On a Thursday at dawn, in mid-October, the Canterlot train station was empty. It's lobby was full of pure silence, the sheer nothingness bouncing off the walls. The boarding platform radiated gloominess, a stray luggage cart parked dangerously close to the edge. Fog pressed against the large windows, darkening the entire building.
And then, the silence was broken by a faint rumbling, growing stronger by the second. The lobby shook slightly, the luggage cart teetered on its perch, and the windows rattled in their frames. The train station was no longer peaceful; loud screeching of brakes echoed, amplifying the noise. The double doors leading onto the boarding platform swung open, and a figure stepped inside.
Some might describe her as petite, but upon closer inspection, it was clear she was quite muscular. The girl swiftly walked towards the edge of the platform with the faintest of limps, stopping with her toes just over the yellow "do not cross" line. The shrieks of the brakes continued, causing the girl to wince, but she didn't cover her ears. Instead, she clutched the straps of a backpack, her knuckles turning white.
The train screeched to a halt in front of the girl, causing her white hair to whip around her face. She fumbled with the zipper on her backpack, rummaging until she found a small slip of paper. The door hissed open, revealing a balding man with a handlebar mustache. He stared down his nose at the figure in front of him, blinking slowly.
"Ticket please." The man held out a hand expectantly. With shaking fingers, the girl passed the small slip of paper to him. He squinted at it for a moment before pulling out a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket.
"Ah. Welcome aboard Miss..." He peered down at the ticket once more. "Fleetfoot. Enjoy your trip."
Fleetfoot thanked him, taking the ticket back from him and shoving it into the back pocket of her joggers. She stepped into the train compartment and glanced around. There were three other people, two of which were sound asleep. She hadn't been expecting anything different. It was 6 am, the sun hadn't even risen yet. She bit her lip and readjusted her grip on her backpack. There were plenty of empty seats to choose from, so she settled in one near the back of the compartment. It was a window seat, which provided a view of the foggy October morning.
The doors of the train hissed once again, shutting with a small clatter. The man who had checked Fleetfoot's ticket pulled out a thick paperback book, and began to read. A few rumbles shook the train car, and the locomotive began to chug out of the station. Fleetfoot rested her forehead against the window, watching the sleeping world begin to pick up speed. Well, she thought. There's no going back now.
The boy sitting on the uncomfortable train seat rubbed his eyes with a large hand. He was used to waking up early, but that didn't mean he liked it. Resting his head against the cool window, he glanced at the crumpled piece of paper clutched in his hand.
Dearest Macintosh,
As the oldest surviving member of your immediate family, it is now your decision of what will happen to your siblings. As they are not legal adults, Applejack and Applebloom cannot live on their own. You may move back in with them to care for them, put them in foster care, or send them to live with relatives. Please come to my office in Manhattan, and we will further discuss your available options. I will need to see you no later than October 30th. I was deeply saddened to hear about the death of your grandmother, I offer you my condolences.
Sincerely,
Tough Justice,
Family affairs lawyer,
Manhattan, New York City
Mac smoothed the note out with shaking fingers before crumpling it back into a ball. He sniffed and swiped at his eyes roughly. Ever since his grandmother's death four days ago, he had gotten sick of hearing people's condolences. They were just trying to be polite, and he knew it. He was barely an adult; having had his 19th birthday a mere month ago, and know he was supposed to be the one responsible for his two younger sisters. He had finally been feeling independent, moving into a small apartment with a roommate, but now what?
The cold glass soothed Mac's pounding head, but did nothing to quell his racing thoughts. The train to Manhattan was a long one; about six hours, so he decided he would get some rest. Securing his canvas messenger bag under his chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Unfortunately in doing this, his right foot edged into the aisle between the two sides of the compartment lined with seats. And unfortunately at that moment, a girl had been making her way towards the opposite end of the train car. She promptly tripped over Big Mac's big foot, the backpack flying out of her hands and sliding down the aisle. Mac watched in slow motion as she reached out for the bag, her fingers grasping nothing but air. She went down hard, her hands just managing to break her fall.
