The spotlight shone with the intensity of the sun, drawing focus to the young, sky-blue mare standing on the stage. The rest of the room was enveloped in a silky darkness, the ponies who dwelled there watching the pegasus on stage as she shifted under the attention of the spotlight. The room was quiet, save for the occasional cough and the hushed whispers of conversation in the back, which were quickly silenced by the regular patrons.
There were no curtains on stage; this was not a theatre or an opera house, just a room that happened to contain an elevated platform at one end and enough tables and chairs to comfortably seat at least fifty ponies. The house was almost full that night, most of Ponyville’s poetically inclined having come out to see the debut of a new poem by a mare who had never written poetry before. A very famous mare, in fact.
Rainbow Dash was nervous like she had never been before. When she had flown in the Best Young Flyer competition, she went in at least knowing she could fly. Even when she was saving ponies during the Mare-do-Well thing, her heart didn’t beat half as fast as it was now. That had been dangerous, but it was something she knew she could do. Here, she was in completely unknown territory. One factor was consistent between the two events, though: her friends were there to support her. Even Rarity, this time.
The silence that Rainbow Dash had caused with her hesitation grew ever longer. Her heart pounded in her ears, each second passing right on time no matter how hard she willed them to stop. She couldn’t see her friends; the spotlight was blinding her, casting the crowd in shadows of anonymity. She wanted to run, but her legs were rooted in place.
She creased her brow, taking a deep breath to drive the nervousness from her body. Performing was what she loved, what she was good at, and this was just a different kind of performance.
The microphone smelled metallic as she leaned toward it. There was a loud shriek as feedback tore through the speakers before settling down. Rainbow Dash blushed a slight red, but didn’t stop.
“Flying is awesome,” she said, her voice amplified throughout the room by the microphone. “A poem by Rainbow Dash.”
She took a deep breath.
“Flying is awesome, flying is cool.
Flying definitely beats going to school.
Flying is radical, flying is sweet.
Flying is something that cannot be beat.”
She paused, her mind running back over the words she had just spoken. What was she doing up there on stage in front of all these ponies? They were all eggheads who read and wrote poetry all the time; she probably sounded so stupid to them. And now she had been stopped for way too long, and somepony coughed uncomfortably. Now one was getting up, and Rainbow Dash knew they were probably just using the bathroom, but she couldn’t help but think that they were leaving because of her. She felt the urge to run again, to just say “forget it” and leave and never return.
What right did she have to write poetry? All she ever did was fly. She flew incredibly well, but that was about the only thing she did well. Besides being awesome, of course. Did she think she could just read a few poems she liked and then write one herself? Even with her friends’ help, she had probably mucked up writing the poem and was about to make a fool of herself. Just like at the Best Young Flyers competition, self-doubt reared its ugly head.
Rainbow Dash closed her eyes and did what she did when she raced: she remembered. When she was racing, she remembered her training, her friends’ words of encouragement, and, most of all, what it felt like to win.
Rainbow Dash clenched her jaw and nodded.
“I fly up so high, higher and higher.
No height is too high for the Best Young Flyer.
The wind in my mane and the chill on my skin,
helps me hold onto my ultimate zen.”
Twilight had helped with that line, Rainbow remembered. She closed her eyes and recalled the next part of her poem.
“But wait, what’s that below me I see?
Could some other pony be flying with me?
They fly fast and faster, almost at my height,
And I try and flap harder, with all of my might.
But it’s not quite enough, and I don’t climb much higher,
My lungs start to feel like they are on fire,
My wings ache and burn, my joints groan and creak,
I hate and despise them for being so weak.
The pony’s above me now, climbing higher still,
I try so much harder, but come up with nil,
I glare at the pony who’s better than me,
And hide my tears so nopony will see.
It’s not worth it now, I can’t be the best,
So I let my wings down and welcome the rest,
I fall down and down, wind freezing me now,
And I think long and hard, wondering how,
When I gave up so much, and gave it my all,
Why in the end, I still have to fall?
Why there’s a pony who’s better than me,
Who climbs so much higher, why can’t I just see,
The truth, as it sits, staring at my face,
I’ll never be good enough to win the race.
There’s always a pony who’s better and stronger,
Who can fly so much higher and glide so much longer,
So why even try? Why waste all this time?
If I can’t be the best, why am I even trying?”
She paused, her voice catching a little. She took a deep breath. In, and out. Then, she smiled.
“Because I love flying, I love it so much,
That I don’t have to use victory as a crutch.
My friends helped me see that, I was being a fool,
Because above all:
Flying is awesome, and flying is cool.”
She stepped back from the mic. She was painfully aware of a single drop of sweat that ran down the side of her face, tickling unbearably as it went, but she didn’t dare break the moment by wiping it away. Her last word still echoed in the corners of the room; they felt so far away, like she was completely detached from that moment.
It was out of her hooves now. It was a strange feeling; when she raced, it was all her down to the last moment. Now it was no longer up to her, and she just held onto her breath forever, waiting for a response from the audience.
She thought her heart was going to explode. Why wasn’t anything happening? How long had it been? She couldn’t tell. Seconds could have passed, or hours; Rainbow Dash just didn’t know. She wanted to say something, but she was frozen.
Finally, the moment ended, and a polite stomping rippled through the crowd. Then, off to the left, she heard cheering and whistling from the table where her friends sat. You weren’t supposed to cheer at a poetry reading, but they were doing it anyway.
For her.
