My Sister Fluttershy

by brokenimage321

Scene 11: Ext., Home, Night. Age 20.

“Skittle? What the heck are you doing here?”

She steps in to the circle of light on the porch and giggles. “What am I doing? I’m here to see my big sister, of course! Why else would I be here?”

I groan.

Skittle suddenly started sending me letters a few months ago. I opened the first few eagerly, but they were impersonal little things, like nothing had ever happened between us. I sent a few notes in reply, but she never answered them. All she ever wrote about were the parties and concerts she went to and other useless crap like that.

After that, I stopped reading her letters. Well, I skimmed them, but that was about it.

About a month ago, she started writing about doing something together as sisters. She got more and more insistent over the next few weeks. I still didn’t answer her, though—she doesn’t care to answer my letters, why should I answer hers?

Work today was hard. I had been fantasizing about a nice hot cup of chamomile and going to bed when Skittle ambushed me as I slid my key in the door.

I groan, unlock the door, and walk inside, leaving the door open. I stomp into the kitchen. Mom’s still sitting silently at the table. I grab her bowl, slop the last of the carrot soup into it, and slam it back on the table. I grab a teakettle, fill it with water, throw it on the stove, and turn on the heat. I turn around, and Skittle is standing there smiling brightly. I groan again.

She seems to take that as a sign and sits down. I yank open the fridge, pull out the carrots for the next batch of soup, and start peeling them at the sink. After a moment, I look over at her. “So, what do you want?”

She smiles. “I told you, I just want to spend some time with you. It’s been forever, and Canterlot’s so boring.”

I snort. “What about all those parties you write about? And those high-society brunches you sneak into? And those day trips to Ponyville, and Celestia-knows where else?”

She ignores the question. “I was thinking we could do something,” she continues, “y’know, as sisters.”

“Can’t. I have work.” I pick up the next carrot.

“What about after work?”

I look over at her. “Skittle, I work double shifts. When I come home, I give Mom some soup, get something to eat, and go straight to bed.”

“Well, what about your days off?”

I sigh and look back at the carrot. “I don’t have days off. When I’m not at the Factory, I go pick up some odd jobs.” Next carrot. “I know a guy who owns a moving company. I can usually count on him to have something for me.”

“But, you have to have some kind of vacation time!”

I laugh, a hard, bitter laugh. “Skittle, the closest I get to a vacation is when we get special assignments from the Weather Patrol—and that’s only when they have a big storm or something coming up.” I look up from the carrot and stare out the window. “They pull us all off the floor and assign us two or three to a cloud. Then we push them all to wherever they need to go. We don’t get to do any actual Weather Patrol stuff, but it’s… enough.” I notice I’ve stopped peeling, and start again with a vengeance. “It’s hard work, maybe even harder than the regular stuff, but the pay is good.” Next carrot. “Long story short, I can’t do anything with you. I work too much.”

I hesitate, hoping she doesn’t ask the next question.

I work so much because I'm scared of the alternative. If I didn't work, I'd have to be home with Mom, watching her stare out the window. If I wasn't doing that, I'd be walking the dirty, depressing streets of our neighborhood, avoiding all the places Fluttershy and I used to play.

If I didn't work, I'd go insane.

Thankfully, Skittle just sighs. “Well, we still need to do something. We are sisters, after all.”

Sisters. Right.

“Listen,” she says, “I got us tickets to the Best Young Flyer Competition next weekend.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t you hate sports?”

She flips her, mane, irritated. “One of the Merriweathers is competing. We have to be there.” I finish peeling the last carrot, rinse them off, and start chopping them. “April, you should get your late shift off and come with me.”

“Skittle, I—” I look over at her. She’s staring back at me with big eyes, the faintest hint of a quiver on her lip. She’s never gonna give up.

I sigh. “Alright, I’ll go to the stupid competition with you.”

Skittle smiles wide and starts chattering about something. I feel a pang of guilt—I wasn’t actually planning on going. I was just going to blow her off at the last minute. But, seeing how happy she is, thinking I’ll go with her…

I brush the feeling away.