Leaf Songs

by Wellspring

Chapter 2: Pages

The mornings are not as I remembered it as a filly. It seems dreary now, utterly gray nimbi that harbingers a fore coming storm.

I force myself awake–I know sleep is no longer possible–and stir myself from my tear-soaked side of the bed; the other side is empty, I keep forgetting. I rise and proceed to my morning ritual of shutting close all curtains and windows as I make my way to the powder room.

The mare in the mirror looks beautiful still. That much pleases me. Besides her mane, which has rustled from last night's turning and tossing, and her eyes, drained of its moisture, the rest of her appears pretty much put together even underneath the thick cake of makeup. Yet she still attends to herself, trying to hide any trace of a broken heart: she washes her masquerade off with a stream of cold water, tosses a fresh coat of powder, brushing a layer of blush here and there, traces a delicate curve with the eyeliner, and, albeit having no inclination to leave her house, proceeds to apply a thin spread of lipstick.

One must keep appearances, I think.

I walk downstairs to my shop and observe my surroundings. There is nothing more to clean, nothing more to distract myself with. I have half a mind to open the store but, figuring it will mean to invite entrance to ponies, I decide against it. Even after half a day of sleep, I do not have the energy for interaction.

I haven't the appetite for breakfast despite not having supped last night. But still, either of physiological necessity or force of habit, I shamble to the kitchen to prepare something to eat. I open the fridge and feel nauseous at the thought that I will have to engorge on the fresh fruits and vegetables. But, much worse, a feeling of vertigo shakes my balances at the thought that I will have to cook.

I decide to eat out instead.

I leave the house, securing the door with a lock. The ‘closed’ sign is still there, and has been there for quite some time now. I may switch it later if my mood improves, but I highly doubt it.

On my way to the nearest restaurant, I pass through the marketplace. The hubbub in the air seems more distant now than it was a mile away. I lift the weight of my head up, careful that I don’t hold it so low that I welcome more attention that I imagine to be getting.

I stop then, realizing that on my way to the restaurant I may pass through to the Apple’s fruit stand and, there, lay my eyes on Applejack. I conclude that I may not be prepared for that yet, and decide against my current path to circle round the marketplace to reach the town square.

But the apparent better choice is short-lived. Shortly, after a turn I make to a shop, I am stopped by a familiar voice calling to my side.

“Rarity!” the voice calls, and I turn to look at the beautiful mare just standing beside me.

“Roseluck,” I say. “Good morning.”

Roseluck smiles sheepishly. “It’s… already afternoon, though.”

“Is it?" My voice shrugs for me. "I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah…” she says, looking up to the sky. “Clouds are a little dark. Raindrops says it'll rain today.”

“Will it now?”

“I think so...”

I just stare at her, for a moment, watching her hoof prod against the dirt. Surely, this weather is not the reason she stops me.

“Listen,” she says, “I guess I’m not the first pony you’d like to talk to right now but–”

“You guessed right,” I interrupt.

“I’m trying to be polite here,” she spits. “To be honest, I really just want to ask if Applejack’s okay. It kinda took me awhile to put two and two together and it was already too late when I did.”

“E-Excuse me…” I lean forward. “What are you talking about? What do you mean if Applejack’s okay?”

“Oh! She hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what? The last time I saw her was… when she was with you.”

"O-Oh... You two broke up."

"That's none of your damn business." Surprising the both of us, there is no hostility in my tone. Perhaps I am too exhausted even for that...

I see her already regret having initiated this conversation with me. No doubt she is now thinking how less involved she would be had she let me pass unacknowledged. But too late now, I think. I step closer, hoof pressing on the ground, and press the matter: "Applejack... she went to your place that night... That was two days ago, I think."

"That was four days ago, actually," she says. "And yes... For the same reason you're thinking right now."

My face remains still, unimpressed.

"Look, Rarity," she explains, "Applejack and I shared a bed a few times in the years past. I am one of the mares who always wants her... and is occasionally wanted by her. So when she picked me up in the bar, I thought it'd be just another one of our nights."

"And you thought wrong?"

"N-Not exactly." She fidgets in place. "We got back to my place, a little tipsy. She'd had a little too much which is, to be honest, quite rare for her. I mean, it's hard to get an Earth Pony drunk and I know she's not the type who would want to try. Looking back now, I guess it had something to do with you. Because shortly after she was mumbling about AppleJill and poetry and how you can't pick up signs and poetry. And then, I–"

"AppleJill?" I think aloud, unintentionally interrupting her.

"Yes, poetry," she clarifies. "So then I–"

"AppleJill? And poetry? I never told her about my finding of her book! Did she really say that?"

"AppleJill? Yeah," she says, nose wrinkling, "but I think she said 'poems' or something of the sort."

"Can you please repeat, in verbatim, what Applejack said?"

She sighs. "I wasn't really paying much attention–and this was four days ago–but she said something about you pressing her about poetry or poems something... something... AppleJill-something... even when she begged you to stop. Seriously, I don't get it."

"S-She didn't beg! I... I mean she asked me stop but she never begged me to..."

"I don't really care much." Then, she concludes, "So afterwards, I start kissing AJ. She kisses back. But then she hesitates, apologizes to me, and then leaves without another word. So yeah... nothing happened with Applejack and I that night. So if you two are having problems, don't take it out on me. Hey! Where you going?"

The lasts of her words are lost to me, I am already running, galloping towards Sweet Apple Acres.

Poetry? Can it be, that something so trivial be the cause of the rift that breaks us apart and that... thing about past loves be nothing more than a lie? No... Applejack would not resort to such a thing.

