In Bloom
Over in a corner of the yard, I tend the grass.
I don’t mind hot days, even though that doesn’t make as much sense. I can put on a jacket in the winter, but on days like this, I can’t do much more than find some shade. And yet I much prefer sweating to shivering.
The garden hose is still coiled up by the rosebushes, like a big green snake about to… water the plants, I guess. I don’t know. As well as I can remember, I’ve never seen a snake.
I should have brought the hose over here so I wouldn’t have to get up for a drink of water. Whatever. I stand up, stretch, and yawn.
On my way to get it, I peek through the house’s windows and can see the newspaper lying out by the street. I wish somepony’d brought it in so I could see tomorrow’s forecast, but I wouldn’t feel like trying to sneak through the house unnoticed anyway. I’m not supposed to go in there today.
A quick twist of the hoof has the hose running, and as long as I’m taking a drink, I might as well water these roses. The heat doesn’t have them wilting yet, but I haven’t watered them in a couple days now.
Over the nozzle’s spray, I can hear voices in the road, behind the house. Not unusual in the summer, of course, but why do ponies have to wander by here? My ears prick toward the sound anyway, and I can’t help imagining what they might be doing out there. If I have a failing, it’s letting my curiosity get the better of me all the time.
So of course I drop the hose and trot over to the fence. It’s black, cast iron, and well taller than I am. Strong. Formidable. Without it, my yard wouldn’t be anything more than some extension of the street, some public square that’s mine in name only, with no way to shut out the rest of the world.
I pry apart a bit of the ivy that blankets the whole thing like green scales and peek out. To the left, a couple of groups of ponies stand around chatting, like they have nothing better to do. And to the right, around the corner where I can just see it, a ratty-looking ice cream cart sits, with a crowd of foals around it, and a few older ponies too. All laughing, playing, sitting idle.
Why would they do that out there? I hear them from time to time, of course, when somepony walks by, but just standing around? In the street? They’ll never learn that way. What makes them think they can just—?
There she is again. That earth pony, kinda pale yellow or beige, with streaked magenta mane and tail. I’ve seen her before. Quite often, actually. She must live nearby. Or really like ice cream.
She has a couple other mares with her, and they…
I…
I shake my head and pull the ivy back into place. I have chores, and it wouldn’t do to get caught staring. Besides, I—
I’ve left the hose running.
No, no, no, I can’t drown the rosebushes again!
Sure enough, another hot day. But something’s got me restless today. Instead of lounging in my usual shady spot, I keep finding myself pacing along the fence. I’ll be off in some daydream, and next thing I know, here I am trotting along the ivy.
Whispers, shouts, laughter—even more than usual, all floating over my fence and into my yard. Don’t these ponies have somewhere to go, jobs to do, yards to tend?
I grit my teeth, force a slow breath, and brace a hoof against the sturdy iron. It’s not worth getting worked up over. I can’t control what other ponies do, and if they want to make things worse for themselves, that’s their business.
Gotta keep my mind on something else. I glance over at the hose, but no—I watered the roses yesterday, and I’m lucky I didn’t hurt them. I made that mistake before. Once. I have to fight off a shudder, but it was all my fault anyway. Nopony to blame but myself. I brush at the sore spot on my foreleg—seems like it’s always aching or rubbed raw or something.
Maybe I’ll sprinkle the grass a bit later. I shouldn’t do it in the heat of the day. Yeah, some ice cream would taste good right about now, but not that stuff from out in the street. Seriously, how can they—?
And here I am at the fence again, shoving a couple of vines to the side so I can see out. I don’t remember that ice cream cart from last summer. Maybe I just forgot. I need to stop this. I’m going to get in trouble.
There she is. That mare again, a cone clutched in her hooves. She looks so… innocent. For the life of me, I can’t figure her out. She has time to waste, apparently, but I just can’t imagine that sweet face doing anything wrong. I bet she has huge flowerbeds at home, and she goes out each morning, shopping list in hoof, to get fresh supplies for them. And I just happen to catch her on the way out. That has to be it. Her mane, blending in with all manner of carnations, zinnias, impatiens… She’s even kinda pretty. Us earth ponies, we understand more than any other—
No, no! Now I will get in trouble. I can find other things to do in the yard instead of frittering away my morning on pointless—
She’s staring back.
Quickly, I hold my breath and shove the ivy over the gap. Did she see? No. No way. Two little eyes looking through a whole fence of vines? No way she saw.
Careful not to tread on the still-muddy ground near the rosebushes, I trot along the fence until I reach the corner, then brush aside a bit of the foliage to look into the neighbor’s yard. Like clockwork, there’s old Juniper raking his lawn. He knows how to take care of his property. I have to respect somepony who pays attention to detail like that and keeps his yard orderly. I’ve never seen him out wasting his time in the streets. He doesn’t need to. The yard is better.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I settle down into the soft grass and roll under the low branches of the crabapple tree. The warm sun’s got me sleepy, and I wouldn’t mind a nap.
I’m not hungry, but I nibble at the grass anyway. A little here and there, of course—I can’t leave any bare patches. Sometimes, I think I take care of the lawn too well—a nice dandelion in the mix every so often would taste good, but I won’t have any weeds in my grass. I’d get in trouble, anyway.
And then there’re the voices. Those ponies have jabbered all morning. Are they trying to irritate me? I stalk over and force a few vines aside. Sure enough, over at the ice cream cart—
She’s there, too.
She’s…
Why would she do that? Out there? Ice cream is for inside. Everypony knows that. I can’t believe that somepony who looks so pleasant wouldn’t know any better. I mean, surely she’s not the kind of pony who would just wander around aimlessly. She must have a home. Maybe she just wants to eat it before it melts, but she could at least start heading somewhere—
She’s walking this way, with a funny little grin on her face. No, no, no, I’ll get in trouble! Letting the leaves spring back into place, I stagger a few steps and try to keep my heart from pounding. She didn’t see! She couldn’t have seen!
I hold my breath and prick my ears forward as hard as I can. No hoofsteps, no voice, no nothing. She walked past. She didn’t see anything, and she walked past.
“Hello? Who’s in there?”
