//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1: Mr. Mender 
// Story: Bedtime Stories with Granny Smith 
// by Super_Sonic_Rainboom 
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	It was a beautiful day in Equestria, partly because of the glorious sun currently setting, the horizon swallowing up its glory in an evening light that spread in great ribbons throughout the sky, and also because of the pegasi's artificially cloudless sky. It was the kind of view that made you want to simply look up, stare at the glorious expanse of heavens above, and wish you had your cutie mark.

Applebloom was currently leading the group of disheveled fillies towards the Apple family's namesake as she pulled her head up momentarily to admire the deceptively happy sky, then, very downtrodden, put it back down to resume looking at the dirt. Another day, another failed attempt at earning their cutie marks. On top of that, Sweetie had been rejected by her long-time crush, Featherweight. She glanced back at her white-coated counterpart and saw her own feelings of failure amplified in her young features.

At least I'm not Sweetie Belle, she thought to herself somewhat sympathetically.

Upon entering the Apple household, she was immediately confronted with the delightful scent of apple pie. The residual scent had been so frequent in the house that it could now be smelled even when the oven was void of any confectionery marvels. In the corner of the room, reading a book on who-knows-what was Granny Smith, the gentle rocking of her chair the only thing distinguishing her as awake. A pair of bifocals rested upon her face, helping her to read at this age, when her sight began to worsen and hearing started to fail her.

The three fillies trudged over to the main table of the family room, then sat down and faced one another. Sweetie Belle hadn't lifted her head from the table since sitting down, and none of them felt the need to make their progress (or lack thereof) a conversation topic. Finally, the one to break the silence was, surprisingly, Granny Smith.

Looking over at the sad faces of the collapsed crusaders, she said to one in particular, "Hey there, why the long faces, mah little ponies? You look like you just got rejected by the love o' yer life!", she exclaimed. This only made Sweetie Belle groan pathetically, and the others cringe in sympathy. Granny, seeing she had struck a tender topic, tried to think of a way to cheer up the depressing distraction. There was no way she could read with these grumbling faces in her peripheral. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, inspiration struck.

"I have a wonderful idea! Ya'll look like you could use a good story to cheer them frowny faces right up," she said, leaning forward in her rocking chair. Scootaloo and Applebloom got up out of their chairs and ran to where Granny Smith was rocking in her chair, thinking of which story she should tell. Sweetie Belle, more reluctantly, meandered over to a similar position.

Sensing that her earlier comment on being rejected was closer to the truth than she had anticipated, she make a decision on the story she would tell.

"Listen up now, 'cause this story is completely and definitely goin' ta' make you feel worlds better, and answer some questions you might be askin' in the back o' yer mind. This is the story of Mr. Mender..."

She began to speak in her storytelling voice, and started her story.

Young Mr. Mender was a very odd fellow,

With his ebony mane and his keen eyes of yellow.

Fixing all sorts was his one true passion,

And so long as you come in an orderly fashion,

Whatever you bring him, he’ll fix it for free.

And if somepony inquires of some sort of fee, 

He’ll simply reply, “Bring your next one to me!”

The one thing he can’t mend? Soon, you will see.



For one day on his trip to the public scrapyard,

A voice seemingly came from a pile of glass shards.

It gave a long sigh, a deep mournful sound,

And Mender came nearer to it, then poked his head ‘round.



There, lying against the scrap in plain sight,

Was a beautiful mare in an ethereal light.

And as he approached her, the gentlecolt boldly said,

“What`s a mare like you doing among piles of lead?

I’ll take you to my home, it’s comfortable there.”

So the mare looked to him, and said with despair,



“My betrothed has left me for a stallion with money,

If you think I’ll come with you your head must be funny.

Thanks to you stallions I’ve nothing to lose,

For the path I have traveled’s not the one I did choose.

I was tied to this fate when I said my ‘I do’s.

I’ll not go with you ‘till I know this; who are you?”



So Mender bowed with a flourish and replied to the stranger,

“I am Mender, I swear, I’m a friend, not a danger.

You’re free to stay here in the rust if you’d like,

But my home isn’t far, it’s not much of a hike.”



After thinking it over to avoid being abducted,

She relented and followed with a hint of reluctance.

Once given a room, after her brief examination,

She began to make herself used to the accommodations.



In their time together, they talked a great while,

He had even glimpsed her crack a brief smile.

They talked very often of days long past,

When they were together, the time went by fast.

Occasionally she would break from her sad trance

And since she had stopped crying, her mood had enhanced,

Though all of this changed when they went to the dance.



It was Sweet Apple Acres, a small, tranquil place

The quiet had gone though, without the smallest trace.

For the Apples, the farmers who owned the fine ranch,

Had decided that they would host a small dance.

The shin-dig was not meant to be a formal event,

So Mender decided there were bits to be spent.

He had purchased two tickets, then came home to share one,

He came to her with the promise of fun.

She gladly accepted, and willingly went,

To a fun evening with a friend at a social event.



They danced and they danced, then it reached a slow song,

And as he held her hooves, he sensed something was wrong.

She trotted to one of the yard’s farther corners,

And he followed her out to the edge of the orchards.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired, “Is something the matter?

The music or my dancing, though I’d guess the latter.”

Through a long conversation, and the question avoided,

They returned to the dancing, and tried to enjoy it.



But inevitably came that great fateful day,

She decided her welcome was long overstayed.

Mender choked out a farewell and held back a sob,

And as she left, Mender remembered his job.



For no matter the tools, or the skills or the parts,

The one thing he can’t fix, was the mares broken heart.


As Granny Smith concluded her story, Sweetie Belle looked at the floor contemplatively, while the other two fillies fought back yawns, for night had fallen while they were listening to the story.


That night, as Sweetie Belle was falling asleep, she began to feel a little bit better about what had happened that day. After all, Pipsqueak was pretty cute.





Sorry you guys, I know none of you care about this anyways, but I couldn't finish the next chapter to Trixie's story... and this happened!