Bedtime Stories with Granny Smith
It was a beautiful day in Equestria, partly because of the glorious sun currently setting, the horizon swallowing up its glory in an evening light that spread in great ribbons throughout the sky, and also because of the pegasi's artificially cloudless sky. It was the kind of view that made you want to simply look up, stare at the glorious expanse of heavens above, and wish you had your cutie mark.
Applebloom was currently leading the group of disheveled fillies towards the Apple family's namesake as she pulled her head up momentarily to admire the deceptively happy sky, then, very downtrodden, put it back down to resume looking at the dirt. Another day, another failed attempt at earning their cutie marks. On top of that, Sweetie had been rejected by her long-time crush, Featherweight. She glanced back at her white-coated counterpart and saw her own feelings of failure amplified in her young features.
At least I'm not Sweetie Belle, she thought to herself somewhat sympathetically.
Upon entering the Apple household, she was immediately confronted with the delightful scent of apple pie. The residual scent had been so frequent in the house that it could now be smelled even when the oven was void of any confectionery marvels. In the corner of the room, reading a book on who-knows-what was Granny Smith, the gentle rocking of her chair the only thing distinguishing her as awake. A pair of bifocals rested upon her face, helping her to read at this age, when her sight began to worsen and hearing started to fail her.
The three fillies trudged over to the main table of the family room, then sat down and faced one another. Sweetie Belle hadn't lifted her head from the table since sitting down, and none of them felt the need to make their progress (or lack thereof) a conversation topic. Finally, the one to break the silence was, surprisingly, Granny Smith.
Looking over at the sad faces of the collapsed crusaders, she said to one in particular, "Hey there, why the long faces, mah little ponies? You look like you just got rejected by the love o' yer life!", she exclaimed. This only made Sweetie Belle groan pathetically, and the others cringe in sympathy. Granny, seeing she had struck a tender topic, tried to think of a way to cheer up the depressing distraction. There was no way she could read with these grumbling faces in her peripheral. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, inspiration struck.
"I have a wonderful idea! Ya'll look like you could use a good story to cheer them frowny faces right up," she said, leaning forward in her rocking chair. Scootaloo and Applebloom got up out of their chairs and ran to where Granny Smith was rocking in her chair, thinking of which story she should tell. Sweetie Belle, more reluctantly, meandered over to a similar position.
Sensing that her earlier comment on being rejected was closer to the truth than she had anticipated, she make a decision on the story she would tell.
"Listen up now, 'cause this story is completely and definitely goin' ta' make you feel worlds better, and answer some questions you might be askin' in the back o' yer mind. This is the story of Mr. Mender..."
She began to speak in her storytelling voice, and started her story.
Young Mr. Mender was a very odd fellow,
With his ebony mane and his keen eyes of yellow.
Fixing all sorts was his one true passion,
And so long as you come in an orderly fashion,
Whatever you bring him, he’ll fix it for free.
And if somepony inquires of some sort of fee,
He’ll simply reply, “Bring your next one to me!”
The one thing he can’t mend? Soon, you will see.
For one day on his trip to the public scrapyard,
A voice seemingly came from a pile of glass shards.
It gave a long sigh, a deep mournful sound,
And Mender came nearer to it, then poked his head ‘round.
There, lying against the scrap in plain sight,
Was a beautiful mare in an ethereal light.
And as he approached her, the gentlecolt boldly said,
“What`s a mare like you doing among piles of lead?
I’ll take you to my home, it’s comfortable there.”
So the mare looked to him, and said with despair,
“My betrothed has left me for a stallion with money,
If you think I’ll come with you your head must be funny.
Thanks to you stallions I’ve nothing to lose,
For the path I have traveled’s not the one I did choose.
I was tied to this fate when I said my ‘I do’s.
I’ll not go with you ‘till I know this; who are you?”
So Mender bowed with a flourish and replied to the stranger,
“I am Mender, I swear, I’m a friend, not a danger.
