Hay Loft
You know you ain’t done yet.
The voice floated up from that familiar place in Applejack’s chest that, over the last few weeks, had begun producing a lot of unfamiliar feelings. It never began as a voice—it always started as an aching feeling in her torso, under the breast, like her heart was leaning up against her rib cage, trying to make a bed out of bone. Each time the peculiar sensation came, she’d brush thoughts of it out of her mind like anypony—anypony who’s got something better to do than pay heed in regards to silly phantom feelings, anyway.
Just gettin’ tired, that’s all, Applejack would usually reason.
The sensation would thicken in response, as if it had heard Applejack’s logic and wanted to prove her wrong. It went from a little ache to a solid feeling that made the pony unconsciously prod at the area with a hoof every now and then. Prod, prod, prod—each time a little harder, because her head told her that if she could buck the apples out of a tree, she could knock bad feelings out of her chest. Analogy and association, like her ol’ friend Twilight always preached about.
Science and fancy Canterlot learning did no good for her, though; the feeling would intensify until it was all Applejack could think about, and she would end up walking around the farm like a mindless pony. Her duties were done, but not with the same gusto as she’d always performed. Attention was split unevenly between farm work and trying to get that darn ache out of her chest, and for each minute that passed without relief, the balance would dip further.
And then, when the voice started to come up from that achy spot, she would feel the whole weight of her attention fall right into the pit of her chest and add pressure to that odd, odd feeling.
A good filly’s work is never done, the voice continued. And you haven’t even begun yours! Get up, Applejack.
Tonight was a bad night for the voice to come. Indeed, she was lying down inside, her Stetson propped on the top of the couch, her body stretched comfortably along both cushions without a care. Applebloom was upstairs, Granny Smith was in bed, and Big Mac was out in the field, still, being on his lonesome. If she wanted to hog up the whole couch, she would darn well do it—and she would enjoy every second of the lazing. The day had been long, the workload had been mighty, and her body had been put to full use.
Applejack lifted her chin off of the foreleg rest and buried her nose in the crack between the rest and the cushion’s edge. She breathed deeply and sighed with gusto into the couch, trying to exhale her feelings. It was a foalish little thing to do, but it was an exercise that she had practiced all her life, and if anypony wanted to chide her on it, she’d say that acting like a foal was good for a pony’s health every once in awhile. After all, the work was done—
Is it, though? You know it’s not.
Applejack pushed her nose further into the material, hiding her face in the couch. Sweet-smelling locks of blonde mane cascaded around her head as she released the red ribbon tying them up with a free foreleg. She tossed her red tie over the edge of the couch blindly and burrowed just a bit deeper. How enjoyable, that simple feeling of being curled up in her own mane. Foalish, but comforting.
This is my resting time, now, you hear? she thought to the voice. Go away, or I’ll prod you silly.
That was always the way it went: the voice would come up, needle her about things left undone, and Applejack would threaten it. Sometimes it took longer to push it back down, and most days, it put up a fight, bugging her with all these questions that she did not have the energy to answer. In times she thought about the odd event—for even she had time for contemplation among the apple orchard—and considered that it was so stubborn because it was coming from inside her, and Applejack wore her obstinate attitude like a badge. But if it’s mine, she reasoned, I can control it.
After a few weeks of back-and-forth, it revealed itself to apparently not be hers; the voice would fight until it had nothing left to say, and then come back for more in times of rest. Control? She didn’t even know where it came from.
Up, up, up! called the voice. You’ve still got it in you!
“No,” mumbled Applejack. “No more.”
The achy feeling in her chest intensified and Applejack shoved a hoof against the spot. She pressed in with all her might, bruising the flesh slowly, trying to push that badness away. What was that, anyway? Her heart leaning against the rib cage? Just some aching muscles acting up? General soreness from all her work?
Heartsickness, the voice said. Because you know you’re not being honest with yourself. Work is to be done.
