Back in the present day, Caramel couldn't help but smile faintly as he thought of how much of a godsend Brooklyn had been to him. Without the buff-coated colt, he wouldn't have made it anywhere near as far as he had come today, and he was forever grateful to him for sticking by his side. His only regret was that he would never have a chance to repay Brooklyn's loyalty and friendship, for even though he had vowed to remain friends with him for the rest of his days, fate had once again reared its ugly head and left him alone, unloved and distressed...
“Caramel?”
The tan-furred stallion looked over his shoulder in surprise; but as soon as he saw who it was, he went straight back to being gloomy. “Hullo, Applejack,” he murmured, resting his chin back onto his right foreleg.
Applejack sat down beside him, a look of concern stamped on her face. “Ah wondered where y'all 'ad gone to,” she remarked. “What are ya doin' out 'ere at this hour?”
But Caramel was in too low a mood to even look at her, and merely stared down at the grass, ashamed.
“Is anythin' wrong, sugarcube?”
“Not much – just the same old accidents I've always caused since I first came here,” mumbled Caramel in a sulky, self-pitying tone. “Worst bit is that this time I can't make up for it.”
No sooner had he finished, however, than Applejack noticed the bandage he was wearing around his left foreleg along with the sling that supported it. “Whoa, Nelly!” she gasped. “What in the hay did ya do to yo' leg?!”
The downhearted stallion cringed with guilt and embarrassment. “Sprained it while I was loading my cart earlier – and I ended up wrecking the darn thing too! Granny Smith managed to fix me up, but she wouldn't let me get back to work until I was fully recovered.”
“So that's why Big Mac was askin' me to take care o' yo' jobs!” mused Applejack, her eyes widening with realisation. “Aw, that's a real shame, Caramel.”
But Caramel couldn't seem to bring himself to agree. “I don't understand, Applejack – why?!” he lamented. “Why are you still bothering to employ me here? I'm nothing but a walking disaster – an utter and complete moron who messes up everything I touch! All I've ever done for this place is create more work for you guys because I keep tripping over things, damaging farm equipment and losing seeds and so on!”
Applejack was shocked. It wasn't the first time she had heard Caramel shoot himself down in flames like this, but naturally it still made her blood run cold and her heart sting whenever he did. “Now hang on, Caramel,” she burst out defensively, trying to hold back the tears she could feel building up in her eyes, “that ain't true, an' y'all know it! So perhaps y'all maybe a li'l clumsy...”
“Dangerous, more like,” muttered Caramel bitterly.
“No, Caramel, y'all ain't 'dangerous' – yo' just......unfortunate is all,” argued Applejack sternly. “But just because ya keep trippin' up ever' so often don't mean we don't still want ya here; we're actually plum grateful to have y'all around.” She paused for a moment to compose herself, and resumed her speech in a softer, calmer tone; “Yo' worth a lot mo' than ya think, Caramel – ya just need ta stop beatin' yourself up about every li'l accident ya get into. Y'all 'ave been a great help to this place since ya firs' moved in with us, an' we really appreciate it.”
Caramel looked back at the orange-coated mare. “You really mean it?” he asked softly.
In spite of herself, Applejack could only smirk broadly in reply; “Would the Element of Honesty ever lie to...well, anypony?”
“No, I suppose not,” admitted Caramel thoughtfully. He then heaved a deep sigh as he looked up at the ever fading blaze of colours that still adorned the evening sky. “I'm sorry, Applejack. Maybe I am being a bit pessimistic; but I just can't help it. Every time I injure somepony or cause any damage, I keep flashing back to all the other ponies whose lives have been ruined – and all because of me.”
At first, Applejack could only stare incredulously at the despondent tan-coated stallion as if he had just told her the most ridiculous fish-tale imaginable. So perhaps he may have made things difficult for her and her family at times, but since when had he actually ruined another pony's life? She thought back to all the mishaps he had caused in the past, from simple little mistakes that anypony could make, like losing his grass seeds and other small items, to that seemingly impossible episode where he had tried to buck the apples off a tree, but only succeeded in uprooting it – normally something that only Big Macintosh was capable of doing. Most of these misadventures had only resulted in minor cuts and bruises at worst, and the only major injuries he had ever inflicted were mostly limited to the odd sprain or fracture, usually to himself.
