Another Brick in the Wall
Posed sweetly above the well-manufactured clouds that churned from Cloudsdale was the heavy hum of monotony, which swallowed up the sunlight and created a flare of dullness. A shock of clanging school bell shattered the picture of stillness and serenity into a swift dance of descent that pierced through the half-heart clouds down towards the green splash of Ponyville’s grassy knolls - then toward the neat walls of Ponyville Elementary. The melodic song of stiff-optimism that capered amongst the scrubbed windows betrayed a sad defiance-of-reality when reflected amongst the dreadfully similar bricks of the small bosom of foal-education. Inside the building wore the costume of class, 6 rows of 6 desks spread evenly in the centre of the room surrounded by bright posters – trophies to the able nature of education it is possible to achieve here. At the very front of the standard-lit classroom sat in a clumsy-grace a marsh-mellow pony – Sweetie Belle, her mane well-quaffed and her eyes dazzling, if only half-open.
Although the focus of the rest of the class was today upon math, or more specifically measuring land; Sweetie Belle was instead engrossed in her own writing. Pencil scratched furiously against paper as mouth swerved about guiding aching thought into childish handwriting. ‘‘What’s this Sweetie Belle?’’, the young pony was interrupted by the plump post-young-adult figure of her teacher – Miss Cheerilee. “Mysterious scribbling?” rows behind Sweetie Belle rang whispers, “A secret code perhaps?” the whisperings grew louder and more interested.
‘How useless for a teacher to ask questions’ thought Sweetie Belle; she broke uniform from her desk and pushed her paper into a perilous position, hanging off the edge of the smart polished wood from which it was born.
Miss Cheerilee’s pretty face skimmed across the paper she snatched from Sweetie Belle and, as she read on, a hollow smirk surfaced amongst her pursed-lips and her eyes lightened. “Poems no less”, and the class chorused tinned-laughter as Miss Cheerilee reaffirmed her position at the front of the class. She spoke again, more severely “Young lady, the focus of today’s class is upon: what is an acre?” as she spoke the last words she rapped her hoof on the chalkboard, emphasising her point with a dead thump and a scatter of dust and chalk. “Shall we continue?” there was no waiting for an answer, “an acre is the area of a rectangle whose length is…”
“I don’t want to learn about acres, Miss Cheerilee”, the tidy and childish voice of Sweetie Belle was betrayed by the angry broken squeak that sharpened her ‘don’t’. The class has already been quiet, but still it seemed to hush.
Miss Cheerilee cocked a stare at Sweetie Belle; she was nowhere near as affronted by the obnoxious nature of Sweetie Belle’s rare questioning as the rest of the class. There was no need to expose the stupidity of the small filly’s doubts about the curriculum, she would allow Sweetie Belle’s rebel-moment; she knew Sweetie Belle’s weakness and instead asked “So you reckon yourself a poet young filly?” Miss Cheerilee opened the piece of paper she had confiscated from Sweetie Belle previously and performed aloud, as if telling a dirty joke:
“Sitting in class, pain in the ass. This poem is a joke, so why don’t you laugh?
The walls are so clean they’re dirty. All fillies are dead before they are thirty”
She had expected the young filly to be upset at her words unceremonious bearing; but instead Sweetie Belle had not moved from her graceful slump the whole time and her face, if not defiant, than at least was insubmissive. However, the class had burst into the imprinted mocking-laughter that she had expected, and swung for, and so Miss Cheerilee was satisfied, and continued with her pre-arranged and well-rehearsed ‘discussion’ on acres. Sweetie Belle’s rebellion was dead and the wheel of foal-education continued undisturbed.
“You’ve got a bit of drool on your chin”. Class had ended and all the students had been shepherded outside to play. The outside was more honest than the to-scale allusion of the school. The tall trees dwarfed the young ponies and, whereas in school all the foals stared uniform in the same direction, outside they had split into separate factions and cliques. The particular clique that Sweetie Belle was in consisted of three fillies, and the filly whose distinctly southern voice had playfully chided her was her new closest-friend: Applebloom. Sweetie Belle patted on her damp chin and proceeded to wipe away the pool of drool that had settled there; this caused Applebloom to smile and Scootaloo, the other friend in the clique, orange with a boyish purple mane, to laugh.
Subsequently, and as always, conversation turned towards ‘Cutie marks’, and ideas for the three friends on how to discover what they would be labelled as for the rest of their lives. As per usual, it was the largest pony – Applebloom – who led first: “I think we need to re-visit Cutie-Mark Crusaders in journalism. We’ve learnt our lesson in terms of behaving and who and what we write about and now we can move on and progress”. The friendly southern charm of the filly’s voice was betrayed by the motivational manner in which she emphasised certain buzzwords for her friends attention: ‘re-visit’ and ‘progress’, both perfect reflections of Applejack’s conservative ambition manifesting itself into Applebloom also.
The confidence Applebloom spoke with was adult far apart from the childish occupation of the words themselves. Such was enough to send Sweetie Belle’s head bobbing in enthusiast agreement; and Scootaloo, ever the contrarian, to object: “I’m not wasting my time with namby-pamby words again! Why can’t we do something exciting? Why can’t we be…” the brash filly struggled, “CUTIE MARK STUNT-PONIES, YAY!” Scootaloo bellowed her preposition for lack of self-belief but still this was enough for Sweetie Belle again to bob her head in enthusiastic approval once more, her smile even more athirst.
“How, by Celestia’s Sun, do you intend we try stunting here in Ponyville?” Applebloom spoke readily, closing in on the measured circle the three fillies had previously made to face Scootaloo.
“I’ll…” the jejune purple mane stiffened aloof Scootaloo’s head as she leapt over her southern-filly contest, her Lilliputian wings beat vigorously as she breathed painfully “fly us to the top of a cloud and -”. The rest of what was sure to be Scootaloo’s illustrious plan was cut short by the fillies wet thump to the ground as her wings failed her. Sweetie Belle thought thoughts to herself as her friends continued to argue.
The cold playground air inflamed a pain in Sweetie’s throat that had been bugging her recently. The pain, and the fact that Sweetie couldn’t prevent it, made her thoughts more drastic and more coherent. She thought heavily upon the companionship she was agreed to with her two best friends in the whole world: Applebloom and Scootaloo. She thought about how much different she was to her friends. She remembered her sister Rarity’s surprise when she had told her that she had tagged herself to Applebloom, after Diamond Tiara’s Cuteceanera. Rarity and Applejack’s allegiance, although mutually affectionate, had always been founded upon a lot of patience on both pony’s parts; and also most crucially the shared label of ‘one sixth of: ‘The Elements of Harmony’’. However, the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ were anything but renowned for their patience. And, as far as Sweetie Belle could imagine, she and Applebloom were not important to anybody who they were not meant to be important to. Another virtue that Rarity and Applejack shared was their enterprising natures. However, whereas Applebloom was full of ideas and the desire to lead; Sweetie Belle did not think she was very enterprising if she was honest with herself. She didn’t enjoy learning new skills, or adapting her skills, like Applebloom did. Instead she just wanted to use the skills she already had, in a manner she enjoyed, to a deadline she was comfortable with. ‘How absolutely bucking useless’, Sweetie Belle scolded her inner self-appraisal. Use, and uselessness, led Sweetie Belle to consider what tied her to her oldest friend, to the silly extent that fillies can have ‘old’ friends, Scootaloo. If she was thinking cynically, the reason she and Scootaloo had been paired together was because of their similar lack of a Cutie Mark, rather than any shared personal traits. Scootaloo was passionately anti-compassion; whereas Sweetie Belle considered herself, in all honesty, reliant on the kindness of her peers and that of strangers. That being said, Sweetie Belle thought that what she and Scootaloo did share was a passion for ‘different’. Applebloom was always focused on going back to what they had tried before and perfecting it; she and Scootaloo however were empiri-aholics, desperate for the taste of everything imaginable for fear of being left out, or left in the dark about something new or amazing that might change everything. Another similarity that Sweetie Belle knew she and Scootaloo shared was their respective needs in terms of heroes. Granted her hero, Rarity, was far different than Scootaloo’s hero, Rainbow Dash; still… Sweetie Belle did not like that she found herself drawing more in common with her friend Scootaloo rather than her friend Applebloom.