“I did the work,” sighed Applejack.
Those were chores you had to do. Now is time for work you need to do.
“The farm is all I have for work,” whispered Applejack.
You can’t lie to me, sugarcube. And you can’t lie to yourself, neither.
Applejack listened to the silence of the living room for a moment, her face still buried in the couch, her hoof still pressed up against that darn spot. If the voice was inside of it, maybe she could buck it silent?
Nope, it answered pleasantly. I’m here for the long haul.
Applejack scrunched up her nose and glared, feelings her eyelids squeeze shut with force. She lifted her face from the couch and flipped over onto her back. Both forelegs crossed over her chest—right over that spot—and she concentrated her glare on the ceiling.
Work is calling, the voice teased. You love work. Why aren’t you working?
“It’s not work.”
You’re right—it’s not work; it’s destiny. Responsibility. Honesty.
That last word was flung at her with such force that Applejack let her glare loosen. “Honesty, huh?” she muttered.
No word of a lie! You’re honest with everypony else, but when it’s you and yours, you just lie like a rug, Applejack. A dirty, lying rug.
“You take that back,” the pony hissed.
Sorry, sugar—I can’t lie, either!
Applejack closed her eyes. She breathed in deeply through her nose, focusing on the movement of air into her belly, swelling up her body. And then she held it for a moment.
Gonna let it go, now. Let it right go. Silly, silly notions going out with the wind.
The filly released, letting the air out more quickly than it had come in. She wasn’t that magical, not like the unicorns or some of the stranger earth ponies, but she could conjure up a visual. She did exactly that, too—that breath she let out took a long, red wisp with it, straight from the achy spot in her chest. Applejack imagined the spot lessening in intensity as the wisp was carried away. It was her body, her power, and her control. No more ache, no more voice; if she wanted something gone, she could just breathe it right on out.
The last of her held breath escaped, carrying the red tail of the wisp along with it.
I ain’t going nowhere, honey.
“Drat!” hissed Applejack.
The pony seized her hat from atop the couch and clutched it to her chest. Maybe if she forgot she had a body, she would stop feeling it. No body, no ache, no problem, no stupid voice.
I really don’t know what your problem is, the voice continued. Everypony’s off to their own devices, and the barn’s empty. Just a nice, clear loft, open for one in full moonlight. Wonderfully romantic, ain’t it?
“I don’t care, and I ain’t movin’.”
If you didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t be hurting much, neither.
Applejack rolled her eyes and snorted. What was this, anyway? Some voodoo or weirdness a foal had put on her?
No, the voice declared. Guess again.
“I don’t like dumb games,” she said. “And this is getting’ downright ridiculous. Hay, it ain’t even a game—you’re just pesterin’ me, now!”
Maybe you’re pestering me. Maybe you’re pestering both of us.
“What are you? Who’s ‘us’?”
We are us.
“And who is we?”
You and me, honey. Applejack and Applejack.
“I am Applejack.”
And I’m Applejack, too, and I want to be heard!
The physical Applejack closed her eyes and sighed. She was resigning, feeling all that anger go, now. This was always the point in the conversation where it turned real weird, but it was the hour of night just before dawn. If she could put the voice to bed now, she could get some shuteye and be up for work tomorrow bright and early.
Chores, sugarcube. They’re chores—you’ve abandoned our work for more than awhile.
“I am a farm. Pony.”
And?
Applejack felt a tremor in her chest, like that spot was having a spasm. Pressure began to build up behind both of her eyes and work its way toward the lids. She swallowed, trying to force that back and calm down the achy spot, too.
She was a farmpony. And that’s all she could ever hope to be.
“Nothing else,” she whispered. “I’m doing this one thing, and it’s all my family’s ever done, and it’s all I can do.”
Does it always have to be all-or-nothing?
