A crash of thunder, a brilliant blinding flash of lightning, then silence. Whimpering, the clopping of hooves against wood as a filly dashes through the halls to the master bedroom. A soft whinny as she pounces her father, he stirs and looks down at her straw-colored mane and bright green eyes.
“Hm? Applejack? What’s wrong?”
He sees the terror in the filly’s eyes, the confusion and misunderstanding mixing into a real fear. He is awakened very effectively by this sight.
“What’s wrong, Jackie? Tell me!”
She snuggled into him as another crash of thunder breaches the silence, a bright flash of lightning fills the room in pure white. Somehow, her mother remains sound asleep through all of this. The stallion with the orange coat and straw-colored mane, the stallion she is the spitting image of, looks at her and sighs.
“Are you afraid of the storm, Jackie?” he asks.
She nods mutely, squeezing her eyes shut and snuggling further into him.
“Ah… Okay, come on then…,” he says as he rolls onto his side and off the bed. He stands beside the bed as she scrambles to lift herself onto his back, where she shimmies up to his neck and wraps her forehooves in a tight grip that doesn’t cut off any air, “Settled? Alright then, come on.”
He stops at the door to the master bedroom and knocks a hat from the wall onto his head. He then moves through the door and makes his way down the hall, careful to make little noise as he heads towards a great window at the very end of the hall. Rain blasts the window in an amorphous sheet of crystalline sheen, the effect distorts the lightning streaks in the distance. Another clap of thunder roars through the air, and Applejack tightens her grip. He notices also that she is trembling.
“Now now, th’ storm is a good thing, Jackie,” he says quietly, his accent drawn and eloquent in his husky voice, “th’ rain means th’ crops can drink plenty, th’ wind upsets th’ soil and makes it ripe for planting in a few days, and th’ lightning… well…,” he trails off at that point. He reaches a hoof up and nudges her, she whimpers again and shakes her head.
He moves closer to the window, the rapid fire pitapata of rain against the glass is louder here than it was just a few inches back. He reaches up and shifts his hat, moving it from his head to her head. He feels her trembling slow down, coming almost to a stop as his hat came to rest on her head. He waits, patiently, standing there staring out the window.
“Th’ thunder? That’s th’ sound that lightning makes when it hits th’ ground… but don’t worry too much about that, it don’t usually get too close to ponies or nothin’,” he finishes quietly. He smiles discretely as he feels her grip loosen. She tentatively slides off his back and lands on the floor with four small clops of her hooves. After a moment, she comes around in front of him and rears up, placing her forehooves on the windowsill and looking out at the storm. He draws closer to her, brushing against her little withers as he does.
“But if’n ya take th’ time for a proper look?” he begins, “Well, y’aint likely to find a more beautiful or fearsome sight in nature.” At that, a blast of lightning streaks across the sky, lighting the orchards in blinding ghostly white and setting the apples glowing. Applejack gasps, not in fear but in awe of the sight. The thunder follows shortly after, but she barely notices is.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stood before the old stallion, his straw-colored mane long since made the transition to grey and his green eyes faded with age. The middle of the orchard, that’s where she’d found him. She was happy, he was out and working again. It meant a lot to her, to see him out and about after mama died. He’d watched over Applebloom some but mostly that was Granny Smith’s work. Now? It was frightening. He had just asked who she was and if she might help him find his way back to his mama
She swallowed and stepped back from him. It was difficult to imagine, to understand, that he wasn’t joking with her. He really wanted help finding his mother. Only his mother had been dead for years, so why would he be asking that?
“Pa? Who’re ya talkin’ about?” she asked nervously.
“Why, my mama of course, ain’t ya met her? Name of Carmel Apple, yup!” he said proudly.
Applejack swallowed and shook her head. Okay, she’d just have to be strong here. It wasn’t normal, but maybe a doctor could figure it out and he’d get better. She just had to believe that there was some kind of answer for this. With that thought in mind, she set about guiding him to the farmhouse and trying not to think too deeply about this.
