The Last Queen of the Blaze

10 Years Later

The sun was once again arising, and the cool autumn air blew across the fields and mountains, signaling the season’s recent arrival. The fresh leaves had begun to flutter across the orchards of Sweet Apple Acres, landing gently on the damp fields of wheat and vegetables that lay in wait, ready to be picked. The harvest season had come early that year. The rains produced forth good soil, and the afternoons were bright and warm. The leaves on the plants and vegetables were especially bright and green, in contrast with the red and orange leaves forming on the outside of the trees.

The light peered through the window of the barn surrounded by the orchards and fields, shining down on the wooden floors of a familiar bedroom. The light spread through the room, beaming over the closed eyes of a young mare, lying in bed and snuggled cozyily under her covers. Her eyelids twitched when the sunlight brushed over it, then opened lazily at the sound of a rooster’s crow. She blinked twice to let her eyes adjust, then quietly slid out of bed. She grabbed the small pink ribbon that lay on her bedside and trotted up to the bathroom mirror. Placing the ribbon in her mouth, she tied up her hair with her hooves, untangling the slightly messy mound into a puffed ponytail. The ribbon on the back of her head formed a bow, looking similar to a pair of butterfly wings.

Grabbing the toothbrush, she heard the sound of another pony walking out of his room, yawning.

“Morning, brother,” said Applebloom, as she squeezed the toothpaste onto the toothbrush and began rubbing the bristles across her teeth.

“Morning…” he responded, glancing at his sister as he walked up beside her. He grabbed a bright red toothbrush from the counter next to the sink, and Applebloom handed him the toothpaste without looking up.

“Are you heading off to the market today?” Big Macintosh asked, looking at his little sister as he spit out the toothpaste. By now, Applebloom was still smaller than him, but she was now up to his lower chin, much like how Applejack was.

Unlike her sister, Applebloom was slimmer, and had nowhere near the same amount of muscle fiber. She had the figure of an ordinary, healthy mare, much like her sister had, which was fine, but something was off.

She didn’t look healthy. Macintosh thought no more of this, as he didn’t wish to give away the fact that he was comparing his two sisters.

Applebloom took no notice of her brother’s face as she spat out her toothpaste and turned on the faucet to rinse her mouth.

“Yeah, ah’ am,” she said simply. “Ah’ got the barrels loaded up on the wagon yesterday, and I checked that we got all the stuff we need.”

Her voice, at this point, often would flip between showing her accent and not showing it, but more importantly, she sounded bored, tired even. Macintosh eyed his sister carefully, then laid his hoof on her shoulder.

“Are ya feeling okay?” he asked gently.

Applebloom sighed, now sounding annoyed. “You ask that every morning now…” she retorted. “I’m fine, stop asking.”

The two of them walked side-by-side downstairs to the kitchen in silence, and Applebloom kept her gaze dead ahead. She turned at the bottom of the stairs towards the kitchen countertop, where the coffee machine sat. The device hummed to life as Applebloom pressed the buttons with her hoof, and the black steaming drink dribbled down into her cup. Meanwhile, Macintosh had pulled out a half-eaten loaf of banana bread that produced a fine, almost intoxicating aroma that filled the room. He removed the wrapping on top and began cutting it into squares large enough for them to get through the morning. Carefully, he wrapped up the squares in small checkered cloths and handed one to his sister, who was now calmly sipping her drink.

She muttered a half-hearted “Thank you” as she lowered her cup and put the bread and cloth in her brown knapsack. Macintosh had heated up a pan with a cup of pancake batter in his other hand, and had turned around to take a look at his sister before she left for the morning.

“Hey, do ya want-” She was already gone. The door shut just as the rest of pancake batter had entered the pan and begun to sizzle. He sighed, looking out the door in silence

“I’ll just leave some out here for you when you get back,” he said to the empty space where Applebloom had been sitting.

The barnyard was just as she left it the previous night: the hay had been set to the back corner next to the barrels holding the cider, the large wagon sitting in the center of the building holding wooden crates of green and red apples set next to each other, the cows slept in the aisles along the edge of the barn, and the tools were set and hung on the corkboard on the wall.

Set in the ground next to the wagon was a small pitchfork, with its head driven into the dirt. Applebloom walked over to the tool, eyeing the handle and recalling the night prior. Her coffee hadn’t lasted her as long as she wanted, and she returned home, rubbing her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Driving the wagon back into the barn, she slid the harness off her back and was ready to head out the door as she walked past Applejack shoveling away at the last of the straw.

She raised her head and turned around where AJ was, except she wasn’t there. The pitchfork was, having slid off the back of the wagon and fallen to the ground. The flash of dull orange and the sound of the hay rustling was the handle falling down and hitting the pile of hay Applebloom had moved to make way for the wagon. Applebloom gently raised it in her hand and looked down at the object. She raised her head where she saw her sister, but saw nothing but the barrels of leftover apples from the day of sales. The barrel had tipped over gently, and was slanted where the pitchfork had been on the wagon. A lone apple dropped from the barrel, rolling towards Applebloom’s feet. The mare picked it up, then looked at the dark red skin covered in dirt. She brushed the fruit off with her hoof, and blew on it for good measure.