I jump and let out a little yelp. Stupid, stupid, she heard!
“Hello? I saw you peeking out. My house is nearby, and I didn’t think anypony lived here.”
What do I do? I can’t speak to her, but if I don’t answer, she might raise her voice! After a quick glance toward the house, I decide I’d better give her a brusque reply, shoo her off. “I-I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Why not?”
Her—her voice is like silk: cool and soft, and it slides right over me. I want to hear it again, but I can’t—why won’t she leave?
The ivy rustles where she tries to get a hoof far enough through the fence to part it. “My name’s Roseluck. What’s yours?”
Can’t talk. I can’t. I rush over to the hose and turn it on, in case the sound might drown out her voice. “I have to tend my roses. I can’t talk.”
“Why not?” she presses again.
Clouds. Yes, clouds. They’re blocking the sun anyway, so it won’t hurt to water the bushes two days in a row.
“Listen, I enjoy working with roses. You’d kinda have to, with a name like mine, huh?” She giggles—I’ve never heard something like that up close before. It’s beautiful, like music, and if I could just wipe this stupid smile off my face and concentrate on my work… “Maybe we could talk shop? I’ll take any chance I can get to learn more about roses. What kinds do you grow?”
I turn the nozzle to a gentle spray and wet the ground underneath the bushes. Just the ground, not the leaves. Yeah, it’s not the best time of the day for this, but if the cloud cover keeps up, it won’t do any harm.
“Hello?” Her hooves shuffle in the dirt, and if only I could listen to that voice all day, but it has to stop. “Look, I’m sorry if I bothered you. If you’re busy, I’ll go—”
“Two,” my throat spits out before I have a chance to fight it. “My name is Two.” Why did I say that? I bite my lip until it hurts, in the hope that it’ll jerk me out of whatever my fogged-up head is doing to me. “But I have to tend my roses.”
My mind racing, I keep at my job, even turning the nozzle on high so I can reach the azaleas and rhododendrons against the house from here. When I’ve saturated just about every plant in this part of the yard, I finally shut off the water and coil the hose up, making sure to do it as slowly as possible. The more time it takes, the better.
She hasn’t said anything in a while, thank goodness, but now I don’t have an excuse to ignore her anymore. She might go away if I told her to, but I don’t want to be rude. I don’t want her to stay, I don’t want her to go, I…
I’d stomp as hard as I could, but she’d hear. Instead, I sneak partway down the fence and peer through the tangle of leaves there.
She left.
I rest my forehead against the fence, against the cool iron for a minute before heading over to cull the bruised crabapples off the tree.
“Two!”
My eyes shoot open, and I toss my head. Where am I? Oh, yeah… My shady spot under the tree. I thought I heard something, but a quick scan of the yard turns up nothing. A dream, then.
“Two! You in there?”
Before she can even finish those few words, I’ve already stumbled to my hooves and lurched over to the fence. “Hey!” I grunt through my scowl as I yank the vines aside and gather my breath to—
Green. Green eyes gaze back at me, less than a single pace away. Green, like the soft, sweet grass that grows on the far side of the yard, over by the pond. Over where I’m not allowed to go. Her smile sprouts, little by little, but it’s the green that’s snared me, held me locked down in the green depths of…
I shake my head. Hard. “Quiet!” I finally hiss back at her. “You’ll get me in trouble!”
That lovely smile melts into a frown, and Roseluck cocks her head. “For what?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to anypony,” I say, craning my neck this way and that to make sure nopony else sees.
Her frown deepening, she wrinkles her forehead. “Why not?”
I just want that smile back. “’Cause I’m out here. You should know that. You’re the one in the street.”
“I… What? I’m sorry—I don’t understand…”
I let out a sigh and rub a hoof between my eyes. “If I hadn’t done something wrong, I wouldn’t be in the yard.” I draw my mouth into a taut line and finally tear my gaze away from the green. “I’m out here a lot. But even I’ve never done anything bad enough to get thrown out into the street. And I see you walking around out there nearly every day. What’d you do?”
“I-I don’t… Two, I’m out here because I want to be. Everypony is. You mean you’ve never left your property?”
“Oh, no, no! I’ve never misbehaved that badly!” I look back up and chuckle. Maybe I shouldn’t be making light of her situation, but she just raises an eyebrow.
“Then how… How do you go to the market, shop for new furniture, go to school, take out the garbage…?”
“Oh, I never said there weren’t reasons to leave,” I answer, waving a hoof at her. “But only when you have to. Besides, Mother handles those things.”
“She… does?” Her green eyes have gone wide—I guess her mother leaves all the dirty work for Roseluck to do.
I nod. “Of course. Then I don’t have to bother with any of that. I’m lucky, really.”
Now her frown has come back. I didn’t mean to make her feel bad…
A door slams inside the house, and I whip my head around at the sound. I dart for the vines and shove them back together. “You have to go!” I rasp.
“Two…”
“No! You have to go, now!” I lie down in the grass, squeeze my eyes shut, and roll onto my side. A moment later, I hear soft hoofsteps receding in the roadway.
For the first time in months, I woke up shivering. It’s gotten pretty late in the summer, and we do have these cold snaps occasionally. Rather than take my usual spot in the shade, I’ve moved out where I can get some sun and hopefully bake this frigid dew off my coat. I’d wipe it off, but I’d just pick up more from the grass, and the cold numbs the sore spot on my foreleg anyway. Might as well stand, I guess.
I trudge over to the fence and pull a couple of vines out of the way. Seems like my little ritual lately. The ice cream cart hasn’t opened yet, all folded up, and there’s an old stallion down that way delivering newspapers.
Roseluck could come by today, I suppose… I hope. No, that’s not productive thinking, though I can’t rid myself of this pesky smile. In case it helps dislodge it, I stamp a hoof, and then—
“Two!”
I nearly bang my mouth on the fence when I jerk my head around to the left. She never comes from that direction. Why would she be there?
She just grins, the loose ends of her scarf tossing about in the breeze as little puffs of steam float away from her nose with each breath. “I didn’t think anypony else got up this early! I was just out for a walk. Have yard work already?”
“No,” I answer, suppressing another shiver. “Just waking up.”
