It’ll be ok

Chapters

Jagged Rocks
Mirror Obsessed
In Apathy

Jagged Rocks

Dear Braeburn,

I thought I should let you know what’s going on with me after the whole incident. I know you were hoping I wouldn’t contact you; the last thing Appleloosa needs are my tainted letters. Well, feel free to crumple, crush, rip, burn, soak, and tear any letters I send if you want. Truthfully, I just need to get my thoughts out and either way; I can imagine you reading this letter wishing you could see me again.

I’m doing alright all things considered; I found a place in Ponyville of all places. The bed and chairs creek and moan in displeasure at my slightest movement; the wallpaper is desperately trying to pry itself off the wall with all its willpower; and the carpet has seemingly been subjected to intense sauce-related tortures before finally giving up and dying. Yet, I kind of like it; it reminds me of Appleloosa in a way. And wait, before you get mad I don’t mean because it’s in disrepair. I mean because it’s quaint in a way that defies the palace and Canterlot so vehemently – in that way, it also reminds me of you.

My main problem currently is working out what to do. We’ve both felt plenty out of place but have you ever felt a creeping scowl spread across your face when you see your cutie mark in the mirror or a rush of jealousy just seeing ponies get on with their days. I mean I’m a Sentry for Celestia’s sake, as if my dad needed another reason to be disappointed in me after finding out about us. It’s amazing how much of a child you feel again when a parent gives you that look but I digress. I’ve tried talking to random ponies, going to the cafe or market, I hardly feel like a shut-in. Still, I think I’m quickly going through about all the small talk I can handle for a lifetime.

Well anyway, I ran into Applejack the other day. Despite my now expert ability to suddenly change directions whenever I see any of your family, it was bound to happen eventually. I was picking up some apples from the market, a slightly sour expression on my face I’m sure, when she snuck up behind me declaring with confidence that she didn’t expect to see me here. She was with Twilight, I can only assume she was told about it all because she blushed as I turned around and looked around kind of awkwardly before I gave her a reassuring smile. I made up some excuse about wanting a change of scenery to them. Of course, Applejack said it was a shame you and I had a falling out; and how she’d be happy to invite me with her to Appleloosa next time she goes if I ‘want to make things right’. I politely said I would consider it: maybe I actually would if I knew what right meant.

I dispensed small talk with both of them mechanically; I distinctly remember complaining about the weather despite it not having rained in a week. Applejack gave me a funny look, replying with something along the lines of ‘Well not great for the orchard I s’pose.’ Eventually, I blurted out that I really had to get to a mane inspection: staring with a dead serious intensity. They smiled at me, looked at my unchanging expression, and then smiled with slightly more concern and confusion. After we parted ways I realised; that first of all I had left my apples on the counter but also that I now found it hard to tear my thoughts from you again. It’s the reason I’m writing this now.

I never told you but the truth is when we first met I did dismiss you as just another one of those small-town earth ponies. Somepony with little ambition, all too happy to tell the same stories about their town over and over again like grand tales of Equestria’s history are just footnotes compared to the great felling of your pride apple tree. You did always joke about Appleloosa being the centre of the world.

I don’t think I ever told you how much I didn’t want to go either. My parents proud of me for becoming a real sentry, a royal guard and personal guard to the royals no less, decided to take me on holiday to somewhere warmer and ‘closer to my roots’ before I moved into the castle. Despite being as close to farmers as Cloudsdale is to the ground my Mother especially has this romanticised idea of us being just like the common folk just because her grandfather made his fortunes apple farming. She always neglects to mention he purchased an apple farm with his inherited money. At the time her joyful facade annoyed me to no end, why would we want to compare ourselves to uneducated country farmers anyway? I couldn’t help but feel bitter about their choice as well. Why shouldn’t I get the choice of holiday, it was my holiday, they’d had their chance to indulge in slum tourism when they were younger after all. At least a small farming town like Appleloosa would have a bar.