“Ya can’t be lazy about these things, Applebloom. Ya gotta wash it,” came her sister’s voice.

Applebloom froze in place. She grit her teeth, leaning her forehead against the wagon’s wheel, still holding the apple. She felt dizzy. The barn felt like it was turning on its side. Slowly, the migraine turned into agony, as her sister’s voice permeated the air once more.

“Sugarcube, ya hear me? Are you alright?” The voice became more and more clear, as did the pain in her head. She turned around, throwing the apple back onto the wagon and staring right through the barn doors.

Applejack was there, standing right before her. Except she wasn’t. She was laying her hoof on Applebloom’s trembling face, except she wasn’t. She was smiling, except she wasn’t.

“Everything’s gonna turn up fine, sugarcube,” said a voice that sounded like Applejack’s. Except it wasn’t.

Applebloom screamed in anger and agony, picking up the pitchfork with her eyes shut and streaming tears.

“GO AWAY!” she cried out, slamming the tip of the pitchfork into the ground where her sister was standing. The spinning stopped, and the air rang still. Applebloom was heaving breaths, face hot and cheeks wet, slowly letting go of the handle of the pitchfork.

“She’s not here, she’s not here….” Applebloom mumbled to herself. She trotted slowly away from the wagon and out the barn door.

“Ah wish you were here…” she mumbled to herself in a half-whispering sort of way.

______________________________________________________________________________

Applebloom recalled her reason for coming to the barn that morning. She grabbed the harness she had set aside the previous night, and secured it onto her own body. She checked the barrels behind her, saw that they were refilled, and was just about to leave when her brother approached her.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked inquisitively. Applebloom scoffed and walked past her sibling, tugging the wagon behind her. Her eye gave a stare that seemed to look right through Macintosh, sending a cold sweat behind his back.

“Ah told ya’, I’ll be fine, stop asking!” said Applebloom angrily. Her final word was loud enough to surprise even herself, and make Macintosh take a step back. She shut her eyes tight and lowered and shook her head. Her grit teeth began to loosen, but the tension ringing in her head remained.

“... I’m sorry… I’m going now…” she mumbled, continuing her path towards the town. A strong hoof laid on her shoulder, stopping her. She turned around to see her brother, his face as calm as ever.

“You should take a break today,” he said simply. The young mare stared at her older sibling with her eyes wide in shock. Her mouth was slightly agape, and shook her head as she stuttered.

“N-no, no no no, I need to do this,” she stammered, her head looking back and forth between her brother and her wagon. “I can’t just take a day off today. The market stall won’t run itself!”

Her brother pulled her back as she tried to leave once again, with the same expression on his face. “Let me handle the stall today, Bloom. You go and meet up with yer’ pals,” said Macintosh. “You haven’t seen them in ages.”

Applebloom paused to think about Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, lowering her head in the process. How long had it been since she had really spoken to them? They would occasionally see each other at the marketplace, but their gazes were followed by awkward silence. Scootaloo would invite her over to join them occasionally, but the excuses were always the same.

“I have to help my brother sell these barrels.”

“I can’t, I promised my brother and myself I would get these done today.”

“I don’t feel up for it….”

The last one was possibly the most honest she’s ever been. Just another thing her sister was better at than her. Applebloom’s mind snapped back to the present and brought her eyes back to her brother.

“Ah’ said I’ll be fine,” she said, staring forward through Macintosh. Her brother caught her gaze, and lifted her head up with her hoof.

“I’ll handle it today, alright?” Big Macintosh said calmly. Applebloom shook her head vigorously.

“I can’t do that to you. It wouldn’t be fair,” she said, this time watching her tone. She placed her hoof on her brothers, finally looking up at him and making a smile that Macintosh saw did not meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll take it easy later, after I come home tonight, alright?” She lowered his hoof, turned with the cart, and left for the town.

Macintosh walked back into the house, grabbing his own things sitting on the table next to the untouched pancakes. As he passed through the doors and headed off with his bag, he glimpsed at the picture frame hanging on the wall next to the door frame. Within the red borders of the frame was a photo, depicting Applebloom, Granny Smith, Applejack, and himself, seated on a spread out red-and-white checkered picnic blanket. They sat under the shade of the largest apple tree in the orchard, with the barn in the far background. Applebloom, rosy as ever, had lept upwards with her limbs stretched in euphoric joy, while Applejack stood next to her, smiling at the scene. Macintosh and Granny Smith sat off to the side, with the latter holding her knitting needles and a half-finished sweater in her hoofs.

Macintosh stared at the Applebloom within the picture frame, fondly recalling the familiar smile that seemed to have vanished out of his life. He looked at the Applejack in the picture, and sighed.

“...What do I do, sis?” was all he could say.