“Yeah, that cold morning air is bracing, huh?” For a moment, she pantomimes an exaggerated jogging-in-place motion. “Gets the blood flowing.”
I shrug. I never cared much for cold. Or blood, for that matter.
“So, what do you have on your agenda for the day?” She brushes a hoof through her forelock, though none of it looked out of place to me…
“Tend this here grass,” I answer, my voice dropping into a monotone when I get drawn into those green eyes again. “Same as always.”
“And your rosebushes?” Roseluck asks with a swish of her tail.
“Oh, I only take care of those when they need watering. I keep to my schedule whenever I can.” I hope she doesn’t look closely at those bushes—the bugs have been pretty bad this year.
She cocks her head to the side and folds her ears back. “So… it takes you all day long to do the lawn?”
“No!” I give an emphatic shake of my head. “I just… I dunno. Nap or think or something. If I’m inside, I read.”
“Well, if you’re not working, and it’s cold…” She holds out her hoof like I’m supposed to complete that for her. I-I don’t get… “Why aren’t you inside?” she finally concludes.
“Oh, I can’t, I can’t. I got in trouble.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.” Her face falls, and her ears somehow droop lower. “I hope it wasn’t on my account.”
“No!” I answer right away, wafting her words away with a hoof. “No, don’t worry. That happened before I met you.”
“That was… a couple days ago.” A bent foreleg held up in front of her, Roseluck stiffens. The playful lilt drains from that silken voice.
“I know.” What doesn’t she get? She’s the one out in the street.
“You haven’t gone inside in two days?” Now she’s just humoring me. She must think I’m bragging.
I shrug, which only makes her squint more intensely. “However long it takes.”
“For what?” She practically spits the words out. Fine. I’ll play this her way.
“Till I learn.” A gleam from inside catches my eye—Mother’s come downstairs for breakfast. “Oh, I have to go eat. I’ll… see you around?”
“But… I thought you couldn’t go in the house.” She’s tucked her tail, and that perked foreleg twitches once or twice. She puts on a good act, but now I’ve caught her saying something ridiculous—I know she’s kidding.
“For meals, sure. I’m not an animal. We eat inside. Not like that—” I jab a hoof toward the closed ice cream cart “—uncivilized stuff.” She looks like one of those stupid squirrels that’ll jump out in front of a wagon, then can’t decide which direction to go. No way she’s actually confused. Right?
Anyway, she can’t get out what she wants to say, and I have to go, so I tug the ivy across the gap again and trot up to the back door.
I stick my head in and around the rosebushes, trying to avoid the thorns as I pluck off all the beetle-eaten leaves. I’ve never sampled any before, and I hate to see anything green go to waste, but these taste rather bitter. I guess I’ll just throw them in the garbage can or work them into the mulch or something.
Through all the rustling, I start to notice a metallic tapping, and when I finally turn and prick my ears toward it, I hear a whisper: “Two? You there?”
I crane my neck over the windowsill to see inside—no hint of movement. Yesterday’s smile returning to my lips, I stroll over to the fence line and pull a few vines around a small wire hook I fashioned last night.
“That’s kinda neat,” Roseluck remarks with a half-smile of her own.
“Yeah, I just… took a scrap of wire I found and figured I could…” I scratch at my nose, even though it doesn’t itch.
“It’s almost like you expected me.” Without risking a look at those green eyes, I can still feel the laughter she’s holding back.
Of its own accord, my hoof scuffs at the grass. “Yeah, I guess… I guess I did, Roseluck. I don’t see any harm in it, but I still think I’m going to get in trouble for this.”
“Trouble? With your mother?” And just as quickly, the little amused chime in her voice evaporates. I shrug and nod. “What did you do?”
I shrug again. “If I knew, I’d be in less trouble. It’s the difference between a pony who knows he’s wrong and one who’s bad enough that he doesn’t even realize how he misbehaved. If I could tell what I needed to apologize for, I’d do it. Now, I have to wait until Mother thinks I’ve had enough time to reflect on it.”
I can’t take those green eyes right now, but out of the corner of my vision, I see her mouth working through several responses. “Look… I haven’t said anything yet, because I felt like it wasn’t my place, but… don’t you think she enforces… rather strict rules? Maybe?”
“No, no!” I spit back, shaking my head. “Look at all those ponies out in the streets. That could be me! I’ve actually got it pretty easy.”
“No,” she says, leaning forward to brace a hoof on the other side of the fence, “those ponies… We… I don’t go around out here as a punishment. We have things to do out here. We live our lives out here. How… how could you spend an entire lifetime shut up in your house?”
“No reason to go out.” My jaw clenched, I take a step back. This is why Mother warned me about talking to other ponies.
And there goes her mouth, back to forming words that her voice won’t give life. She stares at the dirt before she can tease out a few sentences. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. Just—hey, ‘Two’ is an unusual name. How did you get it? Is it short for something?”
Deft change of subject—do I let it go? She twitches her tail and hangs her head. I guess it’s okay. I let my shoulders relax as I exhale deeply. “I’m the younger one—the second.”
“You mean you have a sister? Or brother?” she asks, her eyes brightening.
“Yeah. My older brother, One.” Roseluck flinches at that answer.
“Where… is he?”
I grit my teeth and sneer back, even though she isn’t looking. “He left. A few years ago. Thought he could just mouth off all the time,” I mutter. “So Mother put him out. He never came back. He’s probably dead.”
Her breath catching in her throat, she gapes and tries to unclog the bunched-up words, but she can only back away. Her lower lip quivers, and all that falls out is a rasping “I’m sorry.” She canters away and casts a single glance at me as she disappears around the corner.
Without a conscious thought, I take up my post by the fence, where I’ve hung that improvised hook. I draw a few leafy tendrils aside and watch the ice cream cart. Funny, I never used to care much for all those bad ponies out there before, but now I spend a few hours a day keeping an eye out, it seems. Keeping an eye out for—why? Why would I do that?
I don’t know why. And doing things I don’t even know are wrong is what gets me in the most trouble.
I shake off that thought and peer at the ice cream cart again. She—she’s there! Her familiar red mane, facing the other way right now, and she’s buying some ice cream. Before I know it, my pulse has quickened. I…
Yes, she’s pretty, but I… like to talk. I just like to talk. I’m going to get in trouble.
