Prologue: Therapy
The story begins in an accommodating counselor's office at Canterlot High School. In the room, a bespectacled school counselor lowers the clipboard he is etching on to speak to his student patient. “Let’s see, Mr. Chaser: you’re a senior student that’s been enrolled here at Canterlot High since your freshman year, and yet you still can’t seem to make any lasting friends? Why is this exactly?”
A disheveled youth arises from a couch to address the counselor’s concern. “Well, doc, you have to understand that I’m not a particularly likable person.” The student averts his gaze to a manila folder bearing his full birth name, Lightning Chaser, on a desk behind where the counselor is positioned. “You probably read about my criminal background, didn't you?”
“It’s not my job to guilt trip those I’m entrusted to help, but I’m in a quandary as to why you haven’t been expelled for such acts. I read in your file that you once hospitalized three fellow students during your sophomore year. I’d like to hear you elaborate on the semantics behind such aggression, Mr. Chaser.” The counselor readjusts his sitting position in an effort to make him more comfortable.
Lightning Chaser sighs in annoyance to the request. “I guess I’m just overly sensitive to criticism, doc.”
The counselor confirms Lightning’s observation with both a snide smirk and a subtle chuckle. “This is apparent.” The counselor then goes to grab the aforementioned file. And once it’s in his possession, he returns to his former seat and skips to a particular section to glance over. “What are your interests, Mr. Chaser?
Lightning sinks into his seat, and prepositions his body in an informal pose. “I don’t rightly know of any yet.”
The counselor continues reading over the same section of Lightning’s file, not even lifting his head to properly confront the increasingly suspicious Lightning with his next observation. “Funny, I’m reading here that you excel at English and physical education. Your other grades on the other hand… probably best if you consult your individual instructors about those.” The counselor attempts to mitigate the tense air of his office by playfully snickering, but instead yields the opposite effect by embarrassing his already sulking patient even further.
Lightning, feeling degraded by having his insufficient grades exposed so candidly, slightly lowers his head in an attempt to conceal his embarrassment.
The counselor finally lifts his head and speaks smoothly in hopes of consoling Lightning. “Now, Mr. Chaser, graduation is still a way’s away. You can still…
Lightning interrupts the counselor’s proposed solution in an apathetic tone. “And pass with flying colors? I've heard the same babble from several other peers… Even if I were to one day hold a graduation certificate of some kind in my hand, the pride that would come with such an accomplishment would only stay with me temporarily.” Lightning collects himself by inhaling deeply. “I realize that you’re being paid to hear me vent, and subsequently provide your own concept of ‘professional’ input, doc. But I like to think I know how to alleviate my most conflicting problem: that I've been mostly seeking external validation for the past few years that have seemed so... ceaseless.”
The counselor finds himself shaking his young patient’s derogatory remark. “I can now attest firsthand to your comparatively high English grade, Mr. Chaser. Tell me: do you write in your spare time? Do you keep a journal of some kind? Would creative writing be something you’d consider for a future career?”
“Anything I've written about is purely cathartic. Knowing how people in your line of ‘expertise’ seem to have a short-term solution to everything, you would likely just recommend me to some anti-depressants if you pried into my journal.”
The counselor still manages to remain composed in enduring more blatantly derogatory remarks. He then readjusts his glasses. “I think I realize now why you repel people, Mr. Chaser: you push people away that publicly address your unique quirks. Now that we've arrived at the problem, we can theorize on an effective solution. Tell me, Mr. Chaser: what’s your home situation like?”
Lightning responds with a defensive, cold and statuesque demeanor. “Hey, tell me, doctor: does sounding like a broken record help you land a job like this?” Lightning forcefully arises and proceeds to advance towards the counselor’s closed office door.
The counselor stands up furiously. Hey! Where do you think you’re going!? I warn you, punk, I have the means to have you expelled!”
Lightning projects hone of his middle fingers to the counselor, shortly before slamming the door to his office. Once he’s arrived back on the school’s main campus, he gravitates his way to a nearby exit and leaves school early.