But poetry! Poetry!? Something so petty?

Unless, it is not petty for my dearest.

How could I have been blind not to see it? Since when had Applejack express so much anger, so much passion, than in that night where I have so force the art upon her, completely ignorant that it might mean more to her than I understand.

* * *

I arrive into the Apple's house and open its front door.

"Applejack!?" I call, looking around the interior.

There is no response, and neither do I see anypony in the room. I run up the stairs and to my dearest's room–to where we had last spent a night together–clinging on the slim chance that she may be there. Sleeping or crying, no matter what condition I find her in, I am willing to see it if it means I'll be able to speak to her now.

"Applejack...?"

But as I open the door and walk in, I am welcomed by her empty bed.

My racing heart subsides, the excitement in me dies in surrender knowing I can do nothing more to look for her. The prospect of finding Applejack in the whole of Sweet Apple Acres–no, in Ponyville–is impossible in my current exhausted and famished condition. But Celestia knows that even if only a second of time is to be saved if I step out right now than to lie in wait here then I am more than more willing to commit to the search.

But before I could turn around, the corner of my eye catches a glimpse of a familiar red book lying on top of Applejack's bed. I know that four days ago it was not I who left it there.

I grab the book, tracing the embedded lettering of AppleJill with a hoof, and proceed to read the exposed page:

“O Love, thou art winged and swift,
Yet stay with me evermore!”
And I guarded my house with bolt and bar
Lest Love fly forth at the door.

Without, in the world, ’t was cold,
While Love and I together
Laughed and sang by my red hearth-fire,
Nor knew it was winter weather.

Sweet Love would lull me to sleep,
In his tireless arm caressed;
His shadowing wings and burning eyes
Like night and stars wrought rest.

And ever the beat of Love’s heart
As a chime rang at my ear;
And ever Love’s bending, beautiful face
Covered me close from fear.

Was it long ere I waked alone?
A snow-drift whitened the floor;
I saw spent ashes upon my hearth
And Death in my open door.

I press my hoof against the half-crumpled page. The years have burned a deep sienna on the paper; and it would have kept on burning if not for the waters that has quenched the fire. For, still-fresh upon the words, are last night's tears so generously spent.

Applejack was crying... when she wrote this? I think, as the sound thunder breaks the the silence.

Snared by the words, I do not notice that there is somepony who stands behind me until he speaks.

"Ah should've known ya came across that thing," the stallion says.

I briskly turn around, seeing Big Macintosh standing by the doorway.

"Big Mac!" I say, startled. "I didn't mean to barge in. I was looking for–"

"It's alright," he says, moving closer. "Ah heard ya came in." He stops beside me and eyes the booklet in my hooves.

"Please tell me," I say, holding the booklet up. "What is it with Applejack and poems. I... I think this is the reason why she decided to break up with me. That night, I've never seen her so angry before that–"

"Ah never asked mah sis, cuz ah didn't want her to lie," he interrupts. "But ah guess she never really got around to throwing out this thing."

"Why would Applejack have to throw away such talent? I don't understand."

"That 's cuz them poems ain't written by mah sis," he says, taking the booklet. "It's written for her."

Big Macintosh flips through the pages, as though with each turn he is flipping back through the memory.

"It ain't talent she was supposed to throw away," he says. "It's guilt."

"Was it... Was it given to her by her former lover?"

Big Macintosh nodded. "First and last."

"D-Did Applejack love him that much?"

"Leaf Song loved her enough for the both of them."

"Leaf... Song," I repeat, the name unfamiliar to me.

"Tell me, Miss Rarity," he says, walking towards the window. "Ya've read a couple of his pieces, you've flipped the pages. What d'ya think he was like?"

"I wouldn't know... I can only guess."

"Guess then."

"I... I think he was a romantic. Passionate... and in love."

"He was," he agrees. "And this here book is all that's left of all that. It probably has more than enough to provide for the rest of mah sis's life."

"But that can't be. Applejack–"

"Applejack has been lonely for years now," Big Macintosh says, looking out the window. "And ah reckon she probably want to be this lonely for the rest of her life. She has you guys as her best friends, she has her all-supportin' family, she's even had a lot of of companions on bed. She has a lot of pony to surround herself with. But to fall in love?" He shakes his head. "She can't want that no more. Which is why ah think is the reason she pushed ya away before she does anything she regrets."

Big Macintosh heaves out a sigh. Roseluck's forewarning has finally come true, and the sky crumbles under the weight of its tears. Rain falls in a heavy downpour, easily laying a watery curtain against every window.

"To be honest, Rarity, ah'm not sure if ah approve for ya for mah sis. But ah'm sure that ah haven't seen her that happy in a long time, and always it's when yer with her or she's talking about ya. Ya've only been together for two weeks. That might not count much in yer book but the fact that Applejack stuck with ya that long meant she might–she might–finally be willing to forgive herself and open up again. Ah'm not saying that ya should love my sister... Ah'm just saying that if mah sister ever falls in love again, it'll probably be you."

"I don't love Applejack because I should, I wouldn't do that to her. I love her because I do."

He turns around to me, eyes squinting. "That maybe... but ah doubt you'll love her as much as Leaf Song did."

At this, I cannot answer him. I have not known Leaf Song, or why had he meant so much to Applejack. I cannot find it suitable to measure the beating in my chest, to that solid still-beating heart Big Macintosh holds in his hooves. Songs and rhymes so beautiful that it cannot be written by anything less than a passion unrivaled.

And yet, the enigma remains. The shadow of doubt I fear to enlighten myself. I clear my throat.

"Leaf Song..." I ask, "he's dead now, isn't he?"