She’s seen me now, and… why doesn’t she come here? She swallows hard, but she hasn’t even had a bite yet. A deep breath, and then she walks over as if dragging a fully laden wagon behind her. And that smile would blow off in a light breeze.
“Hi,” she says, at least the sound, if not the sentiment. She holds up her cone between the bars. “Want some?”
I shouldn’t. Every fiber of my conscience tells me so.
I wedge my nose through and take a taste. Creamy, yet tart, and… I’ve never had anything like it before. It’s… amazing. “What flavor?”
“Pineapple.” A touch of sincerity seeps into her grin.
“Pine… apple? Doesn’t taste like either.”
“No, pineapple, silly. You’ve seriously never heard of that?” Roseluck holds it up again, and I have another bite. “What else have you missed out on, all cooped up in—?”
My glare silences her, and the last shred of her smile crumbles. Her eyes darting around, she sits on her haunches and licks off a drip that’s running over her hoof. And for the first time, another flash of red catches my eye. Her mane and tail have plenty of it, but this sits smack in the middle of her coat. A… a rose? She sees me staring and blushes, then maneuvers her hindquarters away and averts her eyes to the dirt.
“What’s that?” I ask, jutting my chin toward her side. “Some kind of tattoo?” I guess I’ve seen them on a lot of those ponies out in the street, but I never took much notice of them. Maybe they’re common, but I can’t see much use in a tattoo.
Her blush fades, and she swings her rump around to give it a cursory once-over. “I-I’m sorry. I thought you were checking out my—did I get some dirt on me?” She brushes a hoof over her coat a few times. “No, just my cutie mark.”
She says that like I should know what it means. “Cutie mark?”
That gape again, like everything has to be some big drama for her. Yes, so I don’t know some street jargon. “Don’t tell me—you’ve never heard of that either?” she asks. I raise my eyebrows and give her a slow, exaggerated shrug. “I was one of the last in my class to get one, and that happened five years ago. You mean to say you’re still a blank flank?”
This is getting tiresome. “Blank…?” Why does she keep tossing out all these fancy words? Trying to show off?
“I’d guess you’re about my age,” she says as she cranes her neck to take a look at my side. “You should have gotten a cutie mark much younger—do you even know how old you are?”
“I…” Years, months, weeks… Two thousand three hundred sixty-seven days since I’d started counting—since it had first occurred to me to do so. Before that… who could tell?
“What makes you happy?” she presses. “What gives you pleasure, what fulfills your day?” She gazes up at the clouds, and at least her smile has returned.
“I read a lot, if I’m allowed inside. I tend the grass, nap, or…” Roseluck isn’t listening. Her mind has wandered off somewhere, and she stares at nothing.
“I need to give this some thought,” she finally says. “I-I’ll see you tomorrow. I want to help. I’m really going to try.” She turns to leave, but at the last moment pushes the rest of the ice cream cone between the bars. “Here.”
I-I juggle it for a moment to keep from dropping it, and it’s starting to drip on my hooves, so I wolf it down in three bites.
“Are you sure your mother is somepony worth obeying?” she says softly, already on her way. I probably wasn’t meant to hear that.
I chew, gulp down that wonderful treat, gone bitter now, bitter as those rose leaves. How dare she! I suck in a big breath to shout after her, but my head—it feels like my brain is at once freezing over and about to explode! Jaw clenched, I rub my temples until I can muster the resolve to speak, but… she’s nowhere in sight.
I yank the vines back into place, undo the small wire hook, fling it over the fence. Good riddance.
In the heat of the day, I lie down in the soft green grass. Green, like… like her eyes.
“Good morning, Two.”
I sneer toward the fence and don’t budge a muscle from my place in the grass, out in the warm sun.
“I-I didn’t mean to upset you. I hope you believe me when I say I only want to help.”
I’m not talking to her. I did her a favor by taking her mind off of whatever got her kicked out of her house, and she repaid me with insults. A short distance down the fence, the leaves rustle where she tries to push the ivy out of the way. In the wrong spot.
“You there?” Roseluck waits a minute, then her voice drops to a whisper. “I hope you got to go inside.”
Letting out a sigh, I walk to my usual spot and hold the foliage back. She steps over and peers through with her green eyes. Green amid the green, both with life, but only one with vitality, there behind the black iron. I stare… and stare…
“…Do you think?”
I shake the fog from my head and find my way out of the maze. Almost got lost in there… “Sorry, what?”
“I was asking if you thought reading might have something to do with your cutie mark. You said you enjoy it.” In her own little world, she nods on my behalf.
More of this cutie mark business? Why should I know how they work? “I dunno. Honestly, I spend more time taking care of the yard.”
“Well, it would have happened already, in that case. At least I think so. But you do have a talent for it. Maybe you just haven’t found the right thing.” She gives me a toothy grin and points over past the small pond at the other end of the yard. “I mean, look at those roses over there. You’ve tended them beautifully.”
Those roses? I open my mouth to speak, but—
“See, I can help you there. That’s part of why I came over. My friends Lily and Daisy and I are going in together on a florist shop. We’ve studied the business, raised the money to start up, found a vacant storefront we can afford—I can finally move out on my own! It’s got me so excited that I just wanted to tell you!” She stands there, rocking on the tips of her hooves, and I think I’m supposed to say something. So I—
“So you’ve talked so much about growing your roses that I thought you might have a knack for it. They’re my specialty, of course. Cutie mark and all, y’know,” she says, brushing her forelock out of her eyes and letting out some more of that lyrical giggling.
I wish I could just listen to it, but… this again? I blink hard and take a breath. “These?” I ask, pointing to the bushes near the back door. “I just water them. They pretty much take care of themselves.”
“Yeah, those are knockouts,” she replies with a wave of her hoof. “They won’t give you much hassle. But—” she angles her head toward the pond again “—what about those? They look great, too. Did you do that?”
A tingle runs through my chest. “No. We used to have more of those over here too, but I over-watered them once, and they got a fungus. Mother was furious. I’m not allowed to mess with them anymore. So—” I flinch “—she planted these… knockouts.”
