Through Time

Everyone just stares at me when I get to school. No one talks. Or laugh that I don’t have a cutie mark. They just stare. I sit down in class. My teacher walks up to me.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what happen to your mom. I feel really bad that you lost her at such a young age, being only 11 and all,” my teacher said.

“You don’t understand. She was the only part of my family I had left. My aunts and dad died in the train wreck a couple years back traveling back home, my grandparents died of old age, and now, my mom is dead due to that fire. Everyone, everything that I love, it seems that it dies, all because of me,” I tell him in a strict manner.

“Alright,” he says. He goes on and teaches class like every other day. The rest is normal until I get home, to be all alone. No one there. No note. Just me and me alone. I try to do my homework to take my mind off of things, but it doesn’t work. I just have to cry.

I sobbed, after school and night. I got no sleep that night. Or the night after. The next day in school I fall asleep in class, allowing Thunderlane to put a “Kick Me” sign where a cutie mark sign would be. I wake up and find that it is sunset, the teacher still here. With him is Carrot.

“Hey buddy. Ready to go home now?” Carrot asked. I nod, and he helps me up.

“Due to the recent circumstances, I excuse you from homework for the rest of the month to help Carrot Cake here rebuild his home,” the teacher tells me. He waves us goodbye and then we leave back to the house.

“So, when do you want to start working on rebuilding the bakery?” Carrot asked when we got to my house.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” I say as I walk upstairs. He seems alright with it, as he nods in agreement and goes to what is now the spare bedroom due to my mom’s death.

When we wake up, we eat breakfast, and then head to the rubble of the bakery. For the first few days we work on moving the rubble, which is a bit quicker due to my magic. We build a bit out of the rubble that wasn’t broken, but not much. Since he was out of school, he had got a job in the fields for a bit until he made enough to finish building the bakery a half a year later. A half of a year of him not being here for me, but instead working. A half of year of being pushed, shoved, and bullied. A half of another year of not having a cutie mark.

“What should we call it?” he asks soon after completion.

“Sugarcube. Sugarcube Corner,” I say in response.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“My mom used to call me “Sugarcube” a lot. And they are delicious, just like the food here should be,” I tell him.

“Alright. Sugarcube Corner it is,” he says. We go tell the mayor and she decided that she’ll unveil it at the Running of the Leaves the following month. That’s when we planned to open business. I went back to school for my final year the following week. That’s when things went back to going downhill.