Big Macintosh nods.

"Is it true that... Applejack.... killed him?"

"Who told you that?"

"She did."

Big Macintosh stares at me with deadpan eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.

“Yeah,” a third voice answers. “Ah did kill him.”

I turn around, to see Applejack standing there by the door. Fresh from the farm work it seems, her orange coat is muddled by spots of dirt. She is holding a white towel against her cheek, drying what part of her mane that still holds the rain.

"Sorry for intrudin'," she says, "ah was under the impression that this was mah room and not the public square."

"Applejack!" I gasp. "I'm sorry for barging in. I was looking for you and–"

But Applejack's hateful gaze only runs me a passing glance to me. Her death stare is directed to her brother.

I look at Big Macintosh, who is not at all affected by her sister's glare.

Applejack extends a hoof forward, and it becomes apparent that she is demanding the small poetry book that Big Macintosh is holding. "Give it'ere," she says.

Big Macintosh does not move. "Ya two have some time alone," he says. "Ah'll have to pick up Granny Smith and Apple Bloom from the market cuz of the rain."

"Give it!" Applejack barks, throwing her towel on the floor.

"No." Big Macintosh settles. "Ah'll be holdin' on to this for now."

The red stallion remains unfazed even as he walked through the wake of her sister's self-tortured anger. As he walks past her, their coat barely brushing against one another, the book sealed in his teeth, I cannot help but feel alarmed in fear that Applejack, at any moment, may pounce on her brother and wrestle the prize from him. But Applejack does no such thing. Even as anger chatters her teeth and quakes her leg, her rage does not extend beyond this internal tremor.

Even when Big Macintosh is gone from sight, and we have heard him close the door on his way out to the rainy afternoon, Applejack's trembling has not ceased.

"Applejack...?" I call out, and am immediately met with her scornful visage. For a second, I fear that she may redirect this anger towards me. But the second lasts only so long. I know, that moment I saw myself deep in her emerald eyes, that she can never truly mean any harm to me; and that this anger is not directed to anyone else but herself.

"Applejack," I try again, more resolute this time.

This time, it is she who defers her stubborn indignation. Her pained expression eases and replaces the scorn to shame in a sudden awareness of displaying this apparent weakness.

She breathes easier now, and I do not hesitate to approach her. Wrapping my hooves around her shoulders, I steal the cold of the rain and years of isolation with the warmth of my body. She, too, extends her embrace around me.

"Ah'm sorry ya have to see that," she whispers to my ear.

"It's alright, dearest."

Applejack's eyes recoil slightly at the title. She runs her hooves from my shoulder to my side. "You... ya look famished. Have ya eaten yet?"

"No," I answer. "I... I haven't yet."

"Yer not neglectin' yerself are you?" she asks. She removes her hooves from me. "C'mon... Before anythin' else, let's go to the kitchen. Ah'm gonna give ya something to bite."

Applejack trots ahead, and I follow just behind her. Until her remark, I have forgotten how weakened I am. In the last few days–four, according to Roseluck–where I languished in grief at the thought of losing her, I have treated myself in utter disregard. How unsightly have I become that she can see through me with a passing glance.

We arrive in the kitchen. It is smaller now for some reason. The lines and layers of pans and tins hang on the wall, neatly assembled. The two window on either side show nothing but the heavy downpour. The noise of raindrops tapping against the wood drowns out the sound of our hoofsteps. Yet despite this torrid weather, the room has still retained its homely atmosphere.

Applejack pulls out a chair for me, where I sit. She rushes to the cupboard and back, pouring me a glass of water. Then, as I take a sip to quench my parched throat, she is quick to ready a bowl of millet cereal and fresh milk.

"Help yerself to some of these first," she says, adding some sliced bananas and grapefruits to my bowl. "Ah'll be givin' ya a proper lunch in a few minutes."

I take a few spoonfuls. The bland starchy grain soaks in the milk, resulting to a smoother texture tinged with the appetizing sweetness of the fruit and honey.

"Is it too sweet?" she asks, as she sets up to heat a cauldron of soup.

"It's... It 's alright." I take a few more spoonfuls. "I mean... It's very good."

Applejack looks at me and smiles meekly. She steps forward, a napkin in hoof, and wipes a smear of cereal at the corner of my lips. The gesture–and my own embarrassment–makes me glow to a bright red.

But this romantic interlude–I know–can only last so long. My heart beating with her so near me, I cannot help but recall and accept the condition of our current displacement. My appetite gone, I push the plate away from me and finally confront my love.

"Applejack," I mutter. "About Leaf Song,"–the smile on her face vanishes–“did you really... kill him."

"Ah'm not proud of that," she sighs. "So please stop making me say it. Ah did kill him."

"W-Why...? I cannot imagine you why would you– Was it... was it self-defense? Did he try to force himself onto you?"

"Leaf Song would never do such a thing!" she responds, her voice coarse.

"And neither would you commit to murder," I answer back. "I know you, Applejack. At least, that part of you who would never willingly hurt anything."

"Maybe yer wrong then, and that part ya know ain't even half of what's there." Then, looking at me, her face stoic, the look in her eye changes. "D'ya love me, Rare."

"Of course I–"

"What if ah tell ya that ah killed Leaf Song for no reason–no reason at all!? Would ya still love me?"

"You're not capable of–"

"What if ah tell ya that it wasn't for no reason? That ah killed him out of malice? That ah killed because ah wanted to see him hurt. Because maybe ah'd thought it'd be funny if ah push him down the river knowin' he can't swim? That ah enjoy killin' him? There, Rarity. Would ya still love me?"

