Drink It All Away
A Slick Scribe Production
o.0.o
Big Macintosh ran through the orchard as fast as he could. The cold midnight air of winter cut deep into his exposed fur, and the layer of snow on the ground made his hooves raw and aggravated, but he didn't feel a bit of it. He had become numb long before he stepped hoof outside, and it was all thanks to that little note he read:
If you're readin' this, than you found my body and followed the instructions I left. If you feel ill for me, don't. I am finally happy. I am with my beloved wife again.
It has been five long, empty years since she was taken from me. It feels like it's been a damn eternity since I have been graced by her angelic presence, but it seems like only yesterday she has walked the halls of my home. I swear, I can still see her from time to time, walkin' down the halls and singin' in that amazin' voice of hers. You know the worst part about her death? It was all my fault. I've spent years tryin' to convince myself otherwise, trying to tell myself that there was nothing I could do, but no matter what lies I tell myself, the answer is always the same: I am the one to blame.
If you knew me these past years, then you know I took her loss pretty hard. I spent the first year in solitude, grievin' her death, angry and alone in this house we made together. I spent most of my time lookin' at old pictures of her on our honeymoon. The second year, I took to the poison, hopin' I could drink these memories away. And the last three? Well, I've spent these last three years followin' the same routine: Wake up, drink, work, drink, take a bath, drink, then go to the bar to play my guitar and drink 'till I'm numb all over. But no matter how much I drink, it's never enough to get rid of these damn memories! Tonight, though. Tonight is goin' to be different...
I'm finally goin' to be with her again.
- Meadow Song
"Damn it, Meadow!" Big Macintosh cursed. 'If I hadn't had the spare key - I just hope I'm not too late.'
It was then that the red stallion reached the large, rolling hill that overlooked the orchard. As he made his climb, the thick layers of snow slid from beneath his hooves, causing him to stumble and crawl his way up the slippery slope. Looking over to his right, he could see an empty bottle of alcohol discarded on the bank, as well as another set of hoof-prints that led up to his destination. Seeing this made Macintosh panic, and he climbed even faster, praying to the creators that he wasn't too late to save his step-brother.
A thunderous bang rang out from atop the hill, causing a chill to shoot up the stallion's spine.
"Oh no..."
Almost leaping over the last bank of snow, Macintosh reached the top of the hill. What he saw laid out before him was perhaps the most shocking sight he had seen in all his days.
o.0.o
Earlier that day...
A lone stallion sat alone in the master bedroom of his home, head hung low, a half bottle of hard alcohol resting in his practiced grip. His blonde mane and terra-cotta coat were matted and disheveled, neglected of proper care for years. His green eyes were bloodshot as a fresh stream of tears began to flow from his eyes, creating a small pool on the floorboards of the gloomy room. As the next wave of grief passed over him, the stallion instinctively moved the bottle to his lips, and took a large swig. He didn't even wince as the liquid fire laced his throat. In fact, he hadn't felt that pain for a great many years. He might as well be drinking water at this point, it would probably coax more of a reaction out of him than the old bottle of whisky.
After the stallion had finished his drink, he set the almost empty bottle on the floor with a soft thud. He looked over to an old picture on the nearby nightstand. Slowly, Meadow Song got up a bit on his unsteady hooves, trying to walk over to hold the old golden-framed image of his late wife. It was a picture of them on their honeymoon, running through a luscious field of bright yellow sunflowers, smiling and laughing as the wind blew through their manes without a care in the world.
Laughing. Now that was something he hadn't done in a long while. Not genuinely anyway. Never found a good enough reason to even snicker at anything since her passing. Since that night, Meadow had not had a full night's rest thanks to the same dream. It replayed in his mind over and over and over again, never letting him change a moment of it or wake until it was complete. He had spoken to a few different doctors about it, but they never told him anything that he didn't already know.
Suddenly, a faint knock on the door pulled him from his reminiscence as he set the picture down and walked over. Reaching out for the brass handle, Meadow pulled the door open just a crack and looked down, assuming that his sister-in-law had come over to check on him again, but was surprised to only see a large, red leg where Applebloom would normally be. Tracing the leg up to the owner's face to see it was his brother-in-law, Macintosh Apple.
"Didn't hear ya come in." Stepping aside, Meadow invited the red stallion into his room.
With a slight nod, Macintosh entered the master bedroom and walked over to a set of old, dusty curtains. With one deft move, he pulled the curtains wide open, letting a flood of light pierce through the dusty veil and assault Meadow's tired eyes. Although the sun was about to descend below the horizon, the amount of alcohol Meadow had consumed combined with his almost nocturnal schedule made any ray of sunshine as lethal as direct exposure to radiation.
"Would ya look at that? There is a window here," the evil stallion quipped. Meadow was too focused on shielding his eyes to think of a witty reply, so he opted to groan in protest instead.