Applejack felt her grip tighten on the edges of her Stetson. A weird feeling was in her throat, now, like a little ball blowing up. She swallowed again, but failed to push it down. “I won’t be made a fool, you know,” she said softly. “I’m good at farming, and lasso, and being Applejack from the Apple family in Apple Orchard. I buck apples and do farm work… that’s it.”
You don’t think you have opportunity to be more?
A long silence passed as the memory played over in her head. One night, alone in the loft, in that crown of moonlight. Nopony else around, nopony to listen in and ask questions or make comments. Leaning against a hay bale, jaw open, letting it free from deep inside and feeling—
Like a fool if I’d been caught, she thought instantly. Like a squirrel trying to swim in the lake with the fish.
Applejack turned her hips to the side and stared at her cutie mark. Yup, same ol’ apples; her position and purpose had not changed. Dream on, lil’ pony, but you ain’t moving on up.
That last bit was what got her—she bit her lower lip and scrunched her eyelids, feeling the tears welling up. No, not gonna cry.
Why is there shame in trying, Applejack? the voice pleaded.
“It’s not what I’m meant for!” she said. “I can’t get by on that! I can’t find pride in that! It’s—it’s—“
You’re scared, aren’t you?
“No… I’m reasonable. Realistic.”
What would you tell Applebloom? Or even another friend of yours?
“… To follow their heart.”
So why are you so different? You been lying to them all this time? Can’t even use your own advice? How honest is that, sugarcube?
Applejack felt the gates let go; pressure burst and tears were flowing freely from her eyes. She turned back over onto her stomach and pressed her face deep into the couch, hiding. That aching feeling in her chest was so prominent, now, so great and strong, and she recognized it at last. It was not unfamiliar.
Years ago, when she had been a filly, the achy spot had been with her. It had developed just a few weeks before she went to Manehattan to live with Aunt and Uncle Orange and showed up whenever she had her most private thoughts. In doing her work, she’d always felt right, but this… this was different. Apple-bucking, farming, selling for the Acres, doing all that farmpony work was so in her nature, but—
But this is in your heart. And it’s always been there. You keep bucking your heart with every tree you throw your hooves against, sweetie.
“If I had been meant for this, it would’ve shown up on my flank!” she cried into the cushion, smacking it with a hoof.
How do you know it still won’t?
Applejack chuckled without amusement and shook her head. “Cause I’m no filly fooling around with a potion tryin’ to make all her dreams come true,” she muttered. “You get one, and that’s what you get. I love my life and I wouldn’t trade it.”
Growth isn’t a trade, Applejack. You don’t replace one apple you’ve made with another if you’re a tree—you grow more, and then there’s more fruit for everypony.
“… What if I grow bad fruit? What if I don’t make fruit at all?”
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if there’s nothing to gain, nothing was lost.
Applejack ran her hooves over her eyes and sniffed. She pressed the side of her face into the soft cushion and let the tears flow freely. That achy spot didn’t hurt so much, now; memories of the night in the hay loft were floating in her mind, making her heart sing.
“Is that why I’m hurting?” she whispered. “Is my heart all achy?”
As if you don’t know already. You don’t feed your body right, something’s gonna hurt. And you can’t always just keep using apples.
“… I don’t want to be made a fool. I’ve always been looked at as a work pony, and if I try this—“
Then shame on anypony who puts someone else down for trying to be a better pony! You’ll still be Applejack, still be on the farm working, best apples in the land and even better cider. Element of Honesty and all that magic most folks don’t get to be a part of, too. And if you try… you can be known for more.
“I’m scared, heart.”
That means you care. And caring is what makes it worthy of a try.
There was a long silence as Applejack remained on the couch, unsure and yet, leaning in one direction for release. She had been so stubborn for weeks, pushing away the desire to try again after being caught by Applebloom that night. If anypony heard her, if anypony knew…
You can’t find out if an apple’s any good until you bite it. And if you don’t share it around, you’ll never get a real opinion, neither.
