Ten Seconds

by OleGrayMane

Rating: teen
Tags: Wonderbolts, Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Original Character
Length: 4538

There's been an accident, in the desert… Based on Robert Calvert's 1972 poem "Ten Seconds of Forever". ⭐️ RCL Inductee

THERE'S BEEN AN ACCIDENT, in the desert…
Based on Robert Calvert's 1972 poem Ten Seconds of Forever.

Even though the story ends literally in the same place as it began, in getting to know the characters, my emotional involvement grew to an extent that surprised me
—AugieDog

[A] very well written fic, full of nice turns of phrase and some fantastic imagery
—Soge

This is a really neat piece, worth reading even if you just like words. Highly Recommended
—PresentPerfect

Proofreading: CanoLathra ● Editor: BlueBook

Added to Royal Canterlot Library 15th Jul 2017
Review by PresentPerfect 1st May 2017
Added to Twilight's Library 23rd Jun 2013
Listen to a dramatic reading by obabscribbler

Published 2013-06-07 01:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-07 01:10:01 UTC

Ten Seconds

~10~

The rushing sound fills my ears and I hear nothing else. How can it be water? Water doesn't make sense; I'm in the desert. The sound of waves slamming against the rocks assaults my head.

Coarse grains of sand cut my face and coat my lips. The beach, the ocean—none of this is right. We were flying above the desert just moments ago. The ocean is hundreds of miles away; I couldn't have flown that far. How is this possible?

We were, we were…

But here I lay on the hot sand of the beach, by the distant ocean, and the madness of crashing waves drowns out all reason.

The sun is impossibly hot today, but its light sparkles invitingly on the surface of the water. The burning sand makes me long for the cool water. Offshore, a white boat drifts silently along. Something moves on its deck. There, I can make it out now, three ponies, calm and relaxed despite the sweltering heat. One smiles and waves for me to join them. Yes, I should join them. I try, but I can't. I am paralyzed on the shore. I open my mouth to cry out for help, but there is only silence. Nopony comes to help me.

The afternoon drags on, and the sun continues to mercilessly pour down as I lay gripped by the sand, unable to move or speak. The pressure in my head grows till I can't even concentrate on trying to move. I want the noise to stop; I want to get to the water and join them on the boat.

No, this place is insanity, I don't belong here at all. I just need to stand up and get back to the desert where I belong. I will my body to move, but it refuses.

The light fades fast, turning the sea an inky black, yet the heat remains. The white boat and the others abandon me in the dwindling light. The sound in my head changes from the crashing of waves to the roar of the wind. It gets louder, building pressure, until I fear my head will burst. I cry.

I'm alone, laying by the impossible sea, in total darkness, while my body burns upon the sand.

~9~

Mother flies me to the park to play for the afternoon. The day is beautiful and I enjoy being small again, playing in the familiar sandbox in the airy park. The moist, cool sand feels good as I shape it with my hooves. After all these years, the sandbox is the perfect place for me today. Without cares, practice, or contests, there is only time for play. In the sandbox everything can be made into a toy: Stones, sticks, some leaves, and so much wonderful sand.

Let's build a castle. I make my castle with shapeless towers, little sticks at the tops holding pretend flags made of leaves. My toy pony flies over the grand castle delighting the imaginary crowds, performing her tricks, defying gravity. Fast and famous, she wins every race and the crowds cheer her on. I'm the pony. She dives, crashing into the castle, destroying it.

I'll build another one—no, this time a whole kingdom for us to fly over, my pony and I. The crowds cheer wildly wherever we go and want our autograph, but I need to learn to write first. They hold a parade for us: Everypony loves us and we love them. We are the greatest pony ever.

Mother calls out to me: playtime is over, we have to leave for home. Why must she ruin everything? I don't want to go home, I want to play! I'll ignore her, and when she comes for me I'll make a fuss. I'll kick and scream until she lets me stay. It's cool and simple here; I don't want to leave my sandbox.

The sand becomes intensely hot and the hissing noise fills my head again. I crush my head with my hooves, trying to force it out. It is relentless, growing ever stronger, quickly overwhelming me. I can't let it win, I won't let it have me. My body hurts everywhere and I cry.

Mother takes me home.

~8~

Why yes, thank you. Nice to see you again. Enjoy yourselves.