You’re free to stay here in the rust if you’d like,
But my home isn’t far, it’s not much of a hike.”
After thinking it over to avoid being abducted,
She relented and followed with a hint of reluctance.
Once given a room, after her brief examination,
She began to make herself used to the accommodations.
In their time together, they talked a great while,
He had even glimpsed her crack a brief smile.
They talked very often of days long past,
When they were together, the time went by fast.
Occasionally she would break from her sad trance
And since she had stopped crying, her mood had enhanced,
Though all of this changed when they went to the dance.
It was Sweet Apple Acres, a small, tranquil place
The quiet had gone though, without the smallest trace.
For the Apples, the farmers who owned the fine ranch,
Had decided that they would host a small dance.
The shin-dig was not meant to be a formal event,
So Mender decided there were bits to be spent.
He had purchased two tickets, then came home to share one,
He came to her with the promise of fun.
She gladly accepted, and willingly went,
To a fun evening with a friend at a social event.
They danced and they danced, then it reached a slow song,
And as he held her hooves, he sensed something was wrong.
She trotted to one of the yard’s farther corners,
And he followed her out to the edge of the orchards.
“What’s wrong?” he inquired, “Is something the matter?
The music or my dancing, though I’d guess the latter.”
Through a long conversation, and the question avoided,
They returned to the dancing, and tried to enjoy it.
But inevitably came that great fateful day,
She decided her welcome was long overstayed.
Mender choked out a farewell and held back a sob,
And as she left, Mender remembered his job.
For no matter the tools, or the skills or the parts,
The one thing he can’t fix, was the mares broken heart.
As Granny Smith concluded her story, Sweetie Belle looked at the floor contemplatively, while the other two fillies fought back yawns, for night had fallen while they were listening to the story.
That night, as Sweetie Belle was falling asleep, she began to feel a little bit better about what had happened that day. After all, Pipsqueak was pretty cute.
Sorry you guys, I know none of you care about this anyways, but I couldn't finish the next chapter to Trixie's story... and this happened!
Bedtime Stories with Granny Smith
Chapter 2:An adventurer's Tale
"It's all just so boring", whined a face-down Scootaloo. The Cutie Mark Crusaders had exhausted all possible avenues for earning their Cutie Marks for the day, and were now finally settling down to a warm apple pie at a certain yellow pony's residence. "The whole of Ponyville has completely run out of sources of entertainment. Now we're going to sit here for the rest of our lives."
"Works for me", came a full-mouthed reply from Sweetie Belle.
"We aren't just going to sit here and waste away at Appleblooms house for the rest of our lives, are we?" whined the orange filly.
It was at this exact moment that Granny Smith entered the room, crouching slowly over her walker as she made her way to the oak table. Sitting at the head of it, she said "Ah couldn't help but overhear your conundrum, my little ponies. I think I have something that will help."
"Is it our Cutie Marks?" inquired a hopeful Scootaloo.
"Better," came the croaked reply. "A story to cheer you younguns up"
Scootaloo groaned. "This better not be as mushy as the last one," she grumbled.
At this Granny chuckled. "This one is more your style, ah believe..."
All three fillies immediately sat and stared at the old mare, with rapt attention. She began.
There once was a place with a quaint little ranch
Where the flowers were blooming on every tree branch
A slow-moving river now made its way through
The rippling wheat that the wind now blew
Who could resent such a sweet paradise?
But the old farmer’s son, who saw this as his plight.
He bored of the fields, the same tranquil scene,
For his form of heaven was not so serene.
He daydreamed of castles and knights in shining armor.
Of a lord and his Lady, slaying all who dared harm her.
One day he decided storybooks weren’t enough
He got out of his room and left in a huff
He ran past the fields that were rich with gold fluff
As his mane swished past and was full of the stuff.
Not far from said fields there was a steep hill,
So he stared at the thing and mustered his will.