“At least we know what Sweetie Belle’s special talent is definitely going to be”. Sweetie Belle was suddenly born into her conversation with her friends again with the sound of her name being spoken.
“Yeah Sweetie Belle, I don’t know why you’re bothered with the crusading we’re doing” Applebloom made a gesture towards Scootaloo and then to herself, “when you’ve already got your special talent”. Sweetie Belle blinked lazily; she knew what her friends were hinting at, but she liked to hear them say it.
“You’re bucking awesome singing voice!” The class bell sounded again as Sweetie Belle smirked idiotically and the class ambled into their tiny school again; filly first, then colt (small victory for young females and buxom teacher alike).
Later; and Sweetie Belle had left school, waved goodbye to Applebloom and Scootaloo until tomorrow, and trotted eagerly to her sister Rarity’s boutique and Sweetie Belle’s residence for the night. Sweetie Belle considered sleep-overs at her sister’s a rare treat, and was too occupied with her own beaming to notice the surprise on her darling sister’s face when she had opened the door.
“Oh hello there Sweetie Belle”, Rarity smiled and hugged her sister awkwardly, because Sweetie Belle was shaking in excitement.
“You remembered our sleep-over!?” Sweetie Belle half-asked, half-congratulated her sister.
“But of course I did dear” Rarity reprimanded, “A good sister does not forget when her sister visits”.
“Well I’ve been looking forward to our visit all week!” Sweetie Belle changed her childish idiosyncrasy to copy her sister’s. What followed was much deliberation of phatic between the two, at which Sweetie Belle nearly wet herself and at which Rarity looked down at her sister bored, but smiling politely; Rarity told Sweetie Belle that she had some work to finish, and for Sweetie Belle to go upstairs and unpack her spare clothes and, ‘toiletries’.
Sweetie Belle crept downstairs slowly. She had finished unpacking her things, which lay scattered amongst the side of a bed that had not yet been made out for her, or else had been dumped into a spotless sink which kneeled below a large blameless mirror; and decided now that she wanted to watch her sister working when she thought she was alone. ‘Ponies are different when they’re alone’, Sweetie Belle had noticed this. She approached unnoticed to the ajar door of her sister’s work room and peeked through to see her sister hard at work on a dazzling selection of bright and beautiful dresses. Sweetie Belle drank in the scene: her sister smiling effortlessly, her mane alive and beautiful, her eyes bare and electric, and her singing a catchy tune carelessly. Sweetie Belle saw and Sweetie Belle heard, sighing and sharing in the picture of harmony. After a very short while; Sweetie Belle danced, naturally, up the staircase to her sister’s room; she nearly fell over, overwhelmed as she was by her sister’s doings and beings. Sweetie Belle collapsed onto her sister’s bed, finding comforting what to most other ponies would most likely be an uncomfortable position: just about resting on the edge of the bed with the rest of her small, comely form hung in easy halcyon not reaching the busy-carpet floor.
Outside: a strangling dark night had snuck up upon a daytime Sweetie Belle couldn’t quite remember; and to look outside was a struggle between what was there for the day and what was gone for the night. A punk exodus oozed from the neat picture of Carousal Boutique, just slightly out of reach for young Sweetie Belle trapped inside her sister’s very beautiful room. Sweetie Belle was in veracious awe of her sister’s very beautiful room. It was the perfect arrangement only greater; it was perfections sweeter sister: originality. Each separate thing in the room was a separate vibrant city crowded with life and memories and a promise of good things being set in motion. The desk was an exact mess of notes and scribbling, or brave pairings of striking fabrics layered onto or below each other. A narrow bookcase stood nearest to a closed purple-painted door, and was heavily splendid with a brawny gang of dense and intelligent-looking books with alluring titles; or else lovingly decorated with picture after picture of a few or a half-dozen or sometimes just one of a gaggle of colourful pony-friends in different carefree still-dances, caught all at once in perfect memory forever medallion to Rarity’s amazing life. The bed was overly-grand but curved into perfect polished non-moderate-moderation as part of the snug coterie- only when considered next to the other parts of the room; else, the copious amount of pillows and negative colours, or the never-ending assortment of frills and doodads would seem uncomfortable. As it so happened, Sweetie Belle was very comfortable lying where she was at the head of this outstanding room. Even with her head rested as it was, with her whole world flung inverse and blood pooling into her small head Sweetie Belle was stricken by the largest and most bewitching item of the room – the speckless and slightly haunting oak-wood wardrobe, which loomed thickly over Sweetie Belle, blowing chills through her soul and planting goosebumps on the small of her small neck.
From her perspective, she waved a weightless hoof at the handle of the wardrobe which was a good 4 lengths apart from her; and motioned the pretence of opening the stately doors. Before she was quite finished, she had begun walking towards the wardrobe having vacated her perch nestled in her sister’s now quite overly-warm bed. The doors of the wardrobe neatly slid open and Sweetie Belle held them leaving its belly half-naked. A sea of Raritys stood to attention before her, each one an honest promise of the days of laughter and months of beauty just waiting; that could be guaranteed by the thread after thread of effortless design and loving devotion. All before their worthy abandonment forsake of an even greater post-future; even more beauty! Sweetie Belle loved all of them, and ran through them with her hoof picking groups at random and hugging them tightly; before throwing them behind her and creating motley: of dazzling party dresses, and classy party gowns, on top of the bed. The awesome sight caused her to shiver and giggle and dash and jump into the pile; she rolled around in the clothes sponging up the smells of allure and artistry, she writhed around feeding the electricity she could feel deep within her head and all about her soul and kept feeding it until she was it, she was Rarity, and a lifetime of good hopes and happy pasts and an engaging present bore into her skull and embosomed the tiny bruised Sweetie Belle before.
Back from it all, and all into nothing. Then Sweetie Belle heard the thudding of hooves coming up the stairs and a wave of dread came upon her. She had to leave quickly and race back into darkness and solidarity. The door wasn’t an option, but there was still the window. Sweetie Belle went over to it and started to squeeze through it; without much conviction however, she did not think she would actually fit. Just then the door handle turned and Sweetie Belle jumped, first in her head, but then literally through the window. Thinking she was already falling, and without the strength or will to pull her back into her sister; Sweetie Belle relaxed and started to plunge into the darkness and down to ground below. It was not as clean a fall as she could have wanted however. Her back-left hoof smacked painfully into the rim of the window and her front hooves collapsed under the full weight of her small body, which left a sharp burning sensation at the bottom of them, and two cuts; one rather small, but the other rather deep and painful; on her. Nevertheless; she was outside and breathed in the brilliant cold night’s air, and invigorating smell of pure open that had not been cleansed by perfumes or dead-comforts. The sound of her sister’s terrified voice calling hysterically through her escape window sprang her back into a panic and she dashed off into the open, away with and from the calls of “Sweetie Belle! Are you hurt?! Sweetie Belle!”
