//------------------------------//
// 3. Cartoons & Laundry 
// Story: The Allfathers Station (2nd Person) 
// by Speedway King 
//------------------------------//

You groggily wake from your stupor, feeling like you just had a 60 mph makeout session with a Truck. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you are met with a large, innocent pair of gamboge orbs, staring intently with a childish grin. You quickly snap awake in shock from the unexpected invasion of privacy in your normally empty Apartment.

“Mornin’ Todd, Did ya have a good sleep?!”

You stare for a second at the invader before remembering your impromptu adoption last night. Rolling onto your back, you relax and sigh, staring at the white ceiling.

“Ugh… Hey Apple Bloom…” You respond in a haze, your hangover well and truly in effect. “It could have been better…”

Apple Bloom ignores your implied need for privacy and steps up onto your chest, making you grunt in displeasure.

“C’mon ya silly filly, we cain’t do anything unless ya wake up!”

You look up at the little pony staring down at you from upon your chest, her earlier grin replaced with an expression of annoyance. You sigh once more before attempting to sit up, knowing you aren’t going to be allowed another moment of reprieve until you give in to her demands. Apple Bloom jumps off of your chest, bounces on the rusty bed and heads for the door, giving you a quick look before exiting to make sure you don’t go back to sleep. You rub your eyes and yawn, making your sensitive head hurt. You look over to the alarm clock on your bedside drawer: 8:30am

“…Seriously?” You mutter to yourself. “This is my only Sunday…”

You force yourself out of bed, attempting to make as little noise as possible to avoid aggravating your hangover further. The spare pack of cigarettes on the nightstand has never looked so inviting as you light up your morning vice, hoping the nicotine can clear your hangover enough to at least be somewhat manageable. After getting up, you hobble over the piles of dirty clothing until you reach the wooden doorway to balance yourself, thanking the invisible force above that the living room window faces to the west. Apple Bloom sits on the floor, looking impatient, yet happy to see you out of bed. You scratch your belly and yawn before going to the cupboard to find something for breakfast.

“You want some cereal or something, kiddo?”

“Sure do, whatcha got?” Apple Bloom responds as she walks over to you, hoping to see what’s in the cupboard.

The only thing you can really find that a child might like is a box of organic cereal you bought a couple weeks ago with a picture of a content looking Gorilla. You wonder silently to yourself if the Gorilla has any problems at home to deal with as you dig out a plastic bowl from the second cupboard and the milk carton from the fridge. You prep Apple Bloom’s breakfast, finishing the milk, and take it to the living room to set it on the coffee table.  Clearing her blanket and pillow off of the fold-away, you reset the bed into the couch and take a seat, beckoning her to your side. Apple Bloom happily scrambles onto the couch and you place the cold cereal next to her, prompting her to hungrily graze from the bowl.

“I gotta go take a shower now, You like cartoons?” you ask, searching for the remote.

Apple Bloom looks up from her cereal, confused.

“Whut’s a cartoon?”

You turn on the old television and look for something that might keep Apple Bloom entertained while you clean yourself up to meet the day. Soon enough, you find a colorful looking animation that puts your hangover into overdrive:

“Sugar. Spice. And everything nice. These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girls. But Professor Utonium accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction... Chemical X!”

Apple Bloom’s eyes go wide with excitement as she is hypnotized by the action onscreen, milk dribbling down her chin and pooling on the couch cushion. You smirk and pat her on the head before getting up to do your own morning routines.

Returning to the kitchen counter, you grab the still-open Scotch bottle from last night and pour a quick shot into your usual dirty tumbler. Popping a tablet from your prescription bottle, you wash down another soul-cleansing cocktail, slamming the glass on the table as you grimace from the alcohol. You take the final drag from your cigarette, looking back to Apple Bloom to find her still entranced by the television. Satisfied, you awkwardly stumble to the bathroom and start the shower, stripping down as the water heats up. The boiling hot water pounds on your head, slowly massaging the hangover away in coalition with the painkillers. While running the cheap 2-in-1 through your hair, you hear the door slowly open, followed by the sound of hooves on laminate.

“Apple Bloom, is that you?”

“Well a’course, silly. Who else could it be?” The young, Ozarkian accent returns with a laugh. “Ah jus’ gotta use the little fillies’ room.”

You remain silent in the shower as you ponder just how a tiny horse is going to use a human sized toilet until you are met by a familiar flush, followed by the hoofsteps heading out the door. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sudden shock of cold water rushing from the showerhead, thoroughly sobering you up from your hangover and releasing a string of profanities from your mouth.

After getting dressed in your hooded pullover and cleanest pair of sweatpants, you return to the living room to find Apple Bloom has resumed sitting on the couch, still watching cartoons.