Glad you could come today. Oh, don't hug so tight!

Of course the Academy has a selective process, but with my record; well, you understand.

I start in about two weeks. No, being away won't bother me at all, I spent lots of time at all those competitions you know. For me, the first few weeks shouldn't be difficult, just basic drills and such. I expect we won't get to something interesting until the third or fourth…

I'm sorry, please excuse me. I have to go see somepony.

Hey. Don't look so sad, all right? If you don't, I'll just start to cry. Yeah, I'll miss you too. Training lasts for twelve weeks, not forever. I'll be back before you notice. You'll write anyway, won't you? Oh, stop smiling like that, everypony will talk.

Hold on, I'll be right back. You want me to what?

Speech? Me? No, no, no, I just can't. I'm a flier, not talker. Nobody wants to hear… oh, all right.

Gee, first, thank you all for coming. I think you all know how much I've wanted to go to the Academy, since, well, I guess my whole life. I've worked really hard with all the training and the competitions, and, gosh, now it's finally happening, it's so great. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if…

Oh, right, right. I'm supposed to thank ponies. Sorry, I told you I don't know how to make speeches. Well, I have to thank my coaches for making me train hard over the years, Mom and Dad for all their support and hard work. I need to thank everypony else for supporting me, especially when things got tough. Gee, I don't know who else. Oh, thank you for being here today, and I expect to see you all at my first show! Have a great time!

Sure Uncle, just give me a moment, I'll be right back.

Where did he go? There he is. Hey you.

You're leaving so soon? Oh, I see. It's all right, I understand, but come and see me tomorrow, okay? Maybe we could go dancing, or someplace to listen to music. Just dinner then, some place not so crowded. Yeah, thanks.

I love you too.

~7~

I walk the familiar path back to a place I've never been before, and there, at its end sits the house, my house. My house that is not yet my home.

I knock and when the door opens, I welcome myself inside. I walk in and meet my husband. How long now? You don't say. To think, I'd barely met him.

Older? Yes, makes sense, but not too old. Nothing to worry about, it hasn't happened yet anyway. It's really a lovely place, but I would like to see something—can you show me the trophies? I point them out, so many of them, all proudly displayed. We did well, didn't we? Of course, how could you have doubted our ability? You don't have to tell me about that one, don't forget I won it too. So wonderful to see them again, my old friends, we are both so proud we could burst.

Even older now, but we don't care, still in top form as always. And children now, where did they come from? Two, then three, running about the room, filled with energy, noisy and free. So active, how do I stand them? Exasperating at times, yes, but you love your own.

My, the little one is fast. I like her, brash and eager for attention; a little whirlwind indoors. I smile because we both see it in her eyes, the desire for speed, the longing for open sky. They are chaos, making it impossible to talk, so we shoo all three outside. They fly off with their father, leaving just the two of me.

We talk about the children, growing up so fast we hardly believe it. Then, when we come back from the shows, it seems like they grew twice as fast. Yes, it can be rough, but nothing that can't be fixed by the crayon drawing of a flower. Their father adores them, and us. We are luckier than we ever imagined.

Too quickly, they move out—independent, finding their own way, off starting families of their own. The youngest, so full of promise, follows our path to the Academy. We love them all. Soon we will be grandparents. Old at last, but now, it no longer matters.

Oh, look at the time! I beg myself to stay, but you see, I can't. I really appreciate you letting me visit. There are some ponies looking for me and I can't disappoint them, can I? You understand, don't you? It really has been a treat to see us.

I get a hug and say my goodbyes. One last thing: I'm sure he knows, but you must tell him I love him. The time finally comes, and I must leave what would be. I start down the path, heading back to now, where they are waiting for me.

~6~

I tumble through thick black clouds hanging in an even blacker sky; out of control, plummeting to the ground that doesn't seem to exist. I should be panicked, but instead a strange, cold stillness comes over me. The pain remains, but now it's outside, distant, separate from my body, hanging like a menacing presence watching me. I don't care as long as it stays away.

Each cloud I pass through slows me down and eventually I stop tumbling, ending up falling backwards to nowhere, gently like a leaf. Maybe I'll stop before I hit the ground—if it's there at all—and end up floating somewhere in the dark. I like the idea of floating in the night; I want to rest.