He began his steep climb up the towering beast,
Though for what he was headed, he knew not in the least.
The trip up the hill became gradually faster,
He would stand there atop it, the world’s lord and master!
Finally there to the peak he did rise,
And a heavenly view blossomed right before his eyes.
For upon a sheer cliff face wreathed in a golden light
Stood a glorious castle radiating elegance and might.
And far across these great plains that stretched Western lands
He thought he could make out the far shore’s ivory sands.
The horizon’s warm glow outlined huddled masses of trees.
If he reached out with his hoof he could touch them with ease.
Here on this perch he admired a whole world
He admired the winding dirt roads that unfurled.
He sat there in awe ‘till the sun disappeared.
He broke from his trance as his bedtime came near.
And that night as his father had wished him good night,
Dreams were filled with adventure ‘till dawn’s waking light.
As he harvested crops his thoughts left him behind,
For dreams of excitement were filling his mind.
For all they were worth he did not want just books.
There was a world out there, he’d just caught his first look
Filled with nobles and serfs and knights in shining armor
And a lord and his lady, slaying all who dare harm her.
That night eating supper he had his mind set
He knew life at the farm would be a life of regret.
“Dear Father” said he, “I have made a decision,
“One that I ask you will try to envision.
“I climbed to the top of the old barren hill
“And admired the view of the fields freshly tilled.
“When I turned my head ‘round guess what I did see.
“A grand castle some distance away greeted me!
“I felt a tug at my heart for that small something more,
“Not the petty desire for wealth and grandeur.
“I want to venture out into the city,
“With roads flat and smooth, not sandy and gritty.”
The old farmer lay back in his chair to think,
As his son stared at him, not daring to blink.
“I think,” said the farmer “you should have a chance.
“What you say is quite true, you’ve just had your first glance.”
Then he raised his old hoof and cautioned his son,
“Though you must remember, it’s not all about fun.
“There are dangers and pitfalls ‘most all places you look,
“You’ll see vagabonds and ruffians and a great many crooks.”
So with few parting words, they both said their farewells,
And the stallion walked off, ‘round the silos and well.
And if he had bothered to even look back behind him,
He would see an old farmer, and that would remind him
Of the home he had left, the clothes he had worn,
Of the light through his window that woke him each morn’
Of the old farmer, his father, who had built his whole life,
On their piece of heaven, their serene paradise.
And so as he trotted, he saw a small shoot
Coming out of the boulders, two tiny tree roots!
Why this intrigued him, he hadn’t a clue,
But he dug it out, and not sure what to do,
He dug a small hole on a small grassy hill,
Then gingerly placed it once the soft earth was tilled
Then he sat there and pondered what it would be one day,
Then got up from the ground, and went on his way.
It took him two days, not traveling nights,
He reached the first city by the day’s fading lights.
There inside the place was an inn, “The Golden Drip”
He approached the innkeeper needing rest from his trip.
He inquired of a room, and dug through his knapsack.
The innkeeper saw his change and led him to the back.
“Your room is this way”, she said over her side,
And he entered the room, as the mare went outside.
He dreamt things that night, though most of them troubled.
He tried thinking of home, and the nightmares redoubled.
The next day he departed the inn after dawn.
Now he walked bustling streets in the city with a yawn.
Though his dreariness vanished like dew on a flower,
As he planned what to do with each passing hour.
He imagined himself compete in a joust
It was practically real when the ponies announced,
“He won, he’ the champion, who have we to cheer?”
He stepped up and said loud for the whole world to hear
“My name, my dear ponies, is not that which matters!
It’s the fights and the victories, though mostly the latter”
As he walked up the steps, crowds on both sides still cheering,
He trotted up to the booth, the entrance swiftly nearing,
Upon entering it, he saw his great prize
And as him and the princess did slowly lock eyes,
Luna stepped nearer to him, her lips a sly grin.
He closed his eyes just as he came to lean in.