The sky was the exact mirror opposite to the mysterious conspiracy of Ponyville below. It was alive with tiny lights and a whirling breeze like an anticipative audience before a bloody play. Sound silence, like the consolidation offered in a disconsolate eulogy; like that spoken at a child’s funeral; like that found in between the inbetween of an argument, essence of potential. All the smells of Ponyville were asleep, or else hidden in rotten logs or exhausted puddles on the wayside avoiding the small intruder trotting in absent-minded haste towards nowhere in particular.
Ponyville’s community of homes and shops were all solid in closed eyes and bolted doors. Not in the sense that they were asleep, but rather they were in the motion of blinking, frozen in the split-second between the vivacity of day before and of day promised; secluded snugly from the long loneliness of Luna’s night. Either that, or the homes and shops were forcing their eyes shut, in the pretence of blinking, frigid in terror at the brash solidarity of night.
Sweetie Belle was very happy and alive caught trespassing in hours that were elsewise shunned by others. Time was hers and hers alone, these hours belonged to nobody but herself. She didn’t fear the dark and she never had. She felt she wore the night very well, much like Rarity wore day very well. She walked hurriedly in a monotonous circle around Ponyville’s landmarks: first past ‘Sugar Cube Corner’ (taking special care to avoid ‘The Carousal Boutique’), then all the way to Fluttershy’s cottage where she and her friends had slept over one time; circling around the cottage, Sweetie Belle would head back into Ponyville and past Twilight’s library, and far up a heavy hill all the way to ‘Sweet Apple Acres’, where Sweetie Belle would pause momentarily at the fences and peer at the large house and the barn wondering what her friend Applebloom might be dreaming about; before turning a full 180 degrees and heading back into Ponyville to start her marathon-sprint all over again. Awake now at night, unlike she was before in day, Sweetie Belle was both unnerved and thrilled by mishaps of her mind as she struggled to see through the colourless night. Frequently she would see shooting stars, or at least streaks of brilliant light in the sky; only before actually looking up and realising that they weren’t actually quite there. Or else, she would see crows in trees which she would stare at as she walked past, only before looking again and again realising it was not as she had perceived. What was more, Sweetie Belle would often hear her name being shrieked far behind here; which would cause to startle and gallop as fast as she could away from the noise, before stopping out of breath again realising that it was all probably in her head. This continued like a bad headache throughout the whole night, and finally Sweetie Belle stopped, exhausted, near Twilight’s library; night’s party now far away into the horizon and still retreating, ushering in a freezing and damp dawn.
Sweetie Belle stood chilled, struggling to balance herself against her exhausted legs and now against a curious new intruder burning a hole into the previously imprinted spiralling show of Ponyville empty and raucous-silent; hers previously. Loitering calculatedly amongst the waking daylight of Ponyville was a tired schoolmaster: Cheerilee; looking somewhat carefree-anxious, singing an aged song that resonated youth in its lyrics, with fast-paced rhythm and nonchalant pitch. Normally, Sweetie Belle would avoid adults much like she would a lonely child (for they were somewhat similar); they were too condescending, too interested, or else too uninterested with anything even half-unimportant and fun. However, she was too tired to care about much, and the long walk had made her lonely. Besides, Cheerilee’s song was so alluring it was inadvertently beckoning, with every perfect note and sweet chime that it had drove Sweetie Belle to interruption. So she breathed in the air which tasted of ambition, threw her eyes open so as they may breathe in daylight, called fair-warning: “Hey Miss Cheerilee!” and bounced towards her early-morning cohort.
Cheerilee’s response was one of honest shock, and a charming nod of curiosity towards Sweetie Belle, which she took to mean that she would be with her shortly. Cheerilee finished her song, booming out the last of the lyrics in dramatic gusto in a personal performance for Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle went to interject, thinking that Cheerilee had at last finished her song, but Cheerilee raised her hoof in feigned annoyance and hummed again the last of her song in a slow and haunting tone, before looking back at Sweetie Belle again expectantly.
“I really like your voice”, it was meant to be a loud cheer or appraisal, but Sweetie Belle was too tired to shout and what came out instead was what sounded like a mature sarcasm, which she liked. But she meant the compliment, and reiterated it by saying “who’s that song about? He must be pretty special.”
Sweetie Belle was embarrassed to see Cheerilee laugh at this. “Yeah, I guess if a song mentions love it’s going to sound like a song about lovers for a filly so young”, Cheerilee too sounded quite sarcastic so Sweetie Belle assumed that she too was too tired to direct any emotion into her words and took it as pre-affirmed that everything was now going to be spoken sarcastically, whether or not sarcasm was ever intended.
“But all the words were about lovers though weren’t they? Wouldn’t that be a song about lovers if you had one though Cheerilee? It’s only not a song about a lover because you haven’t got one and you’re singing it”.
“It’s a song about love, and I am singing it, and for me this love is far away from lovers and much closer instead to alone”.
Sweetie Belle puzzled over this briefly before asking “You’re not lonely, are you Miss Cheerilee?”.
“Maybe”, Cheerilee said sadly, “but what is more is that is that I’m not certain, which makes me ever so much more lonely. Maybe is ever so lonely, without the company of certainty and lacking real maturity. Don’t ever think of maybe Sweetie Belle, there’s a fine lesson for you”. Sweetie Belle met this with an awkward silence, feeling now her teacher had trumped her by saying something much cleverer than she could counter-muster or even scoff at convincingly.
“It’s sad that someone so pretty should care. You’re not truly lonely, you’re just wearing it, I've seen the way Applebloom’s big brother Big Mac stares at you; and all the boys in class say you’re the prettiest mare in Ponyville, and -”
“-and I wouldn't be interested in boys at school would I?” Cheerilee interrupted the marshmallow filly indignantly, Sweetie Belle blushed, and Cheerilee continued “All colts chase this image of this beautiful and invincible mare; and then they are terrified when they finally see one for real”, Cheerilee swallowed hard, “another life lesson for you there”.
Rushing through the leaves on tress above Ponyville was the pre-early commute of busy life. Wind chattered with branch and leaf grumbled, in a state of distress of at the lack of movement as it hastened to start a new day. Everything else was stiff, like the seconds before the pistol to signal the start of the race, everything else except the two ponies, mare and filly, who shook together outside Twilight’s library; shaking with cold and aching with tiredness. “I'm sick of all the life lessons I'm learning, surely life isn't that long to warrant such study?”
“Life can be very long if you’re doing it wrong Sweetie Belle” Cheerilee answered. “Cherish these early days, it’s so much different after”.
“I'm sure it is, but at least after I can choose things” Sweetie Belle fidgeted in the cold.
Cheerilee smiled and said “what do you want to be when you’re older then Sweetie Belle?”
Sweetie Belle spluttered and searched desperately for a snarky or clever response, finding nothing that wasn't horribly cliché (for example, saying she would like to be ‘happy’ when she was older), she instead settled on the truth, “I’d like to be a singer” she glanced up from the dirt to steal into Cheerilee’s eyes, “everyone says it’s certain to be my Cutie Mark and I'm quite good at it, and I enjoy doing it; and Rarity always tells me to never settle for anything I'm not completely in love with, though I don’t know if she was talking about the future or something else.”