Her jaw tightens, but she keeps a steady voice. She still can’t tear her gaze away from the nice roses. “You have tea roses there. They take a little more work, but I could show you. I’m not surprised they need extra attention in a climate this far north.”
Okay. I wait for her to continue. I guess I’m supposed to say something again…
“Well, go on over there,” Roseluck says with a shooing motion. “I’ll talk you through it. We’ll make you into a master gardener in no time.”
Doesn’t she get it? Is she trying to mock me?
I hold up my sore foreleg and waggle it, the chain’s clinking drawing her eyes. “Can’t reach that far. Not allowed, remember?”
She sucks in a shuddering breath and staggers backward. “I-I’m sorry,” she coughs up. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I have to tell somepony. I-I have to.”
Tell somepony? She’s going to tattle on me? Now she’s crying, and her head keeps twisting to the side like she’s having a seizure or something. Fine. Let her make fun of me. Like her chain is so much longer than mine. At least I get to stay in the yard.
“I have to,” she blubbers through her sob before galloping down the street.
B-banging. Against wood. I—I can’t…
My eyes jerk open, and I sit bolt upright. What was that?
I hold my breath, but I don’t hear anything else. The house is dark, the yard is all shadows. Stars overhead. Only a dream.
A big yawn, and then I roll onto my other side and huddle up against the night air. Only a dream… Only…
Another bang. And breaking glass. Somepony shouts inside, and lights come on all over the house. I take off at a gallop for the back door—Ow! Dammit! The chain… jerks me to a stop, nearly rips my foreleg out. I grab the chain with my other, I have to get free!
“Mother!” I shout. Furniture tumbles, the yelling gets louder. Are we being robbed? I strain as hard as I can against the manacle, and it digs into my flesh, but that only makes me tug harder. I have to get free! Mother will be angry that I got off the chain, but I have to do it for her! She’ll understand.
The back door crashes open, and a piercing light blinds me.
“It’s alright, kid. We’re here to help.”
I run for the hose—maybe I can swing the heavy brass nozzle around and keep him away.
“Whoa! It’s okay!” He shines the light on himself, and it glints off his badge. Police? Did they catch the robbers? “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Everything will be fine. Just step over here slowly.”
Loosening my bite, I let the hose drop to the ground. “M-Mother?” I back off a couple paces, but something about the officer is reassuring—at least if he lets me off this chain, I can help Mother.
He bends down and fiddles with the clasp before shouting toward the house. “Hey, Turnkey! Grab the bolt cutters from the wagon and get out here!”
“M-Mother? Where’s Mother? Is she okay?” Nothing else matters. I have to help Mother.
“Don’t you worry about her. We’ll take care of everything.” Another uniformed pony emerges from the doorway with what looks like an enormous pair of pruners. He holds the blade against a link of the chain, braces one handle on the ground, and leans into the other as hard as he can. With a metallic ring, it snaps, and I go to charge inside, but the first officer blocks my path. “Come with me, kid. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I-I don’t want to go! Where’s Mother?” They don’t answer. They just corral me into the house, where a third and a fourth officer join them, hemming me in, pushing me toward the front door, toward… the street.
No. No! They’re throwing me out! Just like my brother—forced to leave, never returned, probably dead. He got what he deserved. But I don’t want to go! What did I do wrong? I only talked to her. I didn’t hurt the roses, and I only talked to her!
As I stumble down the front walk, the first officer points to a mare being shoved into the back of a paddy wagon. “There’s your mother, kid.”
“No! Mother!” It takes all four of them to hold me back. “What are you doing to her? Let me go!”
“It’s okay, kid! Calm down! She can’t hurt you now.”
“No! You’ve got it wrong! She didn’t hurt me. She never hurt me!” Everything’s going numb, even my throbbing hoof. I-I can’t walk. Shaking, I sink to my haunches, and the policeponies let go of me. What’s happening?
I scan the crowd of unfamiliar faces: more police, ponies with cameras, scribbling in notepads. Flashbulbs going off, shouting, in the street, no fences, strangers everywhere. No, one face, over by the officer with the most stripes on his sleeve.
It’s—it’s Roseluck. She gives a shy smile and a muted wave. She did this. She did this!
I break into a full gallop, straight for her. “You smug bitch!” I hurl at her as I close the distance. I punch her as hard as I can, the chain’s loose end clinking over the crowd’s noise. She drops immediately, and then I’m on top of her, and I get two more good shots in before the nearest officers can pull me off.
“You don’t even know what you did! You had no right! You had no right!”
Blood trickles from her mouth, and some has spattered up on her nose. I don’t like blood. I don’t, but… it matches her mane well.
I fling every horrible word I can think of at her. Surely, Mother can hear me, but she has to realize I’m doing this for her. Please don’t get angry, Mother!
Roseluck bursts into tears and cowers behind some other mare, probably her idiot mother. By then, the police are dragging me away and pushing me into another wagon. All those faces: ponies in uniform, Roseluck, old Juniper, ponies that have nothing better to do than stand around in the road.
Roseluck. I recognize that look, the same as One gave me when he left. Like he knew better. Like I deserved his pity. “I’ll get you for this!” I shriek as the wagon’s doors close.
Early evening, and I lie in bed while reading a book. Well, not right now. It hangs open over on the nightstand, and I haven’t touched it in an hour. Every time I try, I can’t get more than two pages before I lose my concentration and have to stop.
I’ve lived here for over a month now. I miss my old home, where somepony loved me. Nopony does here. I can tell, because they never punish me.
They want me to call them Mom and Dad, but I only do it to humor them. They’re no parents. Over a month, and they haven’t put me out in the yard once. At least I get to do more with the grass here than I used to. I even got one of those “cutie marks,” some kind of square of turf—a type of centipede grass, as I can tell from the shape of the leaves. The mare and stallion here have even taken to calling me Fescue, but I prefer Two, and I asked them to stop.
I tried clipping that cutie mark out of my coat, but it goes all the way down, even onto my skin. So I picked at it, scraped it with a pair of garden shears, even rubbed it with a hoof file. But once the scabs healed over, it came back the same as before. I guess it’s here to stay.
