Well, whaddya know; That Featherbangs is visiting the farm again
Big Macintosh turned to greet the bothersome stallion staring at him across the apple-wood fence separating the road from his workspace.
“Can I help you?”
For the past week this stallion had been lurking near the orchard every afternoon: same time, same place, same enamoured gaze. Big Macintosh had hoped he’d simply leave if he waited long enough and at last he could be free of distractions, but alas, he continued with his irksome ways even after seven unvarying days.
“Hey there, apple-boy! Don’t mind me, I just can’t get enough of this rustic scenery! All these apples are like a flock of cardinals swooping through the green grasses of a leafy prairie!"
Big Macintosh groaned, “Ain’t ya tired of lookin’ at the same scene every day?”
“What’s there to get tired of? So long as there’s life, every day brings a new scene.”
Really? That’s why you’ve been comin’ here? I reckon you’d find barrel-fulls of life elsewhere if ya just looked for it.
Big Macintosh turned back to his work, bucking the nearest tree with all of his strength before beginning his journey to the barn. The great boughs of the apple tree quivered and surrendered their scrumptious crimson fruit. Featherbangs, still mesmerised by the “rustic scenery,” found himself assaulted by blood-red hailstones of fruit, each filled with the frustration of its harvester.
Not noticing his troublesome observer, Big Mac nearly finished his journey to the barn before he heard the hard slap of flesh on soil. Big Mac whipped his succulent neck back towards the source of the dreadful noise, allowing his soft, amber bangs to flutter to the opposite side of his face.
“Featherbangs!”
Big Macintosh rushed to the limp body, pummelled by sweet red apples. He could hear the distant calls of Granny Smith, asking him to help her with the pigs. He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the barn, but could not leave the pony he had so gravely wounded. With a deep breath, he heaved the feeble creature onto his back and began sprinting to the town. He had to find the doctor.
A stentorian pounding echoed through Ponyville; it was the fierce pounding of Big Macintosh’s hoof on the door of Dr.Horse’s office. The solemn stallion opened the door to the handsome steed, panting and sweating, barely able to explain his urgency. He pushed past the doctor and slid the precious parcel onto the bed to be examined.
“He… I… Help him!”
He gasped for air with each utterance as he stepped aside to let the doctor have a look at the patient. Dr. Horse pried open his delicate lids to shine his military-grade flashlight upon the pony’s bare eyes.
“It’s worse than I thought… He has a concussion; there’s no telling whether he’ll wake up or not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Big Macintosh hung his head as the nurse entered to take his victim away on a gurney. The doctor gave him a light pat on the back before leaving him alone in the examination room. He sat there a moment, tears dripping down his face as he watched his actions prove more perilous than he could ever have imagined. He regretted it all: disturbing Featherbangs, getting irritated by his visits, and most of all, bucking that scrumptious apple tree. He should have known that his powerful haunches would lead to a catastrophe at some point, but he was a fool. He was too careless. He deserved nothing more in this world.
Each thought brought another tear until eventually, the custodians forced him out of the room to dry the floor. Though barely able to live with himself, he managed to drag himself back home to the farm where an enraged family stood waiting at the gates.
“What in tarnation were you off doin’, Big Mac? You’ve left all of us here too sore to work for days! Who do you think has to do all yer work when you go runnin’ off like a cow in a snake’s den?”
“Erm… uh… I had to - uh - help the Cakes with some deliveries! They’ve been struggling to get all their work done ever since Pinkie Pie got the sweet pox.”
“Darn tootin’! That Pinkie was just over here lookin’ for you! Seemed fit as a fiddle to me! What were you really up to?”
Big Macintosh looked at the ground and sighed, “I went and got that Featherbangs stuck in a hospital. They say they don’t know when he’ll wake up…”
Applejack bursts with rage, “You WHAT?! What in tarnation did you do to that pony?”
Big Macintosh couldn’t bear to look his sister in the eyes. He tilted his head to the side, sick with regret, “I… I don’t know. But I’ve done it now, and I gotta own up to it.”
With new resolve, he turned himself away from his family and galloped back to town at full speed. He couldn’t just leave Featherbangs like that. Who would keep him company in these agonising moments? Who would tell his family if it were to come to the worst? There was no other option. He had to stay there with him.
After sprinting for kilometres, he finally arrived and nearly ripped the hospital door off its hinges.
“Where’s Featherbangs?” he cried to the receptionist, desperate to see the unconscious stallion.
She looked at him for a moment before turning to her stacks of paper to search for the name. She returned to him, a sheet of paper in her hoof.
“What’s your relationship to the patient?”
Big Macintosh paused, what was their relationship? Something like ‘stranger’ obviously wouldn’t pass, and even he felt that couldn’t truly describe how he felt about the pony. He glanced to the side, then back to the mare at the counter.
“Friend,” he said, looking her in the eyes.