There is no time for me to answer. Applejack's body moves fast. She lunges forward. She lifts me. She hurls me. She pushes me against the wall at the corner of the room.

"Ah can take ya right now if ah want," she hisses, eyes flaring. "Ah can force mahself on ya. There, on the table, ah can do that against yer will. You know ah can. Yer magic isn't powerful enough to stop somepony as strong as me. Nopony will come in with this rain. And nopony will take yer word over the Element of Honesty."

But I do not give her the fear she wishes to summon. I stare at her, at this fragile, frightened and shivering pony over me. I cannot help, as she vomits these empty threats, but feel pity to one as self-tortured as she.

I run a hoof against her cheek. Then I whisper, solemnly, "Please stop hurting yourself like this."

She turns away and shuts her eyes. She stands away from me, careful not to inflict further harm on my body than what she believes to have already done. "Ah'm sorry," she sighs. "Ah didn't mean to–"

"It's alright, dearest," I say, wrapping my hooves around her.

Applejack pulls away, however, and reclines against the stove counter. She sighs, her head cast down, eyes under the brim of her Stetston.

I give her the space she needs and return to my place at the table.

"So..." she says "You... Ya really are in love with me, huh?"

"Y-Yes," I answer. Much as I care to say it, the prospect of love still embarasses me.

"That's mighty good to hear,"–she looks up to me, her face absent of emotion–"cuz ah think ah'm in love with you too."

"Hearing you say that makes me–"

"But that 's all mah love for ya is: just a feelin'. No more and no less. We ain't gonna be no lovers and we ain't gonna be no couple. Ah love you, Rarity. There, ah said it. Love is just too overrated for romantics like you and him. He was a poet ya see, that fella. So it kinda makes sense that he's overly a dreamer about this things. When ah first saw him in Manehattan, two of us were still foals then. Ah was livin' with the Oranges at that time and he was just a colt sellin' birthday and greetin' cards in a nearby newspaper stand. Ah remember how cute he was, yellin' things like 'Birthday cards! Get your Birthday cards here!' or somethin' of the like."–Applejack covers her eyes with her hoof as she laughs–"Actually... actually... he wasn't really cute at all in a handsome way... He was cute in a funny way. Ah thought ah'd spare a few bits and buy one. Y'know, for makin' me laugh. His first words to me was about how pretty ah am and he asked me how ah got so far off from Ponyville–he has a way with knowin' accents–and we hit it off after that. Few years later, he'd say it was actually love at first sight and that ah was the inspiration for the poem that gave him his cutie mark.

"Ah guess ah was in love with him at that moment too, just didn't know it. Ah'd make an extra effort to pass by the newspaper stand just to find the time to talk to him. It was kinda overwhelmin' there in Manehattan, and everypony was so... serious. He was the only colt who ever smiled on the streets. He'd show me around the city and tell me the names of each nook and corner. On rainy afternoons like this one–it rained a lot back then too–we'd scooch under the newspaper stand and he'd read me tons of his poetry. A new one each day. He was the only one not afraid to talk out loud, and laugh even harder. He... he actually laughs at his own jokes. Ah mean... who does that? Laughing at his own joke. He was simply too adorable that it broke mah heart when ah told him that ah decided to go back to Ponyville. It was then when he went full romance and said that ah am his 'bethrothed'. And that one day–wait for me, he said–one day he'll save up some bits and move to Ponyville with me. Ah think that was ah also the time ah told him that ah've fallen for him. Wait... No. Ah think it was before. Yeah... ah think ah was the first to admit that ah love him.

"We wrote to each other every week, and he'd send me a poem everyday. Ah mean seriously, a poem each day comin' in the mornin' mail. Every sunrise of that wait would begin with me rushing to the mailbox and read his words to me. Ah read it all and kept it all, hoping how ah'd tease him one day if he ever copied one from his earlier pieces. But he never did. It didn't feel like a routine or... or a chore. Every one he wrote is always new and fresh and only made me love him more. But luckily ah didn't wait long. It was surprising how fast he made time seem. He came to Ponville two years later. And ah remember how ah charged into the train station and punched him on the shoulder for making me so impatient. We were a little more bigger then, a little more older. But, as he said, we were still blossomin' into our teens. He just got his cutie mark, and it was a beautiful fir leaf whistling musical notes.

"We fell in love all over again and it was... it was the golden age of mah young years. He moved to a small two-bit apartment near Town Hall. Ah offered to let him stay at our place but he'd have none of it. Not until we were married, he said, stallion pride and all. Ha! The guts on that one for saying something like that so soon. But ah liked it and made mah heart race so ah let do as he want. We spent a lot of time together, during those days. Ah'd call him cloudy cuz he always had his head in the clouds, and he'd call me AppleJill. Within a week, ah managed to show him the ins and outs of Ponyville just like how he showed me the ins and outs of Manehattan. We went to a lot of dates, eatin' out in the stores. But ah think he facied our good'ol picnic more than anythin' else. Our special place is a secluded garden in the East Field of the farm. It really isn't a garden, not at first. We made it to a garden since we both liked flowers and the nearby river made it easy take care of'em. We'd have our picnics there almost every day. All home cooked meals by yours truly. We'd sit under the shade of an apple tree, flowers around us, looking at the river, while ah listen to him read poetry to me. A lot better than reading poems in a newspaper stand. Ah'm tellin' ya right now that it was like heaven. Oh, and did ah tell ya how he likes to poke fun of mah accent? He does. He'd tease me alot of how I'd pronounce my A's and G's; and ah'll give him a good'ol smack on the shoulder for teasin' me. Ah never read poetry out loud because of him, even durin' the times he'd beg me.

