A young Applejack wandered aimlessly around the orchard, kicking up the dust with her boots as she walked around. Her parents had told her to get started on her chores, but she had finished them hours earlier. 

   At this point, Applejack was incredibly bored. Her Granny Smith was coming to visit them and Applejack could hardly wait. Her impatience grew by the minute. 

    Applejack loved when Granny Smith came because of her wit and interesting personality. Granny Smith was old, but not fragile. She was as spry as a rabbit. The last time that Granny Smith had come over, she taught Applejack to sing the ABC's while hopping over watering cans like a bunny and taught her the secret to the best apple strudels. She wanted to see what they would do this time. 

   Applejack's father, Bright Mac, and her older brother, Big Mac, came over to her, carrying barrels full of red delicious apples. "AJ?" her father asked. "Are ya done with your chores?"

   "Yes, Papa," Applejack replied. "Ah finished hours ago." She paused. "How much longer until Granny gets here?" 

    Bright Mac chuckled. "Should be here any minute now, don't ya fret."

    Pear Butter walked onto the orchard, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Woowee! Sure is hot out here, don't ya think, boys?"

   "Eeyup," Big Mac replied, causing the other members of the family to chuckle.

   "Where's Apple Bloom?" Bright Mac noticed.

    "Just put her down for her nap," Pear Butter answered. "She should be plum tuckered out for at least a few hours." 

   "Well ah think somebody should be inside with her," Bright Mac stated. He turned to his son. "Big Mac, do ya think you can stay inside with your sister?"

   "Eeyup," Big Mac said, heading for the doors of the house. 

    Applejack watched Big Mac hauling the full barrel of apples into the house. She hoped that she would be that strong one day. 

   Applejack sighed. "Can ah go play on the fields?"

   "Of course," Pear Butter told her, ruffling Applejack's hair. "Thank you for gettin' your chores done so early."

   Applejack let out a cheer as she raced over to play on the fields. She had her gaze set on her favorite area of the field, which she and her family had named 'The Rock Wall'. On their property, there was a natural section of land with bunches of rocks pressed together. Her family surmised it was made by previous owners since nature wouldn't have formed something so perfectly aligned. They started out small, but got larger as they reached the top. The largest rock, nearly the size of the house itself, teetered dangerously on the top of the wall. Her parents had warned her to stay away from it, which was why Applejack would never dare to attempt climbing the wall. However, Applejack loved playing near it, seeing all of those rocks grow larger and larger as her eyes traced up to the sky. The boulder at the top appeared to be scraping against the clouds. It was so far from the ground. 

   Applejack leaned down to inspect the smallest rock, curiously. For a moment, Applejack could've sworn she heard the sound of rumbling, but she shrugged, thinking it must've been her imagination. She leaned down to look at the rock more closely. If only she had her magnifying glass. 

   Then all at once, Applejack felt herself being away from the little rock. She landed roughly on the ground, feeling an immense amount of pain spread throughout her body. She shakily sat up, shocked at the sight of her own blood staining the green grass with red. Applejack noticed more blood dripping onto the ground and brushed her nose. Most of the blood was dripping from her nose, but there was also a fresh cut on her cheek that was also spewing blood. Bruises covered her arms and legs. Angrily, Applejack turned around in case it was her brother, pulling a prank on her. 

    Applejack stopped short. There was a loud ringing in her ears, blocking out the sounds of anything but her heartbeat. She saw the horrifying sight of the boulder on the ground, covering two dead bodies. 

    The adrenaline that shot through Applejack's system was overwhelming, allowing Applejack to move the boulder off of the bodies. 

    The scream of terror that Applejack let out alerted Granny Smith, who was arriving on the orchard at the very same moment. 

    Applejack felt tears rolling down her face and gasped for air, hyperventilating at the sight before her. Her parents were mangled beyond recognition. Blood covered them from head to toe, their bones were cracked to the point that they looked flattened, and they weren't stirring in the slightest. They had been crushed to death on impact. 

   Granny Smith, who had seen the frightening scene play out, held Applejack in her arms, trying to console her. However, it was no use. The memory was forever stored in Applejack's brain. 

                                                                                           ***

   It was the middle of the day and the science teacher, Mr. Nye, had moved onto the geology unit of the class. Pinkie Pie, who had grown up on a rock farm, surprised the class with many of her answers.

    "Now there are three types of rocks, can anybody tell me what they are?" Mr. Nye asked. 

   Pinkie Pie's hand shot up in the air. "Ooh, ooh! Call on me, Mr. Nye!"

   Mr. Nye chuckled. "Thank you for being so willing to participate, Miss Pie, but let's have somebody else answer the question this time." Mr. Nye's eyes wandered around the room until he noticed Applejack who seemed to be unusually quiet that day. "Miss Applejack?"

    Applejack seemed to be jarred out of her thoughts when she heard her name. She let out a low moaning sound, struggling not to cry. 

   As strange as it seemed, the subject of geology was a trigger for Applejack's anxieties. It reminded her of how she had shoved that boulder off of her parents and saw what had become of them. 

    "Can you tell me what the three types of rocks are?" Mr. Nye questioned. 

   All at once, tears started pouring from Applejack's eyes. "NO!" she cried. "No, no, no, no, no..."

   Applejack clutched the sides of her head as if trying to forget what was troubling her. Her legs pressed into her chest and she rocked back and forth on the seat, trying to control her panic. 

   "Applejack, it's okay if you don't know-" Mr. Nye began in shock before trailing off, deciding it would be best not to push her any further.

   The class stared at her in shock. Applejack had always been a strong, confident girl who never let the pressures of anything bring her down. To see her in such a state was out of the ordinary. 

    Applejack's friends exchanged shocked glances around the room. They had never known Applejack to break down this way either. 

    "Will somebody please bring Applejack to the nurse?" Mr. Nye asked. "I think she might need to spend some time there."

    Rainbow Dash jumped to her feet. "I'll bring her there," she volunteered.

    "Thank you, Rainbow Dash," Mr. Nye said. 

   Rainbow Dash went over to Applejack and kneeled down by her, taking her hand in worry. "Hey, AJ. We're going to go the nurse's office, okay?"

   Applejack looked at Rainbow Dash with tears still pouring down her face. She nodded and allowed Rainbow Dash to take her hand and pull her up. 

   Rainbow Dash and Applejack left the room, leaving a shaken classroom behind. 

   "So... uh... what are the three types of rocks?" Mr. Nye tried to continue. 

   But nobody could answer and nobody wanted to. 

(A/N: Hiya! Back again with another story. I know, I'm just cranking these mental health ones out like a writing machine. But I thought PTSD would be an interesting one to write about, considering I have a grandfather who has PTSD from serving in the military. Let me tell you, serving in war does something to a soldier. Those poor people! 

People with PTSD tend to have different triggers. They're all different and valid. For example, my grandfather is afraid of loud noises. Once, I accidentally dropped my school binder on the ground in front of him and it made a loud thud against the ground. It reminded him of a gunshot and he broke down. Another one of my friends, Ari, has PTSD from our friend, Ryan, killing himself in August. Her trigger is the mention of suicide. She can no longer read, write, or talk about the topic because she's so shaken by it. 

While PTSD is heartwrenching and a very serious topic, I think writing about it is bound to help educate people more on what it is and how they can help. Thanks so much for reading!)