Above me it is nothing but pitch-black; no shapes or sound, just a black void. I can barely see the clouds I've passed through, my only clue they exist is a slowly swirling black-on-black trail behind me. Everything slows down, moments drag on endlessly, and the layers of clouds seem farther and farther apart. So peaceful drifting in the blackness, not hurting or caring, just being free in the air.

Something forms above me, a shapeless mass rushing towards me out of the clouds. I'm too tired to worry if it's the pain coming for me. The form comes closer, contorting itself into the semblance of a face—his face—but why? His lips move, but no sound can penetrate the thick black air. He looks frightened, pleading, repeating the same word, all the while the soothing darkness keeps pulling me farther down.

His face gets closer. He is right upon me, and he whispers in my ear: Awake!

The void's fraud is unmasked, and I fight the pull of the false calm. I must escape! I can't let the foul pit of lies claim me. I pump my wings to fly out of this abyss, following his face away from the false promise of peace. But the darkness won't relinquish me so easily: The pain returns. It leaps upon me, trying to drag be back down, a demon tormenting me with every movement. I must not lose sight of his face. It is my hope, drawing me upwards, begging me not to lose faith.

I fight through the layers of deceit, following him, and the clouds slowly turn from black to gray.

~5~

He is my artist of the early morning rain, a master painting with water on the canvas of the forest. Beneath the shady canopy you can smell his artistry in the moist soil: Pungent, musky, so alive. The water drips slowly through the boughs, landing on the dead leaves laying on the forest floor. I hear snaps and pops around me as the breeze shakes the raindrops loose, reminding the forest his artistry is not yet finished. His slow, serene rain lasts past midday, long after the clouds have disappeared.

How did he get so good? What is his subtle magic? He knows how many clouds to assemble, delicately placing them without error. I demand his secret, and he says he doesn't really know. He merely gathers them till it feels right, that's all. He asks me how I do it, how I fly so fast, the nimble movements, those precise turns? He knows I don't have an answer either, so I say nothing and smile, content just to walk beside him.

I've grown to like walking under the trees after his rain. Yes, walking, if you can believe it, side-by-side through the tranquil forest, listening to the water drop. At first, I refused to be on the ground, trapped under the trees. 'The sky is my home' I said, but he persisted, and I'm glad he did. Now I enjoy our time here together, and I turn to look at him, and begin to tell him—

No, not so soon! My dream fades, and his beautiful forest disappears with the cruel desert taking its place. Desperately, I will myself to return to him under the trees, but the agony of my body hurls me upon the sand, helpless, a prisoner of the present. But how, how am I here?

I remember now, we were flying, then…

Urgency grips me; I panic and have to flee. I must stand—I must! But the smallest movement amplifies my torment, and I collapse. It's impossible to fight back, and the relentless pain swallows me in its blackness. I lay still, gathering strength, in the hope that I can find my way back to the forest.

~4~

The sun after the rain and the cold, dark, starry nights. The fields full of flowers and the smell of autumn. Green valleys in summer and the snowy mountains peaks rising above them. The sanctity of the forest and the intoxicating freedom of the skies.

The spaciousness of the sky, the joy of rising through the broken clouds, climbing above them into the sunlight, a world without horizons. Watching the storm clouds from above, the distant lightning illuminating their interiors in shades of red and yellow, while we guide them along above the countryside. And at night, a tapestry of stars behind a silver mountain range lit by the moon. There is no other place I love more than the sky; after all, the sky gave me him.

And how could I not love him? His bashful smile, his quiet presence, his modesty. No wonder I overlooked him all those years. He's not really my style. But he waited patiently for the wild one to finally see his worth, and looking back, I guess I never stood a chance. I felt scared at first, but he talked of bringing his dreams to life, and I knew we were the same. Why didn't I realize it earlier? Preoccupied I guess, not ready to share myself, my smiles, my tears with anypony. But I love him now, and even those lost opportunities don't matter when he flies with me.

I understand the look my grandmare would have on her face as she would sit and watch me dart about with my friends, smiling gracefully at absolutely nothing at all. I have her profound feeling now, the joy of being, observing, loving every insignificant thing. I wish she was here; I wish I could tell her I understand. Yes, this explains everything, but why does it have to come so late?

