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// Scene 5: Int., Home, Afternoon. Age 13. 
// Story: My Sister Fluttershy 
// by brokenimage321 
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“Dear Weather Patrol Applicant...” 
I slowly lower the letter. My hooves are shaking. Mom, Fluttershy, and Skittle are sitting around the table, staring at me with frozen smiles. I drop my arms to my side, the letter fluttering to the floor. 
I can feel the tears welling up. I try to brush them away, but it’s no good.
Fluttershy climbs out of her seat. She comes over and gives me a hug, leaning her head on me. Mom stands too, then Skittle.
I pull myself out of Fluttershy’s grasp and run back to my room. I slam the door and flop on my bed, crying.
After a minute, I hear a little tap at the door. “April? Are you okay?” It’s Mom.
“No, Mom, I’m not okay!” I scream. I roll over and pull my pillow over my head. I can still hear Mom talking, but I can’t tell what she’s saying. I yell at her to go away, and, after a while, she does, leaving me all alone in my dark cloud.
It’s hours later before I come out from under the pillow. The house is quiet and dark, except for a single light in the kitchen. On the counter is a sandwich, cut in half and wrapped in plastic. Next to it is a newspaper with a folded note on top. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. Dandelion. My favorite.
I unfold the note and start reading.

April,
I’m so sorry. I know it hurts.
I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it would be good if you got a job this summer. You don’t have any work experience—nothing to show you’re a good worker. You can get a job over the summer and get some experience, then apply again next year. You do have one more application left, after all.
You could always ask Dad if there are any openings at the Factory. Sometimes they do hire foals your age, and, since they already know Dad, it might be easier to get a job there. I know you don’t like the factory, but I thought I’d mention it anyways. 
I took Skittle and Fluttershy to the store. We’ll be home before 8.
Lots of love,
Mom

I finish half the sandwich, then go get the other half—and the newspaper, too. I unfold the paper, and, after a moment, I smile. I can feel the tears coming, but I don’t care. It’s the “Help Wanted” page, with a bunch of entries circled—all things that Mom thinks I might like. 
One, in particular, catches my eye.

Wanted: Summer Flight Camp Junior Counselors
No experience needed
Ages 13-18
Relive your Flight Camp experience!
Visit Camp Offices to apply

I take another bite of the sandwich and chew thoughtfully.