The tree branch groaned as the man’s fall came to an abrupt end.
Jason Wright hung semi-limply, and in considerable pain, from the branch, suspended by a strong, neatly-woven yellow lasso. The rope bit into his skin, digging into his armpits and constricting his lungs, and showed no sign of letting go of him any time soon.
Instinct screamed at him to climb, driving him to grab the branch above him and pull. The sickly man fought against his fatigue and hunger-weakened muscles, dragging himself up to lay along the branch’s length. He pulled the lasso off, wheezing, and let it drop to the ground below.
The noose stayed where it was.
Hoofsteps sounded below him; Jason forced himself to focus on the ground. A pony stood in view, looking up at him. His “savior”.
Applejack.
Owner of Sweet Apple Acres and the tree he now rested in. Bearer of the Element of Honesty.
One of Jason’s many, many tormentors.
He curled up instinctively, as much as the branch would allow, waiting for the pain. Years of experience had conditioned him well. Applejack was wily; she would get him down, sans noose, and then she would punish him, for “trespassing”. Funny how it was only trespassing when he did it.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get away and try again with another tree, later. Maybe, if he was really lucky, she’d finally hit something vital and put him out of his misery.
He waited for the tree to shudder, for the sensation of freefall and the pain of impact. She’d get her shot in then, and he’d run away, tail between his legs.
Like always.
Only, nothing happened.
A minute passed uneventfully before he could gather up the courage to open an eye. What he saw only confused him.
She just stood there, looking at him with an odd expression on her face. He looked back, unblinking.
They stared at each other for a time, but it was Jason who looked away first. Maybe it would make her go easier on him.
Maybe he’d fly, too.
“. . . Why?”
The question stopped Jason’s thoughts cold. He looked at her again, staring blankly as hind worked to process what he’d just heard.
“What?” His voice, a halting, hacking wheeze that spoke of far too many days with far too little water and far too little use, sounded alien to his own ears. His blank stare became tinged with a mixture of incredulity and bewilderment; a civilized question was the very last he had been prepared for.
“What the hay is wrong with ya? Why are ya tryin’ ta hurt yerself like that?” Her bewildered face matched his own. No concern, no fear for his wellbeing, no compassion could be found in her eyes. Just confusion.
Jason’s incredulity grew.
After everything she and the fuzzy little nazis she called friends did to him, here she was acting like she couldn’t understand why he wanted to die. After breaking his ribs for the heinous crime of looking for work, she really had no idea?
The astounding fact that Jason was having something that kind of remotely resembled a civilized conversation with a pony for the first time since the day he’d arrived was buried by the sheer gall of the pony before him.
And then a thought occurred to him.
What if she didn’t? What if she really, truly didn’t understand?
Was it really so casual? So inconsequential to her? To them?
Confusion faded, leaving anger in its place. She didn’t care. Every beating he’d gotten. Every electrocution. Every day he’d starved. In her eyes, that was his lot in life, wasn’t it? That was the way things were.
The anger boiled.
What right did he have to complain? After all, the Equine Master Race had deigned to share their land with him. Friendship? Harmony? Lesser beings like him didn’t deserve those.
Equestria. The land where friendship was magic. . . if you were a pony. Everyone else could die in a hole.
Pure, seething fury suffused every fiber of Jason’s being, for a moment. And then it faded.
What point was there in getting angry? What would it change?
Jason sat up, bringing a foot up onto the branch with him, letting the other hang in the air. He looked at the pony below him, leveling a stare at her that caused her to take a step back.
“. . . You want to know why?” he hacked out. “For three years, you monsters have treated me like shit. I’ve been beaten, bludgeoned, electrocuted, shunned, chased off, and starved, for no reason.” He paused to cough.
“I bathe in a lake, on the few days Rainbow Dash doesn’t zap me. I sleep in a cave. On a good day, I’m allowed to eat out of trash cans.” His voice gained strength.
“If I’m lucky, I get treated like an animal. You call me beast and monster and creature and thing. When I’m not chased out of town, you hide your foals, bar your doors, and shutter your windows.
“I tolerated this for three years because I thought if I gave you a chance that, maybe, you’d turn around and give me one, one day. I bowed my head and scraped and accepted it because I loved you!” He was shouting now, practically screaming, his voice hoarse.
“I loved you; I loved you all with all my heart, and you ripped it out and stomped on it!” Years of repressed emotion surged forth; the dam broke, tears streamed from his eyes, dripping to the ground below.
“But I’m through with your shit. Done.
“You win.”
Filled with a final surge of resolve, the human shakily stood up. He looked the mare in the eyes, daring her to stop him again.
He tipped forward. The sensation of weightlessness gripped him, for a fraction of a second, before ending all too quickly.
He heard a snap.
Applejack stood, numb, watching the limp body swing, under the apple tree’s branch.
The creature’s last words echoed through her head. You win. Win what? What did it mean?
Like a pony possessed, she limped forward, towards the tree. Memories bubbled up with every step. Angry words. The feel of flesh giving way beneath her hooves. A body curled on the ground, vainly shielding itself with scrawny limbs.
Her stomach churned. Her limbs were leaden. She couldn’t stop shaking.
It was as though her eyes had been opened, and she was appalled by what she now saw.
“I loved you.”
She worked automatically, thoughtlessly, turning and giving the trunk a good buck. Her magic acted on the branch, splintering its connection to the trunk and dropping the creature to the ground. She should have gone to get something sharp, to cut the rope; less damage to the tree that way.
That would have meant leaving.
Leaving it felt wrong.
She checked it, to make sure. No breath. No pulse.
I should have done something.
No life.
