The Changing of Sweet Apple Acres

Chapter 3: Fury of the Flame

The pungent smell of burning fur reached Scootaloo before the pain.

Much of the schoolhouse had already collapsed in the hellish inferno, but she had managed to squeeze underneath the sturdy frame of the class’s fallen chalkboard, shielding herself from flaming debris.

“Why would she lock the door?” she thought as the smoke-filled air stung her nostrils.

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The day had started like any other.

Scootaloo had been falling behind in class for some time now, so it hardly surprised her when Miss Cheerilee requested she attend extra tuition over the weekend. Scootaloo hadn’t minded too much.

She loved her teacher—in some ways, Cheerilee even reminded her of her own mother. Even when Cheerilee had begun to act… differently.

A vacant stare here and there, a smile that at times lasted just a moment too long.

But Scootaloo knew very well that Cheerilee and Big Mac had been going through a rough time recently, even if neither would admit it. Even grown-up ponies lose their way sometimes.

Today, though, her normally resolute yet optimistic mentor had been nearly unrecognizable.

Scootaloo had entered the schoolhouse to find Snips, Snails, and Featherweight already seated at their desks in silence. The quiet had surprised her—usually, the devious duo were almost impossible to stop from talking.

"Take your seat, Scootaloo," demanded a voice that, by all accounts, sounded like Miss Cheerilee.

And yet, Scootaloo could not shake the feeling that something was off. Cheerilee’s tone was harsh, commanding, even dominating; a stark contrast to her usual cheerful demeanor.

Scootaloo did as she was told and scampered sheepishly to her desk. She unpacked her notebook from her saddlebag, not daring to lift her gaze to meet that of her tutor. Every feathery whisper of her notebook, every rustle of her writing utensils in her unorganized saddlebag, every single breath she took seemed to echo throughout the classroom.

The silence surrounding her felt deafening, and Scootaloo could not help but feel that every pair of eyes in the suddenly claustrophobic schoolhouse were aimed directly at her. The classroom seemed to spin and whirl around her as she stared at the blank notebook spread before her.

An eternity passed as seconds melted into hours. Or were they days? No, months.

Years?

A loud slam shook Scootaloo back to her senses. She gasped, lurching forward onto her desk, sending her notebook to the floor. Gulping for air, she hazily heard a colt’s voice squeak through the quietness.

"Snails, open your eyes! Princesses... How long have we been out?" a voice, recognizable as Snips', managed between strained gasps.

Scootaloo could just about make out Featherweight’s lithe form laid out on the classroom floor, unmoving.

The next moments were a hailstorm of chaos.

Serpent-like tendrils of coal-black smoke began to seep through every crack and crevice, quickly filling the classroom. All at once, the schoolhouse’s windows shattered under the immense heat of the growing inferno. Shards of knife-like glass scattered throughout the classroom, embedding themselves into stools, desks, and flesh.

Somewhere in the chaos, Scootaloo had managed to recover her senses enough to scramble behind her desk. Through the growing smog, she could just make out the stocky outline of a unicorn colt reaching for the front door.

“Snips… don’t…” Scootaloo managed through increasingly smoke-filled breaths, but the thunderous roar of the fire drowned her words.

A scream of unimaginable pain echoed through the schoolhouse as Snips recoiled from the door, falling against and tipping over Cheerilee’s rustic desk. A flurry of papers erupted unceremoniously from the desk, fluttering throughout the schoolhouse.

Scootaloo could only watch as the paper caught flame, followed by the schoolhouse's once jade green curtains. Within the blink of an eye, the classroom had erupted into a sea of fire. Featherweight, who had not moved since the start of the fire, was the first to be enveloped by the inferno as his mane, and soon the rest of his coat, began to burn.

They were being cooked alive.

She dared not look any longer.

“Move. I have to move,” thought Scootaloo, as something deep within her stirred. It was the most basic of instincts: not just the will, but the need to live. She scrambled to her feet, gulped what would likely be her last mouthful of somewhat tolerable air, and scanned the room.

To her left, Snails remained sprawled over his desk. For a moment, Scootaloo thought about trying to move him. But she was too small, and the smoke was growing thicker by the moment.

Movement in the smoke caught her attention. Scootaloo could just about discern Snips' writhing form using Cheerilee’s desk as a backrest amidst moans of agony.

Scootaloo scrambled toward him as the floorboards creaked and complained with every hoofstep. The schoolhouse was slowly but surely giving in to the flames, and before long they would be entombed under a smoldering pile of debris.

Outside, the inferno had seemingly tripled in its ferocity with flames reaching well beyond the upper limits of the schoolhouse’s window frames.

‘Something isn’t right. Where’s Rainbow Dash and the rest of The Elements? Surely they would have seen the fire by now,’ Scootaloo thought as she neared the edge of the desk.

She dropped next to her classmate and swiped at the soot gathering on the corners of her stinging eyes.

“Snips, why aren’t The Elements here? Do you think something—”

The words fell from her tongue like blood from a wound as her eyes settled on what remained of Snips.

Flames had seared him to the bone along the left half of his body, leaving in their wake a mangled mess of charred flesh and blisters filled to the brim, threatening to burst. Between strained gasps for air, a thin whistling sound escaped through the colt’s exposed ribcage as Snips’ lungs struggled in the ever-thickening smog.

Scootaloo gagged once, twice, before emptying her stomach next to the desk.

“Help… Scootaloo… Please,” Snips somehow managed with the blackened remnants of his teeth and tongue.

She knew he was well beyond saving.

“I… Snips… I’m so sorry,” Scootaloo sputtered as equal parts bile and misery tore at the back of her throat.

Snips reached for her, but Scootaloo had already scrambled away from the desk. She had to leave—somehow, she had to get out.

And then she spotted it: the classroom’s hefty chalkboard had collapsed and by some miracle had caused a noticeable dent in the schoolhouse’s plank flooring.

The building shook and groaned in agony. As if in response, the roof began to cave in, scattering flaming debris throughout the classroom. Scootaloo scrambled to her feet as the smoke filled her lungs. A wayward piece of shattered roof tiling slipped through the crumbling support beams above and embedded itself in her flank.

Pain brought to life action as Scootaloo flung herself toward the chalkboard.

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Scootaloo glanced at her flank with a strained grimace; much of her coat had been seared and the wicked-sharp tile had firmly lodged itself between muscle and sinew. Above her, the chalkboard —despite its sturdy oak frame and paneling— buckled and heaved under the increasing weight of the debris from the failing schoolhouse’s roof.

Now or never.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Scootaloo threw her full force into the damaged flooring. To her surprise, the plank immediately gave way in an avalanche of soot, splinters, and pieces of chalk.

Spilling out from underneath the schoolhouse like a newborn foal, Scootaloo fell atop the plank, shielding herself from a bosom of flames before tumbling unceremoniously down the building’s hill into a thicket of weeds.

Her eyes settled on the erratic dancing of flames and smoke in the evening sky as she drifted into the blanket-like embrace of unconsciousness.

Darkness settled over her vision, and somewhere amidst the cacophony of screams and smoldering timber emerged a familiar voice.

"Change is good.”