Dull and monstrous: an affront to all things natural and an enemy to all things beautiful. That’s what I thought of trains at the time. I wasn’t so stupid as to reject their purpose: even as a Pegasus, it was more convenient. But as you know, I still find them ugly. Small fears from your childhood always seem to find a way back into your life, you look at what you were once terrified of and laugh, yet once you let that veneer of logic slip, it slowly and methodically creeps back into your mind. Suffice to say, I found the journey there uncomfortable.

We stepped off and there was a thick air of tension. My Mother looked disappointed: presumably due to how new and up together it all looked. My Dad looked distant: presumably due to the black hole of grandeur in the rustic design. And I looked like I was looking for a bar: due to the fact I was.

“Well...” My mother started. She did not finish and instead looked to my Dad for a continuation.

He shrugged, “Could be worse.” I always appreciated my Father’s honesty if nothing else.

I decided not to speak and instead gave them a contemptuous look which let out the words ‘I told you so’ without a single sound.

My Mother spoke, “Just remember, this is a celebration, not just of your accomplishments but of all the accomplishments of our family that led to yours. A time of change for all of us, as you take your first steps to being the figurehead of this family.”

It would be a stretch to say I was enamoured by my Mother’s words which echoed the same thing she said a thousand times but I was definitely more engaged by them than usual. All these years she told me how great I was going to be and here I was one step away from walking into the blinding and engulfing light of greatness. Recently I’ve been wondering if there’s some sort of grand conspiracy to make children think there’s more to life than they can see. Well; the conspiracy was working and I felt a renewed sense of purpose to enjoy this holiday – Just one more Holiday with my family.

I’ll spare you all the details of my first few days in your town. I rammed my head into every activity with the enthusiasm of ten foals and against all odds it actually worked. Dad and I had a laugh at our incompetence with a lasso, and even my Mother and I enjoyed sharing a drink together as she told stories of our family that – much to my surprise – I hadn’t heard before. I can only assume it was the collective thoughts of soon to be soon-to-be-broken routine. I felt like I should have been going to bed with a smile on my face but instead, I felt uncomfortable at the realisation we never had such a connection before.

It must have been near 5 am on the third night. I lay in bed still restless despite being half-drunk and sauntered across the town square back to the bar with the intention of making that fully-drunk. One lone Stallion sat in the back corner and his eyes instantly rested on me as I entered. Locals. You’d think they would get used to tourists. Those striking green eyes, thick mane, and strong jaw could only be the works of inbreeding I was sure - and he could at least take his hat off indoors. I looked away but I doubt you did because just after I sat down and ordered my drink you were already sitting beside me. I’ll try and remember how it went:

“Braeburn,” You paused for a second with a smile, “And who might you be?”

“Flash,” I extended my hoof formally.

You in turn looked delighted by this formal gesture,

“It’s my pleasure Flash,” You said shaking my hoof vigorously with a grin, “How’s Appleloosa treating you? You been involved in the dances yet? Ain’t nothing else like it this side of Canterlot”

I looked at you sceptically and sipped my drink, “I’m not one for dancing when I’m sober.”

“Hey, don’t tell the foals but most of us agree with you,” You said letting out a sly chuckle.

My pride leaked into a smile, “You’re talking to a future royal guard; I know how to keep a secret.”

“Is that so? What’s a big shot such as yourself doing in town?”

“Holiday, my mother thought it a good place to come to celebrate getting the job – I mean uh not to say it isn’t it’s just –“

“I get it; it ain’t no Manehattan,” you nodded, “More the sort of place for celebrating being an apple guard”

“You think strawberry guards could come here to celebrate too or would it be distasteful?” I downed the rest of my drink.

“Reckon so; though I would give a funny look to any vegetable guard”

We both let out drunken chuckles.

I spoke, “So... if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here at this time?”

I swear you blushed, “Well, when I can’t sleep I come here to relax. You?”