“Jackie? You here?” he called out. He had just gotten home after a day on the market, he’d been out mostly selling wares but if he was calling out to her then she knew he must have a gift for her and her brother and sister. Ma was still pretty ill and had barely left her bed for a long while after Applebloom was born. So, daddy was looking after the little one and tending the chores that ma couldn’t do no more. Macintosh helped as much as he could and spent a lot of time with Granny and the new foal. Applejack? She followed daddy around, watched what he was doing and started to get an idea for what the work was and how to do it.
She galloped down the stairs and right up to him, throwing her forelegs around his great neck and hugging him tight. He raised a foreleg and gently hugged her back. He was strong, mountainous even, and he often said he felt that Macintosh was sure to grow into a big stallion like himself. All that Applejack knew was that she was happy when he got home, and she felt safer nowhere more than right here with daddy.
She noticed that he carried a fairly big crate on his back and wondered at the size of it and what it might hold. She was definitely excited, but she backed off of him to let him get the rest of the way into the house.
“Mac? Where y’at boy? Git on in here!” he cried out after he stepped inside, passing Applejack. Her gaze followed him, settling at last on his cutie mark. It was a large, whole apple that shined like it had been waxed. It glistened at the edge and looked full of life. It was why the town had taken to calling him “Big” Apple, though his real name was Fresh Apple.
She followed him the rest of the way into the living room, staying close by his side. She was practically his little twin, sharing most of his features. Except for his size. She was a petite thing, where he was a giant among ponies. He was gentle though, and soft spoken most of the time. She was in awe of his hard work and his warmth. She hurt for him when she saw how sad he was to see mama ill and bedridden.
With that, he shrugged the crate from his back. It landed with a whump on the wooden floor, half on the circular area rug that also served as a resting place for the coffee table. The sound of thick hoofbeats sounded as Macintosh galloped through the house, a stricken Granny chastising him for being so loud when the foal just got to sleep. He arrived in the living room shortly after.
“Boy, you’re gettin’ plenty big enough now to be helpin’ out ‘round the farm. Think I’ll git ya started tomorrow, how’s that?” Fresh asked.
Macintosh nodded. It was solemn, but it was real. He meant it, or he wouldn’t have nodded at all. Honesty was an important virtue in the Apple family, which Macintosh embraced as sacred as anypony as in the family did. Fresh nodded and dipped his head into the crate, pulling out a yoke and tossing it over to Macintosh.
“Now, that’s a might large for ya just now… But you’ll grow into it, I know you will… Yer gonna be big as me one day, boy, maybe even bigger, and you’ll be pullin’ that plow when the time comes. So we’ll get you started growin’ tomorrow, get you ready to fit into that there yoke,” he said cheerily. Macintosh nodded with enthusiasm at this.
Fresh turned to Jackie, smiling at her.
“You… Now I know you’ll work hard… Reckon you been followin’ me around the farm since you could walk, huh?” he chuckled as she blushed. She had no idea that he’d known about that.
“So, I reckon you need a little recreation, yeah? You got too much work on yer mind, not enough play, t’aint healthy,” he said as he dipped his head into the crate and pulled out a guitar. It wasn’t the nicest one that ever got made, but it meant a lot to her simply because he had picked it out and brought it home.
“Don’t you worry none, Jackie, I can teach ya plenty about that there 6-string, and you’ll be a-playin’ beautifully before y’know it!”
Applejack nodded, smiling as she pulled the guitar into her forelegs and hugged it gently.
“Oh, yeah, and another thing,” he said, chuckling, “that mane of yours is outta control, I’m thinkin’…,” he trailed off as he reached up and batted his hat from his head, let it flip into the air, then swatted it down onto her head, “Eeyup, that sure looks right to me,” he said with a wink and a smile.
Applejack rushed into the house after a full day of chores. Daddy was resting in the living room with a mug of cider, she hurried to her room to fetch her guitar so she could show him what she’d learned and rushed just as quickly back down the stairs. She fumbled a little at first, and a lot of notes were off, but she played with real feeling and felt proud of what she could do.
He listened, never stopping to correct her, and swaying his head to the tune with tapping along with his free forehood.
“Well, by golly… Don’t reckon I’ve ever heard better’n that!” he said.
Applejack beamed at the compliment. In truth, she wasn’t sure how well she had played, but now she felt confident in her ability. It was all the motivation she’d ever need to keep on going. She carried on plucking the strings and playing a slightly off-tune tune, but he listened like it was the most beautiful music the world had to offer. He sipped at his cider, and when she tired, he offered her a little sip of her own. She leaned against him, closing her eyes.