"My bag!" She sprang back to her feet, limping heavily, and swiped the bag of off the ground. Mac stood quickly as well, mentally berating himself for tripping her. She whipped back around, clutching her bag to her chest.
"I'm so sorry." Mac leaned slightly forward, concern on his face. "Are you alright, Miss...?" He trailed off, not knowing what her name was.
"Fleetfoot." Her voice was raspy, yet high pitched. "My name is Fleetfoot. And I'm fine." Mac awkwardly ran his fingers through his hair.
"I'm mighty sorry Miss Fleetfoot." He bit his lip. He had never been comfortable in social situations, and this one was no different. The girl's large green eyes seemed to bore right into his soul. She shrugged.
"No need to call me Miss. And trust me, I've been through worse." She turned as though to leave, but hesitated. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Macintosh."
"Well Macintosh." Fleetfoot shot him a funny little half-grin. "I won't bother you anymore." Mac shifted slightly in his seat, watching her limp back to her seat.
"It was no bother." His voice was so quiet, he knew she didn't hear it. But that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was getting to Manhattan.
Fleetfoot sank down in her seat, a smile still gracing her lips. From her spot in the back of the compartment, she had a perfect view of the back of Macintosh's head. She was surprised to hear such a gentle voice coming from that huge body. She placed her backpack on the seat next to her, and leaned forward, rubbing her right leg right under her kneecap. The tumble she had taken was painful, but then again so was everything else. Some mornings, just walking was too much. Resting her head on the cold window again, she spotted the slightest hint of a sunrise through the foggy air.
The train continued to rattle along the tracks, as the world outside rushed by. Canterlot was nowhere in sight anymore. Fleetfoot sighed. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe some distance from that place would be good for her. She doubted it. Pulling her phone out of her backpack, she saw that there was a text message. Her stomach dropped. She knew exactly who it was from before she even opened it.
Spitfire: Hey Fleet, why weren't you at breakfast? You didn't try to go for another jog by yourself, did you? Remember what happened last time....
She closed the message and tucked her phone back in her bag. Maybe she would reply later, once she sorted everything out. Maybe she wouldn't reply at all. Her thoughts were scattered as the silence was broken by a loud sniff. Fleetfoot looked ahead of her and saw that Macintosh's large shoulders were shaking slightly. Was he crying?
Curiosity got the better of her. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and stood, ignoring the pain in her leg. Taking slow, cautious steps towards the figure, she heard another sniff, followed by a nearly silent sob. Fleetfoot limped down the aisle and stopped right beside him. His face was buried in his hands. The girl reached out to touch him on the shoulder, but hesitated, inches away. She stood with bated breath to see if he would look up, but he didn't. Fleetfoot bit her lip, moving her hand the few inches onto Macintosh's shoulder.
"Hey." She spoke quietly. "Mind if I sit?" The blonde boy slowly uncovered his face and shook his head. Fleetfoot sat across from him in a seat facing his, their knees inches away. Macintosh rubbed his eyes roughly and took a deep breath. Fleetfoot watched in silence, absentmindedly fiddling with her backpack zipper.
"So, uh," Her voice cracked slightly, making her face flush with embarrassment. "Are you okay Macintosh?" The hulking boy's voice was so quiet, she had to lean forward to hear him properly.
"You can call me Big Mac. Or just plain Mac." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't mind."
"Well just plain Mac." Fleetfoot's eyes sparkled. "Are you?"
"I dunno. I reckon I will be soon. Or maybe not." He leaned back in his seat. Fleetfoot copied him, a scrutinizing look on her face.
"I'm intrigued. What's your story?"
"My story?" Mac raised an eyebrow, rubbing his face with a large palm. "I dunno."
