I thought yesterday was bad enough, but today was much worse.

Let me start from the beginning.

I woke up after only having a couple hours of sleep (nightmares stink), only to be welcomed by my sister who was right at the end of my bed. I thought I was in another bad dream with how she looked at me, but she didn’t start clawing at my hooves and dragging me into my dark… scary closet.

No, she just looked at me, and then said that I wasn’t… feeling well. She asked it in a very concerned yet confused tone, like she wasn’t aware that I was ~~sick to my stomach and I wasn’t sleeping wel~~l upset.

I knew that she wasn’t aware though. It was all on purpose. I know she thinks she understands, because that’s what she always says. She’s that type of sister who wants to help me when I know she doesn’t get me. That’s why I talk to you over her, you know?

…

I’m sorry, one second. Thought I heard her open the door. I don’t want her peeping in on me writing to you. It’s none of her business, right?

Anyway, after I told her that I was fine, I hopped out of bed and began making it. This is one thing that I can control, of the many things I wish I had control. Still, instead of letting me do it on my own, my sister shuffled over and helped me make my bed. Why? Why does she think she needs to help me? I don’t get it.

So, I do what any filly like me would do.

I asked.

I asked her why she of all times did she think she needed to help me with this.

~~I asked.~~

She told me that I was looking like I was hurt. It’s better to not suffer alone. A sister would never let her sister feel down. Then she offered me a hoof, like a sit down in this sort of case, just to chat about life. She told me she didn’t need to know what was bothering me, but I know her, so I keep this all bottled up from her so I can come to you. Besides, I know she knows that I’m bothered by this whole thing. She just wouldn’t get it. I—oh whatever. I’m getting sidetracked.

After we made my bed, we went downstairs to have breakfast. Since this is the first time I’ve ever written to you, just know that we usually have pancakes for some reason. I think it’s because that’s one of the few things my sister knows how to make without having the kitchen in flames. I mean, she’s burnt apple juice before. Yeah, I know. Surprising, isn’t it? A sister that knows how to sew but can’t put one bottle of apple juice into a cup? And don’t ask me how it got on fire.

Good thing she didn’t mess up this time though. The pancakes were fluffy as can be. The room was… well, not a disaster. And I wasn’t hearing my sister complain about dresses and ponies being rude.

But what she said to me still lingered in my mind, enough to not open my mouth to say a word to her. For the first time in a long time, we ate in silence.

And I hated every second of it. I brewed, I stewed, I… I don’t know any other words with -ed to put here! Gah, you get it though. I was mad. Real mad. But I didn’t want her to know it. When she knows, that makes me more upset. I love her, but… gah, sisters do this to each other. That’s how this works.

All I know is that when I was finished with my breakfast, I bolted right into the bathroom to take a shower. Well, I tried to, but my manners were in the way. I thanked her for cooking and cleaning my dishes and then bolted into the shower.

From there, the day was forgettable for a while. Got outside, went to school for a bit—got a bit too close to Snails than I liked—and then after class I went to see the girls. We’ve been talking to each other more since the incident because… well… as Scoots put it, “I didn’t see the point in telling Dash.”

I remember Apple Bloom jumped in (almost literally) with the same thing, except change Dash with AJ. Sisters can be like that sometimes, unapproachable and daunting…

And then Apple Bloom said something that threw me off.

“You girls ever feel like… maybe they’re trying too hard?”

I know this is well… not how I should write it, but putting it by itself just makes me stare at it a bit more. Like I need to look at it more and more. I mean, she didn’t say it exactly like that, but I knew what she meant, and from how Scootaloo reacted, so did she.

Maybe sisters are the best over-helpers of all time.

Author's Note

This'll be one of the few times I'll interject here. Yes, this story is being re-written. Yes, this will get weekly updates like I said. And welcome back to Sweetie Belle being a narrator.

I hope you missed her.

Dumb fabric.