Introspection
Lightning, having stopped in a familiar train yard after leaving school unlawfully early, sits down in the remnants of a wrecked train car to record his recent experience in a dense and slightly worn journal:
Entry for November 6th, 2013-
Some light snow blankets the town. I should be exuberant at the change of scenery, but instead I’m left worrying: worrying that my few ambitions in life will be lost with time. However, as much as I despise the majority of the time I spend at school, it manages to surpass my downtime at home. But I think ‘downtime’ is too much of a commendation. I've always envisioned the ideal home being one where retreat form the pressures of everyday life is adequately provided. You work tirelessly, when you’re young and optimistic, to build a solid foundation that loved ones would care to be incorporated into… My home life is a radical departure from such a fantastical existence. Hell, my life at present is a downward spiral chock full of anguish and bitter sentiments. How is it that I seem to repel people through my every action, even when I don’t wish harm on others? My temper only bubbles when people point out my flaws or treat me unfairly. And even then, I would never intend harm on others… if I could help it. Am I really just a ticking time bomb? Am I just a tragically flawed individual? Lightning continues recording in his journal while also admiring the vast sky above him. “I've always had a certain fondness for the sky. It’s so liberating for me. Whenever life’s given me too much to handle, I seldom miss an opportunity like this one. It makes me question: what does it take to be free like the birds? Why must I be confined, regardless of my intentions and efforts, to such a redundant existence? Is it really so far-fetched to want to just… float away from it all?
Lightning places his hands together and presses them against his face for a contemplative expression, as he monologues aloud. “I’m probably going to be scolded by Principal Celestia tomorrow.” At that moment, Lightning is brought back to his feet upon hearing a shrill scream nearby. Without hesitation, Lightning storms off in the direction of the cry. Upon arriving at the scene of the scream, Lightning overhears three young street punks in the process of terrorizing a young woman.
The frightened woman tries desperately to justify her being in the area. “You see, I was just chasing a dog…”
One of the men interrupts the woman. “Sweetheart, stray animals are plentiful here. They’re a dime a dozen, really. Much like the “colorful” men and women in this place, the strays are just trying to survive.” The hostile man takes a few steps toward the woman. “Your mommy and daddy must have never taught you sink or swim.”
It doesn't take Lightning long to decide his next course of action. And upon moving closer, Lightning screams at the three men in an attempt to both avert their attention, and instill them with fear. “One more step and you’ll lose your legs!”
In response to Lightning’s interference, all three thugs turn around to address the enraged youth. The leader figure of the trio proceeds to speak for the group. “Well, well, if it isn't Lighting Chaser, the son of a whore and a drunkard. Everyone else in this godforsaken town lets me do as I please… but not you.” The leader of the trio smiles and scoffs insultingly. “Don’t make me send you back to your mother bloody and bruised. She might not take you back this time.”
Impulsively, Lightning lunges forward at the leader so swiftly that his two minions barely have time to retaliate. Out of defense, the engaged leader reaches into one of his pockets and draws a switchblade knife, but is disarmed by a combination of kicks and punches just as quickly as the weapon was drawn. Once Lightning is in possession of the lethal knife, he utilizes all of his formidable body strength to easily press it against the throat of one of the other gang members. The gang member whimpers and begs for mercy. “Now, what should I do with the likes of you? Shall I generously allow you to scamper home like the piss stain you are, or shall I allow this knife to slip…”
The frightened gang member frantically pleads to be freed.
Lighting abides, letting the criminal flee the scene of the alleyway with his two companions, one predictably scared out if his wits, and the other barely able to recover due to his injuries, in tow. Lightning collapses and conceals the knife in a pocket of his jeans, and afterwards, he goes to console the female victim. “Are you okay?” Even though he overheard the woman mention earlier her reason for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Lightning still asks out of bewilderment to why such a vulnerable looking woman would knowingly happen upon such a neighborhood. “What are you doing around here?” Upon further inspection of the young woman, Lighting soon recognizes her distinctive pink, eye concealing hair, and properly identifies her as fellow Canterlot High student Fluttershy. “Fluttershy, you could have been seriously hurt.” Lightning extends an arm to help her up off the concrete pavement. “Let’s get you somewhere safer…” Fluttershy bats Lightning’s hand away, and instead flees in a similar and frantic fashion akin to the gang members. “Dammit. I hope she knows her she’s going this time.” At that moment, rain begins to crash down upon the scene. Lightning uses his worn schoolbag to shield himself from the cold rain, as he makes a beeline for his family’s apartment.