"But that didn't mean we didn't have our own ups and downs. Granny Smith was against him at first, because he grew up in Manehattan and didn't know two-bits about farm life. 'He can't tell a cattle from no sheep,' Granny Smith once said at the dinner table. Not to mention that, ever since Leaf Song came to Ponyville, ah'm spendin' half my day workin' the trees and the other half listening to his poems. Now, that big lug of a brother of mine, was different. He didn't care much for him, but boy did he care for me. He didn't mind working odd hours just to accommodate me and my dates with Leaf Song. But Celestia forbid if ah'm not home before his curfews. Ah did that once, by accident, gettin' home a measly ten minutes over ten. Big Mac was waiting for me by the door and even before ah can open my mouth to say sorry ah got one heck of a cussin'. To teach me a lesson, he prohibited me from seeing him for three days. Three days! That's three lifetimes by my count. When I picked up Leaf Song from the train, when he first came, Big Mac's eye was all over him; he said only one thing, 'if you ever–ever!–hurt mah sister ah'll...' then he whispered something to him that ah didn't hear, but drained the color from Leaf Song's face.

"And of course we had our share of fights. What healthy relationship doesn't? Most of the time it was with the simple things like paying the bill. I wanted to split it, but he always said that it's a stallion's job to pay for his mare's meal when out on a date. He also gets mad sometimes when ah don't wear the necklace he brought me. But our first serious fight involved that mare–whatshername?–Blue Berry-something. She was oogling him, no doubt, even when she knew he was mine. Leaf Song, however, was either too innocent or too blind to see it. Ah got jealous, got mad. Called him out on it, shouted at him. We didn't speak to each other for two days. But well... ah couldn't stay away from him for so long. So I came back to him apologized, and made up. That was all the bickering two of us ever got from each other. We... we never had another fight after that. I'd even like to think that that was the time I knew... he was the one.

"He... he was also my first, ya see. The first whom ah've given all of mahself to. He wanted to wait till we get married, but the second ah was all over him he couldn't control himself either and decided to gave in. Ah remember it very clearly. It was night time; ah broke Mac's curfew again knowin' the consequences. But ah'd give mah years to have him at that moment. We did it at our special place by the river, over a blue blanket and under the milky sky. The stars watched us, and the moon watched us. But we didn't care. Ah didn't give no darn about no moon and stars. He was my everything that night, and ah only existed in the place he touched and kissed. And he touched and kissed all of me. It felt like ah was lost there, in the heavens, and he keeps finding me each time. Gentle, that colt was. He... He'd even whisper to me. He'd tell me how much he loves me. When it was all over, we'd both lie side by side on the blanket. It felt like... like ah was back in this world after bein' given a peek of heaven. We were embarrassed. We were blushin' like crazy, couldn't say a word. But we couldn't look away from the world of each other's eyes where each found oneself reflected in the other.

"I... Ah don't think ah loved–or will ever love–anypony else than how ah loved him that night.

"But ah think... that night was our mistake. If we never.... if we never did it then maybe....No! Ah'm sure he'd still be alive today. Ah said that ah was willing to give mah life to have him, but even for that night... ah'm not willing to lose him.

"Love is a cruel thing. Just like when ya hit rock bottom and there's no place to go but up, when you've reached the heavens there ain't no other place to go but down; only what's worst is that, on your way fallin', you'll see all the distance you'd never reach again. And if ya pause and look up, you'll see that the fog was lifted and you find yerself losing the drive to climb up cuz ya already knew what it felt like.

"It was mah fault.

"Ever since after our first, ah've wanted him again and again. But no matter how many times we try, there ain't nothin' like that first time. Ain't nothin' like it. Our hearts stopped racin' and it slowed down a bit, helped clear our minds. We took it slow the next few weeks. Ah start becomin' more critical and watchful of him. The feeling of like... bein' high of love... of romance... was dwindlin' away. 'It's normal,' he once said to me. But ah refuse to believe it. Ah didn't want to. What we had wasn't normal. I-It was special! It was unlike any other. It wasn't some fling or puppy love everypony was saying it to be. It was the kind y-ya'd read in story books and... and in poems. It was–...

"It was only a few weeks later when reality starts creepin' into me. Creepin', that's the word. Slitherin' and slimy-like, unwanted. Ah guess it started on the day ah saw the mayor knockin' on his door to settle some debt he owed to some other pony. Or was it the day ah saw him pawnin' one his chairs for a quick bit. It had been happenin', long ago, but ah was always blinded by his smile to take any serious note of it. Ah came face to face with it when Granny Smith asked about a few bits missin' after the accountin' and Big Macintosh said he was givin' some of it to Leaf Song cuz 'The guy's gotta eat.' Ah talked to Leaf Song about it the next day, about my brother givin' him alms, and he confessed that he was acceptin' some, but only after his financial conditions got worse as his savings was runnin' out.

"He was a poet. He wrote words, wonderful and beautiful words that expressed the joy of living and fallin' in love. But no matter how good he was, no matter how I treasured each one of his poems... in the real world, they only sell two-bits a piece. Two bits... That's half an apple. He talked about compiling a poetry book, and about gettin' it published, but publisher replied almost immediately that he's still nameless and there's no market for poems right now. He... he was livin' near poverty the whole time, and he didn't tell me cuz he didn't want muddle our romance. Cuz back then, back at our special place, we were... happy. We were in our special world where nothing could hurt us except each other, and we don't. We didn't have to worry about filin' taxes, payin' the rent, or makin' budget cuts to balance checkbook.