“You sure do make a old stallion proud, I’ll tell ya what,” he said.
She led him into Ponyville Hospital, where a doctor and a nurse were waiting to receive him. He looked confused, and a little frightened, by the surroundings.
“Why, this ain’t my mama’s house! ‘sway too big! Where are we at anyway, miss?” he said as he turned to look at her with faded green eyes. She blinked and bit back tears, and breathed to get her trembling under control.
“This here’s the hospital, D-… uhh… Mr. Apple. I just think ya might be a little sick or somethin’, thought I’d get ya checked out, o-okay?” she asked shakily. She fought to keep the tears at bay, she refused to let the pain show through and despoil his illusionary life as it was. He didn’t suffer with the loss of mama now, so she could be strong for him now after all her life he’d been strong for her.
The nurse and doctor led Fresh through a set of double doors. Applejack found a seat in the lobby and closed her eyes, only then letting the pain express itself. Only then letting the tears fall. Only then shattering into a thousand pieces. Only then falling into herself in despair.
“Dementia, I’m afraid. It’s happening pretty fast too, I’d say. He was lucid yesterday, yeah?” the doctor stated and asked.
Applejack nodded mutely as she listened to the diagnosis and wondered what could be done.
“It’s gonna run its course, I’m afraid… Not really anything that we can do but make him comfortable. Might put him in a home, but I don’t think he has a lot of time left based on what I’m seeing. I’m sorry, Ms. Apple. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, and I’m especially sorry that this is happening to Fresh Apple of all ponies.”
“Mmhm,” she replied. So that was it, her world was at an end. She had now lost both of her parents. What would she do? The farm needed a lot of work, and at least there was Macintosh to help out. Granny would be there too, and she might not be all there but she sure wasn’t gone. Applebloom was growing up, she’d soon be in school. She began to regret her trip to Manehattan, remembering how much it hurt her daddy to see her leaving the farm for the big city. He didn’t fight it, in fact he supported her all the way, but it had been killing him to see his baby girl go.
This was great man, one of my first reads on this site. Never really got engrossed in a read in a long time this totally got me hooked! The way you keep the reader going with the sudden moments of happiness and fear, it's one of my favourites on here. Keep it up man!
9962017
Oh my, that is great praise! Thank you so much, I am humbled!
Good work mate.
I’m slightly on edge about this story. On one hand, it is clear a lot of thought and details was put into it, on the other, the execution doesn’t really do it justice. A few random little errors aside, the main problems I have encountered were mainly stylistic in nature. The story started out well, showing nicely the bond between Applejack and Fresh. However, the other scenes gradually lost that sheen, resembling more and more a mere summary of actions and feelings, rather than anything with proper immersive atmosphere. Furthermore, I was wondering the whole time why the first flashback scene was in present tense and the rest in past tense.
9985493
All are well and truly valid points, and things I've observed myself. This was written 2 years ago, by a much less skilled me, and I haven't taken the time to do much more than refine and find, apparently, most of the errors. So, yes, I feel the same way as you do. In fact, I called it amateurish when I re-read it. As for the change in tense? I think I just wasn't paying attention and I began to rush it as well. This is something I'll probably work on, posting newer versions as follow-up chapters. Thank you for your feedback!
9985496
You’re welcome! Glad I could help a little, if you can even call it help, that is
9985499
I call any feedback help, even if it's just blasting me with name calling it amounts to something. How'd I touch that nerve? Let me explore that. It's all constructive if I allow it to be. Or can I be small-minded and thick-headed and stubborn and never grow. But I don't like that option very much.
9985504
Approach of a reasonable man. Sadly not all people on this site react so kindly to any kind of more honest feedback, so I just like to be safe.
9985511
I live a bit more dangerously than most, I think. I'll speak my mind, say what I really think of people's writing, and I'll do with whatever fallout comes. Of course, I don't feel any need to be harsh or insulting so much as I'd like to be constructive and help to educate where I can, all while still learning new things for myself. And it's okay, because no one has to interact with everyone. Unless you're Pinkie Pie, that really isn't reasonable. I know who I'm beginning to like interacting with, who I hope to call friend, and that's enough.