She nodded and handed him the papers, “He’s in room 409. It’ll be on your left once you step out of the stairwell.”
His heart was pounding; what would it be like when he got there? Would he be awake? Would anypony be there? What would he say? He anxiously ascended to the fourth floor and turned left. There it was: room 409. He took a deep breath, his hooves quivering with anxiety as he pushed the pale, wooden door open.
Featherbangs lay silently on the bed, the incessant beeping of the EKG drowning out his faint breaths. A dozen cords and tubes trailed from his body, all connecting to the strange devices surrounding him, keeping him alive in his weakened state. His face was calm and motionless, yet something about it seemed so filled with agony, Big Macintosh was hardly able to look at him. It was worse than he imagined - worse than anypony could imagine.
“Featherbangs… What have I done? Just this morning you were so bright and full of life! Now… I can’t live with this… Please… Make it stop…”
He hung over the frail stallion, begging him over and over again to release him from his suffocating guilt. It was unbearable: the pain, the regret, the ceaseless beeping of medical equipment. It was as if the world was forcing him to acknowledge his actions and pay for what he had done.
He lay there weeping, collapsed over the now moist bed. Every second passed like hours of the day, long and excruciating. But then, he felt it: a slight twitch from just beneath his hooves. He looked up, tears still wetting his face, and saw what some would call a medical miracle. Featherbangs’ supple eyelids fluttered a bit before revealing the emeralds beneath them. Their eyes met and in an instant, all of his anguish melted away from the warmth of the pitiful steed.
“Y-you’re awake!”
Featherbangs chuckled a bit and weakly flipped his mane.
“Eeyup,” he said, playfully imitating his sole visitor.
Big Macintosh breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the tears from his eyes as he stood up from the hospital floor.
“You’ve got quite the haunches, like a boulder rolling down a mountain. I’m lucky I’m not that apple tree!” he laughs before descending into a fit of coughing and wheezing.
Big Macintosh rushed to his side, handing him the glass of water that had been sitting on the bedside table.
“Careful there, you’re still in rough shape after the apple-buckin’.”
He took a sip of water before lying down again, exhausted.
“You know, this hospital room is awfully lonely… Maybe it would be a bit warmer if yo-”
Just then, the nurse entered the room.
“Visiting hours are over. Please finish up and exit the building.”
Big Macintosh turned from the nurse to Featherbangs, looking distraught.
“What were you saying?”
Featherbangs shook his head, “It was nothing. You should go…”
Big Macintosh frowned, but nodded and walked out the door with a quiet, “Eeyup.”
He closed the door behind him and walked out into the silent hallways of the building, a single tear rolling down his face.
The sun hung low in the sky as Big Macintosh trotted back to the hospital along the dimly lit dirt roads. He had toiled all day, leaving just a couple hours to visit his lonesome victim in his desolate private ward. From his mouth dangled a small box, wimpled by purple plaid fabric. Even if it meant a bit less time with Featherbangs, Big Macintosh felt he had to bring something to cheer him up a bit and make up for how he had wronged him. He worked hard to keep the parcel stable as he marched onward toward the destined place.
A knock resounded through the hallway. “Come in,” called a soft, muffled voice, followed by a series of coughs. Big Macintosh nudged the door open and gazed upon the bedridden pony. Featherbangs smiled and greeted his visitor.
“I, um, brought this for you,” said Big Macintosh, gently setting the basket on the bedside cabinet.
“Which one’s the gift, the package or you?” he said, winking and flipping his hair.” I think I know which one I prefer.”
Big Macintosh rolled his eyes, beginning to regret his own kindness. He pulled a chair over to sit by the bed and began to lift the purple covering of the basket. As the cover was drawn back, the most delectable apple pie to ever grace the earth came into view. It looked soft yet still able to provide the necessary crunch which everypony craved. The filling was, of course, apples. But these were no ordinary apples; they were the esteemed zap apples which came but once a year, giving the pie a delectable rainbow glow accompanied by a heavenly odour which drew even the hospital staff from the other wards to the door of his ward. His mouth watered as he stared at the godly pastry.
He could not resist: he drove his hooves into the basket to pull out the succulent pie, but his arms failed him and he could not lift the pie from its finely woven container. The crust had been so densely packed with lucious zap apple filling that he could not combat its weight in his newly weakened state.
Pitying him, Big Macintosh slid the pie out of the basket and shifted to sit beside Featherbangs on the bed. He leaned over, lifting a slice to the pony’s mouth for him. He gazed back at the scarlet stallion, letting his jaw drop for the divine pastry. Featherbangs felt the juicy zap apple filling ooze out over his tongue, its warmth spreading through his mouth as he licked the jam from the supple sweet. He crunched down through the crispy pie crust, immersing himself in the heaven that was Big Macintosh’s zap apple pie.