"Come on!" The girl crossed her arms. "Everybody's got a story. What's yours?" Mac shrugged.
"Why should I tell you? I don't even know you, Miss Fleetfoot." He crossed his arms as well.
"No?" She squinted at him. "Well, how would you like to hear my story?" His shoulders bobbed up and down again.
"If you want to tell me."
"Might as well tell someone. I think I need to get it off my chest." Fleetfoot clasped her hands on her lap and leaned forward. "Well, my story begins when I was born."
"Really." Mac spoke in his slow voice.
"Mhm." She continued. "Ever since I was little, I've loved soccer. It was my passion, it was what I really wanted to do in life." Mac nodded. "Anyways, my parents were always really supportive of that. So when I graduated high school last year and got a full scholarship to the Wonderbolt Professional Soccer program at Canterlot University, we were all thrilled."
"Impressive." Big Mac knew how elite the soccer program was, from his sister's friend Rainbow Dash talking about it all the time.
"Thanks." She hugged her backpack to her chest. "Well, for a while, it seemed like my life was perfect. I moved from Manhattan down to Canterlot, made a bunch of really great friends, and was living my dream."
"So why aren't you at school now?" As soon as Mac said this, Fleetfoot's whole persona seemed to stiffen slightly.
"Well, my life was too perfect." She shook her head. "Too good to be true, you know? You probably don't want to hear the sob story of how poor Fleetfoot got into a car accident, so I'll just show you." Fleetfoot leaned down and rolled up the right pant leg of her joggers, revealing metal where there should be skin. "Thanks to this baby," She patted the artificial leg. "I got my scholarship taken away. What professional sports program wants a one legged girl?" The shocked look on her companion's face was one she knew well.
"I... I had no idea." Mac stared at the prosthetic leg. "I'm sorry." She shrugged.
"Nothing anyone can do about it. They gave me a couple months to get myself sorted out, so here I am." Her green eyes met Mac's. "And do you want to know the worst part of it? I have to pretend like I chose to leave, so I don't wreck Canterlot University's image. I didn't even tell my friends that I was going." Fleetfoot slumped down in her seat.
Mac didn't know what to say to the girl across from him, so he stayed silent. Fleetfoot shook her head.
"So now, I'm heading back to my parent's house. Don't know where I'll go from there." She fiddled with her backpack strap. "This is all I brought with me. The stuff in here, I mean."
"What's in there?" Mac found his voice.
"A couple of pictures, my soccer jersey, and a toothbrush." She listed off. "I left everything else behind. Why dwell on the past, I guess."
"Why bring a toothbrush?" He found Fleetfoot very interesting to listen to. Her eyes sparkled when she talked, and she always seemed to be moving her hands in some way.
"Why not?" She smirked slightly. "Dental hygiene is very important, Big Mac." The large man chuckled wryly.
"That it is."
"So, now you know me." Fleetfoot pushed her pant leg back over her prosthetic limb and raised an eyebrow at Mac. "What's your story?"
"Well," Mac hesitated. He never was very social, and now this girl wanted to hear about his life? Against all of his instincts, he continued talking. "I grew up on an apple farm with my granny and two sisters, Applejack and Applebloom. My parents died when Applebloom was born, so I was only seven years old." Fleetfoot reached over and grabbed onto his large hand, squeezing it tightly.
"I'm sorry, Mac." When she said it, he could feel the sincerity in her voice. What made her so different from everyone else?
"S'alright. They're in a better place now." Mac glanced at Fleetfoot, who was still holding his hand. "Anyways, after they went, Granny Smith raised us the best she could. But she was pretty old, so I had to step up and become the man of the house, so to speak. Sometimes it was hard, but we made it through. Family has always been important to us."
Fleetfoot nodded as she stood up, sitting down next to Mac instead of across from him. Her grip on his hand got tighter.
