Bulk ‘Snowflake’ Biceps looked down at his niece. Tears were tracing dark lines down the soft orange coat of the filly’s face. Scootaloo wept silently, her watery gaze never wavering from his own. She waited for a response to her question; seemingly unaware of the dampness of her cheeks, the droplets streaming from her unblinking eyes, or the slowly darkening skies of the twilight which was presently overtaking the park where they stood.
Bulk’s heart seized up in his powerful chest at the sight before him. He wanted to look away, to change the subject, to find a distraction for her young eyes. But he couldn’t. Her sorrowful yet determined stare had bound him in a way that made his incredible physique utterly useless. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t even know the answer to the question himself. Not the real question anyway.
He had always prided himself on being the ‘fun’ uncle. Though his strict training regimen allowed for little time to spend with family, and none for friends, he had always made sure to put aside a little time for the young filly every week. There was something profoundly honest about engaging in simple play. Stress, responsibility, expectation: these things had no place in the phantasmal world of a child’s imagination. It was because of the unconditional nature of their relationship that Scootaloo developed the trust in Bulk that she had. This trust meant that, on occasion, his niece interrupted their frivolous adventures to open up about her worries and fears. Bulk was nowhere near as comfortable with this aspect of their friendship, but he recognised the need of the tough little pegasus to be vulnerable to someone who would not judge. He always did his best to listen and offer whatever sagely wisdom he could scrape out of his own, admittedly fixated, life. Fighting with her friends, failed attempts at finding her special talent, persistent and debilitating nightmares, he would relive all those uncomfortable discussions in succession if it would allow him to avoid this one altogether. Unable to look away from the resolute filly, he knew he would not be able to escape.
“I need to know, Uncle Snowflake. Do you think I will be able to fly one day?” Her bottom lip trembled unashamedly as she repeated her question. Not in impatience. It sounded like a reminder, some gentle encouragement.
He marvelled at his niece. How long had this question burned inside her? It must have started years ago, when all her winged friends had begun to take flight. She had never said anything on the subject. Not once had she looked upon her peers with even a shadow of envy touching her expression. She plastered posters of her airborne heroes on every exposed surface of her room. His heart ached imagining the question eating its way through her self-worth as she put brave foot after brave foot forward. Now here she stood, finally doubting herself strong enough to expose the hole in her impenetrable armour, and instead of becoming hurt or angry at his hesitation, she was trying to help him find the strength to answer. She may have looked up to a certain cyan trick flyer as her hero, but there was no doubt that Scootaloo was his.
He felt tears stinging his own eyes as he tried to summon his courage. He usually tried to make his advice in these situations as simple and heartfelt as possible. This time that was impossible. Her question had no simple answer.
Underdeveloped wings. The doctors had known by the time she celebrated her second birthday. There was nothing that could be done. Some things just are. Scootaloo was young when she was told. She grew up knowing her condition only as an irrelevant fact which played no part in her daily life. That was until all her little friends had begun to take off. The standard medical opinion was that flight would not be possible for her. Bulk knew better.
It was plain to any observer that passed by; Bulk suffered from the same disability. His wings looked like they were placed on his back as a comedic afterthought. He had been told of his condition when he was around the same age Scootaloo had been. He had realised that he would always be different from his friends and family when he was around the same age that Scootaloo was now.
She reminded him in so many ways of the colt he once was, fearless and unassailable. He remembered his moment of crisis when he was rejected from junior flight camp because he couldn’t even lift off the ground. He could remember the anger and desperation filling his soul. No one could tell him that he would never fly, not his friends, not the flight instructors, not the doctors, not even destiny itself. He had refused to take it laying down. Years later, here he was. He did it. He could fly. He had attended the Wonderbolt academy. He was scheduled to compete in the Equestria Games qualifier along with Rainbow Dash, the greatest flyer of all time, not to mention his niece’s personal idol. He wanted with all his heart to reassure the orange filly. To ruffle her pink mane playfully and tell her of course it was possible. Look at him; he proved it.
But the words died on his lips.
