White is all I see nowadays: the walls that surround me; encasing me in this prison, the door in which the nurses and medical personnel come and go, their white uniforms clashing with their colorful coats, and the dreaded sheets I lay on, teasing me into thinking I’m comfortable.
I’m not comfortable.
I’m practically going insane.
Beside me, is another me, staring at me with a bright smile. This other version is the spitting image of me, except better, upgraded, in her prime. She’d be one fine mare for any stallion.
Soarin was right, I do look better with my hair down.
I sigh, staring at me, wishing I was like her. She was free while I was not. She was unharmed while I was torn and bandaged. She was bright and charismatic, while I was a joke who was too depressed to even move a muscle. Whenever someone visited me, I’d just sit there and stare, unable to really speak.
I was a ghost, a zombie, an empty shell.
Tears begin to go down my cheeks, my once fiery fur now fading into a soft greyish orange. I couldn’t believe how I looked before: bright orange with a smile that could drop stallions to their knees. I was drop-down gorgeous.
Whenever they see me now, they wonder if I’ll ever make it to the next day.
“Spitfire,” my reflection says to me.
“What?” I croak out, my voice rough since I haven’t spoken to anypony in days.
“You need to stop being so depressed,” she says, her orange orbs gazing back at me, shimmering as moisture begins to collect near her eyelids.
“You don’t understand,” I say with a pained tone. “I’m done, my career is done!”
My reflection didn’t like the sound of this.
“Bullshit!” she says, her wings snapping to attention. “You’re the best leader this flying team has ever seen! You make your boss jealous whenever you give orders!” She gently walks over to the right of me, holding my grey hoof as she gently caresses it with care. “They need you, Spitfire.”
“No,” I say as I cough a bit, my lungs not agreeing with what I’m saying. “I-I’m down for the rest of the year and the doctor’s don’t know that I’ll ever fly again!”
My reflection’s eyebrows slant downward, her fiery gaze causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “Do you really believe that?”
“Pardon?”
“I said, do you believe that?” The reflection said, putting her muzzle in front of her mine. “Because if you do, then you’ll stay like this forever.”
My eyes couldn’t go anymore wider at this point.
“W-what do you mean?” I ask while stuttering.
“You’re going to never fly again if you believe in that junk.”
“Junk!?” I react without thinking. “You’re not saying that the doctor is junk, are you?”
The reflection merely shakes her head as she stares at me. “He isn’t junk, but what he’s saying is.”
“Well…” I say, looking dejectedly at my body, the white covers concealing my wounds. “What do I believe, then?”
My reflection merely pulls away and clip clops over to the closed door, her eyes still upon mine as she trots away. “Believe in you,” she says with a quiet, calm tone. “And nopony else.”
With that, my reflection trots away, the door shutting swiftly behind her as her orange tail exits my line of sight.
“Believe in you…” I mumble. What does my reflection mean by believing in me?
Oh.
Oh…
I know what she means.
It’s like when I get ready for a show, sitting there in hopes of having another great performance. I always let myself go and believe in me, believe in my team, and believe in Equestria. Every single time I’m out there in the air is when I think of the safety of my team and I. One wrong move and the whole team could die.
It’s that serious.
“I know what I m-”
“Spitfire?” a familiar voice chimes in.
“Who is it?” I ask, my muzzle scrunching up in irritation.
“Who are you talking to?” the voice asks, his cyan coat and dark, royal blue mane entering my vision.
“Oh, nothing you dolt,” I reply, smiling like an idiot. “Nothing at all…”
“Right this way, Miss Spitfire.”
Ah, finally. I finally escaped that room where everything was white! Plus, I can see if my wings are going to be worthy of flying, or just nice little attachments to cup hoofballs in.
“Well, Spitfire, this is the room of choice.”
Oh no. White walls…
I look at the doctor, his white jacket glowing under the white lights. The floor is as white as can be, the chairs are luckily grey, and the ceiling is white.
Everything is white in here.
Except me, the doctor’s coat, and…
“Pardon me, doctor…” I say, tilting my head at the pony beside me.
His face lights up at my question. “Oh!” he begins, his voice high yet rough. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you my name!” He sighs and slowly trots over to the grey seats. “Come join me, Spitfire, and I will tell you who I am.”
Crazy doctors.
I slowly trot over beside him, sitting in the closest chair to him, the greyest of them all. I couldn’t understand why my chair was greyer than the rest, the tall, flimsy plastic seat creaking as I shift slightly in it. I ignore the pointless inner conflict my brain conjured; there is no reason to deal with it for the time being. I look up at the doctor’s face, his brown, clear eyes staring directly at me. “So,” he begins, causing me to slightly shake. “You complied with my demands and now, I shall give you what you desired.”
