BUCK

Cheerilee lay down against the back wall of the cellar. The looked straight out, deathly, towards the staircase that ascended to the surface.

She envisioned ponies bursting down the stairs to help her, but no matter how many times she would imagine it; she simply couldn’t will herself out of this. She had to accept that she could be here for two, three, maybe even five more nights. She would have to take any opportunity she could to attract help, even at a moment’s notice. For now, though, she had nothing to do but try to keep off her bad hoof.

Big Mac stood outside the apple cellar, another Apple Pie in hand. He had done all his bucking for the day early, so he could make time in the evening for his Cheerilee. He took a sweep of the area, reached down with his neck and opened the door, making a loud creaking noise that he always hated.

“Cheerilee? Punkin’ pie?”

“I’m right here... dear..”

Big Mac moseyed down the steps and across to Cheerilee, and handed her their lunch. He dipped a hoof into the pie and dug out a decently-sized piece for himself, and laid back against a support beam opposite his very special somepony.

“I think we need ta’ talk fer’ a bit. I’ve been thinkin’, an’ maybe yall’ didn’t quite understand mah, ‘personality’, until juss’ yesterday,” Big Mac had thought about how Cheerilee saw him. “I’m a... soft-spoken pony... I have about 12 good barrels full’a good ideas... I juss’... I don’t think like other pony-folk... an’ I keep mah thoughts bottled up, ‘jussin’ case ain’t no pony like me anymore...”

Cheerilee took the deepest breath she could whilst remaining silent. “Big Mac... you don’t have to hide anything from anypony! That’s a lesson I’ve had to teach my class many a time before! You shouldn’t keep all your emotions bottled up inside, because that can hurt you, but,” The purple pony tried to be honest with her lover, “you can’t force what you want on others, either. That’s how ponies get hurt, physically and emotionally.”

Big Mac considered Cheerilee’s rebuttal. “..I want things... things no pony probably oughtta’ want... I don’t think even a heart as kind ‘s yer’s could accept things I want.”

“Show me,” Cheerilee said, chomping a bit of pie.

“...I can show you where I put it all. Where it all goes when I can’t stand it anymore.”

Big Mac took another hoof-full of pie and so did Cheerilee.

“I’ve been wantin’ ta’ take ya’ out.. Ya’ know... fer’ a walk? I reckon you’d like it, gettin’ outta’ this here cellar fer’ a change..”

Cheerilee nodded.

Getting up and trotting just around Cheerilee, the apple red pony undid the rope around the support beam and tied it, cautiously, around his own neck.

* *

“It’s right here,” said Big Macintosh. He nudged a medium-sized, inconspicuous rock from it’s placing to reveal three notebooks and a few markers underneath, a towel keeping them from the dirt. “Mah whole life, Ah’ve always felt like... well, like Ah was hankerin’ to do some things some ponies might not... take kindly to. Ah usually don’t act on mah own wishes, but iffin’ the stress gets too much, I juss’ siddown after Ah buck ‘n doodle up whatever Ah’ve been thinkin’.”

“Does that help?” asked Cheerilee?

Big Mac thought about that for a second. “It’s held up well. Y’know... up ‘till... recent events.”

Cheerilee turned her gaze to the notebooks.

“Go on, have yerself a gander. Juss’ don’t take too long.”

Cheerilee saw Big Mac’s shadow move along, to wait for her, and lowered her head to the notebook furthest to the right. Opening it up and flipping through the pages, she saw the kinds of fantasies Big Mac craved, and why he couldn’t be public about them with anypony.

Rarity, hanging from an apple tree by her neck, almost fully skinned alive.

Apple Bloom, tied at all hooves to a big rack or wall, Big Mac steadily bucking her stomach and groin with all his force.

Cheerilee, in the apple cellar, with Big Macintosh’s big, bloody hoof print through her flank.

Cheerilee was shocked. In no way did she suspect Big Mac of having murderous fantasies. It was almost unthinkable! Here was a fine, strong, handsome stallion, with many friends and a whole family who loved him. The purple pony gagged at a few more drawings, but never gave up hope that one day, she could get Big Macintosh to help, and he would never commit any of these atrocities.

But this was it. This is a notebook. Paper. A marker.

Turning her head slightly, she made out Big Macintosh standing parallel and opposite to her, looking up into an apple tree for some reason. On one hoof, he wasn;t immediately monitoring her actions. On the other, he could easily dash forward if he wanted, thus dragging Cheerilee backwards by her neck, strangling her.

Have to be quiet.

She opened the book to a much later page, a blank one. She rested a hoof on the page, and began to slide it outwards, breaking through the paper-perforations, one by one. The rip seemed to last a decade. Big Mac’s ears raised themselves at one point,but then slowly eased back into a calm state. She grabbed a marker and began to write:

“SEND HELP TO SWEET APPLE ACRES, ASAP!”

She pink teacher pony thought quick, and folded the paper, as noiselessly as she could, into a paper airplane.

Big Macintosh, oblivious entirely, looked up into an apple tree a ways away. Cheerilee’s dress from the night before was still caught in its branches. Big Mac stared and decided against attempting to retrieve it; at least, not until later. For now, it could remain there, as a remnant of a lost relationship between Big Mac and Cheerilee.

Now, Cheerilee was not particularly good at folding paper airplanes. She understood how to make one, but even as a foal, she could never seem to angle the folds right. Other ponies’ airplanes soared, but hers only glided for a few feet and plummeted to the ground, or into a wall.

The mare finished the structure, as meticulously as she could, and rose her hoof to send it flying. She held her hoof back, in a cocked position, and counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Please.

She threw her hoof forward, almost sure she had thrown her airplane too far downward, and that it surely must have rested on the grass before her. Opening her eyes, the airplane was nowhere in sight. It must have went up , beyond the tree tops.

Now all the purple pony could do is wait and hope.

“Ya’ll okay?” Big Mac asked.

Cheerilee only thought for a moment, then spoke. “Do you ever really want to... do these things to me?”

Big Mac grew silent a beat.

“Often.”

No pony spoke, both for very different reasons. Cheerilee turned her head to look at Big Mac.

“Will you?”

The red bucking pony turned to meet her. “Juss’ don’t give me a reason Ah ought to,” he threatened, almost menacingly.

Cheerilee and Big Macintosh went back to the cellar, where she laid down and finished up the last of the apple pie. Big mac stood over her as she ate, making the mare nervous. He was lingering for longer than was appropriate, even for a situation.

Big Mac put a hoof down on her midsection and began to fight her struggling. He grabbed a knife from out of his saddle and putting it into his mouth. He began, once again, to trace out his hoof print in her cutie mark.

The purple mare screamed intensely, one again betrayed of what trust she had left in Big Macintosh. Crying, and thinking back to just yesterday, when Big Macintosh was her special somepony. That time seemed so far away now.

She held better to the pain now then the initial bucking, but it still hurt.

I’ll be out of here soon, she thought, Big Mac, too. We’ll both get out of here and be better. It’ll all be fine soon.