Grounded

   She heard the clicking of metal blades and the whirring of various machinery behind her, keeping deathly still in waiting for those noises to stop ringing in her ears. Her sister's hoof upon her own did little to calm her frayed nerves, clenching her teeth and looking into her sibling's comforting eyes whenever she sought them. The bright, blinding white lights and the perfection of the room didn't help either; all of the tools laid by her side and the medication held in various cupboards screamed "Order! Order!", and made her feel trapped in an asylum of sorts.

   This operation had been going on for months, routine checkups and measuring, calculations and fittings, and stretches helped to lead up to this day. She never got used to this sort of treatment, or the hospital's cleanliness, even through all of these careful plannings. She barely knew where she was, let alone any of the doctors here, as they all went about caring for themselves and their procedures rather than the patients themselves. She had given up any forms of communication weeks ago.

   Everything was pristine. There wasn't a phial out of alignment nor a paper out of it's file, and she was suprised to find that the doctors and nurses weren't robots, even though they all seemed like it. She heard the systematic polishing of metal and the tedious clicking, and it made her gulp and clench her teeth.

   It didn't hurt, not anymore, but every sound other than her heavy breathing set her heart pounding. She howled during the first operation, when the anaesthetic wore off and she awoke to the sound of her bones snapping. She had watched through painful tears as some doctor put fragments of her broken wings, bones, feathers, skin, into sterilized plastic bags and toss them into a container near a far corner. She hadn't understood then, why they were taking her apart, or why everything hurt so much that it was numb, but after she found that the joints in her back didn't move or lift her up into the air anymore, she understood it all.

   They took her wings.

   She couldn't fly.

   When the doctor explained the next procedure, creating new wings, she listened with deaf ears and mumbled something about wanting her old ones back. The doctor just said 'no' again, like so many other times before, and told her how to get rid of the pain and soreness, through relaxing her back muscles and stretching them day-by-day. He told her about the 'phantom limbs', and the 'Operation RWMCA Beta', while she still stared blankly at the two stubs on her back.

   Alot had happened between those two intervals of then and now. Of course, she had been living with her sister at the time, since the operation would be taking place in a further away location from where they resided, her sister organized things for a move. The town was, more or less, a pleasant little village from what she saw of it outside the hospital, but she had yet to see her new home. Her sister transferred jobs, to a much more stable one in town, and had been homeschooling her until classes would start in the fall. The papers and everything would have to be signed yet, but she was too caught up in her own world to listen.

   She and her sister had moved before, starting when her sister's husband had left and she alone had to sign the divorce papers, and they went to live with extended relatives. Through a chain of apartments, shared housing, and transfers, her sister excitedly claimed that their new home was one where they would be staying in for a long time. That was more than could be said for their other lodgings, so being in the fragile, innocent state of mind that was childhood, she believed her.

   Now, she wasn't entirely sure what exactly led up to her wings being torn off, as she had apparently suffered from amnesia, she never asked as to what had happened. They all seemed to know what they were doing, so she supposed that she should too. As long as she looked into the sparkling, reassuring gaze of her sibling, she would be fine.

   Not that it hurt. Not like it used to.

   When the clicking stopped, she opened her eyes after realizing that they had been shut tight. There were a few momentary sounds of metal-against-metal, and the familiar polishing squeaks, and then the doctor appeared. He wore the same emotionless visage, wiping off a sharp tool and looking at her with bland eyes.

   "It's done," he simply stated, putting the tool down with careful precision on a rack nearby. He looked, for a brief moment, at the sleek contraption hooked to her back. She thought she saw a hint of emotion in those blank eyes. Pride? Pity? Through It didn't matter, as it passed just as soon as it had come. "Just a few more variables to test and then we can make sure everything is working properly."

   Her heart dropped at that. She had hoped to leave as soon as possible, to the new town and her new home, with her sister and their new opportunities. Everything seemed so slow in the hospital, and she would most likely be stuck here for the rest of her days, at the rate everything was going. She wondered when she would see the light of day again, instead of these artificial light-bulbs that burned her retinas.

