Crack.
Thud. Thud thud thud.
Big Mac craned his neck, smiling in satisfaction. A bell clanged off in the distance.
“Soup’s on, everypony!” came Applejack’s vague cry.
The stallion crouched slightly, hardly even grunting as he shouldered dozens of trees worth of apples. He squinted slightly against the rising sun as he made his way to the barn.
The rest of the Apple family were in the kitchen. Applejack stood by the stove, putting the finishing touches on breakfast. Granny Smith was snoring away in her seat. Apple Bloom, as usual, was trying to talk her sister’s ears off.
“An’ then Scootaloo wanted ta get our cutie marks as circus performers, but we couldn’t fin’ the gunpowder for the cannon, so Sweetie said that we should be Cutie Mark Crusaders florists, but Scootaloo thought that it was lame. But Sweetie didn’ think that it was lame, so she said ‘It’s not lame!’ And then Scootaloo said, ‘Yes it is,’ so Sweetie said ‘No it’s not,’ so Scootaloo said ‘Yes it is’ so Sweetie said ‘No it’s not,’ so Scootaloo said ‘Yes it is,’ so Sweetie said ‘No it’s not,’ so Sc— Hey Big Mac!”
The stallion ruffled his youngest sister’s mane. “Mornin’.”
Applejack began pouring breakfast: oatmeal, cinnamon and apples by the smell of it. “Ya finish buckin’ for the day, Big Mac?”
“Eeyup.” He sat down in a slightly bigger chair, before a slightly bigger bowl.
“Really?” squeaked Apple Bloom.
The stallion raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” said the filly, “it’s cuz Miss Cheerilee gave us some homework to do. But it’s more like she’s givin’ you homework to do since she wants somepony from mah family to write it.”
The other eyebrow found its way to Big Mac’s brow. He glanced at Applejack.
“It’s true,” confirmed the older sister. “Ah spoke to Cheerilee mahself.” She nudged the sleeping green pony. “C’mon Granny, wake up. It’s breakfast time.”
The elderly mare woke with a snort. “Wa’s that? Who’s there?! Where’re the zap apples?!”
Big Mac turned towards Apple Bloom with a slight frown as Applejack tried to convince her grandmother that no varmint had snuck out with her apples.
The youngest Apple took a deep breath. “Ya see, in school Miss Cheerilee is teachin’ us about writin’ an’ she says that everypony who writes has a ‘voice’ just like how everpony has a different talkin’ voice. An’ Miss Cheerilee says that the best way to find our voice was to read a whole lotta different voices. Ah asked Applejack ta do it, but she’s headin’ out ta Manehattan for a rodeo today, ” Apple Bloom held up a pad of paper and a pencil, her eyes growing wide and slightly teary. “Ain’t ya gonna help a poor filly out?”
“Apple Bloom,” chided Applejack lightly, “what have I said ‘bout tryin’ ta do homework at the table?”
The filly seemed to deflate slightly as she put the paper and pencil on a nearby counter. “Not to do it.”
Applejack smiled slightly, ladling the oatmeal into her sister’s bowl. “Just wait ‘til after breakfast, sugarcube. Ah’m sure Big Mac’ll be more than happy ta help ya out, won’t ya Big Mac?”
The stallion looked at the pad of paper. The beginnings of a grimace touched his lips.
“Won’t ya, Big Mac?” repeated Applejack with a bit more steel.
“Eeyup,” replied the eldest of the siblings. He knew better than to go against his little sisters. Especially when one of them controlled the food supply.
***
Big Mac still sat at the table, opening a newspaper and lazily flipping through it. Applejack had excused herself earlier to make sure she got to the train station.
Apple Bloom placed the paper and pencil on the table, her hooves still damp from helping with the dishes. The stallion smiled lightly and pulled the materials a bit closer. He turned back to his newspaper.
The filly stayed still, gazing up at her brother. It was really difficult to read.
“Well?” squeaked Apple Bloom.
Big Mac turned towards his sister, an eyebrow raised.
“Aint’cha gonna write somethin’?”
“Eeyup.” He turned back to his paper.
Apple Bloom put her hooves on the table. “Can’tcha write somethin’ now?”
Big Mac took up the pencil, thinking for a few moments before putting letters to paper. Apple Bloom craned her neck over the table.
His writing was messy, out of practice, but still relatively legible.
This here’s Big Macintosh. Finished up buckin’ for the mornin’. Takin’ a break now.
The stallion put the pencil down with a satisfied smile.
“Tha’s it?” deadpanned Apple Bloom.
Big Mac knit his eyebrows together.
“There’s no way Miss Cheerilee’ll take that! Ya need to write more than a couple a sentences!”
The stallion looked down at his three sentences. He had hardly filled in two lines. “Well,” he said in his rumbling voice, “what’m Ah supposed ta write about?”
“I dunno. Somethin’!”
Big Mac felt his face convey his bemusement. He got to his hooves, picking up the saddlebags he always kept by the door. He dropped the paper and pencil into them, glancing at his youngest sister before making his way back to the door.