"So, somehow, against all odds I graduated high school." Mac chuckled in his soft, low voice. "After that, I was always too busy helping out on the farm to get any other education. Applejack and Applebloom always came first. But then the farm started to do really well, and I moved into an apartment with a friend of mine. We both helped out on the farm, but also got some independence." He shifted in his seat, turning his body slightly so he was facing his companion. "But then Granny Smith got sick."
"Too good to be true, huh." Fleetfoot patted her right leg. Mac nodded, still completely surprised with himself.
"Funny how life is sometimes, ain't it." He ran the hand that wasn't gripping Fleet's through his hair. "Well, I'm pretty sure you know how this ends. She died about a week ago." The girl let go of his hand and silently hugged him. He felt a rush of warmth as Fleetfoot wrapped her arms around him. His shoulders were so broad that she couldn't reach all the way around him, but she tried her best. From Mac's position, he could see the rising sun out of the frosty window. Fleetfoot's hair tickled his nose, but he didn't mind.
"So, why are you here now?" The petite girl let go and resumed her position in the seat next to him.
"Somebody's gotta decide what happens to Applejack and Applebloom." He sighed. "And that somebody is me. I've got to meet with our family affairs lawyer in Manhattan later today."
"What's your decision?" Her sparkly green eyes peered up at him.
"Well, I'm not gonna just hand them off to another family member. I'm gonna move back into the house, at least until Applejack turns eighteen." Mac sat up straighter. "I've gotta be there for them."
"I think your grandmother and your parents would be proud of you right now." Fleetfoot's hand was once again gripping onto his.
"I hope so." They were silent for a moment, the only sound in the train compartment being the rumbling of the tracks.
"Look at us." Fleetfoot chuckled softly. "A couple of sorry kids, aren't we? Been dealt some pretty unlucky cards." Mac snorted.
"You can say that again." Their eyes met again, and Fleetfoot beckoned for Mac to come closer. He bent his head down and she quickly kissed him on the cheek.
"Sorry." She covered her mouth. "I don't know why I did that." Mac's cheeks flushed and he chuckled nervously.
"Uh," His voice seemed higher than usual. "No, don't be sorry." Fleetfoot stood up and swung her backpack over her shoulder.
"Follow me." She scooped Mac's bag from under his seat and plopped it in his lap, and stepped into the aisle. The large boy followed her, confused on where they were going. Fleetfoot lead him to the back of the train compartment, glancing to see if the ticket collector was watching. He had fallen asleep. Mac inspected what Fleet had stopped in front of. It was an iron ladder leading up to a heavy looking trap door.
"Uh, I think this is just for maintenance." He softly called to the girl as she began climbing the ladder. "You know, the chimneys and stuff."
"Who says it can only be for maintenance?" Fleetfoot shot him a cheeky grin as she undid the latch holding the trap door down. It wasn't as heavy as it looked. As Mac watched, she swung the door open, used her arms to pull herself through, and disappeared. He bit his lip, looking back at the sleeping employee. Acting completely on impulse, he shimmied up the ladder, through the hole, and onto the train roof.
Fleetfoot was sitting with her legs under a low metal railing, using it like a seat belt. Her feet reached just to the edge of the train compartment roof. She glanced at Mac, her eyes sparkling. "Sit down, the swaying will knock you right off." Mac took a deep breath. He had never been so impulsive in his life. First, actually talking to a pretty girl, and now he was on the roof of a train with her? He cautiously made his way over to her and sat, sliding his legs under the metal bar.
"Look." Fleetfoot pointed at the horizon, where the sunrise was nearly complete. Reds, oranges, and pinks painted the sky, breaking through the fog and bathing her in their glow.
"Wow." Mac breathed. When he usually got up this early to work on the farm, he didn't exactly admire the sunrise very often. He was always too busy.
"I've always like sunrises more than sunsets." The girl rested her head on Mac's shoulder. "The start of a new day, rather than the end. You know what I mean?" Mac nodded, not wanting to jostle her head too much. They sat in silence, watching the new day dawn on them. Fleetfoot shivered in the chilly October air.
