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...What do they call me?1,007 words
...Soy Sauce.1,007 words
...Sandy.1,206 words
...Sugarcube1,371 words

...Sandy.

Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day...

Rereading the books once read... Like a record skipping back and replaying the song once more. Only, when the record plays again, it sounds a bit different; doesn't it? No one can put their finger on it, nor really brings it up. But, the sound is different even in the lyrics are the same. The one singing is always the same no matter the changing tune. The young mare by the name of Sandy was listening to such a record as she pushed her cart down the roads of Ponyville. For whatever time, she couldn't recall since when, but she had walked the roads of Ponyville many times and had heard that song again and again.

The record would click on upon the hour of morning's greater break and slip out from the window of a nearby home along the road. It provided for Sandy a reprieve from the sound of morning birds chirping their own songs for the stead of modern music. Sandy felt the music lift her spirits and lighten her hooves against the road. Before she knew it, she was tip-tapping her hooves at each step she took, rhythmically following the music she heard. Tip-tapping as she was, she accidently nudged her wagon a bit too far ahead and heard it bump against something just ahead of them.

The sound of wood bracing against wood was soon followed by dull little thumps as something on the other side of the wagon fell to the ground. Sandy cringed when she heard those little thumps and peaked her head around the side of the wagon to check over the damage. It wasn't a surprise to her when she saw apples littering the ground in front of her wagon, as well as an orange mare trying throw each apple back into a display case. Sandy recognized the mare and felt herself dip a little more into a cringe. "Applejack, right?" Sandy gestured a hoof over to Applejack, only getting a flash of a greeting wave from her before she returned to fixing up the apples.

This was entirely Sandy's fault for losing her focus and she had to make amends. Silently and swiftly she went into the top of her wagon and sorted through her odds and ends. To her recollection, she did in fact have something for just such an occasion as this. But where was it...? Time and again, Sandy would poke her head out from her wagon's clutter and turn her bagged head to see how Applejack was doing. For better or worse, Applejack was retaining a bit of trouble with getting her apples all back together and back to display. On one hand, Sandy was happy that she could yet help Applejack; but, on the other, she felt bad she did this. That alone fueled the bag wearing mare to rifle through her cart all the faster.

It took some time, but when she felt her front leg nudge against the sensation of cold steel, she knew she had found it! Her hooves braced around the piece in her collection of junk and started to pull it out. Each little tug budged what she was looking for out from the clutter. When it finally slipped loose, she eyed the device just to make sure it was the right one. A sleek, silver coating and a strange "C"-looking device at the tip? This was surely it. Sandy put it to her back and walked over to Applejack as she continued to try and gather the apples.

"Excuse me?" Applejack looked up at Sandy, starting to get annoyed that she didn't offer to help. However, that annoyed look was changed to curiosity when Sandy offered the device to her. "Here. You can bite down into the handle on the end of this thing and pick things up with the clamp on the top. This way, you don't have to bite into the apples."

Applejack was skeptical at the idea. But, at this point, she was willing to try anything. She took the handle of the device into her mouth and bit down onto it. The "C" on the other end twitched at the same force her teeth were giving and clamped shut. When Applejack took her jaw back, the clamp opened as well. Applejack quickly put the device down and looked at Sandy with thankful eyes. "Now that there's a useful doohickey. Got a name?"

"It's called an 'arm'. Or, 'Arm Grabber'. In Saddle Arabia it helps the ponies there grab the water lilies on top of cacti without getting pricked," Sandy answered.

Applejack shook her head and put her hoof against the top of the mare's bagged head. "Wasn't askin' for the name of yer' toy. I was askin' yer name, Sugarcube."

Sugarcube...? Yeah. Yeah! That does sound right! "Oh, just call me Sugarcube. Saves us both a lot of chit-chat. Am I right?"

Applejack bent her hat down once with a raised hoof and smiled. "'Yer choice there, Sugar. Normally, I'd love ta' chit-chat. But..." Applejack gestured to the fallen apples that she still had to put back and clean.

"Oh, yeah... Sorry about that." Sugarcube apologized.

"Don't fret it. Ya' gave me this handy little device. So... I'd say we're even," Sugarcube snickered when Applejack winked at her before returning to picking up the fallen fruits with the aid of Sugarcube's offered gadget.

This deed was done and Sugarcube bowed out, returning to her own wagon to push it right along. When Sugarcube started to push the wagon along, Applejack had a thought flash into her head. She never asked if the 'arm' was a gift, or if she was only borrowing it. By the time she went to ask, Sugarcube was well down the road and on her way. Maybe next time they meet Applejack would return it. At the same time, maybe she'd ask about that bag too... Seems a bit strange. But, Applejack was pretty used to strange, she hardly even noticed.

So I guess I am a Ms? 'Sugarcube' pondered. Hmmm... Ms. Sugarcube... I guess that'll do for now. Sounds sort a bit more rustic compared to Sandy... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Sugarcube kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag.

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