That was when it struck her – Caramel couldn't possibly be talking about these particular mishaps, and neither could he have been referring to herself, Big Macintosh, Granny Smith or even Apple Bloom. No, this was most likely to do with what had prompted him to move out of his old home of Manehattan. “It's yo' Ma, isn't it?” she said softly.
Caramel nodded weakly in response, fresh tears leaking out of his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening. “Yeah – and Brooklyn Dodger too,” he sobbed. “Aside from you, those two meant a lot more to me than anything else in the world – and yet I had to lose them as well.”
Applejack rested a gentle hoof on Caramel's shoulder. “Aw, buck up, sugarcube,” she soothed. “It's not as if they left y'all on purpose.”
“No – but maybe it would have been better if they had,” mourned Caramel, solemnly hanging his head as he recalled the tragic accident that had prompted him to turn his back on Manehattan altogether...
It had been just over a decade since Caramel's brief encounter with Applejack. The tan-coated Earth pony still felt a huge gap in his heart every time he talked or even thought about her, and even more dishearteningly, he still hadn't managed to gain his Cutie Mark – though for what reason he couldn't seem to understand. He was at the age of 19, almost an adult – surely it should have appeared by now, shouldn't it?
Nevertheless, thanks in no small part to his mother's reassurance and Brooklyn's loyal friendship, he managed to carry regardless and live his life to the fullest. Recently, his mother had been helping him learn to become more independent; it had started off with basic lessons such as hygiene and budgeting, and within a year, they had managed to get as far as shopping and personal scheduling. But close to the end of August that year, not for the first time, things took a turn for the worst.
A new shopping mall and hotel had been opened on Manehattan's famous and highly prestigious Bridleway, and was already attracting a great deal of publicity and patronage both from Manehattan itself and beyond. Caramel's mother had been a major backer behind the new mall, and naturally, now that it was open to the public, she and her son were keen to see what it was like. That was why, one bright summer's day, the two of them were browsing around the mall's numerous retail outlets on their weekly shopping trip.
As had been the norm over the last few months, Caramel and his mother had arranged to go their separate ways once they had arrived, each with their own shopping list and a pair of saddlebags, and meet up again at a specific location within the same building. While his mother went to look at clothing and other items, Caramel went about buying food from a wholesale merchant on the opposite side of the mall. He was just starting to browse through the “world foods” section when he heard the familiar nasal drawl of Brooklyn Dodger close by.
“Hey there, Caramel!” the buff-coated young stallion called cheerfully. “So you've decided to show your face 'ere too, huh?”
“Yeah – well, me and my Mom, that is,” replied Caramel with a light-hearted chuckle. “Only right, really, considering she helped fund this new mall.”
His old friend smiled broadly. “Yeah, and I don't blame ya,” he agreed. “I've only been 'ere once, but I'm already startin' to think this a real swell joint. Plenty of real cool shops, plenty of arcades, plenty to eat, plenty to drink...I could get used to this place.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Anyway, I'd better get goin' – my Pop's probably waitin' for me across the other side o' the mall. If ya got time later, we can get ourselves a snack an' some Joe in the coffee shop,” offered Brooklyn.
“Yeah, that'd be nice,” decided Caramel. “See you round then, Brooks.”
“So long, buddy,” answered Brooklyn, and trotted cheerfully out of the store. Caramel smiled heartily to himself and went about his business, blissfully unaware that it would be the last time he and Brooklyn Dodger would ever speak to each other.
Before long, he had completed his purchase and was on his way to meet his mother. On this occasion, their chosen rendezvous point was on one of the three elevated walkways which spanned the huge atrial area on the ground floor. The walkways, arranged with the one on the third floor right above that of the first while the second floor walkway hung just next to them, were suspended from the ceiling by steel rods so narrow that they seemed to float in mid-air, but strong enough, in theory at least, to hold two walkways from the same set of rods. But what nopony could have realised was that no matter how strong the rods were, they couldn't compensate for a fatal error in the walkways' construction.
