Nothing Special

I don't really know when it started. But I also don't really know what "it" is. Perhaps I should just begin where the problems started.

     Although, in truth, I don't know when that was either.

     I can tell you I've had slim emotions for as long as I can remember. And when you're the middle child in a family of nine, you tend to learn to hide your emotions. Even from yourself.

     My brothers had almost everything to do with it, each of them taking an even fraction of the fault for my instability. Not to say that they accept the blame for making me like this, but it's because of them.

     My oldest brother, Stone, always made sure he was in peak physical condition. Everything he did with me involved athletics. His cutie mark was a depiction of a pickaxe hacking at a stone. If not for the image of a flash, the stone would blend with his coat. He spent plenty of time digging ditches, which was easy with his strength.

     The next was Chat. He was practiced in speech and could start a conversation with a single word and win and argument, even if he knows he's wrong. He's just that good with his words. He pursued other knowledge as well, dedicating himself to school and research.

     After him was Wave. He was incredibly laid back his entire life, chill, I think he described it as. We took a trip to the coast once and he was a natural surfer. He went back the first chance he got, but returns often to mooch off his parents. He was the only one who really considered me his brother, I wish we had more in common.

     I am the next oldest, Page. I know what you're thinking, that's a filly's name! Well, I was told by Chat that our parents were expecting a filly and had already chosen the name. Ma tried to spare my feelings by telling me that Wave was also planned to be a girl, but I know better than to believe anything that either of them told me. I was satisfied with the name when my cutie mark appeared, depicting the image of  a pure white scroll, stamped with a soft purple star, the same color as my eyes. It symbolized my talent in writing. I had the ability to turn an innocent sheet of paper into anything, using words. Granted, my version of words is much different from Chat's, but mine is much more creative.

     My first kid brother is Note. He can do some pretty nifty things with sounds, though he's not the most talented singer, or instrumentalist. Mostly he uses other ponies' sounds to his advantage, making some decent music.

     The youngest colt is Sprout. He hasn't grown up enough for us to know exactly what he's all about, but he's a very entertaining colt. He tends to spend a lot of time in the dirt and grass, and the rest of it in a bath tub.

     The youngest is Breeze. She was quite a surprise, seeing as she's a pegasus, and both our parents are earth ponies. Pa was quite upset for a while, while Ma tried convincing him that it was in her genes. After some time, Pa eventually returned home, drunken and filthy. He either forgot about the problem, or decided he didn't care enough to leave Ma.

     As I said, that leaves me the middle child. You know what they say about the middle child, right? About how they always get the broken end of each stick? Considering most thing go to the youngest to help them grow, or to the oldest to help them move on, the middle child gets what's left. But I never complained, at least not out loud.

     Discovering my lack of emotional and/or mental stability took some time. Most of my younger years passed with storming rage at my casual older brothers or naive little brothers. I always ended up being responsible toward Breeze, no matter what strain it put on me.

     Of course, the Turner family was not the only thing that made me the way I am, but I'll get to that soon. I'd like to start earlier back, before the births of the two youngest.

     I had but one true friend growing up. Her name was Rosettasound, I called her Rose. She had the most beautiful singing voice for a filly her age, and she stood up for me. Having my name, you can imagine I was often picked on, and having a rather feminine figure tended to make matters worse. She fought back, comforted me, played games with me, we even sang together, the most marvelous duets in the town of Stirrupburg. She would seek me out in my most desperate times, in my most secret hiding places, just to lay with me and let me snivel. She would build my confidence with compliments on my "maple syrup coat," or my "dark chocolate mane." She made me happy.

     However, as we grew, she tended to show more interest in my older brother Wave. Her traits seemed to changed to match his better than mine. Each time she visited, she would act bored with my suggestions and ask about Wave and where he was. I ended up just pretending to also be interested in what Wave was up to, just for the sake of spending time with my best friend.

     That was when I began to truly know what it took to cry. I cried myself to sleep the night I discovered that my brother was her new best friend. I cried until I slept that night, thinking of all kinds of scenarios in which I argued with either Wave or Rose in which I expressed all my rage. I thought of every possible phrase, insult, explanation, and come-back that could have occurred, had the experiences actually come to pass.

     After a while, I decided it best to keep my emotions to myself and only show others what they expected of me. At times, I might have lost control and lashed out at somepony, but they would have deserved it.

