A Blank Canvas

by Bardsworth Brony

Chapter Three: In Which Our Protagonist Falls Ill

When Sketch woke up the following morning, he glanced at the corner in which he had stored his painting supplies. It still pained him that he hadn't been able to create anything the night before. For a moment he considered trying to paint before heading back to Sweet Apple Acres, but he knew how focused he got when painting and he usually lost track of time. It would be better to get to the farm as quickly as possible to show Applejack how good of a worker he could be.

His hunger had once again grown through night, and his stomach made angry noises as he left the shack. Applejack had mentioned that she'd pay Sketch at the end of the week, which was two days away. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do in the meantime, but since his options were limited to nothing all he could do was head to work and ignore the hunger. It was something he had gotten good at over the past several weeks.

After the half hour walk to Ponyville, ignoring became a lot more difficult. The smells coming from Sugarcube Corner made things worse. But he continued on, returning smiles as ponies passed by and greeted him, which was something he still needed to get used to. Where he came from, everypony had their noses in the air and minded their own business when they walked by.

When he reached the farmhouse at Sweet Apple Acres, he caught sight of Applejack's face in the window. The orange pony smiled when she saw Sketch and she waved him inside. As soon as he stepped through the door the smell of food hit him full force, rocking him on his hooves.

"Whoa there, sugar cube, you okay?" Applejack asked with concern in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit… I'm okay."

"Yer a rotten liar, ya know," the pony gave him a half-smile. "Ah know a hungry pony when ah see one. You come on into the dinin' room and sit down."

"No, I'm fine, really, I-"

"Now you listen here, Sketch. No pony on this here farm works on an empty stomach. You sit on down with the rest of us and eat up. You got that?" There was a tone of firmness in Applejack's voice, and when Sketch looked into her eyes he saw an unflinchingly hard expression there.

"Yes ma'am," he responded with a sheepish bow of his head.

Applejack's face softened and she put a hoof on his shoulder, and then led him into the dining room. Sitting at the table was the big red pony he had met the day before, a younger pony with yellow hair and a red mane, and an older green-haired pony. He had learned their names the day before in conversation with Applejack, but he couldn't for the life of him think of their names at that moment. Luckily, Applejack seemed to sense that.

"Sketch, this here's Big McIntosh, Apple Bloom, and Granny Smith. This here's Sketch, and he's trainin' to work with us this applebuckin' season." Big McIntosh nodded in greeting, Apple Bloom gave him an enthusiastic hello, and Granny Smith said something he couldn't quite make sense of. He just nodded in greeting, unsure of what to say.

He took a seat at the table with the rest of the ponies, eyeing the food in front of him. There was a stack of flapjacks a mile high with fried apple topping in a bowl next to it, and a frosty pitcher of apple juice to wash the meal down with. It had been some time since he had sat down at a table for an actual meal, and it took him a moment to get his bearings before he realized Applejack was looking at him.

"You just go on ahead and eat as much as you need to, Sketch," she said in a gentle voice. "We can always make more."

A lump rose in Sketch's throat at the sheer kindness he was experiencing, but he swallowed it back down and smiled, nodding in silent appreciation. He piled a stack of five flapjacks on his plate and covered them with the fried apples. It was delicious, and he found himself going back for seconds and then thirds.

By the end of the meal the ponies laughed at the fact that he had eaten more than Big McIntosh had.

***

"No, no, you're still puttin' all your weight into yer hooves. You wanna keep that weight in yer flanks and use that to drive yer hooves right into the trunk."

Several hours of training had left Sketch tired and sore, not to mention a tiny bit frustrated. He had figured all there was to it was to kick the tree and down came the apples, but there was a whole lot more to it than that. Taking a deep breath and keeping Applejack's words in mind, Sketch steeled himself once more and kicked his back legs into the large sand bag that Applejack had hung from the rafters of the barn.

"Much better," the orange pony beamed at her trainee. "You had power in that one. Don't forget that yer power comes from yer flank muscles. Ya' gotta build those up in order to get a good, solid buckin', otherwise you'll be left with a hoof-full of apples danglin' from the branches. You wanna get 'em all down in one go."

"Got it," Sketch responded with a deep exhalation, and he went to sit down, only to be attacked with a burning cramp. He yelped and stood back up, stretching his back left leg.

"Yeah, sorry, ah should've mentioned that yer gonna be pretty sore in that area for a spell until you get used to buckin'. Ya might wanna get a nice, soft cushion to be sittin' on."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sketch said, knowing full well that he did not have a cushion to sit on, nor would he be buying one. He was about to ask if they were done for the day when a sneezing fit rocked him.

Applejack gave him a worried look. "That's about the fifth or sixth time you've sneezed like that in an hour, Sketch. You sure yer not gettin' sick?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Sketch replied with a sniffle. "I don't get sick. Must be something around the farm making me sneezy."

"All right, then," Applejack said, sounding rather unconvinced. "Ah say we've done enough for today. Don't want you burnin' yerself out. You go on home and get some rest and ah'll see you back here again tomorrow."

"Thanks, Applejack. I really appreciate this."

"Yer more than welcome, sugar cube." He loved it when she called him that, and he gave her a big smile before he limped his way out of the barn.

As Sketch made the long trek back to his shack, he realized that it was early enough in the day that he'd be home in time to catch the last of the sunlight. He'd be able to do some painting! That thought alone kept him moving forward through the town and through the woods as if he were as light as air. It wasn't until he had the brush in his mouth and was standing before the canvas that he realized how achy his leg muscles were and how exhausted he was. The will to paint was strong, but his flesh was too weak. Defeated once again, he used the last of his energy to pack everything back up and lay down on the cold floor, sneezing a few times before conking out.

***

He awoke to the sound of thunder overhead and sat up, immediately succumbing to a wet cough deep in his chest. "I guess it wasn't allergies after all," he said to himself in a thick voice. It was pitch black outside and he wondered what time it was. Then came the pit-pat of raindrops and he felt spatters of cold water against his face. "Oh no," he groaned, coughing again, and managed to pull his blanket up over himself before the pit-pats turned into rapid thumping. In no time he was soaked. He thought briefly of getting under his tarp, but he had to protect his painting supplies. They were all he had in the way of possessions, and they were what he needed to eventually make a living. He couldn't risk them getting damaged. So he took refuge next to his cart, being that it was under the section of roof with the least amount of holes in it, and tried to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, it turned out the floor of the shack was on a slant, and all the water that landed on the ground dribbled its way downwards towards him. To make matters worse, the frequency of his sneezing and coughing began to increase. All he could do was curl up into a tight ball and think warm thoughts.

After an hour or so of shaking, sneezing, and coughing, he lost consciousness.

***

The rain had stopped when Sketch woke. He couldn't move. Every muscle in his body, not just in his flanks, was achy and sore. He was shivering, still lying in a puddle of cold water, but he felt hot and sweaty. All he could do was lie on the floor of his leaky home and think about how much Applejack would be disappointed in him for not showing up on only his second day. She might even fire him for it. The thought made him even more miserable than he already was, and he tried to push it out of his mind, but those green eyes kept haunting him, hovering over him and looking at him in disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and lost consciousness again.

Comments

[Zellor]

What the hell took you so long to make this chapter!?

[Bardsworth Brony]

884116
Actually, the whole story is completed. I'm posting one chapter a week to help build up an audience. :-)

[Zellor]

884140
Well then... I guess I will have to wait a week or two... beats waiting month's.

[Bardsworth Brony]

884167
Sorry... but I'm glad you're reading!

[Zellor]

884390 No worry's. And you're welcome