac agreed.  “It’s a lot for one pony to handle by themselves.” Mac grunted. They sat in silence. Braeburn threw his hat onto the ground with a snort of frustration. “Dangit, Mac. Why?” “Gettin’ kinda sick of all y’all asking me ‘bout a decision I already made,” Mac said.  Braeburn glared at Mac. “Because it’s a dumb decision, Mackie. I couldn’t even believe it when you told Red Gala that you would keep the farm. No one stallion can take care of these here acres, ya big galoot.” He pointed to Apple Bloom with a hoof. “Not while raising lil’ Bloom.” He shoved his hat back on his head. “Not while AJ is runnin’ off to Manehatten.” Mac looked down at his baby sister. She was still blissfully asleep. When he had heard the news of his parents’ and grandmother’s death - he had been waiting for this interview at the bank - she had been the first pony he needed to see.  When the relatives had started pouring in, they had offered to take over the farm and the Oranges to take care of the Apple siblings, but Mac knew the farm would get sold off with no one available to care for it and the big city felt as unappealing to him as moldy pie. It wasn’t their fault. They were worried about him taking on too much responsibility and were trying to ease his burden, but he needed to keep the farm. For him and Apple Bloom.   Just them.  Applejack had taken the Orange’s offer and was leaving later that week. He didn’t blame her for it, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt that she abandoned him and Bloom.  “I’ll manage,” Mac replied. “We’ve always made do. A few buried relatives won’t change that.”  Braeburn shook his head. “You’re being stupidly stubborn. You’re going to work yourself into the ground caring for the acres.” “My choice, Brae.” Mac nuzzled his baby sister who gently grasped his muzzle in her tiny hooves as she continued to sleep. He smiled. “I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.” “Adults can still make dumb decisions. Stupidity ain’t tied to your age,” Braeburn spat out. “Yer birthday was less than a month ago. Ya just graduated from school. Celestia’s sake, you were just at your first job interview three days ago!” Braeburn growled then heaved a weary sigh. “I don’t getcha, Mac. We’re trying to help you. Why are you doin’ this? Why tie yourself to this farm?” Mac looked out over the rows of trees, but instead of trees he saw his family. A family stretching back several generations to the founding of Ponyville. The Apples of Sweet Apple Acres stood by each other thick and thin through every tragedy no matter how great.  This was home, his home. Even if only one tiny Apple was here with him, he would keep his home alive. This palace of trees would remain as the bastion of the Apple family so long as he was able.  So decreed the current Patriarch of the Apple family. “I just have too. I don’t need ya to get it, I just need ya to support it.”  Braeburn shook his head. “You're a damn foalish pony, Mackie.” “Eeyup.” Braeburn snorted. “Least you recognize it. Fine, Mac. You have my support. Probably the only relative here willing to give it to ya.” He got up to his hooves. “I’ll start chippin’ away at the others to convince’em to stop botherin’ ya. They can’t do nuthin’ but talk since you’re the oldest and of age.” “Thanks, Brae.” Braeburn grunted and trotted aways back to the farmstead before stopping. “Are you sure?” “I’m as sure as the sun rises,” Mac replied. “Just checkin’, Cuz. Just know that if you ever need it, I’m here for you.” With those final words, Braeburn left.  Big Macintosh Apple looked over his dominion once more. A castle of two. He was its keeper and, when Bloom was older, so would she. He looked once more to his baby sister. He was a big brother, but in a way, he was now a father. This small fragile bundle was all that was left to him of his family, and he would do anything to protect her.  She would be fine. He would be fine.  They had to be.