"Ah offered mah place for him to stay in–fought Big Mac and Granny for it–but at the end of the month, none of us had a choice. He was three paychecks late for the rent and he was kicked out. He had nowhere else to go, nor had any bits to go anywhere. Big Macintosh gave him a room, but made him sleep in his attic. 'In case he tries something untoward,' he said. Well, Leaf Song, wouldn't do such a thing of course, so he didn't mind much. And aside for a few more house rules, he wasn't really bothered. He tried not to be a burden but... it was impossible. He was another mouth to feed, and the bits he brought back from sellin' poems didn't amount to much. He spent his mornings with me, always with me, but his afternoons playin' with Apple Bloom or writing and selling cards.

"It was Granny Smith who, at the dinner table, called him out on his impracticality. She called him a youngster who read too many romance novels, needs get down to earth, and find a real job. Ah remember ah was so furious that ah was about to shout back on mah grandma, but stopped when ah saw him holdin' his head down and started noddin'. For three days he went out and tried lookin' for one. But... nopony wanted him. He... couldn't do nothin' right. He's always been weak, physically, just draggin' an apple cart would exhaust him out. And he didn't have no formal education. Just the books he'd been borrowin' from the library. B-But he tried... he tried, damnit! And that should count for somethin' right? Right? By the fourth day, ah knew ah had to do something. Ah went to Mr. Cake and asked to give him a job, anything at all that he could do. In exchange that we apples would temporarily stop sellin' desserts to help their sales. Mr. Cake agreed, and made Leaf Song to a dishwasher. He screwed that up. After a few broken plates, he was moved to waitin' and cleanin' tables. When he screwed that up after forgetting orders, he was turned to a delivery colt, which he couldn't do after a few rounds in the town. By the end of the month, Mr. Cake figured he costs more than he was worth and fired him. So he was back to us.

"It was... It was easy to get fed up with him. It was easy to get disappointed so many times that you no longer have anythin' to expect. It was Big Mac who, after hearing about Leaf Song gettin' fired, suddenly stopped offerin' him advice and barely acknowledged him. Granny Smith eyes squint every time she looks at him. And even Apple Bloom will ask, bluntly, as to how many days more he'll be stayin'. We apples... we hated seein' burdens. Ever since Dad left us and Mom died, it was Big Mac, Granny Smith, and I who took care of a newborn Apple Bloom. All of us learned, the hard way, how to carry our own weight. So we naturally felt contemptuous to those who grew up not knowing how to carry theirs.

"Make no mistake, ah love him still. Ah want ya to know that. Ah never stopped lovin' him. Even when ah catch mahself sighing out loud when ah'm reminded of one of his failures, or even when ah feel the occasional pang of regret of giving my body to him, or even when the romance died, ah love him. And he... he loved me. We were still each other's world and we both knew that– No... we... we... both hoped... that one day... we'll get through this... and live happily ever after...

"I, uhh... ah remember that... it was the Apple Family Reunion. Other members of the family came to Sweet Apple Acres. There were lots of them too. Almost everyone came. We set up the celebration in front of the barn, and first day in, relatives were swarmin' and askin' us about this Leaf Song fella. He got a lot of attention. It was the talk of the day. 'When's the marriage?' they asked, not sure if their questions are a joke. Big Mac and Granny Smith didn't talked much about him, preferring to stay silent than lie about how wonderful of a colt he was. Even as we raced, played games, and ate our meals, the chat was always about Leaf Song and me. Ah think ah was overwhelmed by it all that... that ah actually became more frustrated than anythin' else. 'What does he do?' they asked. 'He's a poet,' ah'd answer, and listen to them laugh as though ah just mentioned a joke. Then they'll realize how serious ah am, and apologize for laughing. Once most of their questions were answered, it wasn't too long before their excitement turned to sympathy. My aunts would whisper, a loud whisper, how ah should find mahself a real stallion who can help around the farm. Mah uncles would say things about how'd mah work will cut out for me and that poems neither makes trees grow nor puts food on the table. Even mah cousins would poke elbows about introducin' me their friends–mares, even–who'd be a perfect partner for me.

"I felt sick inside throughout that night, as though the reason ah couldn't speak was because ah was holdin' in the vomit from my mouth. I started to stop shakin' mah head and begin to nod with every conversation. 'You're probably right,' I heard mahself saying.

"It... It was hard you know! Don't look at me like that! Ya don't know how hard it was. It felt like the world was closin' in on me, whisperin' and gangin' up on me. B-But it wasn't pressure that got me. It was good sense... It was plain good sense. They weren't malicious, even as they told me that ah was better off with another stallion. They were... honest. They were sincere. And what ah couldn't forgive is that they were screamin' the truth ah've been turnin' away from. Ah love Leaf Song! Damnit, ah love him! B-But... But he wasn't good enough...

"T-That same night... and it happened... that night.. a starry night... The celebration was dyin' down and most of mah kin are already tucked under their blankets and families. Only the few lovers remain awake, dancin' around the bonfire to what's left of the banjo. Ah just sent Apple Bloom to sleep and went back to attend to the guests. It was just in time for the banjo player to change the music... It was... It was a love song, quiet and solemn. Ah don't know the song's name. It was an old one. The lyrics was about some earth pony tryin' to fly to the clouds and reach his pegasus lover, failin' every time. The song was about the pegasus cryin' so much that it made the rain... It kinda... I dunno... It kinda 'got him'. Leaf Song approached me, hoof extended, bowin' his head and kneelin', askin' me to dance. I... ah humored him... That's what it felt like when I reached for his hoof and let him dance me around. It felt like charity, letting him dance with me. Ah was cold to him the whole while. Ah was deliberately tryin' to be. Ah barely said anythin' and forced mahself not to listen and sighed out loud. Ah didn't–ah couldn't–even look at him in the eye. But I think the worst part was that he couldn't tell; the worst part was that he took mah cruelty for exhaustion. 'Are you alright?' he would say. 'Maybe you should rest. You've been working hard all day.' He was smiling–the last time I ever saw him smile–and he was talking so fast and so excited. He... He was sayin' things about how wonderful mah family is, how he has a new idea for a poem book that'll sell, how... how he's willing to work beside me in Sweet Apple Acres and raise a family together and live happily ever after.

