The Apple To My Heart

Thirty Days

One month.

Thirty days.

Thirty agonizing, lifeless days.

Thirty days of regrets and heartbreak.

Thirty days of tears.

Thirty days since she last slept the whole night. Thirty days of nightmares when she closes her eyes; not of monsters, ghouls or demons, but of memories. She dreams of what she did, and what she said and it torments her. When she wakes, screaming in her bed, she breaks down anew. Drenched in a cold sweat, her heart aching with every forced beat; she wished it would just stop and put her out of her misery. She can't bring herself to lie back down. She knows the memories will return. She tries to ignore that sinking feeling when she roles over, knowing the bed is big enough for two and that there should be two; but there is only one. Thirty days of watching the sunrise alone and crying.

Thirty days of pity from her friends. Thirty days of everypony treating her either as a leper to be avoided, or as an honored guest when forced into a conversation. Thirty days of sitting at her apple stand, amidst the happiest town in Equestria, lost in a haze of grief. Thirty days of her customers choosing each word carefully, so as not to seem insensitive; she hates them for it.

Thirty days of emotionless, robotic apple bucking. She is cold the entire time even though it's spring. Her body never shivers, but her heart and soul are frozen solid. Thirty days of nibbling on lukewarm meals. The old Applejack never wasted a single crumb. Ever. Now she leaves entire salads, veggie cheeseburgers, and barbequed corn-on-the-cob untouched. Thirty days of ash in her mouth and letting herself waste away. Her strength is gone, and it's not just her sustenance starved muscles. Her soul is sapped, drained of her famous vitality.

Eighteen failed Pinkie Pie parties, all ending in tears. She never even so much as smiles, let alone dances or sings. They play horse-shoes and cards; her two favorite games. She has no spirit for the games; no desire for fun. Now even Twilight has a better poker-face, and Twilight still hasn't broken the habit of showing the other players her cards and asking for advice.

Fourteen make-over attempts by Rarity. Applejack never gets further than looking in a mirror before she has to look away. She is disgusted with what she sees. Every reflection is the same. Hollow red-rimmed eyes, sunken cheeks and a tangled mess of a mane. Her once proud full figure, a body her ex-coltfriend had once described as "kickin'" is now scrawny and taut, pale and lifeless. Applejack hates her reflection, and yet she's glad the pony she sees suffers. That pony hurt the love of her life. That pony ruined the best relationship she would ever have. Let her suffer!

Applejack hates herself.

The dresses and gowns and froufrou hats are gorgeous, and she thanks Rarity for them, but it is a meaningless empty thing. They both know it. Not even fixing her mother's treasured leather vest can bring Applejack out of her depression. The farmer had always intended to wear it the day she married, and she had hoped against hope that Soarin' would have been her stallion, to have and to hold. Now it feels like an empty promise of old leather and green stitch flowers.

Nine times her friends visit her farm, and nine times they leave dejected. Not even the power of friendship can bring a smile back to Applejack's face. Twelve attempts by the Cutie Mark Crusaders to rescue Applejack from sadness. After a while, the Crusaders settle with simply trying to make Applejack smile; they never succeed. Ditzy Doo and Caramel, the newest couple of PonyVille, stop by. They don't say much, but they bring food and some movies. Applejack watches without seeing. It's just flashes of light and noise to the farmer.

Her brother doesn't say anything. He knows there is nothing to say. She wants to hate him. Every time she sees his familiar face, she wants to break it. She wants to beat and scratch and bite and scream until he bleeds to death on the floor. She wants him to know the pain he helped cause. But she can't. The only pony Applejack will blame, can blame, is herself. She lied. She lied to everypony, and now she must face the consequences. She lost her soulpony. He had been the only stallion who understood her. Soarin' knew the simple act of a smile, or offering to take a basket load off her back, or even holding her hoof was just as romantic and meaningful as the largest diamond bracelet or silk dress. He had been the type of stallion who believed in the little things. The simple act of making dinner for her after a hard day, or a blissful backrub from those God-like hooves of his. Those things mattered more to Applejack than a thousand red roses and declarations of love.