     I made many other acquaintances throughout my school years, but none of them really worth remembering. One I thought was particular, but he changed quickly. I had pleasant times with another, and thought he might help me make up for losses, but he moved away. Most of the time I was alone in our little rural area of Equestria.

     Anyhow, there's a story I'm trying to get to, but like I said I can't remember where it started. Perhaps I'll begin at my last year of high school. You know enough of my past to understand, right?

     So, when I said my last year of high school, that did not mean I graduated. I dropped out when our family declared ourselves too poor to afford for any of us to go to school. Ma could not afford the school lunches, or the transportation for late arrivals, and Pa was running himself ragged with the chores about the farm. Stone was still around, but stayed occupied with digging in the field. As important as that was, it was not the only thing to do. Chat had moved off to a college in Los Pegasus. I think he's looking to become a lawyer. Wave stayed away until he needed sustenance. Note was straight up lazy, and both Sprout and Breeze were considered too young to take care of the actual work.

     That left me. Jeez, I really hated being responsible. I wasn't as buff as Stone, but I was the next best of us sons.

     The day I announced to my acquaintances that I would no longer be attending the school, I was bombarded with the question of whether or not it was true, then with the query of whether or not I would return, then the thought of if I thought it would be better. The answers were simple: yes, no, yes. I never admitted to thinking I would be happier away from school out loud, but it was despairingly true.

     Ma did her best to continue my education, but wasn't an all too adequate teacher. I mostly just held on to my books and what I already knew about proper speech and grammar. That would be what got me far.

     I met my father on the front porch early in the morning. The rooster crowed as he stepped through the front door. "Ready sport?" He grumbled, gravelly with a morning hoarseness.

     "As I'll ever be." I faked a yawn to imitate a tired facade to see if it would be good enough to get me out of more work. I was as up and ready as I could be, seeing as I had coordinated my insomnia so perfectly, on accident, to give me a fine amount of sleep before I woke up at four o'clock every day. I suddenly felt bad for lying to my father to get out of work. I argued with myself as I walked down the beaten path to the barn;

Anypony would have done it.

But I'm not anypony, I'm Page Turner, and things are expected of me.

Well maybe once in a while you can take one of those breaks you deserve.

I don't want to take a break from hard work. The exercise is good for me.

I didn't mean from work. You and I both know what you really deserve, and what you want.

     Conversations like this occurred extremely often, ever since I decided that being alone was best for me. I actually came up with a theory that my head harbored a second brain. Not full-sized, mind you. More so that half of my brain fits in with half of another brain. My brain dominates my actions and such parts, and the other controls pieces of logical thinking and anger management.

     I am snapped back to attention when Pa drops a sack of chicken feed at my hooves. I am not startled by it, but my thoughts are interrupted. "The can is just outside the door of the coop. Be sure to take the lid off before you open the sack and only feed them two scoops. Collect the eggs and bring 'em inside to be washed."

     I threw the sack onto my back like a heavy saddle bag and slugged off toward the chicken house. The walk would take me a good five minutes, so I decide to side track a little to gather a pale of water for the setting hen. I could then use the pale to carry the eggs.

     I make it to the coop atop the hill and drop the sack. The pale's handle still in my mouth, I splash some water onto my face. No doubt work would only get more tedious throughout the day, but I wanted to take the opportunity whenever I could. I slipped open the lock and opened the door to the small building. A dozen hens scurried out, followed by two roosters. I popped the lid off the feed can and the tore open the sack. I lifted the fresh feed carefully into the empty container. After that I peppered two quart-sized scoops onto the ground for the flock.

     Beside the coop is a small cage, fit with a box. Inside, a fat hen sits on a dozen fertilized eggs. There are two cups in front of her. I carefully fill one with feed and the other with water. There is water left over, so I drink it myself. I then use the empty pale for collecting freshly laid eggs. There are only three right now, but the hens will return to lay more throughout the day.

     I carry the eggs inside where Ma is beginning breakfast. "Oh good," she chimes, "just enough eggs to finish." I smile at the convenience and she smiles back. "It'll get better," she promises. "Just give it time."

     I nod. Even though I know that nothing could get worse now that I didn't have to deal with high school, I make it seem like it's been difficult for me. No sense in dashing her ideas and making her feel stupid. I'm the only one that needs to feel that way.