To be honest, I’d rather go out in the yard now, especially since I can’t read in this mood. Sure, it could get frustrating when Mother wouldn’t tell me what I’d done wrong, but at least I knew I’d done something and could try to figure it out. Not here. These ponies won’t even bother. They must think I’m too far gone to help. Why else would they neglect me like that?
I know for a fact that I need to be punished. The last few nights, I snuck out and wandered around town, trying to find where Roseluck lives. It took a while, but I finally found her yesterday, and spent over an hour watching her.
On a whim, I roll out of bed, clamber through the open window, and walk to the edge of the low roof over the wagon shelter. From there, it’s a quick hop onto the woodpile, then to the ground. Down the street to the lamppost, a left, three blocks, another left… I quickly find my way there and settle between a couple of japonica shrubs across the road.
Roseluck. She walks back and forth by the window of what I assume is the washroom—she’s brushing her teeth. Then her head bobs down and comes back up with a splash of water on it and a washcloth in hoof. The soft light bathes her and spills out into the night.
She’s wearing pajamas? Really? That’s kid stuff.
Part of her mane is still wet and darkened from washing her face, and it sticks against her neck like a streak of blood. I purse my lips and let out a sigh. Yes, I’m still angry, but in a different way than before. I’ve had time to think.
If she’ll just admit to the police that she was wrong, that she lied, then everything can go back to normal. Then I wouldn’t have to hit her. I might even be sorry I did the first time. It’s not like I want to see her bleed. I don’t like blood.
When my eyes come back into focus, she has her face pressed to the window, gazing out at me. That look again, like she had before, like she feels sorry for me. She mouths something over her shoulder, and soon enough, Lily and Daisy—I have to assume that’s who they are—come out screaming on the front porch.
A couple of the neighbors pop their heads out, but I’m gone, past all those awful open yards, dust kicking up behind me. Why would she treat me like this? I gave her a second chance…
I take the long way home. Gotta have time to think, and just in case anypony follows me… If I go around the edge of town, I can stop, take a breather in the park, get a drink from the stream.
Listen to me. Not that long ago, I didn’t have a clue about what was in this town or where.
A quick snack of sweet grass hits the spot when I pause, panting. Nice green grass, like her eyes…
I must have stood there for five minutes or so, just watching the bushes and shadows blend together. Waiting, hoping the next sound might be her, ready to apologize. But I can’t take any longer. Best to get home before somepony notices my absence. So I head back, but when I’m still three blocks away, I can already see trouble. Light shines from my room, and a police officer stands out by the mailbox.
I don’t even get much of what happens over the next hour. I nod a lot, and they tell me not to go to Roseluck’s again. If they’d chained me in the yard, I couldn’t have gone there in the first place. And my “parents” still won’t do it when I say so. They don’t care enough, and I think the officers notice, too—they raise their eyebrows at the whole exchange. But even they won’t step in and make those two take responsibility.
When I ran away, I noticed that Roseluck had stopped smiling. Maybe she finally understands the seriousness of the situation. Maybe she feels bad for what she did.
Nopony else would ever talk to me when I was in the yard, except for One, I guess. Roseluck was nice to me then, and it felt good. That’s… what they call love, right? My “parents” say something to that effect once in a while. So if Roseluck wanted to show me kindness, it meant she loved me? I-I want to be nice to her, too.
Yes, I think I love her.
I can’t read anymore. I’m allowed, but I can’t sit still long enough. Good thing I get to take care of the back lawn, but even that doesn’t interest me as much these days.
I sent Roseluck a letter. If my “parents” won’t let me see her, I’ll find another way. In it, I told her exactly what she needed to do to make things right, but that also brought the police over, so I can’t write, either. For now.
The ponies who live here said they’d have to read any letters I want to mail, and if they approve, they’ll send it—if I write one calmly and rationally.
A lie. The doctor told them to say that. They’ll never mail anything. But I guess I can try it their way.
I take a sheet of paper and a quill to the desk, then poke it at the scar on my foreleg until it bleeds. No, I’m not going to write a letter in blood. That’d be ridiculous. Ink will do fine.
Dear Roseluck,
I forgive you for what you did. I realize now that you couldn’t have known the particular dynamics of my family life, given that you must have some strange customs that make it unfamiliar to you. You have to be careful to ensure that your actions do not have unintended consequences. You clearly had some sense of my well-being in mind, and for that I am grateful, but you never asked me what I thought, never confirmed that your suspicions had any merit. If you could just tell the police that you were mistaken, that you’d misinterpreted what you saw, then we could all go back to our normal lives. I don’t believe you’re deliberately keeping me from my home; I just think you let your imagination run away, and it’s easy for a town to rally around a frantic young mare.
I don’t hold that against you. Their fault is not yours, and I would not punish you for it. I would never hit you again. It was rash of me, and I realize that I should have exerted more self-control than that. I would not hit you and make you bleed or even put you out in the street because I love you and I would only keep you in the nice, pretty, quiet yard with a chain plenty long enough to reach the rosebushes, and no thorn shall ever prick you, no, only that mane will lay red against your pale coat.
Your protector,
Two
It’s my little patch of grass, between the fence and the building, and I can do whatever I want with it—everypony else had better stay away. I glance around at all the other guests milling about in the yard, off to whatever mundane things must occupy their minds. They have no business here, but I let them be. As long as they stay away from my corner, they don’t do any harm—it’s rare that I have to confront any of them, but it pays to remain watchful.
I’d prefer to stay out here all the time to keep an eye on my grass, but I have to go inside for most of the day and all night. That’s okay—I write my letters during inside time. The doctor actually encourages me to write them, but he won’t give me anything sharp like a pencil—just a charcoal stick. It tastes awful.
But I write my letters, about five a day, and the doctor says he might send them someday. He says that, but I know he won’t. He says that when he gives me my charcoal stick for the day after breakfast and pill time and takes me back from the common area to lock me in my room.
This place has different rules, but at least it has rules, and there’s scheduled time that I have to spend outside in the yard, and I get in trouble if I break the rules. A lot like home—my real home, not that fake one I went to for a few months.