This is odd.
“My name is Zion, a pony who inspires and heals ponies on a daily basis.”
“Interesting name, doc,” I compliment him. “But why are we here?”
“Good question,” he says with a smirk. “You are an injured pegasus, one who needs to get back into tiptop shape before your next tour, correct?”
I slowly nod at his question, raising an eyebrow slowly to the ceiling.
“Well, the Wonderbolts asked me to get you through this instead of an ordinary therapist.”
My eyes widen.
“Why?” I ask.
The doctor only smirks.
“Let me show you,” he says as he stands up on all fours, his hooves colliding on the white tile floor. “Come,” he commands, trotting over to the wall behind our chairs.
I slowly trot over to him, my hairs sticking up on my neck once again. This guy is creeping me out.
“Don’t worry, Spitfire,” he says with a smile. “I won’t hurt you.”
Really creepy.
I reluctantly stand beside him, my hooves feeling like putty as I look at him. “W-why are we standing here, Zion?”
Curse my stuttering…
The doctor brings his hoof to his muzzle, rubbing the underside of it; his right eyebrow is raised a little, and his left eyelid is twitching slightly. “Look, we’re here to get your wings back in a flying state, correct?”
I simply nod.
“Then, we need to start back from square one, right?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, where do you place square one at?”
The doctor shrugs. “It depends on where you are on this whiteboard.”
“Whiteboard?”
Zion nods, pointing his hoof at the wall as he speaks. “This wall isn’t a wall. Its an obstacle.”
“Isn’t that what a wall is supposed to be?” I ask mindlessly.
“Well, yes.” Zion rubs the underside of his muzzle once again, this time with slow and sure movements. “However, this type of wall you can overcome.”
What? “Can you elaborate?” I say, waving my right hoof around in a circular motion. “Because any wall can be overcome…”
The doctor shakes his head. “Well, how do you overcome a brick wall?”
I stare at the doctor, tilting my head slightly to the left. “By flying over it?”
Zion laughs heartily. “N-no! I mean, if you were in a room such as this one and all the walls were replaced with brick, how would you escape?”
I turn around and point a hoof at the door. “Exit through there.”
Zion face hoofs, causing a red spot to form near his receding hairline. “Pretend the door isn’t there and we were encased in this brick prison.”
I sigh. “Well, I’d try and smash through it with some of the objects here.”
The doctor nods. “But did you do it yourself?”
“Of course,” I say mindlessly.
He shakes his head once again. “You didn’t, the objects you threw helped you overcome it.”
What.
“What do you mean?”
The doctor sighs and walks along the wall as he speaks. “See you didn’t touch the wall, only the object you threw did.”
“Okay, but I needed to throw it in order to break through the wall.” I say, pointing with my left fore hoof at the very ‘whiteboard’ we’re arguing over.
“Precisely,” he says cheerfully, his smirk coming back with a vengeance. “You needed help from certain objects to help you overcome the obstacle.”
I nod.
“So in order to learn how to fly again, what do you need to overcome first?” he asks.
I look at him.
I look at the walls around us.
I look back at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Think,” he replies, putting a hoof on my shoulder. “I’ll be over here in my chair, lounging happily while you stay over here and think about it.”
Zion trots back to his grey heaven, the white filling my vision once again. It’s as almost he disappeared and now I’m standing here, staring at this supposed whiteboard.
“Object plus Spitfire equals overcoming the brick wall of death,” I say quietly to myself.
Wait…
That sounds like…
“Doctor!” I shout, trotting over to my seat once again.
He looks at me, his ears perked up. “Yes?”
“I got it!”
“Well, share with me what you discovered.”
I take a deep breath. “So, I need to start by thinking about flying and all my memories in doing it?”
The poor doctor groans.
“You’re close, but you’re missing the point.”
“That there’s no I in team?”
Zion smiles. “Exactly! You need to begin by relearning the state of being a flyer. What did you gain from it and how did it feel to be part of the Wonderbolt’s performances? Then, we’ll go from there.”
I give out a low hum in response. “I recall a time when I had something like that happen…”
It’s every time…
I stood at the edge of the arena, looking out to see how many fans have arrived to see our show today.
There were so many spectators, tens maybe even thousands of them, patiently waiting for us to start our flying performance.
Today was the day of the Golden Sun, a holiday created to be on the the fifth day of Spring that celebrated the Sun’s warm return and the end of the freezing weather conditions of Winter. It was a glorious day and an even better day for flyers like us. Returning to the field was the greatest feeling ever and a lot of us were itching to fly.
The problem is is the fear of messing up.
I just don’t understand it, but I’m always afraid of messing up my routine. I always stand over the edge of this little area and just wait until we’re nearing showtime. I don’t know why I do it; it makes me even more nervous and edgy when I stare at the crowds.
