Everywhere that Scootaloo looked, she witnessed what her mind saw fit to imagine. She was in a world of her own; a wonderland for her, and for her alone. Across the vast expanse, entire realities rose and fell. It was a land of harmony, chaos, and everything in-between.
She first imagined herself among the clouds; floating, as if she were in an ocean of invisible, formless water. Her wings, tiny as they were, twitched and flapped pointlessly—they did not serve an apparent use. But in her dreams, she did not need them. She imagined herself flying, swerving among the clouds, and feeling the cool puffs of condensation up close, letting it dampen and relax her body. She felt alive, and free.
The sky was her home, in her dreams.
Next, she imagined the world of the surface. The realm of the ground-bound creatures and ponies. Where she, too, had once been forced to tread for some time. But, even as she had left this plane of existence, she still saw fit to visit from time to time. She looked down on the creatures that lived there.
Her friends, ground-bound ponies like the others, waved to her. Scootaloo waved back.
Whenever she felt lonely, she would visit her friends on the surface. When she felt tired, or stressed, she returned to her realm in the sky.
She was calm, in her dreams.
But these realms previously spoken of were but temporary distractions, at best. When she so desired, Scootaloo would disperse the former constructs of her imagination, and start anew. She would raise the sun, and lower the moon; vice versa, if she so desired. Her hooves shaped the land, and her eyes envisioned a world.
She was a goddess, in her dreams.
Her form was never the same; it was whatever she chose it to be. From the small, grounded foal that she typically identified herself as, to a large, regal pegasus, with a wingspan rivaling any other. If she opted to be weak, then she was weak. If she desired to be strong, then so it was. Somewhere in between—it was no matter.
She was in complete control of her dreams.
Scootaloo was at peace. In her wonderland, she was in complete control.
She next decided to imagine a boat, on the ocean. She was the captain, as she often deemed it to be. Her friends were the first mates, and all of the other schoolchildren that she knew outside of her wonderland were her crew.
Dissidents were causing trouble on her ship, Scootaloo knew. And she also knew who they were. A pair by the names of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon—caught red-hoofed, stealing napkins from the mess hall. Such a crime was punishable by a day in the stock; for all to stop, and to laugh at their obvious inferiority.
So as such, that Scootaloo reckoned as the appropriate penalty for these two.
She was an adventurer, in her dreams.
But even she soon grew tired of watching the foals she disliked with such intensity be pelted with tomatoes, bound and helpless. The world was dissipated, to be replaced once again with a void of eternal sky, as she so decreed.
Scootaloo then imagined a stage; a familiar stage, one where many a memory had been forged, outside of her wonderland. She loved to sing, and so did her friends. Every night, they would sing their favorite songs to the audience, and the audience would cheer every time. In her world, her singing was unparalleled.
She was a star, in her dreams.
Next, and with only the lightest hesitation, she chose to imagine herself as a filly at school again.
She had been watching a relatively new colt at her school for some time. When she would approach him, he would shy away. She did not understand his behavior, or why he would act so nervous around her.
She wasn’t afraid to admit that she felt a stirring in her chest at the sight of the shy young colt, but her attempts at contact were never met with success. Scootaloo felt upset; defeated.
It was the one thing she could not control, in her dreams.
She abandoned that world, forsaking her buried desires. She did not want a world that she did not control. She wanted everything to be as she willed, and as she wanted, for this was her wonderland.
Once again, she imagined something new: A tower built on the ground, and reaching far into the sky. Stairs led up the tower, ascending like a corkscrew.
Scootaloo climbed the tower. It took her much time, and determination, but she managed to climb the stairs and reach the top. Above the clouds, the night sky blazed with the lights of a million suns, each an incredible distance away from her.
She wanted to go see those suns up close, someday.
But she knew that there was no way that she could see them all. Even in her dreams, she could not do everything that she could ever want to do.
There would always be something more. Something that she could always look forward to.
The world faded, and Scootaloo opened her eyes.
No longer was she in her wonderland, and no longer was she in complete control of everything she surveyed; she was herself again, leaning against a lonely tree in the schoolyard. Her friends were off playing with a rubber ball—laughing, enjoying life.
Scootaloo looked over, and saw the two dissidents that she had punished in her dreams. She laughed as she remembered their faces, drenched in ketchup.
And then there was the black-maned colt. He looked at her, for only a moment, and then looked away.
No matter.
She closed her eyes again, and visited her wonderland once more. She imagined the world she envisioned, and controlled. She could see what she desired, and what she craved. For her, and only her.
For it was her dream.
Her fantasy.