"But ah was no longer payin' attention to him. Ah stopped caring for a second. I... interrupted him. While we danced, while he talked, ah said... ah said–and this is what ah couldn't forget–ah said to him: 'You're weak. You don't deserve me.'"

As Applejack says those words she heaves out a long pained sigh. She clasped the center of her chest, and let out a long pained howl.

"I... Ah didn't mean it!" she screamed at my direction, but I doubt that it is me whom she sees or means to speak to. "I... Ah didn't want him to go away! Ah didn't want him to think that ah didn't love him no more, because ah did! I do! Even when I told him those words! Even as ah crushed his soul beneath my hoof! He... He was still smiling... His eyes changed but... he was still smiling. Ah didn't know what kind of savage strength did it take for him to hold his smile up. It... It was an act of mercy for his part. He knew... that he didn't want me to know how much ah've hurt him.

"So... h-he stopped talking. He just smiled at me... and we continued dancin' until the song ends. Then he kissed me one last time and he bowed his head... and he walked away.

"It was a few minutes later when one of mah cousins came running at us, screamin'. She woke us all up, sayin' how she saw Leaf S– how she saw... a colt jumped to a nearby river and... drowned himself.

"My c-cousin–ah can never remember who it was–didn't say who she saw. B-But somehow ah knew... that it was... him. And... ah remember... It wasn't my cousin screamin'; it was... me. Ah remember screamin' my heart out, ah remember collapsin' on the floor, ah remember how mah hot tears made me blind to everything else but the memory of his last smile. It took three stallions to restrain me and drag me back to mah room. Ah was in hysterics, they said. They had to lock me up. It was Big Mac who led the search.

"Ah cried in that room for four days. They locked me up, ah was out of mah wits. It was for the best. Ah was bawlin', screamin', tearin' mah mane out. Ah still remember how painful those days went. Here... in mah chest... it felt like mah heart was literally bein' torn apart. The fear that ah'll never see Leaf Song again... and the hope that ah will... pulled me in two directions.

"It was at the fifth day when Big Mac finally told me that... Leaf Song really was gone. He said that they found his body three days ago, floating next to a makeshift garden by the East Field. They had to wait before they finish... embalming the body before tellin' me cuz Granny Smith didn't want me to see him how he looked when they found him. By this time I was out of tears, my eyes are red, and mah throat burns that am already voiceless, and I can't even express my grief in any other way but to collapse on mah brother's embrace.

"They held a funeral for him; ah shut mahself in the room, tellin' mahself that ah ain't got no right to go. Big Mac said that they buried him in the garden by the East Field where they found the body. Ah didn't know if it was sheer chance, or whether mah brother knew where our secret place all this time. We didn't know his family and he didn't leave no names for us to contact. It was too late when we realized that he barely talked about himself.

"The mornin' after the funeral, ah paid respects to his grave not a second longer than ah need to, and went on to work. Ah bucked trees, fed the pigs, cleaved the fields, made breakfast, lunch, dinner... ah did all of sort of things. Granny Smith tried to stop me, sayin' how they all must understand how ah feel and that ah need time mourn. She said ah need to wait for a few weeks to pull mahself together. Ah would have none of it. Farm's a-waitin'. So ah worked, and ah worked, and ah worked. And when work was done, ah'd work some more. The ah'd find somethin' to work with. Granny Smith told me that what ah was doin' was unhealthy; Big Mac, if he disapproved, never showed it. But ah didn't care for mahself that much. Farm was makin' a profit at that time. Only part of Sweet Apple Acres ah didn't touch was the East Field, ah left that for mah brother to take care of.

"Ah became more social–if social is whatcha call it–cuz it helps me hide from mahself and what ah've done. It was... mah form of copin', ah guess... or denial... whichever applies. Ah've had many lovers... No, not lovers. Just... some colts and mares ah take to mah bed. Flings, ya musta call them. Every two months or so ah'd go to a bar, hit somepony or get hit on, and have a roll on the hay, before dumpin' them before the next sunrise. Big Mac called it irresponsible, but ah knew he wanted to say disgustin'. It must have been hard seein' his sister like that. He probably said to himself that it's only a matter of time before ah'm branded the town stud mare. Ah still kept goin' though, just jumpin' one after another those who ah've already slept with–Roseluck was one of'em... I-It didn't made me feel good, physically or otherwise... It just... It helped me numb the pain that was eatin' me inside. Ah hated mahself for what ah was doin', but that hate helped overshadow the guilt and make me sleep at night. Maybe... ah was tryin' to cancel out the love Leaf Song and ah had... by tryin' to pervert and disfigure what was our most intimate expression of love for one another. But it... doesn't work. No matter how deep ah bury mahself beneath the obscenity, the light of our romance still manage to break through at the briefest passage of a poem. It reminds me; it blinds me; and it hurts me.