“The same.”

It was your turn to down the remains of your drink, “Hey, it don’t look like either of us are going to sleep anytime soon, and I know a mighty fine place to watch the sunrise if you’re interested.”

I wouldn’t normally be interested but there was a wholesome look on your face, like all you wanted to do was to show every tourist all your town has to offer. Not to mention the strange but compelling nervousness I was starting to feel in my stomach. The sky looked especially pretty as we walked; somehow I’d neglected to admire it, and the stars were shining extra brightly to ensure they caught my attention this time. The moon clearly jealous of this spectacle for me decided it would only show me a sliver; I thought it looked even more beautiful that way.

You told me little stories as we passed places. Not boring things I knew like how most of it was built in the last few months. Pride and love-filled retellings of how your brother fought off 3 Buffalo with his bare hoofs, the laugh you had when you found out the secret ingredient to your mother’s famous apple pie or, the close call of a collapsing water tower almost crushing you and your father. And maybe it was just because I was drunk and tired, but I opened up about my family, about my realisation that we were never close, and about how despite being closer with them those days I felt lonelier than ever. Even back then you listened with a fierce intensity; you weren’t waiting your turn like most people, I have no doubt you would have heard me out until the end of Ponykind.

I hate to admit it but it was beautiful. Tall Jagged rocks around us tearing into the sky, ripping the night away. In front of us, below the cliff edge on which we sat: the fruit of a year’s work. Green and reds of the apple trees stood in staunch resilience against the drear brown around. And we were just in time to see the siege lifted, bright oranges and yellows spewed out from the horizon and covered the entire orchard in their harsh elegance.

We sat there close together in peaceful silence for a bit before I spoke one quiet word, “Thank you.”

You spoke equally softly, “I should be thanking you, truth is I was waiting in that bar for a stranger to come along.”

You looked embarrassed and I didn’t understand why, “How come?”

“It’s a small town I’ve never been sure I’ll meet someone I have a – connection with”

“I’m sure some pretty mare will come along someday,” I replied.

You looked me in the eyes. Uncompromising earnest. A hint of desperation. The lights of a train; yet a weak light in the darkness.

“You mean...” I suddenly felt cold.

You spoke with dripping shame, “Yep.”

There was a tense silence, it was my turn to say something but I really didn’t want to. I was terrified, I told myself it was of you but there was this creeping suspicion it was of me. So the silence continued and somehow I think it made the tension twist and contort into understanding. You slowly moved your hoof closer to me and without thought, I put mine on top of yours. For a moment our fears were still again.

It’s that moment that keeps playing through my head recently. I do miss how easily you could calm my worries. When I’m laying in bed in the morning wondering whether I should even bother getting up; it’s not your body next to me I long for, nor even your ear for me to ramble into, but a simple ‘it’ll be ok’ out of your mouth; because even now I would trust your word to my grave.

Yours sincerely,

Flash

Mirror Obsessed

Dear Braeburn,

After two months of not paying rent, my landlady came to visit me. She decided that I would have to leave by the end of the month if I didn’t start paying. My lack of possessions probably doesn’t help conceal the fact that I now have no money. I have my typewriter, ink, and paper lying in disarray on the table, a few books scattered sparingly across the place, my old guard uniform currently shoved roughly into the wardrobe, and an old family mirror sitting dustily in the corner.

You’d be interested to know I’ve now found work as a carer at the retirement village. Sombre work, really; there’s a reason we bothered to build a whole ‘village’ for them away from us. Ponies might say it’s because it’s what they would want: somewhere nice to retire. They are lying, though, if they claim they spend any more than a few uncomfortable seconds thinking about what it’ll truly be like. It’s fulfilling, though; the people here need your help; it’s an exchange that forces even the most thankless of souls to feel some level of appreciation. I imagine it’s a vaguely similar feeling you get from having foals – satisfaction at a successful reliance.