Macintosh walked in front of Meadow, his long shadow stopping the barrage of light. Blinking a few times to adjust to the lower levels of light, he looked up to his brother-in-law, slightly distraught. "Why are ya here?" Meadow asked, voice laced by a chilling tone as he walked into the bathroom. Opening up an oak medicine cabinet, Meadow pulled out another bottle of liquid fire and a glass. When in the presence of company, he always drank from a glass, maybe to make it look like he didn't drink as much as he did.
The red stallion seemed unfazed, having come accustom to the cold demeanor and "ritualistic" habits of the lonely widower. "Ah came here to tell ya that Frosty stopped by earlier."
Meadow chuckled at the mention of his old employer. "What did that old nag want this time?"
"Said he needs yer help tonight. The piano stallion broke his leg an' he needs a replacement."
Meadow stopped pouring his drink. A small, sad grin crept onto the stallions muzzle as he stared into the liquor for a few long moments. The amber whisky danced in the low light of the room, playing a cruel trick on his mind as he watched shadows of his beloved run around in the mirror before him. He closed his eyes to collect himself, on the verge of tears.
"Mac," the brown stallion began in a stern yet calm tone. "Fess up. Tell me what's really goin' on."
Big Macintosh awkwardly shifted his weight, a tell-tale sign of the trademarked Apple Family Lie. It was as if the entire family was hardwired to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and while Mac was far better at hiding it than his siblings, Meadow knew how to read his brother-in-law like an open book.
"I-I don't know what yer talkin' about..."
The light brown stallion let out a sad sigh, "Fine. I'll play tonight. Jus'... Jus' let me get ready."
"Alright, I'll leave ya to it then," and with that, Big Macintosh walked out, leaving the depressed pony alone once again.
As soon as the metal latch on the door clicked, a warm tear ran down the stallion's muzzle as he fell to his haunches on the tile. A small whimper escaped his throat, and his shoulders began to shudder. Instinctively, Meadow reached for the alcohol, and drained the entire glass before setting back down on the countertop with a loud thud.
'That was a dirty move there, Frosty, but I guess I can't blame ya. Today is a special day.... For all of us.'
o.0.o
Mac sat out on the front porch watching the snowfall as he waited for his brother-in-law. Looking out toward the horizon, he noticed a small group of foals having a snowball fight on one of the hills near the farm, smiling and laughing as they pelted each other. "King of the Hill" is what they called it as foals. Everypony would try to take the top of the hill, doing whatever they could to keep the others from taking the top, or "overthrowing" the king by knocking him back down the hill. When he played it, it was never gingerly, but it wasn't supposed to be. All of the colts would kick, throw, or trample whatever they needed to to win. Yea, sure, they drew blood, but it was always in good spirit. Mac smiled as he remembered coming home to the farm one day covered head to hoof in cuts and bruises, and trying in vain to explain what had happened to Granny Smith before getting all of the wounds maliciously scrubbed with rubbing alcohol. In fact, it was the same day he first met Meadow Song.
It was the last day of school before summer break, and all of the little fillies and colts were enjoying their last recess together before their vacation started. Mac was sitting alone beneath the old each tree next to the schoolhouse, enjoying his free time when Meadow Song came over and asked him if he wanted to play a game. When asked what kind of game, Meadow shoved Mac down the small hill the tree stood on and called out, "King of the Hill!" at the top of his lungs. As soon as the words left his lips, every colt turned and began cheering, charging the hill in order to take the crown. Mac was surprised, but was quick to recover, joining his classmates in charging back up the hill. One by one, his classmates were knocked out of the competition, whether it was due to exhaustion or injury, leaving only Mac and Meadow atop the hill. They wrestled each other, holding nothing back as they tried to de-thrown the other, turning into a duel of the fates.
In the end, the legendary battle ended in a tie, with both colts fighting in what seemed like slow motion before collapsing to the ground, each gasping for air. It was the first time that Mac had been physically challenged by one of his peers, let alone completely equal. From then on the two became very close, more as rivals then as friends at first, but over time they became like brothers. Nigh inseparable until Meadow moved out to Dodge Junction to live with his father and sister to pursue his musical talent.
It wasn't until ten years ago that Mac got to see his old friend. It was during the settling of Appleloosa, when Braeburn and his folks set out to join the small group of pioneers and set up a new apple orchard. Applejack and her friends had been the first to arrive with their tree delivery, but Mac had prepared to set out the next day with a few more trees with a different kind of apple. After a long day of travel and being told that they no longer needed the extra trees, Mac thought it best to go to the town's saloon and have himself something tall and strong. Lo and behold, when Mac took a seat next to a country stallion with his guitar at the bar. For a few minutes, they didn't recognize each other, but once they figured out, the whole place came to life. Mac got so excited that he paid for a round of drinks for everyone at the bar. That was also the same night Meadow met his sister, Applejack.
The red stallion was pulled from his recollection by the sound of the front door creaking open. Looking over his shoulder, he could see his old friend, clean and trimmed with a leather duster and his old black guitar case slung onto his back.
"So, ya ready to go?" Meadow asked, producing a small flask from inside his coat pocket.
"Eeyup."