“Spitfire!” an all too familiar voice shouts from behind me. “Let’s get ready!”
There’s my rescuer.
I turned and began trotting after the voice, being careful to not fly indoors so that no pony would get smacked by my wings.
As I trotted, I eventually caught up to the dolt, his royal blue mane and cyan coat appearing in my vision.
“Are you ready, Spitfire?” he says to me.
I would shake my head.
The stallion approaches me, his brow shifting slightly while his mouth becomes slightly ajar. He comes up and brings his wings up to me and pulls me close, ensnaring me in his feathery prison of blue. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll let you go,” he states bluntly, holding me tightly in his strong wings.
I sigh and nuzzle into his neck. “I’m nervous again, Soarin…”
Soarin just nuzzles me back. “Well, you have Fleetfoot, Rapidfire, and I out there with you, doing our routines in the same sky as you are.”
“I know that, Soarin,” I say as I pull back to nudge his shoulder. He simply chuckles as I hit him. “I’m just nervous about…”
Soarin reads my mind. “...failing?”
I shakily sigh and nod, laying my head down on his shoulder. “I don’t want to mess up and cause a ruckus…”
“Well, you could always remember what you did when you first flew in the Wonderbolts,” he states as a matter of fact.
I pull back from my comfortable fur pad of my friend to look up at him. I look straight into those pools of green, their great colorization staring at me.
I remember. I remember what I said.
“I don’t give a buck?”
Soarin chuckles heartily at this. “Spitfire, that was weak.”
My wings flare out at this, snapping to attention which causes Soarin’s grip on me to falter. “I don’t give a buck!”
Soarin smirks as he pulls his wings to his side, the large, strong feathery appendages folding back up to their normal positions. “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”
“I don’t give a buck!”
“Do you care about failing?”
“I don’t give a buck!”
“Do you care about the crowds?”
“I don’t give a buck!”
“Do you care about the pies?”
“I don’t gi—wait, what?”
Soarin chuckles. “I think you’re ready, Spitfire,” he says, beginning to suit up in his suit, the tight Wonderbolt suit snapping to his form.
My eyes widen. The fear, the tension; it’s all gone. “Soarin…”
“Hmmm?” he says, his mouth on the zipper, attempting to zip up his suit.
“Thank you,” I say, nuzzling his neck. “I owe you one.”
Soarin smirks as he finishes zipping up his suit. “Like I said,” he begins, moving his right hoof and looking up at the ceiling. He gently moves his hoof towards the ceiling as if he’s presenting a vast expansion of things in the sky. “...pies.”
I give him a punch and walk off, heading to my locker to put my suit on.
“Good times, good times,” I say mindlessly, causing the doctor to snap awake.
“Spitfire?” Zion says as he looks at me. “How long was I asleep?”
“I have no idea, doctor.” I leave my comfortable seat to stand up, stretching out my hooves and neck. “I know that I gained a motivation from my state of being a true flyer.”
“And what might that be?” Zion asks groggily, sleep affecting his voice.
“Not what, doctor.” I say, looking at him straight in the eyes. “But who.”
“So you mean your motivation, your ability to continue flying comes from somepony?”
I nod. “Soarin is that pony. He always calmed me down before a performance and always makes sure I’m alright, even when we’re done with performing.”
The doctor noticed my facial expression. “I think there’s something more to that then just flying,” he says with a smirk on his face.
I sputter out words, the sounds of my sudden embarrassment causing the doctor to laugh. This only sparked an unbearable amount of heat to rise to my cheeks, the feeling of a blush adorning my face is one of the worst feelings for me. I never blush.
“Judging by that blush of yours, I think my statement is true.”
“Doc, this is not the time to make fun of me.”
“I see what you mean.” Zion sighs. “Look, how about I call in Soarin tomorrow?”
My ears perk up at this. “Really?” I ask, my blush no longer apparent, the feeling of heat now replaced by the feeling of excitement.
The doctor nods. “Judging by your reaction, I bet I’ll need to bring some other things in here…”
I growl and nudge the doctor with my hoof. “Don’t you even dare.”
Zion smiles. “It’s alright, I know you’re denying yourself,” he says, as he exits the room, leaving me in this white prison.
I look around, the whiteness around every corner, taunting me, wanting me to be crazed.
And for some reason, I’m just fine with it.
Absolutely loving life right now.
I’m sitting here in this gray chair, talking to my other self.
“Aren’t you ready to see Soarin?” my more pristine version asks, looking at me with the eyes that could set stallions on fire.
I nod happily. “Of course! I’ve been stuck in here waiting all morning and I just can’t wait for him to swing on by!” My heart nearly flutters out of my chest, the feeling of wanting him increasing at time passes by.