“Singing?” Sweetie Belle was angry to see Cheerilee had a mocking smile plastered on her face. “I'm sorry Sweetie Belle but I thought you were smarter than that, I thought you knew the ugly face of reality. I've never even heard you sing once!” Cheerilee was shouting now, blaring away the look of upset that Sweetie Belle was aiming at her. Cheerilee paused, “maybe I'm wrong. Sing for me now.”
Sweetie Belle looked at her bemusedly “I- I'm not confident singing in front of people at any request”
“Well then there’s no hope then, I was -”
Sweetie Belle interrupted Cheerilee with the first song that came into her head: the Cutie Mark Crusaders theme song. She sang now loud and confident, she was not as on-pitch as was when she sang to herself, but the sounds that came from her now sounded more real and alive than any she had sang before. “- NOT UNTIL WE GET OUR CUTIE MARKS!” She finished.
Cheerilee shuddered as if had not been paying attention at all and said “excellent, fabulous, well-practiced, charming…” Sweetie Belle beamed bashfully, “everything I sounded like when I was your age” Cheerilee finished her sentence; she looked glum. “Go home now Sweetie Belle, you’ve no business being out here so early. I’ll be sure to tell your sister of your early morning strolls, it’s dangerous to be out here alone, car could hit you, or you could run into Timberwolves.”
“Rarity knows I'm out Cheerilee” Sweetie Belle spoke calmly
“It’s Miss Cheerilee, I'm your teacher and you’ll do me the service of addressing me with respect; especially considering I've done you the service of babysitting you this past hour”.
Sweetie Belle glowered and sulked away annoyed, “bloody loner”.
A seemingly long but forgetful while later Sweetie Belle stood outside the place where she had started her night. All the lights were on and so she knew that Rarity was still awake. She had trouble swallowing her shame at having worried her sister so much, so much that she still had not slept since the escape. Sweetie Belle transcended the threshold from the certain uncertainty of night; to the uncertain certainty deep with the blinding beacon of light from the Carousal Boutique.
The door was ajar and she pushed through begrudgingly to see Rarity, cool and appropriately tired, waiting for her. “Sweetie Belle, darling, you’re back, oh I was so worried!” Sweetie Belle made to answer her sisters’ greeting but she interrupted her, “you absolute monster, you look awful and ugly tired. We must talk about your antics, don’t think we won’t, I’m not Mom and Dad, and you can’t get away with your stupid sulks into the night with me” Sweetie Belle stood stone-silence against her sisters’ berating. “Go up to bed now and sleep, you must be exhausted. I’ll be working all day so we’ll talk later this afternoon when I'm finished. I might’ve invited you to aid me, but, in your current state I doubt you’ll be up to anything”, Rarity spoke pointedly hoping to upset Sweetie Belle as if you evoke some remorse or upset from her. Sweetie Belle however just rolled her eyes and turned away angrily; she knew that these consequences were only a false punishment for her actions, Rarity never allowed her to help.
Sweetie Belle slumped slowly up the stairs to the bathroom and looked dead in the eye at the dirty and exhausted looking pony that stared back at her. She laughed brutishly, and entertained herself by pulling a succession of different ugly faces and mocking the false persona she gave each one. She continued with this until at last she went too far and faced someone too ugly and pathetic, so she felt disgusted. She stopped and turned a magicians’ hand to her hair and out of it all appeared a handsome quaff, soft with Savoir faire. Abracadabra, a pretty pony, prettier than she could ever have imagined.
Sweetie Belle dozed off to sleep. Not wholly content with life, but then again mature enough now to know that it was fine for her not to be. She had a rare thing at least, an identity: this being that she was a great singer; not great enough, of course not because she was real, but good enough to be noticed. She was not wholly useful, but she must not allow herself now to be obstructive. She was creative, and so must work to produce upon that creativity productive ends, very similar in a way to how Cheerilee must exist. She thought now of whether she would make a happy teacher, the idea was not wholly awful. Only, how could she ever learn to love working to a strict curriculum; or learn to love keeping foals in a place where they don’t even want to be, or worse still, punish them when they misbehave? Sober thoughts meant for an easy sleep, and for this Sweetie Belle was grateful. All the hard stuff would come in time, and if they didn't, who really cares?
Author's Note
Cheers for reading my fanfic. Post a review if you would be so kind and for at least half an hour you'll be my favourite person in the world. Be as critical as you want, I'm British so all feeling has been trained out at me at an early age by the monarchy and the BBC. Check out my blogs as well if you like my stuff, I think I'm really funny.
Love and tolerance regardless, TitchThomas
Another Brick in the Wall
The trees sing and the soil listens. The leaves gasp and the story of true life bursts about, above, and under. The wind steals through the immense forest, and to look across at the sea of trees was as though to look upon the hard ground as you fall from above, as if all that exists until its end is life and at its end there is only death.
Hanging off the forest at its very edge was the small town of Ponyville, not dead, but cruelly unliving. A stamp of active-inactivity, like the slowing of a pendulum. The wind barely moved as it trudged through the sorry scene of shop after shop over-bearing like a fat and desperate lover - life and the fresh air was trying to escape - throwing dresses and cakes and style and crap in your face as if shouting: “Why would you possibly want to leave? What more could you want?”
The wind barely touched the schoolhouse. A cramped building brimming with pride from its small victories; such as its spotless windows, and large gates, and the group of empty foals tucked safely into it. All the foals were sitting behind desks, in uniform lines of 6, and all the foals were posing a different way but all exactly in the same manner; either slouched half-asleep, or quiet with heads down. Facing all the foals at the very front of the class stood Miss Cheerilee, the teacher, conducting her pre-approved lullaby of: “this should really matter”, Today’s lesson: ‘continuing with addition’. She was as stuck with the all the foals as much as all the foals were stuck with her. Teacher and all the foals, all the same. All the foals, except one. Applebloom sat stiff and upright, never breaking eye contact with the teacher; daring her to question her, or maybe even teach her something.
The blessed unlesson was probably over but Miss Cheerilee had one more parting blow to deal. “Before anyone of you leaves, you must answer one equation correctly”. A desperate last attempt at sound teaching; like the money exchanged from an old relative to a new in case the old gets boring or unloved.
What followed was Miss Cheerilee going about the room asking simple addition sums to each of the foals in turn; each and every foal getting each and every sum right because, in truth, the sums were very easy. Until at last Miss Cheerilee reached the pert and frantic pale figure and obnoxious mane of Twist; who Applebloom knew had a sickening enthusiasm (one part perseverance and two parts desperation) that often flattered to deceive as being intelligence.
“Ahh Twist, let me see…” Miss Cheerilee struck a mocking fathom, “how about: seventy-six add twenty-three?” Twist would be immediately stumped, both Miss Cheerilee and Applebloom knew it; but Applebloom wasn't. Seventy add twenty is ninety, and six add three is nine; ninety add nine is ninety-nine, easy…
Applebloom thrust her hoof into the air: “Oh oh oh!” She fidgeted and bounced about in her desk because she knew the answer when nobody else in the class did, let alone Twist. She knew the answer and Twist was just sitting there gawping, “Miss Cheerilee I know the answer!” She finally managed to gain Miss Cheerilee’s attention; but she just grinned at her half-knowingly. ‘What does that mean?’ Applebloom thought to herself, ‘does she know that I know? Why won’t she let me answer her question?’ Not satisfied with the classes not knowing, she whispered the answer instead to her nearest friend: Scootaloo, the only foal to answer her question incorrectly. But even then Scootaloo wouldn't even look at her, just scooted away from her as if she was contagious.