   "Now, it'll take a while to get you off the ground again, but it'll pull through. Now," he said, turning to her sister abruptly, "if you'll follow me, please, we'll proceed to the next chamber." He trotted behind her once more, and she heard some snapping sounds, and then he came around and beckoned the two to follow.

   The wings were surprisingly light, though she couldn't move them at all yet, so they stood spread out at her sides glistening in the brightness of the hall where they were heading. It made her uneasy, seeing the sharp blades out of the corner of her eyes, and they put on a cheap imitation of the real ones she was used to. They were pure metal, though she knew not the kind, but she had seen them in construction several times. They were small now, due to the size of her small body, but the doctor had said that they would be modified as she grew.

   She thought that it had looked cool, the shiny metal contrasting perfectly with her light grey coat, and her shaggy white mane and tail. The only color that wasn't monochrome were her eyes, a cheery blue that ran in her family, and highlights in her hair to match. Her sister looked mostly identical to her, but had no highlights and, of course, real wings. She had no idea how the metal sheets on her back, which were a cheap imitation of feathers, could lift her with the same grace that her old ones had. The concept of being a sort of cyborg seemed less interesting now that she had seem the doctors and their mindless ways for so long.

   They continued down the hallway with only the sounds of their hoofsteps echoing in the hall to keep them company. They passed several rooms, some with the doors open, and some with closed, but most with names scrawled upon them in a small plaque in the middle. Whenever she managed to sneak a peek into an open door, she could see that none of the rooms were as large as the ones she had occupied. It made her feel selfish, seeing as though she was so small and that many of the ponies here seemed in much worse condition than her, and she had no wings.

   Some of the patients smiled at her as they passed, some old, some young. A lot of them were, she hoped, sleeping in their less-than-comfortable beds or staring at the windows that overlooked the town. Each of the patients had a nurse with them, helping them eat or giving them a check-up. Some of the ponies were wrapped up in so much gauze and bandages that she had no idea whether or not they were alive or mere molds of their former selves. She felt a tinge of empathy for the maids that tended to them, serving them their every will that they could barely identify.

   Before she could get a reading on any other rooms, two large double-doors swung open in front of them, signaling that they had arrived at their destination. Several nurses rushed to their side, along with a few choice mechanics, and they all then proceeded down another corridor without any rooms to adjourn it. They came to a large room, mostly barren, but with a higher ceiling and much more lights than she thought she could handle.

   Her sister drew her close to her chest, leading her out of the way of the doctors line of fire. They all zoomed about, setting up cords and getting notes in order. They whispered a few choice words to one another and wrote on their clipboards with feverish speed. Finally, after they settled into the room, the doctor that had led them here originally took her aside, and out of her sister's grasp.

   The doctor set her in the middle of the room, underneath the most white and blinding light in the room. He again checked the mechanics in the metal wings, and set all of the feathers in place. He stepped back, admiring his work, and turned to the other doctors, who whispered amongst themselves. After a brief time of whispering and the scratch of a quill upon paper, her doctor turned to her again.

   The sun was hanging low in the sky as she and her sister left the hospital. A fine dirty mist hung in the air, lingering in the brilliant purple sunset. Stars poked through the colors in preparation for the night, and already some ponies were closing up their shops as they headed home. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she tripped over nothingness a few times. She gripped her sister's hoof steadily, though, yet still lagged behind. They walked slowly in the twilight.

   Few noticed the pair, besides the occasional greeting or passing glance. Usually, the town would be bustling and the citizens would stop long enough for a short conversation, but now the they were drifting slowly into night's sweet lulliby. She too felt the effects of a tiring day's work.

   Her sister bent down and nuzzled her softly. "It'll be okay, Windy." she said, stopping and lifting her up on her back, letting her head settle in between the crook of her neck.