The initial walkway designs had dictated that the rods holding up the ones on the first and third floors should have been one long rod running continuously from the ceiling to the cross-beams of the lower walkway, with a nut and some washers under each beam; but for whatever reason, the builders had thought this arrangement rather inconvenient, and had made some rather hasty last-minute changes to the design. Now, only the upper walkway actually hung from the ceiling, while the one below it was suspended from the beams that held up the former. That alone would have compensated the strength of the beams; but to make matters worse, the builders had welded the eighteen “channel beams”, six for each walkway, into hollow, oblong-shaped “box girders” rather than arranging them back to back as they should have done. With the increase in strain on the already defective cross-beams, what looked like an amazing feat of modern architecture was now a horrible accident waiting to happen.
As Caramel approached the first floor walkway, he saw his mother talking with a friend of hers. “Mom!” he called. “Over here!”
“Hullo, Caramel,” his mother called back, waving a hoof in greeting. Caramel waved back, and was just about to make his way over to her when he noticed an ominous creaking noise. Puzzled, he stopped in his tracks, pricking his ears up to try and pinpoint its source.
Suddenly, there was a sickening series of metallic pops as the walkways jolted downwards, much to the alarm of his mother and everypony else in the building. Caramel froze over in shock; he wanted to shout a warning to his mother, but his frightened yell caught in his throat.
“LOOK OUT!!!” somepony bellowed from the lobby floor; but it was too late. Before anypony else could react, the upper girders gave way altogether, and a petrified Caramel could only watch in horror as the walkway vanished before his very eyes. In moments, the mall was filled with panic-stricken hubbub as not one walkway, but two, came crashing down in front of a terrified crowd of screaming ponies, some of whom were caught underneath the rubble that now festooned the once bustling lobby.
As the dust settled, Caramel's first thought was to sift through the wreckage in search of his mother. Having finally managed to snap himself out of his state of shock, he made for the nearest stairway and raced down towards the remains of the walkways, hoping to Celestia that she was alright.
Needless to say, the rest of the crowd had had very much the same idea, and by the time he reached the lobby, several other ponies were already scrambling over the downed walkways, trying to rescue what few casualties they could, while others had gone to alert the emergency services. Anxiously, Caramel scanned the wreckage for any evidence of his mother having survived the accident; but when at last he found what he was looking for, the sight made his blood run cold. His mother appeared to have survived, but not without serious injury. She had a horrible smattering of blood across her forehead, and was groaning and rambling in pain as two unicorns attempted to levitate a chunk of broken walkway decking off her back, thus allowing a third to help her to her hooves.
Frantically, Caramel bolted over to the stricken mare, hot tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. “Mom!” he cried. “Mom, are you okay?!”
His mother stared blankly at him, almost as if she didn't recognise her own son.
“Answer me, Mom!” shouted Caramel desperately. “Are you hurt?! Please speak to me!”
But aside from being incomprehensible, the answer he received was far from reassuring. “My brain is sitting on a turntable,” his mother babbled in a drunken tone. “Boulders are dancing around and eating my happiness. Sand is wrapping up my visibility with parcel tape.”
Caramel's chest seemed to tighten as the jumble of words spilled out of his mother's mouth. “Mom, stop it!!” he hollered, frantically grabbing her shoulders as if to try and shake some sense into her. “You're gonna be okay!”
“Why the wobbly?” moaned his mother, her eyes askance. “Nothing has failed yet – I'm a spotless person.”
“Snap out of it, Mom!!” screamed Caramel. “Don't do this to me, please! This isn't...” but he never finished, for out of the corner of his eye, he had noticed somepony lying limply at the foot of the wreckage whom he thought he recognised. Carefully, he picked his way down towards the floor to see who it was, but immediately wished he hadn't; for what he found was a buff-coated stallion, aged twenty, lying face-down beneath one of the cracked beams. Aside from precious few cuts and bruises, he didn't appear to have sustained any injury at all, but his front left leg was bent at an odd angle, and he didn't seem to be breathing. Caramel placed a hoof against the pony's fetlock, hoping in vain that he would feel a pulse – but try as he might, he couldn't register one. In that instant, his emotions got the better of him, and he collapsed onto the lifeless body, sobbing hard as he cried into its fur. As much as he didn't want to believe it, the cruel and depressing truth was right in front of him......
Brooklyn Dodger was dead.