“No answer then?” Miss Cheerilee said, Twist just smiled, “and nopony else knows the answer?”
Applebloom gave one last attempt, thrusting her hoof as far into the air as she could muster. “The answer was ninety-nine”. Applebloom let out an audible sigh.
“Applebloom actually got that one Miss Cheerilee”, Scootaloo was laughing. ‘Actually’, the word burnt through Applebloom like a fire.
“Did she now?” Miss Cheerilee was laughing too. “Well maybe she’ll get this one then” Applebloom calmed herself and coiled her thoughts in eager anticipation for the chance to prove herself. “What is 11 +7?” Then Applebloom sank.
Panic, on the streets of Ponyville. Rain washed the streets and a chilling almost-wind ushered through and amongst near everywhere; all this trapping all ponies either in time-broken stuck-still hidden under dry space, or else in horrid-hurry – heads bowed in sad-solace and bitter-resentment for the intruding bleakness. All ponies trapped, except one: Applebloom.
With no shield from the harsh weather, and head held high breathing in the harsh chastisement of clouds’ descent, Applebloom strode defiantly forward hastily through the streets; very aware of the fools she was making of the squirming ponies she was leaving behind her.
A while further on the outskirts of the town, before the wide open stretch that would lead to Sweet Apple Acres; the weather had been dealt with by the weather pegasus’ and the sun had returned to warm all of Ponyville into its practised routines again. But Applebloom was far from old routines now and was happily walking alongside a friend of hers, Twist; who had caught up with Applebloom as she made her way to where she was going.
Twist had been rambling on, repeating the same phatic conversation pieces over and over again, as if conversation was but a marathon to her, a chore to be completed. Applebloom was bored, but fixated resonantly on her companion’s words urging her into to saying something half-meaningful. “That weather was something, don’t you think Applebloom? Don’t know what the weather ponies were playing at but they caught everyone out without coats or umbrellas”, Twist chortled conversationally. ‘No such luck’ thought Applebloom.
“- There are three types of people in this world I find Twist, each one caught in three different films. There are those that are extraordinary, and who live extraordinary lives; they are action. There are those who are dull, but who live extraordinary lives; who are comedies. There are those are extraordinary, who live dull lives; they are tragedies. And then you. You are a dull person who lives a dull life, what do you suppose that makes you? I'm stumped as to what to call it.”
Applebloom stared at Twist gauging her reaction. “I don’t like you’ Twist was staring blankly at Applebloom, but she was clearly hurt. Applebloom rejoiced.
“- Why? Because I don’t flatter your extreme bullshit? Because I'm not like all the other idiots at school? Narrow barrels full to brim with presumption and an apt-gullible fluidity, ducks racing to aimless bullet pursuing dead purpose!”
Applebloom had lost her. “You’re crazy Applebloom, I'm going home” Twist turned and left slowly, but shaking. Applebloom felt sick, and at once calm and full of adrenalin. Pent up with absolute anger but at the same time content to be so.
An easily forgotten while later, Applebloom arrived at her home in Sweet Apple Acres with an undeniable grin on her face and a satisfaction coursing atop of her. The door to her home opened with a reliable creak and recognisable ease that welcomed her into the comforts of a family home; then a softness pushed all else out from Applebloom as if to shed her of oneself to accustom another, a significantly happier one.
Applebloom walked straight through her home, which smelt as busy and intriguing as always, and straight again winding her way away through to the back of the house, through a large and solid door which stood strong and proud as the paternal figure of promised-work which bustled through his hinges and across his threshold. Outside was her family: Applejack busily bucking at the trees in the large apple orchard that stood adjacent to the large home; Big Mac pulling a large wagon packed with bushels of bucked apples; and Granny Smith sat watching it all unfold lazily in her old chair.
“-Howdy!” Applebloom called out across the field to her family, running past her Granny -Granny Smith – and rushing to join her brother and sister at work together at the bottom of the farm.
“-Well howdy there sis’” Applejack didn’t stop her working as she called back to her sister. Applebloom hugged her.
“Howdy big brother!” Applebloom hugged a returning and sweat-sodden Big Mac clumsily, making special care to avoid the brutish-looking, rusty harness that was attached heavily to her big brothers’ back. Her brother nodded and smiled warmly at her as he stopped to allow Applejack to load his cart once more.
Nobody stopped to speak again as Applebloom inserted herself into her siblings and her own well-practised work routine. Not being nowhere near as strong as her sister was at bucking the apples from the trees with her legs, Applebloom was instead forced to crash her whole body as hard as she could into the solid apple tree in order to rain down the bounty of apples she was working for. She was not able to get half as many apples from the trees as her sister Applejack, but she was just as capable as her sister in loading the apples into baskets and onto the cart that her brother was pulling. Besides, her efforts drew no complaints from her siblings, so she took this reliably to mean that her work was appreciated.
They all worked to the music that came from an old and very nice record player that was sat upon a particularly sturdy farm chair between where Applejack and Applebloom were working, and where Big Mac would stop his cart and wait for his sisters to load the apples once more for him to take back to the store room below the barn, in front of which Granny Smith sat smiling in her chair.
Normally, Applebloom had a unique dislike for music. She disliked the sad droning-on that came from the endless list of cloned ‘artists’ who offered sickly consolidation for an endless list of perversions, for moody posers to reassure themselves with. She dislike even more the dreadful music of her friends and schoolmates. Sparkled pretenders dancing obnoxiously to shrieking hyperbole that promised ‘APOCALYPSE NOW! NOTHING MATTERS!’ And ponies lapped it up and disregarded all else as below them. Music was anaesthesia.
However, this music was different. It wasn't lamenting the past, or disregarding the future; instead it only spoke of the present. Of the brilliance of now. It was lively, and yet dignified; and acted to spur her on in her work.
Applebloom and her siblings worked together with the sun. Worshipping the time given to them to make use of their bodies and to garner the sweetness of the fruits of their labour in the breaks between bucking and pulling, sat eating an apple together, or stopping to change the record from something that was distracting them from their work.
Finally, Big Mac returned without the cart and called a swift end to the work with a nod at his sisters and the deep utterance of: “Applejack”.
“-Me and your big brother, Big Mac, are going to sweep up some of this loose bark here, and clear away all these baskets. Why don’t you go make Granny Smith a drink and tell her about your day at school?” Applejack took off her hat and wiped her brow, as Applebloom trotted tiredly back towards her home and towards her Granny Smith.
Finally back by the front of the large home, Applebloom smiled at her dog, Winona, who was perched next to Granny Smith with her head nuzzled against the hanging hoof of her mistress. Applebloom ran inside, though the large door and into the kitchen to pour a drink of water with blackcurrant stirred in for her Granny, a bowl of water for Winona, and a glass of milk for herself.
Outside again, Applebloom placed the bowl of water before Winona who drank from it gratefully, and offered the blackcurrant drink to Granny Smith who instead looked at her with a miserable look on her face and didn’t take the drink.
“-What’s wrong Granny Smith? Don’t ya like blackcurrant no more?” Applebloom said.