     I carry on with my chores, trying to memorize the list in order to follow through with each ever-day task without having to be told. It will be easier when I get it into a cycle, even though repetition was what really drove me over the edge in school.

     Early morning chores are few and we pause for breakfast just after sunrise, around 7:00. After breakfast comes dishes, then I have to feed the pigs our leftovers. Next is letting the goats out, which we had milked earlier in the morning. Pa says goat's milk is richer than cow's, and harder to come by. That makes it more expensive. Either way, the cheese is good. Once the goats are out in the field grazing I get to reap the wheat. I get about one-seventh of the first field finished. If I make the same progress each day, I will finish by the end of the week. There are nine wheat fields, so reaping will last all season as long as I'm only one doing it. That doesn't bother me, I get a maniacal glee while swinging the scythe.

     Stone and Pa are cutting wood for the upcoming winter while I harvest. I don’t complain, even though swinging an ax is far more simple than a scythe. At the end of the month, Pa will teach me how to sharpen the blade, but before long harvest season will be over with and I will get a different chore.

     I finish the harvest when lunch is called. That means I get a few hours rest. After lunch, Stone has to gather up the wheat I chopped down and tie it up into piles. If we were like those farmers with more money, we could get ourselves one of those fancy balers so we could stack them in the barn. While he gathers the wheat, I begin bucking apples. Our farm isn't big on apples, we only have one field, but an old friend from a distant farm taught us how to grow, care for, and harvest apples. He told us that apples grown just the right way were the most delicious fruits we could taste. After a few years, the trees were fully grown and we had bushels upon bushels of red delicious apples every year. We dried about half of each year's harvest for storage. The rest would be baked, juiced, sauced, or sold. I am only instructed to buck a total of ten buckets full of apples a day. Pa would also take care of ten buckets himself. Stone never really got the hang for it, despite his magnificent, muscular hind legs. And Note would only manage a few buckets before claiming exhaustion and giving up. He was the worst of us all when it came to work.

     After that I help watch over the youngsters, clean up around the house, and even tend to the vegetable garden. Usually that's just up to Ma, but it makes everyone happier when we help each other out.

     After the end of harvest season, Ma comes to me with a surprise.

     "I've signed you up for a book club," she cheers at the breakfast table. "All your friends from school will be going."

    How could she possibly know whom all of my "friends" were, or that they would all be going to book club?

     "They meet every Saturday at noon for lunch," she continued. "Do you know where the library is."

     "Yeah mom," I tell her, "I used to go there after school like, every week."

     "Wonderful, they meet there in a room downstairs. The first meeting will be choosing a book, so get some ideas."

     The first meeting is the least expected scenario I could have experienced. Three fillies I had never met before and one filly I never heard speak. I was the only colt. Apparently the two best friends knew exactly who I was, given my past appearances on the school's stage. That was where they learned my name, their attraction toward me grew as they followed me and learned more about my secluded life-style. Apparently girls were into guys who kept to themselves.

     Once the chaperon arrived we introduced ourselves.

     "Hi everypony," the first pegasus filly said, "I'm Fashionista. I'm in my second year of high school and am captain of the cheer-leading team!" She threw her arms up and donned an incredibly peppy smile.

     Fashionista's earth pony friend went next. "Hi, I'm Penny. Penny Pincher, but you can just call me Penny. I'm also in my second year of high school and am on the cheer-leading squad. Nista and me are here to practice our words and reading skills to get more boys."

     "Oh my Celestia, Penny I can't believe you told them that," the cheer captain squeaked, never losing her outrageous grin. "Everyone, I swear on my adorable, mint-scented mane that that is not why I came here."

     "You big liar, Nista." They smiled at each other and slapped at one another's hooves as a sort of game. Once they were stopped they were quiet enough for us to listen to the next pony.

    "Hello," the silent earth pony said. "My name is Muriel. I work on a rock farm outside town. I like to read often." She was more silent than I imagined, like the whisper of a mouse trying not to alert a nearby sleeping cat.

     After that was the unicorn filly next to me. "Hi everyone. I'm Minty Swirl. I'm a new student this year on my third year and joined the book club in hopes of meeting other ponies who shared my interests." She drew my attention, curiously. I listened carefully as she spoke, mesmerized by her cool tone. Her mint-green-and-chocolate mane was combed into a delicious swirl around her horn, and her aquamarine coat was clean and smelled like salt water taffy. Not to say that I deliberately sniffed her!

