The sun poked over the hills lightly, and the orange light it gave off filtered through the large green apple trees of Sweet Apple Acres. Though the trees were apple trees, they held no apples, for they had all been harvested for the winter.
The barn of Sweet Apple Acres was drowned in the sunlight. The barn was normally red, but on this particular morning, it had transferred to orange, trying to match that of the sun. A rooster crowed, signaling to the farmers and other animals that morning had come, and that it was time to begin the day.
Applejack sat on the edge of her bed, crimson-orange sunlight pouring through the window, covering her bed sheets in a strange glow. She had already been awake for a while, holding her dark brown acoustic guitar with both hooves. The design of the guitar was not unique. It had a simple hourglass-shaped body, just like any other guitar of its type. It had small squiggly designs on either side of the front, just for extra detail.
But the guitar wasn’t just any regular guitar. At least to Applejack. It had been her great grandfather’s acoustic, which he had used to herd the sheep and cows back in his day.
Applejack had never been able to find out how he did it. She’d spend hours a day trying to make the animals obey her with the sounds, but they all refused. She had tried for years, studying any possible way he could have done it, but none of them worked.
Eventually, she gave up, and simply used it as a musical instrument, like it was supposed to. Just like any other guitar.
Despite that, she still cared for it greatly. She tuned it conscientiously, being gentle with its old age. She kept at it for a couple of minutes, making sure the guitar would create the correct sounds.
When she finished, she held it still, thinking of any song to play. She had written songs, but never looked at the written papers. She had played them so many times that she had either memorized them by heart, or bored herself with them.
She heard the pang of pots downstairs, where Big Mac would be making breakfast, and she heard the sound of Applebloom’s bedroom door open and close as she headed downstairs toward the aroma of breakfast.
The sound of Applebloom’s door shutting echoed in her head over and over, almost like a drum-beat.
The sound triggered a memory. A song that her father had played for her when she was little. He played it along with his brother, who played drums. The song had no name that Applejack knew of, but it had been her favorite song since the first time she heard it. Her father hadn’t given it a name, for he could never think of one.
Applejack had vowed to him that she would find a name for that song before the day she died. But it was hard naming a song. Many of her songs she herself had written still had no name.
She plucked a string with her hoof, trying to remember the right note. She plucked a few more times, holding several frets. She found the sound she was looking for and struck it a few times, attempting to remember the music.
She played the first part of the song. She knew it was repetitive, but, nonetheless, it took skill to accomplish it.
Applejack heard and remembered the kick-drum hit a couple times, beginning the body of the song. The bass played every few seconds, striking a couple of notes, and the sound of Applebloom’s door played after each couple drum beats, replacing the actual drum in her mind. Applejack played the main guitar, taking the place of her father. She smiled, relishing every moment of the sounds she imagined. She thought of her father and mother; how they would dance to music like this almost every day. They were happy, and that made the family happy.
A tear dripped from her eye the more she thought about her parents. Their deaths couldn't have been any more beautiful. They both died side-by-side the same night.
Applejack had been with them both the whole time.
She continued the song to its end. It was very short, yes, but beautiful in its tune and memory. When she hit the final note and removed her hoof, the note rang through the air, bringing Applejack back from her thoughts and into the present.
She sat there, leaning against the back wall, letting the final sound sink in, and allowing the memories of the past leak away from her mind.
“Applejack!” the small unmistakable voice of Applebloom was barely audible from where Applejack sat. “Breakfast!”
Applejack cleared her throat and shifted the guitar to her side, holding it upright in one hoof and resting the body on her mattress. She took a deep breath and yelled back in reply, “Yeah! I’ll be down in a minute!”
“Okay!” the voice replied, almost impossibly quiet.
Applejack scooted to the edge of her bed, her flank barely supporting her as she bent over backwards, stretching out her legs to try and reach for the guitar case, her head staring over her belly. She assisted her flank’s balance by resting her elbows on the bed. But her efforts were in vain, and she eventually grew bored of trying to take the easy way out.
She leaned her body forward and brought her legs back, sitting up once more. She laid the guitar on the bed, and stood up. She grabbed its case and placed it squarely in the center of her bed, and placed the guitar exactly where it had been when she had found it earlier that morning. She shut the case carefully and locked it, making sure that Applebloom or her friends didn’t come inside and try to play it. Just in case they ended up breaking it in the process. She usually played a little more at dawn, so she knew this wouldn’t be the last she would see of it today.