He looked down at the little pony as she was wracked by quiet sobs, her unblinking eyes pleading with him. He remembered the stories of the exploits she shared with her friends, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. He remembered how she went on and on about her amazing teacher, Miss. Cheerilee, and how proud she was to be one of her favourites. He thought about the short yet treasured times that he had spent with the filly, delighting in her spunky outlook on life and boundless enthusiasm. He wanted to tell her that she will fly someday. He wanted to see the hopeful smile on her face.
But there was a cost.
On the day Bulk decided to spit in the face of those who doubted him, he made a commitment. From that day forth, he spent every spare moment training his body. Slowly but surely, his muscles became large and powerful.
It hadn’t been enough.
He lost touch with his friends quickly, their time together replaced by his training regime. By the end of the next school year he was easily the biggest colt in Ponyville, rivalling most fully grown stallions in size.
It hadn’t been enough.
He dropped out of school a short time after. The additional time he could spend at the gym had shown immediate results. His workouts, combined with his reaching adulthood, caused his size to balloon to immense proportions. He was the largest pony anyone had ever seen. His strength dwarfed even that of his earth pony peers.
It hadn’t been enough.
He took on a job as a personal trainer to pay the bills. It was an ideal solution; it allowed him to earn money without impacting his workout schedule. His family was pleased that he was finally perusing his destiny, pointing to the dumbbell cutie mark that had appeared shortly after beginning his training. They didn’t understand. Destiny was his enemy. Destiny wanted him to remain on the ground, helping others do their squat thrusts. Destiny was a cruel necessity. Bulk was running away from destiny as fast as he could.
His new occupation left him without even the small amount of free time he had before. He stopped visiting family. That had been years ago. They had since stopped checking in on him. He didn’t remember the last time he had sat down with any of them; much less had a proper visit. He had been away from Ponyville for months, doing high altitude training in the mountains when his sister died. She and her husband had been on the weather team. There was an accident while they were attempting to stop an errant tornado that was bearing down on the town. Their foal was placed in the care of the Ponyville orphanage. Bulk decided to spare a little time for his niece every week. He took the time from his scheduled sleep cycle.
Over the years, his size and strength grew beyond the known limits of pony physiology. He still remembered the day he took off. Every hulking muscle in his enormous frame had been straining; his breath coming in short, painful gasps. All his gargantuan strength was being directed to his underdeveloped wings. His feet lifted a foot off the ground. Two feet. Three. A full minute passed before he crashed into the dirt. Muscles torn and body exhausted, he had been confined to his bed for three days. He had made sure to make up for the missed training during his free time. Scootaloo hadn’t minded. He was noticed during one of these early flights by the Wonderbolt Spitfire. After talking about his past, she handed him the invite to the Wonderbolt academy. She told him she wished her squad had a quarter of the dedication he had. She warned him that it wouldn’t be easy, and she would be just as tough on him as the rest of the recruits. He didn’t care. He had done it. He had beat destiny. He was not a personal trainer. He was a flyer.
But there was a cost.
He had no friends. He had no real family other than Scootaloo. He wasn’t there when those he loved had been taken from him. He couldn’t even take in the one pony who still meant anything to him because his lifestyle left no time to be a father. He had no life aside from training and flying. Was he proud of all he was able to accomplish through his unflinching devotion to his dream? Of course he was. Did he have regrets? Of course he did. He had sacrificed everything to beat his destiny.
He looked at his niece. He wanted so badly to give her hope. He wanted to tell her that if she truly wants to, she can fly one day. Would she make the same decision he had? If she did, it would mean no more adventures with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. No more smiles for the favourite student. Even his infrequent time with her would begin to wither away. He had made his choice. No matter what he chose to say, she was about to make hers. He could say one word, and see a hopeful smile replace the quivering frown in an instant. He could lie. A merciful lie would save her from the life of sacrifices he had chosen. He wondered if he could bring himself to lie to her face, even to give her the life he had missed. He wondered if he could bring himself to tell the truth, knowing the road ahead of her. He wondered if he even had the right to speak of it one way or the other.
Tell the truth; see hope destroy the parts of life she treasures.
Tell a lie; see hope burn and trust that her life will grow better in its ashes.
Bulk opened his mouth to speak...
Author's Note
Tried something different. Let me know what you think in the comments.