“-No it’s not the drink young’un. I’m just still thinking about poor old Black Limbertwig and how we couldn’t save his old sofa”. Black Limbertwig was a distant relative and close friend of Granny Smiths’ who had passed away recently. He had been ancient, and when Applebloom and the rest of her relatives had helped clear out his cottage they found an old sofa, which Granny Smith informed everyone had been passed down through Limbertwig’s family for generations and held within it old unicorn magic imbued in its fibres that massaged the user. Limbertwig would always assure her, Granny Smith had said, that the massaging properties of that sofa was the reason that he had reached the ancient age that he had. Massaging properties did little however to prevent Limbertwig from dying when he had tripped and fell down a large hill whilst out walking, and had never gotten up.
Granny Smith had been adamant that the sofa could not be destroyed or given away. She promised to keep it herself, as Limbertwig had promised it to nopony himself, and to give it pride of place at Sweet Apple Acres. However, Equestrian Authority had been present at the clear-out and upon inspection had determined that the magical properties that lay imbued in the sofa were not recorded in the Canterlot magical library spell records and so could not be trusted to be wholly safe. They took the sofa away to be inspected by professional unicorn sages, and offered only their deepest consolidations as compensation for the loss.
Applebloom could remember how distraught Granny Smith had been that day, but she thought it was all in all very silly. “I can see it now Granny Smith. Lost in some laboratory in Canterlot, tears running down the upholstery, crying out ‘why have the Apple family deserted me?’” Applebloom laughed sadistically, but stopped immediately when she saw Granny Smith. She looked angry, but tears betrayed her stern face as they ran down pathetically from the eyes that were would not look at Applebloom.
“-Granny…” Applebloom started.
“-You have a very sharp mouth Applebloom, but you don’t know how to stop do you?” Granny Smith would not look at her.
“Granny Smith, I- I’m so sorry. I meant it as a joke. I didn’t think you were sensitive about it all still. It’s only a sofa, it doesn’t have feelings”. Applebloom was truly sorry, but she knew that what she was saying was not working out to be a very good apology. ‘Why can’t I just not be awful, for once?’ Applebloom lamented.
“Very funny Applebloom. Go away now, I don’t want to talk to ya.” Granny Smith was outright facing away from Applebloom now, and Winona had started growling at her.
She raced away, tears nearly in her eyes now too. Applebloom would not cry, she had not for absolutely ages, but she hated herself. She hated herself even more for how proud she felt to be able to warrant such a reaction from a resilient old mare like Granny Smith just from her words.
She threw the dusty class of blackcurrant against the wall with a scolding smash, which insanely made her feel even guiltier. She consoled herself that in fact she probably was inconsolable, and promised herself that tomorrow she would only act kindly to others, and resist the temptation to be mean. Eventually everyone would forgive her if she just tiptoed nonstop around their cursed emotions all the time and agreed with everything they said. Applebloom went to bed with her body bloodied and aching, feeling absolutely miserable.
*
Applebloom was stood in the entrapment for a Tiger in a very large zoo. Plastic trees and plastic grass surrounded her as she chased after the Tiger. And then the Tiger was chasing after her. This continued, first Applebloom chasing the Tiger and then the Tiger chasing Applebloom, for an indeterminate amount of time until Applebloom stopped and she could no longer see the Tiger. Suddenly, Applebloom felt overwhelmed with a mixture of anxiety, fear, and adrenaline. She could sense the Tiger sneaking up on her… until it was on top of her and Applebloom lost her breath for fear of the Tiger taking it away from her…
“-I’m not going to eat you Applebloom”. The Tiger moved his great and powerful jaw as it spoke and circled Applebloom. “Come with me now, and we’ll convince them all of how brilliant and kind we can be”.
But Applebloom ran. She couldn’t remember wanting to, but all of a sudden she was; and she knew that it had been useless. Her hooves weren’t running, her body was melting into the plastic of the zoo. Stuck, trapped in the trap inside the Tiger’s trap, Applebloom could only watch as the Tiger bound towards her.
“-You could’ve had it all. Now it is too late”. The Tiger’s mouth widened further and further as he spoke, until it was wrapped around Applebloom’s head. Applebloom screamed, a bolt of awful desperation jolting her through the air.
Applebloom burst awake to the sight of an early morning blinding sunshine, her drapes pulled open, and her sister Applejack waiting in her room. The thick fog of days trudge was settling into Applebloom’s mind, the noisy humming of downstairs in combat with the outside was drowning her ears and pushing all thought of her weird dream aside.
Getting out of bed proved to be a difficult affair, Applebloom managed to force one hoof out from over the side of her mattress, before losing all balance and crashing down to the wooden floor, much like she had spent yesterday crashing herself against wood apple trees; except no apples fall from the ground when you hit it… Applebloom was still half-asleep, but she managed to muster an attempt at covering up her discomfort at the fall. Applejack wasn’t fooled.
“-You okay there little sis?” Applejack was looking at Applebloom with a stern look of concern on her face. Applebloom grunted nonchalantly and pushed herself up from the floor to smile at her sister. “Let me help me with those tired limbs.”
Applejack proceeded to stretch each of Applebloom’s limbs out so as to stretch the tired muscles. The pain was excruciating, but the relief afterward was well worth it. Applebloom shuddered in exuberant relief as each of her limbs were roughly awoken from their aching sleep.
“-Now Granny Smith told us about your joking about that stupid Limbertwig sofa fracas” Applejack had the last of Applebloom’s legs over her shoulder and was pulling hard to stretch the tense limb. “I’m the last pony to ever get attached to any silly ancient furniture, and I get how somepony feeling protective over something like that might be frustrating for ya.” Applejack was pulling harder on the leg now, Applebloom had to hold her breath to withhold the hurting. “But your Granny Smith isn’t anypony, and you would do well to remember how much you love her before you go about making fun of her like that. Or at least you might think twice about what you might say considering you know how sensitive she is about that ancient old coot’s death”. Applejack was near enough jerking Applebloom’s leg from its socket now, and Applebloom let out a grunt of pain.
Applebloom made a thud as he returned her leg back to her body. She nodded at her sister, who was looking resonantly at her face now. “I understand big sis. I was thinking when I said all that, it was stupid of me. I’ll make special sure to treat Granny with careful sympathy from now on.”
“-Thank you Applebloom. You’re such a clever filly. I can’t tell you how much easier you make running this here farm for me and Big Mac. You were a real proletarian yesterday”. Applejack smiled at her sister.
“-I know. You work so hard supporting this family Applejack, don’t ever think that I don’t appreciate that. You should know that no matter what happens, whatever you may fall upon – you will always be my hero, and I will always look up to you”. Applebloom stared honestly at her sister, convincing her non-verbally of her authenticity. Applejack beamed.
Outside of Sweet Apple Acres again, Applebloom was bursting with a new energy, ready to tackle the struggle to impress upon the impression of the coming school day. She strode in a casual hurry through the long roads to the schoolhouse until she found herself walking at a slower pace behind three of her classmates: Snips, Snails, and Twist, walking and gossiping together as they walked to school.
“-I just couldn’t believe how big it was” Snips was speaking loudly, “Thanks again for inviting me Twist, make sure you come around mine and Snails’ treehouse later and I’ll show you how we’ve done up the place!” Applebloom did a double take, was Twist making other friends apart from herself?