You always said you wanted foals; it surprised me that anyone our age could feel so passionately about it. It’s not that you wanted them straight away, but there was a fierce determination in your eyes; a duty that would not go unfulfilled. You said you wanted nothing more than for your brother to be an uncle. Was it a duty to yourself or your family? It interests me that expectations from my family have turned out to be a burden, but you seem to find genuine purpose in them.

Maybe it’s just the closer bond your family has. By the time I asked about you visiting me and my family, I’d visited Appleloosa quite a few times, and despite being introduced to your family (as a friend, of course) and getting along with them quite well, you were reluctant to come visit mine. You said it was because you were scared of there being so many people, but retrospectively, I kind of doubt that; you weren’t one to get nervous easily. Was it because you didn’t want it to become too serious. I, at least, was certainly lying; I didn’t care much about you seeing the castle, or the theatre, or the stadium, or my parents. I just wanted to squeeze out any signs of commitment from you, even if just a pitiful drop.

“Flash, much as I like yapping from that pretty mouth of yours, I hear Canterlot one more time; I’m gonna break down.”

“You know, if you would just go to Canterlot, I would never have to say it again. In fact, all you have to do is agree to go, and I can stop. It’s a win-win; you get what you want and present-you doesn’t even have to lift a hoof.”

“I’d prefer not to upset future-me.”

“What has he ever done for you? I mean, he’s visited Canterlot; surely you must hate him for actually visiting Canterlot.”

“This the kind of harebrained logic that protects princesses?”

“It’s the kind of harebrained logic that gets you to visit Canterlot.”

You sighed, your face not really deciding whether it wanted to look amused, or annoyed, or anguished, “At some point..”

I decided to leave it for now, “Past-me would kill me for saying it, but it is nicer in Appleloosa anyway.”

Whenever I visited Appleloosa, I dreamed about moving there. I felt special in the company of country ponies, a big city big shot, when else would they meet someone who spoke to royals regularly. I felt alive in your company; a lot of life felt like an endless chore but when I was around you it felt like a gift. I felt comfortable in your families company; they treated strangers and friends alike like one of their own, and they seemed to genuinely like me. But when I was soon to leave, I could see a distant panic in your eyes if I talked about staying longer. I guess you were smarter than me; I had vague fantasies of a better life with you, but right from the beginning you knew your family wouldn’t accept us for what we were; you knew this was just a temporary flight of fancy. You also knew there was no point in telling me; I would have said we could move away together; make a new life. But from what? The ashes of your old one?

It was so much easier for me to consider burning everything on a prayer. So quickly, extravagant towers and grand events were melted down into crude routine. It’s all just ceremonial as well: years of training to be a decoration, a set piece. Prestigious or not, I was bored. I had a few friends from the academy, but we weren’t really close. I rarely visited my parents since I started living in the castle. What does a pony do when bars spring up where they once thought sky, when drab and hideous claws spring from the earth and hold them down and stars turn out to be painted on? Close their eyes and dream of course; and in my case, it was of spending time with you.

It’s funny really, how little things have changed. Still, I dread the routine of everyday, no one to talk to, staring into space daydreaming of you and I. I wonder what the average time to let go is, should I be doing anything differently, could I have done anything different, maybe it wasn’t right, how long would it have lasted anyway and what does it matter anyway, why do I even still care so much?

Yours sincerely,

Flash

In Apathy

Dear Braeburn,

Maybe Applejack has spoken to you about it, or maybe she thought it best left unsaid. I know you’d prefer to know anyway. I did tell her about everything; I’m sure you trust her as much as I do not to tell anypony else, but I also have no doubt it makes you uncomfortable; she knows, and for that, I’m sorry. I’ll try and recall approximately how it went for you.