I haven’t heard from Mother in over a year, since that night. Most days, I ask the doctor how she’s doing, but he says he doesn’t know. I think he’s lying. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to One.
I haven’t heard from Roseluck, either. The doctor says she doesn’t send me any mail, but he lies about that too. I do love her, but she hasn’t come to visit, and she still owes me an apology. I don’t want to hurt her, but sometimes we have to do distasteful things for a higher purpose.
In the night, I wake up. I hate it—it gives me nightmares, thinking about having to hit her, making her nose and mouth bleed again. I wake up shuddering and crying, but I love her enough to make myself do that for her. I love her, and I hate myself, and I don’t want her to bleed. Now, if I ever get out of here…
I pull a bit of ivy away from the black cast-iron fence and look through to the street to see if any green eyes are gazing back at me. But nothing again today, so far. I can wait.
No green eyes, no silken voice, no melodic laughter, no ice cream. No roses grow here.
Over in a corner of the yard, I tend the grass.
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It seems that first place award was well-deserved. This seriously sent chills up my spine.
God damn. Sorry I can't think of anything more eloquent to say but wow that was...beautiful, I guess. I'm honestly lost for words to convey how I feel about this story. It was so sad and even a little sweet in a grim kind of way.
Wow, that was quite a read. The story is, of course, quite chilling, and I thought that Two's thoughts seemed very realistic for an individual who has been raised in such a harsh environment. His warped narration of events makes very good usage of the Unreliable Narrator device and creates a great deal of interest in the story as a whole. I suppose they tale could have been told from Roseluck's perspective, but choosing to focus on Two's point of view makes it all the more fascinating and disturbing. You have hit the nail on the head, metaphorically speaking. One of my favorite details is when Two gets his cutie mark. In our real world, neglect and other forms of child abuse leave permanent mental alterations to the children that develop under their influence. In Equestria, where the personality and defining traits of a pony are emblazoned on their hindquarters for all to see, it seems logical that such marks of neglect would show themselves as a cutie mark. Two finally gets the opportunity to express himself and his desires, and in the end the only thing that makes him special is his desire for isolation and control, symbolized by a square of grass sectioned off from everything else. He so permanently scarred by his mother's abusive care that his very definition of freedom is segregation.
I couldn't help but be reminded of the novel, "We Have Always Lived in the Castle." by Shirley Jackson. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it. The novel describes another family who lives isolated from the rest of the world in an old ancestral home. The youngest, a girl who goes by the name of Merricat, poisoned the rest of her family years ago and now lives alone with only her submissive older sister and weak uncle. They have lived for many years, all on their own on their property, and the book goes on to detail what happens when outside forces make their way into the controlled environment the family has set up around themselves.
Anyways, a great read that reminds me of your short story in theme. And congratulations to you on a well-written story.
Just always remember that
Ann lies.
Signed,
The Other One. 
Also of note: That screen cap of Roseluck biting the flower is quite hilarious for some reason, probably in context to the serious nature of this story. Brilliant choice, it somehow makes the read more unnerving in hindsight.
Signed,
The Other One.
This almost reminds me of Yomi's storyin Black Rock Shooter. The dollhouse is Mother, I guess. Carry on, my wayward son.
-N
This was facinating.
Man, this was great. It's truly haunting, and an excellent portrait of the normalization of abuse in the mind of its victims. I almost find it hard to believe it's a MLP fanfiction. Change it up to remove some of the references, and you have an amazing short story.
3638227
Omg! u r rigth, ive havent noticed!
This was awesome. It illustrates in a realistic and simple way the whole situation.
Sorry for not showing my actual enthusiasm, its kinda late
That's........
that's............
wow.
Wow, that dark tag sure is warranted.
Poor Rose, she was just trying to help and now she has a crazed stalker.
3639522
Rose will be just fine.
He's not getting out of there
3639539
Which is sad for completely different reasons. Even if the institution will at least take better care of Two than his so called mother.
This made Equestria Daily?! I give up with you people
At first I was all
Then I was
Now I'm just
Well written, keep up the good work.
Hitting. The nail ont he head
I think this story might just haunt my dreams... I'm not sure whether to thank you for it or to curse you for it. I have to go think now.
Wow.
Write more like this.
This was brilliant. A jerkish part of me wants to go and yell "Sequel!", but I'm not the kind of person who says things like that.
But it really is a nice story..... maybe you should write a sequel..... if that's okay with you...
3639942
What about it makes you feel like it's unsuitable for Equestria Daily?
I'm impressed. Not only did you dive right into the very touchy subject of child abuse, you were also able to write it from the perspective we don't always get to see through. Very well written, this is going into my "reread later" for sure!
Indoctrination at its...worst? Best?
Idk, good read.
Nirvanab4Regidar
I really liked this story. No wonder it got featured on EQD
Yikes, that was creepy. About half way through I would have been yelling at my screen for Rose to stay away from him if I hadn't been reading this in public.
Oh...just...oh
This is going in my favorites. I read this from start to finished and was enthralled the whole time. The whole thing was brilliant but I audibly gasped during the cutie mark conversation. You really made me consider the specifics of cutie marks and revised my head cannon a bit. I love it when authors do that! Amazing job!
A really, really good story!
I just wonder, though... why are there no therapists in Equestria? I know there's a doctor who encourages Two to write these letters, but that's not behavior therapy, and it's nowhere near the level of counseling a victim of such severe child abuse needs.
I know the people in charge of such things go by many names, and that due to doctor-patient confidentiality and a host of other red tape the work they do is secret. But my mom is one; I've grown up knowing her "students." Now she works in the public school system, so the children she works with are at least capable of functioning in an ordinary classroom, but I remember when she used to work in the foster care system. She worked at a "group home."
Two is probably in one of these group homes now, assuming the Equestrian system works like the U.S. one. I'm just not sure why, with his history, he isn't seeing someone better qualified. With the whole letter trick, the doctor's doing the psychiatric equivalent of slapping a band-aid and some ice on a compound fracture.
3650460
Yeah, I was wondering that too. There's a mention of a doctor in the foster home section, but he should have been assigned a therapist immediately with his issues. At the end he seems to have been institutionalized with incompetents running the place.