"W-What did he ever do to deserve it!? Why did Leaf Song have to die!? W-Why would anyone kill him? Why!? Why!? Oh Celesita–Why!? He was a good pony! He didn't hurt nothin'! He was kind! He was lovin'! He was happy! All he ever wanted from this world was to live! To live! And write poems! Was that too much to ask!? He... he just... h-he just wants.. t-to spend his life me! ...Ah'm sorry, alright! Ah'm sorry! It was mah fault! Leaf Song, y-you didn't... you didn't have to leave me! You didn't have to..."

Applejack falls back and collapses on the floor. She leans against the cupboard. She holds her head up. With tears flooding her eyes, her forehooves reaches out to the heavens.

"N-No... He didn't have to... Ah didn't have to... Ah killed him, Rarity. There ain't no way around it. There ain't no sugar coatin' it. Ah murdered him. Ah heard every way to dodge that fact: 'Ya didn't mean for it to happen,' they said; 'It ain't yer fault,' they said; 'It ain't like ya pushed him down that river,' they said. But it felt like that, actually... That he... That ah already knew he was already standing on that edge, and he was struggling not to fall, and... when ah told him that... he didn't deserve me, it was like the last rope he was clingin' to suddenly dragged him to the bottom. Ah didn't... kill him out of mercy... or anger... or disgust... It was out of... cruelty. Because ah wanted to hurt him... knowing he couldn't take it. Because somehow... ah could just... ah could... just... spout some excuse about simply tellin' the truth! That ah was bein' honest! Honesty! Celestia fogive me, ah kill him out of honesty...

"Ah'm guessin' that's why the Elements chose me to bear Honesty. Mighty fittin'... mighty cruel. What is that, even? It's like fate is laughin' at mah face... or destiny punishin' me, for sendin' to death a colt who lived only to love.

"Ah wish ah wasn't honest then... ah wished ah could've told him that... 'You're good enough for me.' Ah wish ah could have just lied... and spared his feelings. Ah wouldn't care for the Element...

"If givin' it back meant ah'll be with him... even for just a day... then ah'll do it in a heart beat.

"Rarity, ah am tired.

"Ah've loved and loved a memory. Ah've held onto a vain hope that we'll meet again. S-Sometimes ah think that maybe ah should–ah think sometimes–that... if ah follow him down that river ah'd see him again... And if that's what it takes then maybe ah should try and... If we can't meet each other in this world then maybe–just maybe–in the next...

"Future looks bleak to me. Ah know that no matter what ah do ah'd never love or be loved again like what ah had with Leaf Song...

"...At least now you know. You've heard me; you've listened to me. Ya understand why ah can't love ya... even when ah want to. Leaf Song once wrote, in his poems, that love is something pure... and beautiful... and innocent. Ah don't think ah have the right to feel all that again... not after killin' the only one who ever believed in it."

* * *

By the time I am walking through the town square, the downpour has reduced itself to a drizzle. Somewhere along the way, the raindrops has merged with my tears. I look up and there are no clouds. The sky is a sheet of gray blotting out the sun.

Ponyville around me glistens to a dull silver. The haze casts a sleepiness undisturbed, and a crestfallen blanket of mist wraps it's structures. There are no ponies around me. But I see them, their shadows, look out from their windows. If they can see me, I cannot care for it now. So long as they leave for me the pavements I so want so alone, I can leave to them the comfort of their homes.

I walk through this; I cannot stop and be still. I cannot allow the thoughts to catch up to me, in fear that it is here–out in the cold rain and on the streets–that grief will coil at my heart and yank me to my knees. That, I know, I am saving for later within the privacy of my quarters.

She does not want you, one of the notions catch on.

And once more the coil is pulled and my chest tightens. I cough out a cry.

Her guilt shackles her to the past of long ago, with chains she herself forged with fiery self-hatred and cold self-abnegation. She loves me–that I know–but does she love me enough for her to tear through her heart’s manacles? Does she even want to!?

And, for myself, how can I compete against a love of that kind? A love that was once so pure and so full of promise that its hymns and songs and heartbeats still echo to this day.

Worn and weary, eroded from the rain, at last I make my way to the threshold of my boutique.

As I touch the knob with my hoof, the cold wet lead poisons me to a numbing stillness. I know that when I walk through this door and close the night behind me with a thud, the memory of this day is forever sealed. For the rest of the evening, nothing waits for me but the bed that will suckle my tears.

"Will we end like this?" I mutter, frozen in place.

"Ah think Ah'm in love with you too", I remember her words, "but that 's all mah love for ya is: just a feelin'. No more and no less".

Still clasping on the knob, I fall to my knees and watch as my tears fall to the puddle of rain. I bite my lip and struggle not to scream a cry.

How can I reach through within her? How do I free her from the cage she has imprisoned herself in!?

And, as though to answer me, I feel a phantasmagoric pair of hooves over my shoulders. I do not turn around, knowing that I will find no one there. I am not one to believe in the supernatural, but perhaps it is due to my distress that I hear this illusion tell me, whispering to me, not to give up. And he–I somehow I know he is a colt–gives me a gentle shove. My weight collapses forward, and the door to my house slides open.

What sunbeam permeates through the cloud shines a ray of light to the entryway, and to the open pages of Leaf Song's AppleJill lying in wait just past the threshold:

"All night I dreamed of roses,
Wild tangle by the sea,
And shadowy garden closes.
Dream-led I met with thee.

Around thee swayed the roses,
Beyond thee sang the sea;
The shadowy garden closes
Were Paradise to me.

O Love, ’mid the dream-roses
Abide to heal, to save!
The world that day discloses
Narrows to one white grave."

Comments

[ponygrad]

Jesus christ.

[milla0126]

wow, just....wow