“I’m no Sapphire Shores, you know.”
Ain’t saying you gotta be—you ought to just be Applejack. Maybe she’s a more diverse and talented pony than you realize. But if you only know Applejack the farmpony, then that’s all Applejack can ever be.
It was at that moment that the farmpony finally let out a breath that released the ache from her chest. She rose slowly from the couch, as if every movement were new for here. Then, she left the living room, the Stetson and her ribbon remaining behind.
Applejack walked out into the night and quietly made her way over to the barn. Three weeks ago, she had made this exact walk after hearing the Canterlot Choir that morning. Twilight had taken her, Fluttershy, and Rarity to go watch them, and their voices had been magical. “Aren’t they all so amazing?” Twilight had asked, eyes alight and grinning with awe.
They sure had been—so amazing that, after work in the field that day, Applejack had climbed into the barn’s hay loft and given it her own try, letting each shy note float out into the night.
Now, she sat in the hay loft again. It had been three weeks of struggling with a dream that she had held in her heart since she was a little filly. After Manehattan, she’d placed it away, filed in a spot in her heart where it couldn’t be found; her destiny was achieved as an Apple pony, and she would accept and love it. Singing had been forgotten.
Canterlot’s Choir had made her remember—and now, she was finally enough of a big girl to deal with the desire.
Applejack pushed open the doors to the hay loft window. The moon was nearly full in the late-summer sky, and it glowed down on her just as it had the first time. In fact—if she dared to believe—it was even brighter tonight. The farmpony smiled—a shy, almost hesitant smile.
Am I really going to do this?
The memory of the Choir’s notes came back to her and she shivered in ecstasy. Yes… ready or not, she was going to do this. And if she put in as much work in the hay loft as she did in the apple orchards, who knew?
Applejack could maybe... just maybe... be more than a simple farmpony.
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I like the way that you conveyed Applejack's emotions. I wasn't sure where this was leading at first, but it seems very interesting and I look forward to more.
Cool i like
also first
Nice, really nice bro, enjoyed a lot! have some mustaches
I just wanted you to know, that from the image, tags, description and length, I would not normally read this story.
I am only reading it because you wrote it. This is the same way I decide what books to read, so I don't see a problem with this.
You have me intrigued. Please continue.
1160383
derpy.ponychan.net/chan/files/src/134474274276.png
And now I have read it. Quite nice. I like how it makes you want to give the poor little pony a hug while at the same time making her much more defined and relatable as a person.
You just really want AJ to get her own song next season, don't you?
Also, Apple Bloom is a 2 word name.
I was worried it would go dark at a certain point. But it didn't, and I'm glad. Wouldn't it be cool if she got so good her Cutie Mark modified itself? Suddenly there were notes coming out of the apples?
1385917
Ya know what?
That would pretty awesome!
I need to read this for research purposes, to see how good writers write Applejack in non-shipping stories.
Congrats on makin' EQD's unusually-high fanfic standards by the way.
Just finished the story
Nice story. Your portrayal of Applejack was very believable and easy to empathise with and her dialogue with the 'voice' was very well done. For a lot of the time, I thought that the voice was the element of honesty speaking to her and helping her be honest with herself (which it still could be, I guess). That concept could be fun to play around with a bit in future stories.
What? We don't get to find out what happens next?
Awesome work, prose of a literary god.
She's got a good life on the farm, she knows her lot in life and she's happy. Or at least, she's convinced herself she's happy. And then a part of her asks, "Is it so bad to want something more? Is there a crime against wanting something else?" But she's comfortable; she doesn't want to ruin what she has, because it's good.
But it could be better. And she knows it in her heart. And her heart won't let her rest until she tries.
This story is so relatable that I felt like I was reading about myself rather than Applejack. Bravo. And bravo for plumbing the depths of her character; she's really unappreciated.
