Solstice

Sunset Shimmer sits up in her bed. It almost feels like a normal day. Almost.

She stretches forward, drags a hoof over her bedhead and decides not to think today. The thin sheets curling around her legs can't keep her eyes busy so... She glances around her room for anything to catch her attention.

Anything to keep her from thinking.

It's an average-size for those living in the dorms of Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. Average-size as far she knows. Maybe, she could have had a better room if it wasn't for-

Ah! There is supposed to be no thinking today.

There's a mahogany desk in one of the corners. That desk over there, carved with her initials and childish stickers, is actually hers. The bed isn't. The sheets aren't. The room's not. The desk is... She bought that desk with her own money. Actually, the scholarship's money paid for most of it- but it's hers.

And she can't take it with her. Come on, she has to mope about something else! It's a dumb desk, anyway.

Four large bookshelves take up the rest of the space that the bed and trunk don't. And there's still enough room for a throw rug on the wooden floor. It's a nice bedroom/study/her room alone. The next resident will take good care of it, right?  Her large window- A large window by the bed lets in mid-day light. Or not. She's long since lost her clock. Threw it out in a fury a week ago. Doesn't want to think why.

If it's really noon, she's gone and missed her morning classes. What a real shame! Sunset slowly looks out her window, staring down at the courtyard. Students, unlike herself, are sitting in groups and eating packed lunches.

It's noon, alright. A good time to be traveling.

Sunlight warms her back as she presses her face into the tan curtains. And some lunatic screams into the fabric before tearing it down. It wasn't her. She needs to practice thinking that. Her lies to herself should be a bit more convincing!

What she's planning on doing is a smart idea! A great idea!

The pole holding up the curtain hardly clatters when it drops on the bed. That was petty with a capital P but who cares what she does! It's better to leave all of this behind! Far better to do so than to have it taken from her!

She doesn't live here anymore.

There is no point in living here anymore.

Again, her eyes is drawn to her seven year old desk. Has it really been that long? She remembers being so desperate when she was younger. So anxious to prove herself and not rely on the school's help for anything outside of general education. And with the money she saved and the part-time jobs she got around the dorms, she got that stupid, heavy desk. All by herself.

It was torture dragging that husk of a wooden death trap up the main stairway and through her door. On both her back and horn. Oh why, did she have to pick that one? She never had any visitors to show it off to. And really, if she still didn't have the heart to try and sell it, it might as well stay here.

She'll come back for it. Back to the school and this room, eventually. And if she says it enough times, it has to come true...

Sunset falls back into the bed. Kicks the sheets off and lays on her side. Right by the door, her packed bag waits with her train ticket perching right on the handle.

It's a small bag. There's nothing important in it.

Just a few books, school supplies, some clothes and snack food. She really didn't need a bag. She could get new stuff. Eventually. But somehow, seeing that bag and that ticket, makes everything more real.

She'll come back eventually but that won't be for a very long time.

Sunset growls, everything wrong starts to eat at her. Why was she leaving in the first place? Well, you see the reason why is- Don't think about it. Don't think about it at all! She snaps, bashing her head repeatedly into the wall. Trying hard to bottle up the swears waiting to be born into the world.

A intellectual mare did not swear or think badly of any pony. A intellectual mare welcomes competition and admits defeat gracefully.

But she curses anyway, “Rutting Twinkle.” And it feels so good.

“I dislike the rut out of you, cunt. Fuck you for getting a higher score on Professor Whittle’s third semester exam. Fuck you for making me number two in the grade ranking for the last three years. Fuck you for not staying in your actual grade and amazing all of the salt-rotters there. Fuck you for getting the award for highest test scores ever.”

Why can't she stop her mouth? The words won't stop pouring out.

“It doesn’t even matter if I get the highest score of this year because you’re the fucker who got the damn test changed to different standards. If I ever catch your plot in public, I will verbally whip you alive.”

Something in her wants to scream her last sentence outside, inside and maybe even out her drafty window. Here's a new fact for all the kids downstairs!

“Even if the Princess is in the room, I will torch every bridge I have to make you cry,” she pledges with no remorse. None. Already visioning a mare snapping right back after her and the whole mess turning into a brawl. “What a horrible way to leave my mark at school,” she sobs, voice withering to a whisper.

Twinkle… Spark or whatever… The mare of the hour who had legendary magic reserves. Was Canterlot-born, oo-ooh. Well-bred with a strong support system of having been born in a respectable noble house. So rich. So special. Flawless test scores and brilliant technical spell work highly noted by the Princess herself.

Please, the Princess is ridiculously nice to everybody. At least, to their faces.

Was it wrong for her to hate and envy, Twinkle? Was it unreasonable?

It's not personal.

She's never met the mare but she hates the result of her actions. The backlash of Twinkle, rocking the boat. If it was not obvious, stupid Twinkle already has everything she needs to have a good life! She doesn't even need to leave the house or mansion or castle she has waiting for her at home. But nooo, she needs to win all the awards.

Sunset groans, flopping back down into the bed. It makes a goofy squeak and she giggles away her pain. She smashes her head into her pillow. Inhales the smells of perfume, hair and spit until she coughs. The urge to chew on something makes her pull back.

Her stiff pillow has a torn stitch and she digs her teeth into it. Yanking and chewing like the uncultured hick she is, according to all of those loud mouths at school. 'You're not from Canterlot, no one sounds like that from around here, a-dur-dur! They let anyone in these days, a-dur-dur! What's your talent, being worthless, a-dur-dur? Backwater parasite, where's your mommy and daddy? They sold you for FLORA didn't they? So they could rot their brains and lose their teeth, a-dur-dur!'

So she had a filthy habit and?

Really?

Is that going to be the punchline? The thing that invalidates her as a pony? Hah, no. If she had a bit for all of the times someone tries to tell her to feel bad about this or that, she'd be richer than the Princess right about now! All of the nobodies would kill to see her caught in the act and now, they were never going to.

That is something to be happy about she'd like to think.

No more papers to turn in. No projects to make. No more Twinkle driving up her blood pressure. Life is going to get a lot more easier. And she's leaving on her terms. That's power. That's courage. Could Twinkle do this? Nope. Of course, Twinkle would never have to but whatever.

It's funny how ponies could forget that she was the Princess's student before Twinkle. Forget how they are being taught at the same time! It just slips the mind that's she's still the Princess's student and they can't make idle threats against her scholarship status! But that's how it is. They forget and well, it's simple to move penniless students to other institutions.

And she isn't going to waste her time continuing these stupid thoughts!

Sunset leaps off the bed. Gets firmly on her hooves, takes a deep breath and breaks down crying.

She'll try again in a hour.

---000---

Sunset stands at her still closed door, ignoring the door knob. It's taking her longer than expected... But she wants to wait until she feels ready. Until her knees stop trembling and breath evens out. Until... it stops being so real and final?

“It won't ever stop feeling scary, will it?” she says to herself. “Am I really going to wait until I'm pushed out by those nobodies. Those salt-rotters that I'll have to brown-nose for the rest of my academic career!”

Her hoof gravitates to the door knob.

Someone, stronger, braver, fiercer turns it. It was her.

And then, just like that, she's gone.