It was a bitter day; not the kind of cold that stares you in the face and back downs when you stare back, but the sly and infiltrating kind, the kind that starts off soft but slowly works its way deep within your body until you’re shivering and miserable without recourse. The clouds also conspired against hope, spreading themselves evenly across the sky; no sun could be seen, and the light was dim and pathetic. On the afternoon of this day, I decided to walk back home from work, shivering and miserable, though the latter wasn’t a consequence of the cold.

I didn’t really want to go home and warm up, and I found myself wandering towards Sweet Apple Acres. Before I knew it, I was walking through the orchard itself. More disconcerting than the cold was the drear lifelessness of the sleeping trees. Their empty branches stretched upwards as if begging for some reprieve, and the roots wrapped themselves helplessly around frozen mud and dry soil. A couple of times I almost slipped, and my limbs were pretty much completely numb by this point. Still, I trudged on, wanting to at least get to the train tracks I now saw in the distance. I don’t know why; I suppose even in apathy, we can’t avoid a desire for goals.

But before I could reach the halfway point in my walk around this distorted memory, I stumbled across Applejack and Big Mac, both wrapped up in scarves, valiantly fighting against the sharp weather to prune another one of a thousand apple trees. It looked like the fight was being won; rows and rows ahead of me were carefully clipped and shaped. I guess I looked pretty pathetic, shivering there, just staring at them without saying anything, like a lost foal. Suddenly, confronted with the eyes of others, I remembered my body. I felt the piercing pain in my lungs, the weakness in my legs, and the total numbness in my wings. I’m still not sure how long I was walking for.

Applejack immediately offered to take me inside without a question about why I was there. As you said: you can always count on the Apple family. It was a bit of a walk back to the farmhouse; when she did finally ask me why I was there, I simply answered that I got lost, and she pried no further; little else was said. When we got there, I must have practically collapsed onto the nearest chair. She offered to make me a hot chocolate, and I thanked her. As I started to warm up, the biting cold was threatened to be replaced by an even more biting awkwardness. Sitting there as a guest in what was practically a stranger’s home, without a word I wanted to speak. Though it surprisingly quickly dissipated as I thought about how little reason I had to care about such a thing.

So she precariously brought the steaming hot mug over to the table in front of me and then sat opposite me. I instantly sipped, burning my tongue terribly. I took another sip.

“Careful with that,” she warned, a look of concern still pervading her face.

“I’m fine,” I finally bothered to look around at the setting: a sickeningly homey place. Family photos, quaint home-built furniture, and, of course, apple theming wherever possible. You’ve been there before, so I’m sure you will agree that it is very reminiscent of your house.

“This about Braeburn?” I was actually kind of surprised she mentioned you. I mean, I’m long past my prejudice against country ponies, but she still didn’t strike me as the kind of pony who would put the dots together.

I probably looked a little embarrassed, “I think so.”

From my experience, Apple family members aren’t ones to bother beating around the bush, so it was notably odd to see her contemplate and hold her tongue for a second before speaking with an innocent curiosity, “So you two were together? Like together together?”

I nodded.

To my surprise, there was little hint of judgement in her eyes, “What happened between you?”

You didn’t want to hear the full story at the time, but I’ll tell it now, like I told her, in case you want to now.

I remember taking note of the sky, an infinite expanse of blue with not a single white spec to ruin the spectacle. It was one of those days where I was tasked with patrolling the castle. Most of the time I was guarding the princesses; this at least meant I sometimes got to leave the city or meet interesting ponies. But I suppose they wanted to give every pony a chance at standing still and waiting for something to happen.

I was especially bored; hence, my mind was filled with thoughts of you. As time dragged on, not just on that day but in general, I started to feel an itch to tell Somepony about us. Like a foal that had spent time on a drawing and couldn’t resist the urge to interrupt a parent doing something important. Of course, I couldn’t tell my parents; I actually don’t think they hated the concept of it like yours might. They were just horrendously disappointed that I didn’t fit in; I could have at least hid it for the sake of my job and reputation.