“Hey!” said Apple Bloom, her shorter hooves struggling to keep up with her brother. “Where’re ya goin’?”
“Ta write,” said the stallion.
“Can Ah go with ya?”
“Eeyup.”
Apple Bloom turned back into their home. “Granny, me an’ Big Mac are gonna go look for somethin’ for him to write about!”
Granny Smith snored in response.
“So, where’re we goin’ Big Mac?” The filly weaved around her brother’s hooves as she spoke. “Fluttershy’s house? The Everfree? That hill with the single tree on it that ya always sit under when ya’re thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’?”
Big Mac looked down at his sister incredulously. That was his place, how did she know about it?
“Everypony knows that’s where you go,” said Apple Bloom. She looked around, then waved her brother in conspiratorially. “I heard Miss Cheerilee say that it made you look like a philosopher. Ya ain’t a dinosaur, are ya Big Mac?”
The stallion knit his eyebrows together, trying to connect philosophers and dinosaurs. “Nope,” he said.
The filly seemed to deflate slightly. “Awwww, me and the Crusaders wanted to try for a Dinosaur Tamer cutie mark.”
Big Mac had no idea how to respond to that.
“So where’re we goin’?” asked Apple Bloom, her earlier disappointment already forgotten.
“Dinky, can you float it down?” said a high-pitched voice. The Apples turned.
Two unicorn fillies, one a light purple, the other pink, stood at the base of a tree. They were staring up at the branches where, Big Mac noticed, a light blue ball was nestled in the branches.
The purple filly, Dinky apparently, stepped back slightly. She closed her eyes in concentration. Her horn sparked slightly as beads of sweat appeared on the filly’s brow. The ball wiggled slightly before the spell broke. Dinky Doo sat heavily, gasping for air.
“Nope,” she said in between gasps. “I could—” Gasp “—go and—” Gasp “—get Momma.”
The other filly, sprawled out on the ground and still recovering at her own attempt at magic nodded weakly.
Big Mac trotted over quickly, stopping at the base of the tree. The ball was a bit too high for him to reach. But the stallion understood trees and, more specifically, how to get things out of them. He turned around and lifted a single backhoof into the air.
Crack.
The tree seemed to shake under the impact. The ball fell, landing directly into Big Mac’s outstretched hoof. He rolled it over to the pair of fillies who had, by that point, lifted their heads up to watch in amazement.
“Thank you Mister Big Mac!” said the pink filly excitedly. She was quickly echoed by a still-gasping Dinky Doo.
“Eeyup,” said the stallion. Brother and sister walked on. The fillies took a few steps away from the tree, not enough to prevent the ball from getting stuck again, before continuing their game.
Apple Bloom bounded ahead. “Ya never answered mah question! Where’re we goin’ Big Mac? An’ what’re ya gonna write about?”
The sound of a pencil on paper made the filly turn around. Big Mac stood a ways away, scribbling a few extra lines. He slipped the pad of paper back into his bags before Apple Bloom could get a look at them.
“What’cha write about? Can Ah see?” Apple tried to clamber onto Big Mac’s back to open up the bags. The stallion gently lowered her to the ground.
“Nope.”
“What? Why not! Ah’m the one gettin’ a grade for it!”
But her brother simply gave her a brief smile. He walked onwards, largely ignoring the complaining filly as she weaved in and out of Big Mac’s steps. Apple Bloom didn’t even notice that they had made their way into Sugarcube Corner until she felt herself being scooped off of the floor.
“Oh Apple Bloom, it’s so super-duper nice to see you again!” said Pinkie Pie in her usual bright lilt. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen you! Wait, that’s not true. I scooped you up just like this when I sang that song about smiling! And that was when Cranky Doodle Donkey first came to Ponyville so it’s been—” Pinkie licked a hoof and held it up “—two weeks, three days, eight hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-five seconds! Forty-six seconds! Forty-seven seconds! Forty-eight seconds! Forty-nine se—”
Apple Bloom cut her off with a hug. “It’s nice to see you too,” she giggled to possibly the only pony who could out-speak the filly.
“And a good morning to you Big Mac!” said Pinkie Pie. “Can I get you the usual?”
“Eeyup.”
Apple Bloom looked up at the stallion. “Ya have a usual?”
“Eeyup,” he said without a trace of bashfulness.
Pinkie Pie produced a cupcake with bright red icing with a flourish. “Well here ya go!” she said, presenting it to Big Mac. The pink mare turned towards Apple Bloom, wiggling her hooves slightly. The filly giggled.
Pinkie Pie placed a hoof just behind Apple Bloom’s ear, pulling it back to reveal a smaller version of Big Mac’s cupcake. “And this one’s on the house,” she said with a wink.
Big Mac and Pinkie Pie trotted off to the counter, leaving the filly to munch on her treat.
“Don’t be such a crazy colt,” came the mare’s voice. “It’s not a problem!”
“Nope,” responded Big Mac.
Apple Bloom turned to see what the older ponies were talking about, but the stallion was already walking back. The filly turned around and waved her goodbye to Pinkie Pie.
