Until the Wheels Come Off
Applejack looked up and scratched her head.
The stall in front of her was a sturdy one. The wood had been painted over several times, but its scars and scratches proved that it weathered many a storm. Nails and screws had been riveted into place, fastening planks against each other.
Throughout her time in Ponyville, the Flower Stall had been a landmark amongst the sea of booths and tables which littered the farmer’s market. It was something she had seen every day, from her time as a tiny little filly to today.
Seeing it now felt like heresy.
The right wheel of the cart lay on its side, the main axle snapped in half. The rest of the cart was slumped onto its right, the hoof-painted sign above it dangling from one end. Broken pots and loose piles of dirt littered the ground, mixed with flower stems and petals.
“Nasty accident. Glad y’all are alright,” she said, pushing up on the brim of her hat and letting it slide back on her head.
Roseluck only shrugged.
Applejack had been manning her own booth, having her weekly bicker with Strawberry Sunrise, when it happened. The flower sisters were bringing in their cart as usual when the wheel simply snapped off, resulting in the entire thing falling over.
A quick investigation showed that everyone was alright. Daisy, who had been pulling the cart, had a few nasty bruises on her, and Lily had fainted upon seeing the state of their cart. Strawberry took both to the hospital (although Daisy insisted she was fine) while Applejack remained with Roseluck to assess the damage.
“Looks like it just got too old,” she said, prodding the wheel with a hoof. “Gotta say I’m impressed this thing’s still kickin’. Granny showed this to us when your folks first made it. Don’t look a lick different today than it did back then, I’ll say.”
Roseluck didn’t reply.
“Mighty shame.” Applejack walked around to the other side, glancing up at the top of the cart where two intertwined flowers were painted. “Sorry this happened, gotta think y’all are quite worked up about it. This thing’s been in your family for generations now, makes quite the heirloom if I do say so myself.”
She took off her hat to wipe her hoof over her forehead.
“Hey, chin up. Big Mac and I can whip you up a new one, lickity split. You’ll have your stall up and running in no time.”
Silence.
Applejack rubbed her chin. She didn’t know Roseluck all too well, but the last time they had spoken she was at least responsible and cordial. Now, her eyes seemed glassy and unfocused, never once meeting Applejack’s gaze. “Your folks can’t be too happy to lose the cart,” she tried, “But I know that–”
“I don’t want to.”
Applejack froze, shooting a glance at Roseluck. “Huh?”
Roseluck grimaced and spoke again, her voice raspy. “I don’t want to.”
“Don’t want… a new cart?
“I don’t want to,” she repeated again. “I don’t want that stupid cart. I don’t want a new one.”
Applejack tilted her head in confusion. “Well… Why not?”
“I don’t want to sell flowers.” Roseluck stared off into the distance, towards where the flower shop stood. “I don’t want to be here.”
Applejack followed her gaze, brow furrowed. She wasn’t close with the sisters and their family, but visits to the store told her that their father still lived with them. They didn’t speak often about him, though. Not even Pinkie seemed to extend him invitations to social events.
“Why not? What’s so bad about Ponyville?”
“I don’t want to be here,” Roseluck said again monotonously.
Applejack reached for her hat again, uncomfortably, and tried to remember everything she could about Roseluck and her sisters. Rose was the oldest, Lily was the middle child, and Daisy was the youngest. As foals they used to play outside of the farm, until one day Granny told them that their parents wanted them to “learn the craft of flower growing.”
As they grew older they would come to social events, but they would never stay long. And they always seemed so jumpy, so on edge…
Gears began to churn in Applejack’s mind. “Uh, Rose… Would your folks be upset that the cart broke down?”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“...Would they be upset if you, say, didn’t sell that many flowers?”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“And did they feel that way about… growin’ them, too?”
Roseluck took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Do they… Treat you fine?”
Another rasp. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Rose, is somethin’ goin’ on?”
Roseluck began to tremble. “I don’t want to be here.”
Applejack felt sick. “Rose. Daisy’s bruises… They weren’t from the cart crashing, were they?”
“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t–” An anguished sob escaped Roseluck’s throat as her knees buckled. Applejack caught her before she hit the ground and pulled the mare into a tight hug. “I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be here!”
“It’s alright, sugarcube,” Applejack whispered into her ear. “It’s alright.”
They held their positions, even as a small crowd gathered around them in confusion.
They held their positions even when Strawberry returned from the hospital to tell Applejack that the sisters were mostly fine, but Daisy seemed more banged up than they thought.
They held their positions even when Roseluck’s sobs and wails quieted into nothing.
It was then and only then that Applejack leaned over and whispered in Strawberry’s ear, and only then when a grim look came across Strawberry, who only nodded.
As Big Mac and Apple Bloom arrived to help clear away the cart and Granny Smith arrived to comfort Roseluck, Applejack quietly rose and met Strawberry by the stall. Armed with a shovel and a crowbar, under the light of the setting sun, the two set off towards the flower shop.