“-If I ever win a trip to Canterlot I’ll be sure to invite you to come Twist, we had too much fun to not do that again!” Snails was shouting now, and Applebloom was certain he was talking to Twist.
“It was no problem guys, I couldn’t really think of anyone else to take with me to be honest. But I’m glad I went with you guys in the end, I really had a blast!” Twist was shouting now, and positively beaming as she spoke. Applebloom thought she had never seen Twist so authentically comfortable and happy outside of her sweetshop. “Do you want to go in and sit together?” they had all four reached the schoolhouse now, and Twist was motioning at her two new friends to go inside.
“-Howdy Twist!” Applebloom clumsily bound in front the trio, pushing roughly past Twist’s shoulder as went in front.
“Oh. Hi Applebloom” Twist smiled unconvincingly. “Snips, Snails; why don’t you guys save me a chair? I’m just going to talk to my friend Applebloom for a bit”.
“Some friend” Snips muttered under his breath as he skulked past Applebloom without looking past her.
Snails followed behind him laughing sadistically, “I didn’t know Twist was friends with ponies like Applebloom”.
Applebloom smiled awkwardly at Twist. “So you won a trip to Canterlot? Thanks for the invite chum” Applebloom wasn’t even sure in herself if she was serious.
“-Well I could invite whoever I wanted and I like Snips and Snails more than I like you” Twist definitely wasn’t joking.
Applebloom smiled confidently at her angry friend, and felt a wave of relief as she saw her smile returned back to her reluctantly as Twist fought to stay angry at her friend. “-Look Twist. I’m not going to say sorry for being who I am, because it doesn’t matter what might be bad about me when what’s bad about me adds up what is good about me. I don’t mislead people, Twist, I just won’t. I am whatever I am, all the rest is just propaganda.” Applebloom never broke eye-contact with Twist as she spoke, she knew she had her eating out of the palm of her hoof and was loving every second of it. “-and don’t think that no matter what I do or what you do that we’re not friends. I take friendship seriously you know that t’be true. Honesty, it’s what the Apple family is about.” Twist almost looked ashamed now, it was all Applebloom could to stifle a laugh.
Applebloom stopped speaking and let Twist speak instead. “I know all that Applebloom. I just felt like you weren’t being nice to me for some reason. I’m sorry for not telling you about Canterlot.” Twist moved in closer to Applebloom as Applebloom feigned indignation. “-I just felt like you weren’t being nice to me for some reason”.
Whether she fully understood what she was meant to be sold, or whether she didn’t understand any of it but was affected by what she might have imagined Applebloom could’ve said; Applebloom wasn’t sure. But, Applebloom knew that Twist was convinced and that they were friends again.
“-Are you coming into class? I’ll sit next to you if you still wanna” Twist said.
“-No I’m good thanks Twist. I don’t feel like school. Ponies who are stupider than you and I, they take what they want from life”, Applebloom started walking away from the schoolhouse.
“-You’re crazy Applebloom. I’m going in, see you tomorrow maybe?” Twist made to move into the schoolhouse.
“-Probably”. Applebloom sighed now that she was alone, wondering whether she had just spent the last three minutes convincing Twist of her integrity, or herself. Not that it particularly made any difference; all in all it just amounts to consequences and how we use them.
Before it’s too late and after it’s too early; the day is still not worth spending in Ponyville. The streets are walled in with homes and shops whose life sucked out all air from Applebloom’s lungs and heaved heavily on her neck and shook anxiety into her.
Applebloom only liked Ponyville in the rain. She could abide the dreary sameness of the dead imprint of ‘hometown’ that still seeped down from the clouds and bruised her eyes; when it was raining. Through the haze of raindrops the pressing-present was more appealing and comforting.
But today it wasn’t raining and Applebloom tried to ignore her surroundings as best she could. Cantering through Ponyville’s repeating-muddles and making special care to avoid the glares of the curious or the over-friendly pink, Applebloom soon lost sense of self and soon found it again back in the safe confines of her home again: in Sweet Apple Acres.
Applebloom didn’t need to go back into the house to find her family, which she thankful for. She could handle whatever her family might say to her about skipping school, but she knew that the cold disappointment of a house you’re not meant to be in would be more than she could handle.
It was just her sister Applejack in the front garden. She was hard at work pulling up the weeds from the stone wall that surrounded their home and piling them in the corner of the garden where Big Mac would burn them all later. Applebloom didn’t shout hello to her sister, but instead just stayed where she and watched her industry, thinking that with all that moving and pulling that Applejack probably had a rest from thinking too much too. The music was playing from the old record player as usual and Applebloom recognised the song as one of Applejack’s favourites. Passing across the garden she stopped along the way to pick up all the loose weeds that Applejack had left in her efforts, of which there were few.
“-It sure is sunny today, sis”. Applejack smiled as she pulled a particularly large weed from the stone. “No school today, huh?” Applejack looked reproachful.
“-Ahh it’s only music all day today anyway sis. All the stuff they usually play says nothing to me about my life anyway” Applebloom grinned despite herself at her joke. “Need some help?” Applebloom muscled ahead of her sister to take up a long weed growing a little way near the wall.
“-sure is sunny today” Applejack lifted her hat up slightly to look up to the sky and down at her little sister, grimacing as if unconvinced. Applebloom ignored her sister’s doubts and set about pulling up the weeds from the other side of the garden from where her sister was.
After the weeding, Applebloom and her sister set about repainting the side of the chicken coup. Applebloom carried a heavy bucket of reeking orange paint from the store room and back to her sister. Together they splashed large stains of paint onto the wall, only after scrubbing it clean of all the dirt and muck that had festered there since its last repainting. She didn’t mind the scrubbing or initial splashing of paint so much; but the key precision of filling in the gaps between paint with orange made her uneasy and agitated, and the smell of the paint gave her annoying thought inducing headache.
Without resting they moved onto the fixing of the ‘Sweet Apple Acres’ sign that hung at the original gate entry to the farm. Together, Applebloom and her sister took down the old and Applebloom had to lug it back to the front garden and toss it on top of the pile of weeds to be burnt. This caused some of the weeds to spill out so Applebloom irritatingly had to pick up each individual stray and pile it neatly back underneath the old sign again. The fitting of the new sign didn’t prove so much to be difficult as it did tedious. No matter which way Applebloom let it hang, Applejack felt it hung too askew. It wasn’t even that Applebloom didn’t agree with her sister, rather that she was unable to get it right herself anyway. Applebloom found it hard to care much about anything she wasn’t very good at, or that she couldn’t do.
Later on, after Applebloom had eaten their lunch and were sitting down for a minutes rest; and Applebloom’s body was aching and tired, and she was getting quite bored of what she considered the trivial side of her usually rewarding and familiar farm labour; that Miss Cheerilee stopped by for a visit and to tell Applebloom’s family that she hadn’t been to school.
Applebloom couldn’t hear what Miss Cheerilee saying to her sister as she sat on a blanket in the middle of the front garden outside her house. The music was still playing and Applejack had gone to Miss Cheerilee to talk instead of letting come into the garden. Of this Applebloom was grateful, she liked her home life and her school life different and didn’t like the idea of these two in conflict juxtaposed-together earth-to-hoof.
“-Applebloom, come over here and talk with me and your teacher would you please? And turn that music off on your way”. Applebloom walked slowly over to her sister’s beckoning, meeting the flaring glares of her sister and her teacher with a steely resignation-calm.