~3~

The first time I ended up in the hospital—I was just seven or eight, not much older—it was a stupid kid accident. We raced about at recess, chasing each other, then she almost caught me, so I turned hard and dove. My left rear hoof snagged a dead branch, and the branch and I crashed down, crushing the white fence surrounding the school yard.

The others said I was unconscious and they called for the teacher. They might have been right, because I don't remember much before waking in the hospital room with Mom and Dad by the bedside. My head and leg were hurt, so the doctor wanted to keep me overnight, but no pain medicine because of the head. My parents stayed as long as they could, but the nurse sent them home in the evening.

My head felt better in a short while, but my leg felt like somepony had succeeded in twisting it off. The persistent ache traveled up my leg and to my hip. I tossed ceaselessly in the darkened room, constantly shifting to find some relief, but no position was comfortable and nothing took my mind from focusing on my aching leg. Long past dark I found it impossible to sleep, until the front came through.

The gale slammed the hospital, making the ancient windows pop and the thin walls creak as the wind pushed against the building. As the front roared through, I imagined my parents working with the others, flying above me, guiding the clouds and driving the storm across the countryside. As swiftly as the wind came, it ended, replaced by the driving rain.

At first, the fat drops splattered noisily on the window, then eased to a constant drumming on the roof of the old building. I closed my eyes and listened, focusing on the sound of the raindrops, imagining I was one of the storm makers flying high above the clouds. I don't know how long I laid in bed listening and imagining before I fell asleep. It may have just been exhaustion, but when I was young, I believed in the power of the rain.

~2~

At last I can open my eyes. My ears ring incessantly, the pressure filling my head, but at least I can see again. Still, nothing is in focus in the harsh light, as the bright desert sun leaves everything surrounded by fuzzy outlines. I don't see any shadows, so it must still be midday. Midday—that means…

How long ago? Minutes, seconds? It feels so much longer. They'll get here soon and everything will be all right. Yes, they'll be here and everything will be all right.

My vision starts to clear, and in front of me, just out of my reach, lies a dark blur, its outline barely visible. Black? No, not black but blue. Metal? Yes, definitely metal, the harsh sunlight glinting off its sharp edges.

Goggles, I'm looking at my goggles, glass broken, all bent and twisted now. Yes, those are definitely goggles, but not mine. The rims are silver, mine are gold, right? Yes, I'm certain mine were gold, just the standard issue, nothing special. If they're not mine, then who's?

She had a pair with silver rims, a gift from her family when she was accepted by the Academy. Her family was so proud of her, and I remember she loved them because they made her different from the rest of us. I can't remember how many times she told us the story of her goggles. Today she flew on my left; I expect she will be over there, somewhere. I roll my head to look and excruciating pain shoots through my neck. The pain pushes me close to unconsciousness, and I close my watering eyes.

Finally, it subsides, and I open them again. At first it is difficult, but I see her, ten yards away from me. There's no movement, and it's too far away to tell if she's breathing. No sign of the others, just her, laying in a crumpled heap, far worse off than me, a total mess. So strange that I don't feel anything when I see her; I'm detached, distant, just—empty. She was so beautiful, so how could this scene be real. She's just a grotesque picture of herself, laying there, motionless, a rag doll discarded by a careless child.

It doesn't matter because she can't be alive, her body's too twisted, her legs and wings at strange angles, and then, her neck. I hope she's dead—I wouldn't want her to suffer. I study her face, once so full of ambition and laughter, now dumped on her back with mouth agape, eyes unfocused, wide-open to the scorching sun. I remember her telling stories, her bright laughing eyes would…

Despair and remorse rise from nowhere seizing me when I remember her alive. I feel myself sinking, nauseous, consumed by the horror. Her body, what has happened, what I've done, the totality comes crashing through my numbness, making everything terrifyingly real. I can't look at her anymore. I need her to go away; I need the world to go away.

Even with my eyelids clamped shut to hide the atrocity she's become, the anguish stalks me in the dark like a hungry, soulless animal, gnawing at my remaining hope. I can't run from it. It will pursue me forever; I'll never be free. This is too much to bear. I face reality; it has won. There is only one escape: I'll just let myself fall into the darkness. I'll go to meet her.

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough—I hope he understands.

~1~

I don't know if you've heard, but everypony knows I'm the fastest and the best. Years of practice, competition after competition, I guarantee you'll find none better. They've heard and come to check me out, and right away they know I have the right stuff.