Big Mac stopped in front of Sugarcube Corner, holding the pad of paper well away from Apple Bloom as he wrote. The filly hopped up and down, trying to get a better view of the paper, but to no avail.
Apple Bloom pouted. “‘t ain’t fair! Why can’t ah read it?”
Big Mac rubbed her head, knocking her bow slightly askew.
The day went on. The siblings walked through the marketplace where Big Mac made a few deals. They stopped by Fluttershy’s and picked up some medicine for Winona. Then to the library to return a book that had somehow fallen into Applejack’s hoof. After each of these encounters, Big Mac would add a few lines to his pad of paper carefully keeping Apple Bloom from reading it.
Hours of walking had taken their toll on the filly. Apple Bloom had to ride on her brother’s back, his saddlebags tauntingly out of reach. The Sun had just passed its peak when the Apples crossed paths with Cheerilee.
“Good afternoon, Big Mac, Apple Bloom,” she greeted brightly. “What brings you two out here?”
“Homework, Miss Cheerilee,” said the weary Apple Bloom.
The teacher smiled at the siblings. “Well, it’s nice to know that somepony’s actually doing what I asked them to. And how’s the writing coming along, Big Mac?”
In response, the stallion reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the pad of paper. “Done,” he said, reaching it out to Cheerilee.
Apple Bloom snapped up. “How come she gets ta see it?!”
Cheerilee raised an eyebrow at her student. “It’s kind of my job.” She took the paper and gave it a quick scan. Her eyes seemed to light up as she got through the writing. “Big Mac, would you mind coming in for class tomorrow?”
“Nope.”
The filly looked between the two confusedly. “Is it that bad? Does Big Mac have to take a class with us?”
***
This here’s Big Macintosh. Finished up buckin’ for the mornin’. Takin’ a break now.
Break’s over. Never really started, though. Gotta head out to help Apple Bloom. I ain’t much for writin’ though. Still, she said somethin’ interestin’. This here assignment’s meant to tell everypony about their voice. It ain’t about spellin’ or grammar or whatever. It’s about what you’re tryin’ to get through when ya write somethin’.
I like that. If only ‘cause I ain’t much for writin’.
Two fillies, Miss Dinky Doo and Miss Berry Pinch, got a ball stuck up in a tree today. I helped ‘em out, like any decent pony would do. But there was something I noticed. Them two fillies tried to go an’ do it themselves before they thought about askin’ for help. That’s somethin’ valuable, somethin’ that everypony should know. Try things for yourself before decidin’ whether you need help or not.
Course, some ponies like AJ’ll take it to an extreme and never ask for help. But knowin’ when you ain’t good enough to go it alone just comes with life. Once enough time passes, ya can kinda figure out when ya need help an’ when ya won’t. Way I see it, those two fillies are well on their way to learnin’ that. They got each other for help an’, if that don’t work then they can always count on Momma.
Went out to Sugarcube Corner. Pinkie Pie gave Apple Bloom a free cupcake. Least, she wanted it to be free. I wouldn’t let her. She had done good by my family, she treats Apple Bloom like a sister. Nevermind that, she treats the entire town of Ponyville like family. I ain’t gonna let something like that go unnoticed. I ain’t never seen that mare not tryin’ to make somepony smile.
What’s a few bits compared to that? Ain’t nothin’.
Now, I ain’t got an idea whether this’ll actually help y’all. There’s a good chance that Miss Cheerilee’ll be the only pony to read this. But I’m gonna write somethin’ to the students just on the chance that they ever hear this.
Way Apple Bloom said it, everypony has a ‘voice,’ don’t matter if they’re talkin’ or writin’. Ya gotta stay true to that voice. it’s made up of all the things that make ya somethin’ else. What ya value, what ya dislike, what ya been through, all a that comes out in some way when ya write. Don’t try to be somepony else. Sure, ya can let somepony shape ya, they can give ya ideas an’ ways a thinkin’, but the choice’ll always be yours. When ya write, when ya talk, when ya walk down the strees, ya gotta make sure to be you, to do right, and to always do right by others.
But them’s just my thoughts. An’ I never was one for writin’.
Big Mac brought his paper down, feeling like he was back in school himself. The class of fillies and colts applauded.
“Thank you, Big Mac,” said Miss Cheerilee. “I think you’re better at writing than you think you are. That was very well done.”
“Thank ya kindly,” rumbled the stallion.
“Class,” said the teacher. “What do we say?”
“Thank you Big Mac,” chorused the children.
“Ain’t nothin’.” The stallion left the paper on Cheerilee’s desk. He calmly trotted through the door. There wasn’t much time left in the day. And Big Macintosh, as per usual, had a busy day ahead of him. Bucking, shopping, helping, a bit of philosophizing. The stallion nearly sighed.
Ain’t no time for a break.
Author's Note
This story started out as an exercise in getting more out of fewer words. You want to cut down what you say when you describe things and still get that image across? Try being Big Mac for a day. 