The baker beside him moved closer, leaning toward his face. He lifted his other hoof and brushed aside his fluffy frosted bangs, gazing into his verdant eyes. Featherbangs froze, unable to speak. The two were silent, each enraptured by the other’s eyes, flawlessly illuminated by the orange light of the setting sun.
Big Macintosh’s already red face turned an even brighter red and he dropped the remaining pie darting out the door in a panic. What was he doing? He had only come to visit the pony he injured, yet here he was, getting all intimate with a stallion he barely knew! What a fool he was!
Big Macintosh turned to look back at the serene private ward before rushing out of the hospital, hiding his bright red face from the receptionist as she waved him goodbye.
It was already nearing nightfall; Big Macintosh would have to hurry in order to make it home on time, yet his pounding heart left him able to do naught but tremble outside the hospital entrance. It was times like this that Big Macintosh found himself wishing he were a unicorn or an alicorn, that way he could light his way home on dark, lonely nights such as this one.
It was already too late. All the stores had closed, and Princess Luna had already taken over for the night. There was no choice but to stay at the Ponyville inn.
He made his way to the little building at the centre of town, its windows glowing a soft yellow-orange. It reminded him of what he had left behind: that beautiful orange light, reflected by the gentle green eyes of Featherbangs. He missed him.
Pushing back his thoughts, Big Macintosh opened the door and requested to stay the night at the inn. Luckily he had brought just enough bits to afford a room, having planned to buy a lantern for his journey back. He settled down in the small, sparsely decorated room at the back of the inn and lay on the hay bed. It all felt so cold and lonely, as if somepony was supposed to be there with him but lay alone in some far off land instead. He sighed as he felt his heart ache with longing for a pony to lay with, a pony to talk to and laugh with, a pony to spend the rest of his days with, a pony like…
Big Macintosh sat up, blushing, and rapidly shook his head. He had to stop thinking. He had to go to sleep. He thrust his head into the pillow and buried himself in the blankets. Despite his efforts, however, his thoughts immediately drifted back to that barren private ward. It must be cold for him too; it must be lonely there… Maybe it would be okay to decorate it with some flowers sometime…
The clouds of slumber parted, and Big Macintosh slowly lifted his head from the tear-soaked pillows of hay. It was dark out. A troubled mind had brought the stallion to an early awakening, allowing him little rest from his racing thoughts. All that could comfort him now were plans of returning to that hospital, flowers in hoof.
The moonlight softly shone through the curtains upon a single spot: a single feather on the dusty wooden floor.
Featherbangs. How he longed to see those emerald eyes, mesmerising like no other. It was early, but he could rest no longer.
Out he stepped into the slumbering town, a lantern dangling from his firmly clenched jaw. The frigid airs would not stop him, nor would the darkness of the hour. No, he pushed on, seeking that place he crossed on many a journey from home to town to home again. It was exactly at the midpoint of this trail that a thousand flowers turned their heads toward the heavens and delighted in its golden rays. It was there… just a bit further…
At last, he reached those florid fields. Each flower stood tall, frosted by the ashen rays of the moon and glazed by the syrupy dew of a brisk night. They seemed to sparkle like the very stars they looked up to, lying in wait of the brightest one of all. Big Macintosh crouched down, beginning his work of plucking the delicate flowers and gathering them together in a magnificent bouquet, glittering as the sun finally broke past the horizon. It was time.
With the flowers all perfectly arranged, Big Macintosh lifted himself and set out for Ponyville once again. He could hardly bear to walk so slowly, however he could not risk mangling the fragile petals by running. He could feel his heart pounding as he grew nearer and nearer to the hospital, each step as laboured as a plough-bound ox, yet filled with a certain longing which drove him ever closer to that room.
The journey had gone by so fast, he was taken aback by the presence of the pale wooden door before him. He was already there, already at the room he had been yearning to return to. He lifted his hoof, memories of former visits rushing through his head as he gathered his courage. His heart beat faster and faster until he could bear it no more. He struck the door once, but froze. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t deserve to look his victim in the eyes. He should never have come to his room and acted like a friend when he had done naught but harm him.
He turned his back to the door, taking a step toward the stairwell to his right, but a soft creak interrupted him. He looked back; Featherbangs stood in the doorway, a tear in his eye. Big Macintosh dropped the bouquet as he met the pony’s forlorn gaze. He stood for a moment, unable to move. That pony…
He galloped back to the room, embracing the stallion with tears streaming down his face. Featherbangs closed his eyes and held him tight.
“Big Mac… Don’t ever leave me again. You are the air I need to breathe - the blood that keeps me alive. I can’t bear another moment without you.”
“Eeyup,” he said, choking back tears as he grasped the pony before him. He didn’t want to spend another night like the last. He could no longer take the cold, lonesome nights. There was somepony he needed now: Featherbangs.
He pulled away from the pony, gazing into his glistening clover-green eyes. He leaned closer, closing his eyes, and wrapped his lips around Featherbangs’.
“Stay with me..” He whispered and gently closed the door of the private ward.
