As He Lay Dying

Jonagold Apple’s eyes flicked open at the sound of an argument out in the hallway.

“I don’t care what y’all think is best for me. I care what’s best for him, and that’s bein’ with family.”

Jonagold smiled despite the agony it caused him; he knew that voice.

“You’re darned right he’s a mess! But he’s my son, I’m sure I’ve seen worsen’ that.”

The doctors’ voices were low and muted.

“I don’t care what he wants, neither. He’s tryin’ to be all noble, dyin’ alone in there. Well, I ain’t gonna stand for it. Or sit for it neither.”

After a few more seconds, the doors opened and Granny Smith strode through confidently before stopping abruptly at the sight of him. Jonagold tilted his head, trying to look down at himself. He couldn’t see much; ruddy bandages covered his torso, and the blue magic that Doctor What’s-his-name was still pouring over his chest made it hard to see much further. Still, he knew that his hindlegs should be sticking up there, the way he was lying. The fact that he couldn’t see them would have sent shudders down through his body, before, but it didn’t seem so important now compared to the rest of it.

“I thought I told the doctors ta make y’all swear on yer hats not to come see me like this,” Jonagold said.

“I don’t wear no hat no-how, so it ain’t like I’ve got much to lose.” Granny Smith ambled over to his bedside. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself, lettin’ a tree fall on you like that?”

“Just a durned fool, I guess,” Jonagold managed before he coughed.

Granny Smith glanced at the doctor sitting at his bedside. “Ain’t there a thing you can do for that?”

The white unicorn shook his head, a drop of sweat running down his forehead as his horn burned with magic. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m doing everything I can.”

“S’alright,” Jonagold managed. “Only hurts when I breathe.”

Granny Smith’s eyes softened as she reached out to touch his mangled hoof with her own. “I’m sorry.”

Jonagold wheezed. “You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for; it’s ol’ Wormwood who should be apologizin’ to me. Tryin’ to fall on my wife.” He coughed. “T’ain’t right after all I did for him.”

“Oh, he’ll be apologizin’ all winter, I ‘spect, when we chop him up for firewood.” Granny Smith sighed. “So that’s the way of it? He was fallin’ over onto that pretty young thing that caught yer eye and you just had to make sure you were under him too?”

Jonagold shuddered, his mouth working. “My wife’s okay, ain’t she?”

Granny Smith sighed again. “Valencia didn’t get laid up in the hospital, if’n that’s what yer askin’, but she ain’t exactly in a state to come see ya, neither.”

Jonagold slumped back. “That’s all I wanted.”

“All you wanted? What about seein’ yer children grow up?” Granny Smith asked sharply.

He raised his hoof weakly. “Don’t mean it like that. Sides, ifn’ I’d let it fall on her, I’d have ended up in here anyway after you had at me for lettin’ her get hurt.”

Granny Smith cackled. “Darned tootin’!”

“It ain’t so bad. I got some good years in me.”

“You’re thirty.”

“Still, thirty good ones. And it ain’t such a bad way to go, savin’ my little Orange.”

“Valencia weighs twice what you do, you galoot.”

Jonagold chuckled again, but the sound quickly turned into coughing as Granny Smith leaned forward and gripped his hoof tightly.

“Hurts,” he finally managed.

“I bet it does.” Granny Smith smiled softly, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Yer kids are out there in the hallway. Ya sure you don’t want ‘em here?”

“Just ain’t right, kids seein’ somethin’ like this. They know I love ‘em; they can figure out the rest when they’re older. Ain’t like they don’t got a couple of mighty fine mares to raise ‘em right.”

“I was hopin’ for a mighty fine stallion to be helpin’.”

“I kinda was too. But that ain’t the way things worked out.” Jonagold coughed again, wheezing as he desperately tried to refill his lungs. “Sorry. I don’t think I’m gonna make it much longer.”

Granny Smith squeezed his hoof. “Anything else you wanted to say to me, boy?”

Jonagold shook his head slightly before he stopped. “It weren’t pa who stolt all the zap apple jam.”

“Guess I’ll just have to tan your hide for lyin’ to me,” Granny Smith said, smiling.

“Fraid there’s not enough for that. Probably got too many holes to make a good bag anyhow.”

“Probably.” She looked down at his bandaged body, then back into his eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, ma. Take good care of Jack, Bloom, and Mac for me, will ya?”

Granny chuckled. “And not yer wife?”

Jonagold shook his head, swallowing slowly. “If it ever got out I didn’t think she could take care of herself, she’d kill me.”

“Bit late for that.”

Jonagold tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat. He tried to swallow, but his throat was clamped shut. His apple bobbed as he looked over at the doctor, the glow around the unicorn’s horn fading. Shuddering, he reached out with his hoof to touch his mother’s face, slowly caressing his cheek with her hoof before he slumped back into the pillows.

“I’m sorry.”

“T’weren’t your fault. You did the best you could.” Granny Smith slowly stroked her son's mane as she blinked away the tears.

“Have you made arrangements?”

“For Valencia. ’Spect it won’t be too hard for them to dig another hole for him right next to her.”

Author's Note:

Thanks to the Writeoff Association for all the feedback they gave me on the original version of this story when it recieved 7th place in the "I Regret Nothing" write-off.

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