3639539
Thank goodness.
The part about him wanting to keep her on a chain because he loved her was just freaky.
Though, luckily, he doesn't understand enough about real Equestrian society to be a competent criminal/assailant, either.
3650460
3665135
There are two ways you could take this. First, Two is obviously an unreliable narrator. He may not be accurately portraying what the doctor does to help him. And second, the bulk of Equestrian technology places it relative to a time in our own history when we really didn't understand mental health. They may be treating him the best way they know.
3690832
I'll give you unreliable narrator after he gets taken, but Equestrian tech is so anachronistic that you can't place it in any period in our history. Think about it, we've seen arcade machines, X-rays, that giant doggy blow-dryer, Twilight's computer; just because they don't have things they don't need doesn't meant they don't have any tech.
3692824
That's just my point. Their tech level is all over the place. You can't assume they will or won't have any specific thing, so it's not unreasonable that they might not understand mental health well.
3694235
Well I guess we'll have to agree to disagree.
3696993
I don't see that there's any disagreement. We've both said that the tech level is very inconsistent. They have some fairly modern electronic devices, but their transportation is 1940s vintage at best and their farming techniques are 19th century. Absent a specific declaration from canon as to whether something exists or not, authors are pretty free to make a call, and I don't know how anyone can say either choice would be wrong.
3690832
Well, as to the first, why would he lie? What reason does he have to skew what the doctor's treatment is?
The second option is infinitely more likely, but also much, much sadder. Seriously, so sad. He's never getting out of that grass patch.
I guess that's why this story stuck with me.
3748191
Oh, I'm not necessarily saying he'd be lying. Maybe he just doesn't understand, and he can only give us his best idea of what's going on.
3751324
I don't know... his whole problem in the first place wasn't a lack of understanding, but a skewed perspective of what normal is. Normal in this case being "not horribly abusive." Though he is an unreliable narrator when it comes to social cues and other ponies' motivations, I doubt he's misinterpreting his doctor's treatment. After all, it's the only thing he really pays attention to besides his patch of grass.
I've got a couple issues with this story I think are worth mentioning. For me, the hook was a bit weak. There was some staging confusion and some unnecessarily vague prose, and it prevented the story from sucking me in. If I didn't have pre-existing reason to want to continue and see it through, that might have driven me away (which would have been unfortunate).
Also, I think you probably could have done some foreshadowing on the manacle. Now maybe it was there and I just missed it, but I felt like you did a very good job running a number of other themes through the piece. Just one or possibly two out of place but easily ignored mentions of clanking or soreness in the leg would have made the reveal there feel more natural and less like you were conveniently reinventing the scenario to make it go where you wanted. 'course, you may have already done this and I just happened to miss it, in which case my bad.
Those things aside, this is an excellent piece of work and I'm very glad it was brought to my attention. Having just tried working with symbols for the first time, I've got a lot more appreciation for the use of color in this piece than I would have a couple weeks ago, and I like that you keep a lot of the story background unexplored instead of wrapping everything up in a nice, tidy bow. And I found it very immersive, and very efficient, after getting past that first section.
This'll be going in my favorites.
3910650
Fair point on the manacle. I deliberately avoided having it make any sound before for two reasons. First, I wanted it to be a complete surprise, and second, with Two as the narrator, it doesn't even bear mentioning to him, since he's used to it. But having him complain about his ankle once or twice is the kind of thing that wouldn't stand out at first, but would make sense with the later context. That'd work.
For the hook, well... In the write-off where this first appeared, one judge said it was great as is. Another said the beginning dragged, but he enjoyed it once it got going. And a third said the beginning was great, but the ending dragged. So, not gonna please everyone, I guess. I've long since called that a wash.
3913123
I tend to agree about any sort of clanking being too weird to slip past reader notice, but I do think it's worth mentioning the one thing that gives me a bit of pause in that agreement.
I don't know if you've ever read Robert Jordan's fantasy series "The Wheel of Time", but (littered among many other things) it involves assassins that appear so bland and uninteresting that they can go undetected almost anywhere. One of the things I always found rather impressive in his writing was that he'd always tell you precisely when they showed up in a scene. He'd slip a quick line of description into the middle of an argument, or some sort of event, or even a stack of other more relevant description. Then, a few paragraphs or pages later, the assassins would actually try to kill someone. And it was always a shock when they showed up—or at least I always found it to be such. You could go back and see exactly where they made their appearance, but if you were reading along and decently immersed, you'd be as oblivious to them as the characters were.
So my point being, were one to do some sort of manacle foreshadowing thing (incidentally, the bracket tag is "spoiler"), it'd certainly be less obtrusive to go with a pain cue rather than a sound cue, but when you've got your reader immersed enough, you can do some pretty wild things and still have them fly. And frankly, I found this story very immersive once I got past that first section—though it sounds like that was a bit of a YMMV thing.
Damn, dude. You have a way with getting into a character's head. Another for the favorites pile.
3913594
Just so you know, I did go back and add a couple of instances where he complains about his ankle hurting.
Nirvana?
Much like everyone else says, a very chilling story. Two's personality is oddly inspiring in some way, mostly because you made his personality simple to understand, yet very intricate and explorable by nature. It's no wonder now why the site mods had a "vigorous argument" over whether or not to feature this on FIMficiton.
Wonderful story. Thank you.
...I feel your pain there, Two.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go feed the ground.
3639942
No offense to the staff over at EqD, but they tend to feature show-quality (subjective term) slice-of-life stories, or deep psychological character studies (like this story).
I know I'll never [be able to] write the type of stuff they feature, but that's fine. I'm not here to impress or cater to anyone's desires.
4150267 all our pretty songs
4154718 but 'e, don' know what it means,
4054476
Personally, I'm glad you did. I read In-Bloom just today, and I had no idea that those mentions were made after the fact. In fact, I was rather impressed with it... I had been wondering what his mother could have done to him so that his foreleg still had a sore spot, potentially ages after the rosebush incident.
This... is a very sad story. Not only because of the abuses Two suffered, but also because of how things ended up with Roseluck. I had no illusions of the two having a happy ending together... but the truth still hurt when push came to shove.