"Cold?"
"A little." She shrugged. "I'm fine." Mac gulped and slowly placed his arm over her shoulders. She scooted in closer, breathing in the smell of his flannel shirt. Everything inside of Mac's head was telling him to run as fast as he could and forget this ever happened, but his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. They didn't speak, just enjoying each others company.
"Fleetfoot?" Mac whispered. When she didn't reply, he glanced down at her face. She was asleep, her hair fluttering around her face in the wind. Mac tucked the hair behind her ear, careful not to wake her. He rested his head on top of hers and closed his eyes.
The sound of a train whistle startled Fleetfoot awake. She bolted upright, glancing around. Big Mac was still seated next to her, staring at a crumpled piece of paper.
"Hey. How long were you up for?" She leaned forwards, cracking her knuckles. He shoved the paper into his pocket.
"Not long." He leaned back, meeting Fleetfoot's gaze. "We're nearly there." She nodded, spotting the large city a short distance away.
"We should probably go back inside." She stood and grabbed her backpack, wincing as she put weight on her right leg. "I don't know if I'll ever be fully used to this." Mac followed after her, unsure of what to say. Fleetfoot made her way over to the still open trap door and swung her legs through it, quickly climbing down the ladder. Mac stepped on the first rung, peering once again at the approaching metropolis.
"Hey Fleetfoot." He bypassed the last two ladder steps, his long legs able to reach the ground. "What's gonna happen after we get off this train?" She stopped mid step, turning back to look at him.
"I don't know. What do you think is gonna happen?" She played with a loose strand of hair absentmindedly. Mac shrugged.
"My best guess is, once we leave we'll never see each other again." The train floor began to rumble under Mac's feet and the sound of screeching brakes filled the compartment.
"Maybe." Fleetfoot raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe not. Remember, life is funny sometimes. You just have to believe everything happens for a reason."
"Everything happens for a reason." Mac repeated. The train car shuddered to a halt and the ticket collector still seated by the door glanced around.
"Uh," His confused voice called out. "Everyone for..." He peered out of the window. "Everyone for Manhattan, please disembark." Mac and Fleetfoot walked side by side to the door, which hissed open. "Have a lovely day."
"Thanks." Fleetfoot stepped to the train platform and stopped, waiting for Mac to get off. "Well, I'll see you around. Or maybe I won't."
"Yeah." Mac fiddled with the strap of his canvas bag. "Maybe." Fleetfoot grabbed his cheeks in between her palms and pulled him closer to her. Standing up on her tiptoes, she kissed him.
"Bye Mac." She pulled away, grinning slightly as she turned and left. Mac watched her go, his brain not processing what had just happened. He touched his lips with his fingertips, feeling a smile. He must have stood there in a daze for a few moments, because when he looked up, Fleetfoot was limping through the double doors.
"Wait, Fleetfoot!" He broke into a run, clearing the distance of the train platform in a few short seconds. But he was too slow. When he pushed open the doors, there was nobody in sight. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. Even though she wasn't here, he still seemed to feel her presence. His lips were warm, and his cheeks were tingling where she touched him. His mind was still racing, but most importantly, his heart was no longer heavy.
On a Thursday afternoon in mid-October, the Manhattan train station was empty. The boarding platform was full of the faint squeaking of hinges, as the double doors swung gently back and forth. Faint sunlight shone through the foggy windows, and a luggage cart was parked against the wall. The ticket collector leaned forward on his rickety stool in the train car, and smiled as the doors hissed shut. He rubbed his handlebar mustache, contemplating the scene that had just unfolded. He lived his life as a wallflower. Never in the focus, but always there. He enjoyed living that way. He got to view so many individual lives, and seeing their stories unfold filled him with happiness.
"Well, she does have a point." He chuckled, recalling the expression on the large boy's face when the girl kissed him. "Everything does happen for a reason."
