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.