My Dad actually sent me a letter recently; I won’t go into details, but he confessed that he and my mother hoped that making me leave would ‘teach me a lesson’. He told me he missed me, though, and when I’d finished reading, I looked down to see my tears on the paper. All this time, I've been mourning the loss of you, and I’ve barely thought about how much I actually miss my parents.

But I digress; it had reached midday, and I dived off the battlements. The wind slammed into my face with a dragon’s vigour, and the ground threw itself at me with lightning speeds. I left it just a second longer than usual to spread out my wings, and my face almost scraped the ground as I veered upwards and proceeded to soar above the streets and the ponies occupying them. The urgent destination: lunch at Cinnamon Chai’s cafe. Nowhere made tea quite like she did, and it had become routine for me to go there every day on my break. It was also the occasional destination of a few other royal guards on their break; giving me and whoever else the chance to complain about the lack of royal guards or perhaps about how they seem to be letting anypony in nowadays.

On this specific occasion, I would be talking to Silver. An old friend from training; a silver unicorn who I had barely spoken to since we got out of training:

“Flash! It’s been too long; how’s Mr. ‘Top of the Academy’ doing?”

I sat down across from him, “I’m doing alright thanks. Still with Violet?”

“Yeah, impressive, ey? You wouldn’t have expected me to eke it out this long, would you?”

I spoke with a playful tone, “I would never judge a book by its cover.”

“Course. Well? You had any luck?”

“Well, there is this out of city Stallion; I never thought I would fall for some country pony,” I couldn’t tell you if this is exactly what I said, but I remember vividly his face souring at the word ‘Stallion’, like poison had exited my lips and he had to recoil to survive. He didn’t even ask for clarification on what I said; he simply nodded. The rest of our conversation was dry and off. I just felt confused, I think; I barely even processed the disgust in his face until much later. It didn’t even cross my mind that Silver would tell anypony.

So when I was called to the captain of the royal guard after my shift ended, the thought of my conversation with Silver had already left my mind, and I even wondered if I had earned a promotion. I stood eagerly in front of him, awaiting some sort of praise. A pat on the back for hard work. It was strange how sad he looked; perhaps he was retiring, perhaps I would be the next captain.

But you already know that’s not what happened; instead, he told me that I was relieved of duty. I was stunned for a second before I instinctively asked him why.

“I’m sorry, Flash; I truly am, but we can’t have someone like you serving.”

I guess I was still in shock because, without thinking, I went straight home to my parents and told them, you know, how that went. It all happened so quickly; the next minute I was in Appleloosa talking to you, and then it was over, and now I’m here.

After I had finished telling Applejack, it was like I was back there again, numb and in shock, unable to process anything that just happened. She looked at me sympathetically and told me she was sorry, that she wished she’d known sooner. And then next thing I know, I’m out of my seat and walking out the door, thanking her for the drink. She said I could speak to her anytime and then I was gone, back out into the cold.

When I got home, it reminded me so vividly of another time. Your house, just like hers.

The way you looked at me ran a knife across my heart, “You know what could have happened?! This ain’t a game anymore, Flash.”

“I didn’t know–“

“Didn’t know it could tear apart my family?! Didn’t know it could ruin my life?!”

I looked and sounded hurt, “Your family? Your life?”

“Yep, I actually care about my family. I actually care about my life, Flash.”

In that moment, I wish I could have broken down and cried; I wish I could have shouted at you at the top of my lungs; I wish I could have hated you with all my heart. But instead, something much worse happened: that dreadful cold washed over me, a void in my soul, utter apathy. Bitter for just one sweet moment before your face looked dull and tasteless.

“So it’s over then?”

“What?” You looked so confused.

“We’re done, right?”

I have no idea what you were feeling because, as I said it I was already walking out the door. And before I knew it, I was on a train to here.

I haven’t said it before because I’ve been scared, but I hope you’re doing well, Braeburn. I really do.

Yours sincerely,

Flash