9985523
I’m not really looking to befriend everyone I meet, but I see no point in making enemies by mere misunderstandings. I prefer brutal honesty without any sugarcoating, but sometimes it’s good to put in a little hint that I’m not a hater, but a stranger trying to help. Some people may be a little more distraught or touchy than you and I’m not seeking to traumatize anyone, right, uh, friend?
9985542
I'm good with brutal honesty, and having heard you say sugarcoating I recognize the irony in Sugarcoat's name now. Anyway, at no point did I ever think you might be a hater, as there was nothing to suggest it at all. You're right, some folks might be more distraught, and I hope that they can calm down and really consider what's being said to them because once one gets so upset over something, that means it hit a nerve. So, again, you're right.
If you don't feel comfortable with friend, then that's okay. I'm certainly happy to accept it though, honored even.
9985545
It’s alright, I’m just not really used to it
9985557
I almost think that's a shame, that you aren't used to it. But I'm honored then that you did that with me, so thank you.
Well, I guess I was wrong about being the first to post a comment on your site, but it might be true for the other story. I was shocked to notice that a bunch of comments occurred only recently, like in the past hour. A whole back and forth conversation occurred while I was busy reading the story. That feels like either a coincidence, or fate. The other one, EverFreePony, was offering constructive criticism.
And now for my own opinion, because I just finished reading it.
First of all, what does pitapata mean? As in, "the rapid fire pitapata of rain against the glass . . ." I looked that word up in online dictionary, and it wasn't there. The suggestions it had doesn't seem too close.
Secondly, while reading this story, I recall how you mentioned you had a fond spot for Applejack, most likely due to your own experience with southern culture. While reading that, I felt a glow of appreciation inwardly at how that experience made the language style her feel authentic. In fact, if you continue to edit my own story, I may request you to edit the character "Braeburn Orchard", and it's not the character in the show. Honestly, I overlooked the fact that such a character already had that name in the show. I thought I was clever when I came up with it myself after reading about the history of Braeburn. Oh well. Anyway, if and when you ever get around to that character, maybe you can consider editing his speech with a better southern accent. I used to think I did okay until I read your work. Now I almost feel embarrassed. Actually, if you encounter another character in the story who should have such an accent, suggest away. These thoughts kept intruding into my mind as i read, and I had to remind myself multiple times to refocus on your story.
Thirdly, when you wrote in your author's note that you wrote this story in 2017, I assume you also meant you wrote the story before Season 7, Episode 13, "The Perfect Pair"? While that thought quickly occurred to me, it ultimately doesn't matter. I can just pretend it's another reality. That works just fine for me. I was just curious.
Fourthly, part of me wondered if you actually have experienced a relative who went through an experience like this. I say this because this is, unfortunately, a condition that can be more than pure idle fantasy. It can be that too. Conditions like this can exist in fiction as well, but it also exists in reality. Another part of me feels reluctant to bring this up. If it is based on real life experience, then it is unlikely to be easy to talk about. Regardless, many readers might find this scenario all too relatable. For those that do, it might be hard to talk about, but some people find it therapeutic to talk about it.
Fifthly, although this opinion mostly coincides with EverFreePony, the beginning of the story is quite immersive. The thunderstorm outside, the creaking on the floor, the way they talk to each other . . . it feels like a family, but when the story got more rushed, that honestly feels to me the way Applejack herself wrote it. That part of the story would be painful for her to write too, so it's easy to visualize that she'd just summarize that part rather than going in-depth. Well, at least that is the way the story pacing feels.
Regarding the other comments, I know what it feels like to re-read earlier works when your writing style improves. At that point the stories can be hard to look at. Readers, on the other hand, find their own value, but on this regard I don't speak from much experience. I have rarely gotten feedback on my own stories so I'm a bit blind on that department. All I know is how I feel when I read and re-read my stories. While I do so, I often try to imagine how other readers would perceive it and I make changes accordingly, mostly with the mindset of either making things more clear or more entertaining, or both.
Anyway, thanks for the story. As you'll note with this rather wordy comment, I am a fellow writer too. Editor, though . . . you might have a leg up on me on that one.