     She caught me staring and I cleverly faded my glance away. The adult had been introducing herself while I gawked at Minty Swirl. I didn't hear her name or occupation. I hoped I would learn it some other way. I was to go last.

     "Umm, Hi. I'm Page Turner--"

     "Oh my gosh, that is like the most convenient name for a book club guy." Nista's voice grated in my mind after the interruption. She was hushed by the adult and I continued.

     "I was in my third year of high school, but had to pull out because of our family's...uh, hardships."

     After an incredibly brief pause in silence, Penny jumped. "Holy cow, Nista that means we're the youngest ones here!"

     "Not yet," Nista began, "Muriel never even told us--"

     "I'm on my last year." Muriel  input.

     "Holy cow Penny, you're so right! We're the adorable babies!"

     I noticed a discrete eye roll from Minty at the reaction of the cheerleaders. My mouth even twitched into a grin on one side.

     After an hour of getting absolutely nowhere with the commencement of our book club, we were dismissed. As I gathered my belongings, Minty Swirl stepped beside me. "Hey," she said.

     "Hello Minty Swirl," I responded.

     "Call me Mint," she insisted. "I can't help but notice you seem a little...well, depressed."

     "You'd be the first to assume that."

     "Well, I'll do my best," she sighed. "Are you all right?"

     "I'm getting there." As I lift my bags to place them on my flanks, the strap breaks and my books and papers fall about. I sigh and lower my head to begin gathering them. Before I can grab the first page, a magic aura glows and sweeps it away from me. My bag floated next to Mint, glowing with the same transparent blue-green as her horn.

     "I don't think so," she says while she replaces every article as I had already placed it, as well as tying the broken ends of the strap back together. She didn't get much time to elaborate. I heard a violent crashing just outside and a second later Note was inside panting and sputtering.

     Before I get a chance to ask he begins spurting fragments of sentences. "Page...the farm...Pa needs...hurry."

     He collapsed to the ground and I rush out the door, followed by Mint. "Stay with him," I instruct, waiting outside the door. "He will need someone to help him recuperate. He can help you find the farm when he comes to."

     "He's just winded," she retorts. "Give him a second to breathe and he'll be okay. He can find his own way back, after finding his own way here."

     "You don't know him, he'll take four times as long as you or I to rest."

     "Then it will take him that much longer to get back." She raised an eyebrow. "You're running out of time."

     I grunt, and drop my bags on Note before running off toward the farm. I can only assume the book club chaperone notices the unconscious body of my brother in the doorway before she leaves. I don't really care much about what happens to him, nothing much was wrong with him. But according to his tone, something was desperately wrong with Pa.

     Mint was panting heavily after the first two minutes of running, there were still a good six minutes to go. I say nothing, she manages to keep up.

     When we get to the farm, Ma has Breeze on her back and Sprout by her side watching despairingly into the surrounding forest. I run up to her and ask what happened. "Something startled the goats," she began. "All four of them plowed through the fence and ran off. Your father tried to stop them and steer them back, but was only trampled. He claimed to be OK, and went after them with Stone, but I doubt he'll be OK very long."

     I didn't wait for anything else. Taking immediate action I charged into the forest where it appeared the goats had run. I'm not really one for tracking animals, so I had absolutely no luck in finding any of the four goats. I did find my brother, though, who had managed to get one. He had clamped his jaw around one of its horns and was struggling to drag it back toward the farm. I reach for one of the biggest vines I can see and tear it off the tree. We use it as a leash and Stone leads the goat back to the barn.

     I continue searching. I rushed into the forest in plans of searching for goats, but as the daylight sank I grew more worried for my father.

     After sundown I am aching from strained muscles and various scrapes from the chase. I hear the ringing of the dinner bell and feel some relief. They must have found them all and were waiting for me to begin eating. When I return, it's a whole other story. Ma had rung the bell to call us back and give up on the hunt. Stone and I emerge from the forest almost simultaneously. We rush to Ma at the bell on the porch.

     "Where's pa?" I demand, first-off.

     Ma shakes her head and her lower lip quivers.

     "Where's your friend?" Stone asks.

     Minty Swirl! I had forgotten she followed me from the library. Had she also followed me into the woods? Would she be able to find her way out?

     My head was racing more than usual. We had to find them.