Applejack sighed and headed out her own bedroom door, closing it behind her. She trotted down the stairs for breakfast and stopped a few steps from the bottom, smelling the wonderful aroma of daisies and eggs. She stepped down the final steps, lifting her nose to smell the full potential. Big Mac cooked good when he felt good. And judging by the way breakfast smelled this morning, Mac was feeling really good. Applejack continued to the kitchen, barely able to pay attention to where she was going. She was only following the sweet stench of deliciousness.
When she reached the kitchen, she regained her senses, and looked back forward. Applebloom sat at the dining table, chomping lovingly on her daisy sandwich. Mac stood facing away from Applejack, grilling some eggs.
“Mornin’ Mac.” Applejack greeted as she sat at the table, across from Applebloom, “Mornin’ Applebloom.” The filly had her eyes closed, smiling and enjoying her sandwich. She waved in acknowledgement, as her mouth was full.
“Mornin’ Applejack.” Big Mac replied without turning from the oven, “Bread: toasted or not?”
Applejack turned to him, “Hmm,” Applejack tapped her chin in thought, “How about one toasted, one not?”
Mac chuckled, “One or the other, sis.”
Applejack smiled, “Toasted, please.” Applejack turned back to Applebloom, who took the final bite of her sandwich.
Applebloom opened her eyes to make contact with Applejack. She suddenly burst into laughter.
“What?” Applejack smiled wider.
Applebloom swallowed the final bite, “Your mane!”
Applejack remained smiling, but a chuckle was added to it. She hadn't brushed her mane or tail yet, nor put in her bands. She knew she had rolled a lot in her sleep last night, so her head must have looked like she had been struck by lightning.
“I’ll fix it after breakfast.” She said, leaning back in the chair. She closed her eyes, light from the sun bleeding through the window, soaking Applejack’s coat in luminescence, and she could feel it burn into her skin. Her eyelids glowed from her perspective; only the color orange filled her vision. She heard Applebloom’s hooves clop as they carried her to the door.
“See you after school!” Her voice peeped. Applejack waved her hoof lightly in a ‘goodbye’ gesture, not wanting to speak, ruining the moment of comfort. Applebloom opened the door, the wind hitting Applejack’s coat lightly. It lasted for only a moment, until the door closed shut, making a sound that had inspired Applejack only moments before.
The sound of a plate hitting the table woke her from her relaxation. She opened her eyes and sat up, looking down at her plate. A perfect daisy and egg sandwich, mayonnaise splattered over the top, laid on her plate. Applejack licked her lips in delight. The bread was lightly steamed: recently out of the toaster.
“Thank you, Mac!” She said happily before grabbing it in both hooves and taking a massive bite out of her sandwich.
“You’re welcome.” He replied flatly, beginning to work on his own sandwich.
Applejack slowly chewed on her delicious meal. When she finished the first bite, she swallowed and asked, “Mail here yet?”
Mac flipped an egg with the pan, “She was here early today. There’s somethin’ from Braeburn for you on the counter,” he nodded his head to the left, toward the counter, “and the bills in the office.”
Applejack sighed. Bills were not even remotely close to as fun as bucking trees. She took another bite of her sandwich, her mood ruined by the curse of monthly payments. Her sandwich suddenly lost most of its flavor; taxes always ruined the mood. She slid out of her chair and walked over to the letter from Braeburn on the counter and brought it back to the table with her. She swallowed her bite, and opened the letter. After the envelope was opened, she set it down, took another bite, and only left a fourth of the sandwich remaining. When she set the sandwich back on its plate, she lifted up Braeburn's letter to read it.
Dear Cousin Applejack,
The orchard is doing fairly well, and I know it’s almost Harvest Celebration, but the farm-hooves have recently been falling ill or leaving to another town for their own families' Harvest parties. The problem is: we still aren’t finished harvesting what we have in the orchards yet, and you’re the best apple-bucker I know. It would be great if you could come out here and help us out!
I think it might also be important to mention that we’ve been having some trouble with some local wildlife, and I would be grateful if you would help me figure out how to get rid of them.
From your Cousin,
Braeburn.
“Well then.” Applejack took one final bite of the sandwich. “Looks like I’m headin’ out to Braeburn’s in a couple of days!” She told Mac with her mouth full.
Mac heard her, despite her rude manners, and turned to face her. “What for?”
“He still hasn't harvested the orchard yet!” Applejack laughed, “That lazy bum!” She pushed back from the table, stood up, and carried her plate to the sink. “He never was the best at bucking!”
“Not like you’re the only cousin he could turn to!” Mac stated jokingly.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. No need to state the obvious!” Applejack walked out of the kitchen and into a nearby room with her desk and lamp in it. She closed the door behind her, silencing the outside world so she could concentrate... On taxes…
Applejack sighed in despair. She grabbed her reading glasses and studied the pages closely. The farm had to stay in their hooves somehow…