“Hey Apple Bloom, I gotta do the Sunday laundry. You want to come along?”

The filly remains silent.

“…Apple Bloom?”

She is thoroughly under the televisions spell; her eyes glazed over while the colorful action burns itself into her brain like something out of a sci-fi movie. You shake your head and collect the laundry from your room along with your spare cigarettes before heading for the exit to the hallway.

“I’ll be in the basement if you need me, alright?”

“…Whut? Yeah… okay…”  She replies, not taking her eyes off of the screen.

You sigh and exit the Apartment, wondering if showing her the magic of television was such a good idea…

You descend in the hallway elevator for the laundry floor, still feeling good from your breakfast cocktail despite the sobering shock courtesy of Apple Bloom. The laundry room is one of your favorite places in the building with the smell of chlorine and bleach giving you a sense of cleanliness that clears your head and warms the soul. You light a cigarette and let it hang off of your lips, puffing away as you load your clothes into the washing machine, not really bothering to separate the lights and coloreds. You finish and take a seat to enjoy your vice while the old machine rattles away. Suddenly, an older male voice emits from your left.

“Well now, fancy meeting you here.”

You turn to face the voice, surprised you didn’t notice the owner before. An elderly man sits next to you, his clean-shaven face is clearly marked by the ever advancing ravages of time, yet it remains strong and healthy. His dull, brown eyes look both stern yet understanding, hidden behind a pair of silver, half-moon glasses and a clean cut of grey hair sits neatly under his black trilby to complement his grey turtleneck sweater black jacket. Upon his jacket lapel, an intricate pin shaped like a stylized sun made of polished gold and ivory with a brilliant ruby dotting the center catches your eye. While the stranger looks like a nice enough person, you can easily tell he’s not a tenant of Redford Street Arms.

“Not to be rude, but do I know you?” You ask the stranger, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“You don’t remember me?” He returns with a chortle, as if you just told a lighthearted joke. “Allfathers Station, I was sitting beside you yesterday, remember?”

You wrack your still-fuzzy memory of yesterday, the painkiller cocktail not helping in the slightest. Eventually, the image of the Old Man leaving the station comes into view.

“Yeah… I remember you.” You acknowledge, feeling foolish for not recognizing him. “What brings you to Redford?”

“Oh, just visiting a friend.” The Old Man repeats his kindly laugh. “You might know her, a real interesting character…”

The way the stranger trails off his last sentence puts you in a state of unease, it almost feels like he’s trying to get you to confess something.

“Doubt it; I don’t really know anybody here.” You try to sound nonchalant, but a twinge of nervousness escapes with your words.

The Old Man shifts his weight on the bench, letting the light reflect off of his lapel pin.

“Really now?” He replies with skepticism.

“Uh… Yeah, sorry mister…?”

“Marshall, Joseph Marshall” He holds out his hand in a friendly manner to shake yours.

“Todd Smith.” You reply flatly, ignoring his outstretched hand as if it was holding something foul.

Marshall pulls back his hand, trying to remain oblivious to your passive animosity

“You got a family, Mister Smith?”

His question catches you completely off guard

“No, not anymore.”  You answer, feeling like this is more of an interrogation than a friendly meeting between strangers “I had a Wife, but she passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry to hear that…” He apologizes in a genuine tone. “…Any children?”

“No… We tried, but... she was…”

You think back to the day when the Doctor informed you of her condition; how she would never be able to bear children. You remember how she cried in your arms through the night and how you could barely console her through your own tears. The memory cuts you like a dull blade, making you want to deck the inquisitor in the mouth.

“I understand…” He cuts you off to save you from saying that horrible word.

He gives you a long stare before asking his final question with a wry smile:

“Have you ever… Adopted?”

You don’t know what this man’s deal is, but you know that he’s referring to little Apple Bloom, still watching cartoons in your Apartment and completely unaware of the tension forming below her. You try your hardest to remain calm as you stare him directly into his warm, brown eyes and respond:

“No… I have never parented any children... in any form…”

You simply stare at each other, letting the washing machine be the only noise in the room. Seconds pass like hours until a harsh buzz emits from the machine, interrupting the impromptu staring contest. You are the first to break the silence:

“I should get that…”

You stand up from the bench to take your wet clothes from the machine, putting your back to Joseph.

“I’ll let you get to your laundry then, Mister Smith”

You turn around to face him once more, only to find his place on the bench completely empty, as if he had suddenly vanished into the aether. Not a single trace of him remains, making you nervous as you slowly collect your clothes and place them in the dryer.

You have a very bad feeling that Apple Bloom isn’t safe without you…