“-Now when you came back to me early from school today you told me that you weren’t missing anything important in school today, didn’t you?”. Applejack was looking angry. Applebloom nodded innocently.
“Don’t nod at me like that like you don’t know you lied to me Applebloom.” Applebloom’s jaw dropped as her sister spoke. “You said to me that you were only missing some nonsense about messing about with music, but Miss Cheerilee tells me that you’ve got school production next month and today was meant to be your class’ preparation for it. You knew about all that didn’t you? You said it had nothing to do with your life”.
“-It doesn’t have anything to do with my life, sis. It’s just a stupid school play. We do them every month and it’s just an excuse for everyone to stop pretending to learn without skipping school all together”. Applebloom raised her little voice in indignation, “you said all this yourself. Where do you think I get it all from? You said this all yourself!”
Applejack looked embarrassed now, and even angrier. “You’re missing school Applebloom that’s what matters. All this farm and me and your brother working and such is all for the family, and you’re just throwing it all away because you’re being lazy, and you’re not lazy!” Applebloom would’ve had to force back tears if she could remember to cry. “Honesty. That’s what the Apple family is all about, y’know this to be true don’t you?”
Applebloom didn't say anything. Distraught at her sister’s betrayal of principles and trust just for sake of appearances. Sickened by the smug and worried look on her teacher’s face as she nodded in agreement and cast her pretty smile of approval at Applejack’s words.
“-Well said Applejack. I knew that Applebloom’s misbehaviour couldn’t have been a result of any lack of care at home, even with the parent situation being what it is”, Cheerilee was actually grinning at Applejack; Applebloom could've hit her.
“-Applebloom, you can come back to the schoolhouse later today, if you please? We’re going to catch up on some of the work you have missed whilst you’ve been relaxing here at home. I hope you’re not shy, because we’re going to be working to make sure you sing like an angel for next month’s performance”, Cheerilee smiled wickedly at Applebloom.
“-She’ll be there Miss Cheerilee. Thanks again for giving up your time”. With that, Applejack walked Miss Cheerilee back to the top of the pathway outside the farm back to the main streets of Ponyville. Applebloom wasn’t going to wait to hear her sister’s reprimands any further, or worse her excuses. She rushed through the house dirty hooves muddying the clean kitchen floor, and ran up the stair and into her room and slamming the door behind her.
Applebloom looked miserably out her window at the sight of her brother, Big Mac, working the fields of the family farm. Granny Smith must still be in bed because Big Mac was alone. Applebloom wondered about her big brother. About how he had left school at such an early age. As much as Applebloom was loathe to admit it, she didn’t want to end up as simple and as worked as her brother, and she made a promise to herself to endeavour to stay in school for the time being, whilst she developed her wits to something that might resemble an intelligent pony.
A little while later, Applebloom was making ready to leave and go back to her schoolhouse to have her detention with Miss Cheerilee. She didn’t need her notepad or other school things because she knew she would only be singing, so she carried only the bow on her head as he shouted a hasty goodbye to her sister who was watering all the plants in the farm, and headed out through the gate under the wonky sign and towards Ponyville streets.
Whether it was out of a mixture of boredom and nothing better to do, which Applebloom thought was probably the reason she was bothering to turn up to this detention when she knew her sister would never force her go unless there was another non-family pony present; or whether she was actually afraid of not obeying her teacher’s direct order, which she hoped wasn’t the real reason she was going; Applebloom walked through the hot streets of Ponyville for the third time that day. The sun was still out so yet again Applebloom was forced to curl up into her own thoughts to avoid the ugly familiarity of the monotonous streets she was walking through once more, and once more she found herself at her destination before she really knew where she was.
Stepping through the causeway into the schoolhouse for the first time today, Applebloom was stopped by the familiar faces of her two best friends and fellow ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ – Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo didn’t greet Applebloom with the usual wary grimace that much everyone else in Ponyville usually greeted Applebloom with, rather they both smiled broadly and Applebloom was warmed stupendously by the embrace of a hug from Sweetie Belle as she leapt to greet her. “There you are!” Sweetie Belle shrilled, “we thought you might have gone off upset”.
“-Why did you think I had gone off upset?” Applebloom beamed at her friends despite her embarrassment at their considering her incapable of school simply because she might be upset.
“-Well we heard those dorks Snips and Snails talking about how Twist had invited them and not you to go with her to Canterlot”, Scootaloo answered straight-faced and genuine.
“-They’re not dorks” Applebloom smiled ashamed at her delight at Scootaloo’s rebuke of the ponies she had forgotten she wasn’t meant to like.
“-Yeah they are” Scootaloo corrected aggressively.
“-So you’re fine?” Sweetie Belle was still looking worriedly at Applebloom despite all the reassurances. Applebloom smiled faux-confident.
“-I’m fine. I just bunked off school because I didn’t feel like going to school…” Applebloom spoke cockily.
“-That’s great then. But you should’ve come anyway, we decided to try ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders Paper Aeroplane Engineers’, it was brilliant” Scootaloo was grinning ferociously, “That’s why we’re here. I was aiming for the bin next to Miss Cheerilee’s desk and I missed and hit her instead”. Sweetie Belle was laughing hysterically.
“-Well, see you tomorrow hopefully Applebloom, good luck with Miss Cheerilee” Sweetie Bell and Scootaloo walked off together laughing. Applebloom was sad to see them go. They, even more perhaps than her family truly understood her and knew who she was. She wished she had been more authentic with why she hadn’t gone to school that day, though to be fair she wasn’t quite she knew herself.
At her third mis-attempt that day, Applebloom crossed the threshold of the schoolhouse and into the classroom. Miss Cheerilee was waiting for her, obviously annoyed and wanting to leave already. Applebloom leapt at her chance to annoy her, “Howdy, Miss Cheerilee! How are ya?”
Miss Cheerilee looked up with her sore and pretty face. “Well done on actually turning up for the detention Applebloom, I’m pleasantly surprised”.
“-What do ya mean Miss Cheerilee, of course I came. You asked me too and I didn’t say I would.” Miss Cheerilee looked almost sad, “It’s like my sister said – honesty. I’m might be many things Miss Cheerilee and I can’t apologise for that, but I’m always honest”
Miss Cheerilee was smiling unconvincingly at Applebloom, and making her anxious. “You can go back if you like. I wasn’t really going to make you sing, you’re right it’s all a farce. I just wanted to see if you’d manage to turn up”.
Applebloom nearly stayed despite her teacher’s leave, but thought better of it. Miss Cheerilee didn’t feel particularly alright to Applebloom and she was anxious to leave as soon as she could.
Once outside, Applebloom considered her teacher’s situation. All of a sudden she felt a wave of frustration. She felt frustrated with a teacher that was clearly too focused upon her own failings instead of aiding the success of her students. She felt then a resentment for an educational system that gives ponies the impossible of job of being completely unselfish about their own progress in life to focus upon the progression and moulding of their students. She knew then that regardless of anything else in life, she must never be a teacher.
Author's Note
The second chapter of my 'Another Brick in the Pony Wall' series. Took me a long while to write so I'm thankful to finally have it up!
Thanks again for reading this,and for sticking with me between chapter break. Again, any criticism or praise or remark is gratefully received so don't be shy.
Next chapter is Scootaloo and it's much less dry British rambling and more action.
Thanks again you brilliant people you!
Titch Thomas.