I ace the Academy entrance exam, almost too easily. Why, I've trained harder on my own than anything they throw at me. So you call this practice, ha! Why I'll teach them a thing or two before we are finished. The other cadets see it: I'm going to be big, the best. All they need to do is stay out my way.

Team leader? Of course, I never had any doubts, did you? A record you say, certainly no surprise to me. This is just the beginning after all, you guys stick with me and we'll all be famous, I promise you.

Aerobatics—why that's my middle name—exactly what have you got for us today? Just loops, are you kidding me? Foals play. Come on, when will you give me something challenging?

All right team, here's our opportunity; today we are going to show them how the big ponies fly. Diamond formation, wingtip-to-wingtip, we'll come in low and fast, exit upside down then roll. Keep your eyes on me, stay close and keep up. We're going to give them one hell of a show.

Okay, maybe I came in too low there; doesn't matter, we'll just pick up speed and pull the loop tighter. Why can't they keep up with me? Faster you idiots, don't make me look back at you.

Tighter, pull the damn loop tighter. If I watch you I can't gauge our altitude. Doesn't matter, we just need more speed. Come on you three, keep up with me.

If I wait for you we'll never make it. She's not turning fast enough. Now! Now pour on the speed. Now! You have to do it now!

If you don't do it now we'll never—

Never—never—never…

Author's Note

Many of you are probably asking yourself, “What did I just read?”, and rightfully so. Let me try to explain all of this.

A while ago, I got writers block on the three stories I've been working on. While out on my noon time walk, I listened to Space Ritual by Hawkwind. I took the performance of the poem Ten Seconds of Forever and used it as a creative writing project to get unblocked. If you click on the above link, skip to the 25 second mark to get right to the words.

The poem, if it can be called that, consists of ten lines of remembrances, with the implication that the narrator is in the last few seconds of their life. I took each one of these as a prompt and wrote a short piece, but each being a part that could be woven together into a single story.

Each line enumerates the second and starts with the narrator saying that they thought or remembered something. I'll explain how I used each line as a writing prompt.

...the sea and a white yacht drifting…

Immediately after her accident our narrator hallucinates that she is by the sea rather than in the desert. She has a metaphysical moment: the boat drifting by represents death and the three ponies gesturing to her are her dead companions. The desert and heat represent her physical pain.

...of a leaf, a stone, the plastic fragment of the child's toy…

She has another hallucination, this time reverting to her childhood, and we see the roots of her desire to be a famous Wonderbolt.

...a warm room where voices played…

Our narrator recalls her side of the conversations at a party celebrating her acceptance into the Wonderbolt Academy. Her lover, another pegasai, but not a Wonderbolt, is introduced.

...of the life I would not lead…

Now she has a vision of her idealized future, where her present day self goes to talk to her future self, and sees herself age.

...your mouth whispering something I could hear…

Death almost overtakes her, but a vision of her lover rescues her at the last moment.

...of the vermillion deserts of Mars, the jeweled forests of Venus…

Okay, pony space flight is right out! Instead it's just forests and the desert again. We find out a little more about her lover, and what makes him special to her. Pain overtakes her again.

...nothing that I did not love…

Some zen like moment spreads over her and she finds some peace, even this late in her life. Again, her lover plays an important part. This was the most difficult part to write.

...rain against a window and I thought of the wind…

This childhood remembrance should be rather straightforward, but it is supposed to represent overcoming pain.

...the pair of broken shades lying on the tarmac…

Again, this should be rather straightforward, with goggles replacing the sunglasses and the desert replacing the tarmac. She realizes the disaster she has created, and succumbs to her injuries and grief; even the thought of her lover cannot sustain her.

...the long past that had led to now and never… never… never… never…

In her last narrative, we see how she becomes a Wonderbolt, and how her hubris and carelessness has lead to the accident, her own death, and death of her teammates.

I'd like to clarify who our narrator is, or should I say, isn't. She isn't any known or described character from the show, nor is her lover a canon character. She is just a nameless, faceless victim of herself and the Wonderbolt's horrific safety record, well, at least until Rainbow Dash set them straight.

Thanks for reading.

06-Jun-2013 - Initial version
06-Jun-2013 - Added author notes
05-Nov-2013 - Revised author's notes