His daydreams were cut short by a bump from behind.
A small cabbage vendor, his wares pulled in a line,
Pushed him out of the way, into the now bustling roads,
‘till the crowd ate him up, along with his loads.
Now he thought of the ways to make his way known,
The ways to become a hero renowned.
Then an idea struck him, he would train to be
A free-lancing knight, both powerful and free.
He’d save castles abroad, though not without fees…
He would be an apprentice, he needed to train
These thoughts coursed through his mind as it started to rain.
He ran to find shelter, the nearest structure,
Upon entering he bumped into the soldier instructor.
For what he didn’t know was that by a stroke of pure chance,
He’d walked into the school run by Mr. Sharp Lance
He walked in on the swordplay technique learning lesson,
And there he now stood, the rain outside still incessant.
He earned a few looks before Lance began speaking.
“Why would you barge in here when it’s shelter you’re seeking?
“For surely you know that in here there’s no rest.
“Why don’t you step on up, put your skills to the test?”
He gestured to the ring dominating the room,
The pony on one end anticipating his doom.
Now was the moment, there was no better chance,
So he donned a worn chest plate and grabbed a dulled lance.
With a shield at the ready, he stood on the ring’s edge,
Mr. Lance and the rest watching from a high ledge.
A bronze-colored stallion ran up to a large gong,
And with a shout of ‘ready?’ he struck it with a BONG!
The two ponies met, their lances came crashing,
To each other’s shields, now dented from the clashing.
His opponent was limping, he’d been hurt from the blow!
So he smiled and decided to give Lance a show,
And charged the poor pony, his lance aimed to win.
He halted in horror as the other pony grinned.
The once-limping pony charged in full of zeal.
Sparks flew, the whole room filled with the ringing of steel.
And as Mr. Lance dared to look back at the scene,
The trainee had caught him with a blow to the knee.
And as he kneeled there with his face to the ground,
He hardly realized that his head began to pound.
Nor did he notice the pain in his knee,
For his failure was the only thing he did see
As he rose he was greeted by his challenger’s face
The smile on it was one that was not hard to place.
It was neither one of a boast, nor one that was sly,
But a grin with a fathomless spark in his eyes.
It was then that he realized perhaps he was not
The aspiring knight he’d originally thought.
He accepted the hoof being held out for him
His leg still held, the damage done wasn’t too grim,
And he trotted outside without further words
As the rain had receded to give way to birds.
While walking he thought of a much better way
To offer his skills to the goddess of day.
REA stood for Royal Equestrian Army,
As if anypony would really be barmy
Enough to try and assault a princess.
Be you mortal or not, you’d need guards nonetheless.
He made his way all the way through the city’s edge,
He walked out of the gate to fulfill his new pledge:
For no matter how difficult the things he may face,
He would not have any fear, not even a trace.
On the road he got closer to his destination,
Where the city and country held distinct separations.
More ponies than he’d ever seen before
Walked to and from the city’s great doors.
He stalked through the entrance, his head now held high,
Knowing this was where his destiny must lie.
So he ever-so-carefully made his way through
A bustling world that to him was quite new.
The once-distant castle was growing and growing,
And the sunlight’s last rays were radiantly glowing.
And as light hit the castle in just the right way,
He remembered his view of the whole world one day.
Now as memories of farm life made their way from his thoughts,
He stepped forward again towards the new life he sought. "
By this time all three of the crusading youth were barely managing to keep their eyes open, as they drearily stared at the storytelling old mare, almost lost to the warm embrace of sleep.
"I think it's high time to hit the hay." she announced with a warm smile. "I'll finish the story tomorrow," she said.
The catatonic crusaders didn't complain, and as the settled into their sleeping bags that night, Scootaloo's dreams were filled with adventure, 'till dawn's waking light.
"Ponyville sure is boring... wish i could do that stuff," muttered the sleepy filly, just as dreams whisked her away.