When the first mentions of Applejack's heart came up I feared the story was going to take a dark turn. I was very glad to see the direction the story was going instead. Great story bro
1404863 I don't believe we need to - it's not the point. Whatever happens next, Applejack has given in and is following her dreams.
I liked this story. I'm not sure whether it couldn't do with a Sad tag, but it's a borderline case. AJ gets far too few stories dedicated to her character rather than her potential as a romantic partner.
I never wanted to be an apple farmer. I always... wanted to be a... A choir pony!
Performing in the beautiful theaters of upper Canterlot! Singing with the best symphonies in Equestria! The Hoofton Fillyharmonic! The Fillydelphia Symphony! The Maremon Tabernacle Choir!
With the my coltfriend Soarin' by my side, we'd sing, sing, sing!
Oh, I am Applejack, and I'm okay! I sleep all night and I work all day!
That was a great read. I think a lot of people, including myself, have these dreams and urges deep inside them that we're too afraid to follow. We're afraid of being judged, afraid of failure. I want to create music, but I listen to these great artists and bands and I feel so insignificant. We just have to keep pushing ourselves
Applejack would make an amazing singer. Let's hope she gets her own song in season 3
A really nice story I thought, and a great representation and development of AJ's character and personality. It was quite refreshing to read a story that didn't really go anywhere as such and included a cast of one yet still managed to be so much more engrossing and interesting than many others. Upon reading the blurb, I was interested to discover the nature of her ache and what it meant. I really don't know why, but I figured it might have been something so mundane as a heart condition that might have prevented her from doing what she loved. It was nice to discover it was in fact somewhat the polar opposite, enabling her to do what she wished rather than hindering her.
I touched on it before, but I really do think you did a fantastic job of representing Applejack's character to perfection. She is a stubborn character with simple honest beliefs and I found this to be reflected really well. The fact that her wishes and desires were manifested as a nagging ache in her height just sounds so like AJ to me, and that only someone as stubborn as herself could make her want to change. I'm not sure anything else would've really worked quite the same tbh, it just seems so fitting that AJ would not be moved by magic, or manipulation, but only by a persistent physical pain that is both simple and natural and quite at home with a character who labours hard day in and day out.
A very beautiful and well crafted piece, you should feel very proud of it.
I loved that. A way of adding a new depth to Applejack's character without deviating from it.
Applejack is awesome, and you guys KNOW IT.
1406620
That was beautiful, dude. I felt the feels. Thank you.
AS FOR THE REST OF YOU!
(Thanks, everpony. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I take pride from comments that reveal I've inspired or even touched some of you. It was a strange, emotional, unique experience for me in the writing--a very spur-of-the-moment idea that issued a command to my fingertips to start snapping the keys.)
Personally... I still can't get over the mental image of Applejack up in the hay loft with the doors open and the moon shining down, with her Stetson in her forelegs, giving it her all. It's just exquisitely beautiful to me, and it's like I'm seeing raw passion. Like an apple tree seedling making its way out of the ground, full of life and promise...
(Oh, God, Imma cry now, sonofabitch...
)
DON'T LOOK AT ME!
This here is a perfect example of how the way that something is written is more important than the events that actually occur.
*Reads over all the ancient comments... realizes that everything he wanted to say has already been said* Well... drat. I wanted to say that you're awesome, but apparently that's already been beaten into your skull. Guess all I can say is keep up the good work!
This is awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
enough said
but ill say more anyway
your character building for applejack is the best i have ever read for anyone like this
personal battles inside ones self are very important and this was extremely well done
please make more of these for other characters and continue this one if at all possible
this is one of my top favorites on the entire site and beyond
thank you
One of those creative stories I love so much. Nice work!
Raise this barn, raise this barn 1-2-3-4 together we can stop the bats 1-2-3-4
I reviewed this! (Long ago...) In short: nice characterisation of earlyish-series AJ, but a slightly underwhelming reveal. Nowhere near as strange as your The Library Club, though.