My other self smirks. “You are so in love with him.”
I sigh and turn to her. “I don’t think I can say it’s love, but I definitely like him enough to maybe love him.” I look down at the ground. “Problem is, I can’t even fly, so even seeing him is quite difficult.”
The younger looking version sighs as well. “Yeah, you’re stuck here in Canterlot, right?”
I reluctantly nod. “Yes and he’s enjoying the sky up there in Cloudsdale. It’s been two weeks since he visited me and one week since they’ve even allowed me to sit down and move around properly.”
Silence reigned as the two mares stare at one another, neither occupant murmuring even a peep.
Then, the colorful, lively pegasus speaks up.
“Plus, they do think you’re slightly crazy,” she says, choosing her words carefully.
I perk up at this. What does she mean by that?
She looks at me and shakes her head. “You’ve probably been wondering why you’re in here?”
“Now that you mention it, no, I haven’t.” I slide a hoof underneath my muzzle. “Why do you think they have me here?”
The pristine version gets off her rump and slowly clip-clops over to my seat, laying her right fore hoof on my shoulder. “Think about it, the doctor didn’t come back in to take you to your room.”
That he did.
“Plus, you’re in a room fit for a crazed pony.”
That I am.
“Lastly, you’re sitting here, talking with me: a pony that isn’t tangible to anypony else but you.”
That I am.
I stare at her, slackjawed. “Do you get what I’m saying, Spitfire?”
I nod and attempt to reset my jaw. “They think you’re crazy.”
Once I slap my jaw in place, I shake my head and return fire to her accusation. “Why am I not in one of those jackets then?”
She sighs and goes behind my back. “Do these wings of yours remind you of your bone-breaking incident?”
I grimace as I remember the bones snapping. “That makes a bit of sense,” I announce. “They don’t want to hurt me.”
“Exactly,” she says confidently. “They don’t want to hurt an already physically and mentally damaged mare.”
I growl at her, anger beginning to boil inside me. “Are you calling me stupid?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m calling you crazy.”
The brew inside me continues it’s rapid ascension, the feeling that steam will eventually shoot through my ears. “Leave me be.”
The radiant version of me raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Leave,” I growl. “Me.” I say, looking up at her. “Alone!” I shove her with my hoof, causing a loud clacking noise on the ground, the visage of the perfect mare of her prime now shattered; the echo continuing throughout the room. On the floor lies a shell, a replacement of the self: a grey chair.
“She’s… gone,” I say, leaning back in my chair, whimpering as I remember the incident. I begin to sob, a fresh few tears clouding my vision.
Suddenly, I hear a door open and the pony who I’ve been waiting so long for sees me for who I am.
“Spitfire!” he shouts, rushing to my side. “Are you okay?”
I let out a light chuckle. “N-no you dolt,” I say shakily, holding back a sob. “I…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I…”
I try to say something, but nothing comes out. I look away and look around, the white room empty as can be, the only thing here is the grey chairs in the middle and the grey mattress in the bottom left corner of the room. “Soarin…”
“What?”
“Get… me out of here,” I say, my voice wavering. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
Soarin stares at me, puzzled. “But Spitfire…”
Suddenly, something snaps in me. “Soarin! They think I’m crazy!” I stand up on all fours, causing the stallion to move back in surprise. “Look at this room! It’s all white!” I exclaim, waving my hoof around in the interior of the room.
Soarin raises an eyebrow at this. “And?”
I growl at him. “Soarin, I’m in a prison cell!”
The cyan stallion looks around. “Well it’s cleaner than most prison cells in Cloudsdale…”
I shove him, causing him to falter and land right on his rump. “What in the hay was that for?”
“For trying to joke around! I’m being serious, Soarin!” I angrily say, tears leaving my eyes. “Just…” My angered visage disappears, replaced by the broken spirit of me. “...stay with me.”
“Spitfire…” Soarin says, walking up to her and nuzzling her neck. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”
I sigh and nuzzle him back. “Promise?”
He nods and wraps his wings around me, trapping me in his grip again. “I promise.”
I smile as more tears leave me, matting my friend’s coat. “I’m sorry f-for being like this Soar,” I stutter out, calling him by his nickname. “I…”
He cuts me off, nuzzling underneath my neck which causes me to gasp in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t come soon enough,” he says calmly. “What did they do to you here?”
“They’ve chatted with me about my wings and attempted to do therapy. The whole therapy process revolved around flying. The doctor asked me where did this whole flying thing really took off. Problem is is that I didn’t know where I began,” I explain.
“And what is your beginning?”
“You,” I state flatly.
“Me?” he asks, a light blush adorning his cheeks.
I smile, the heat rising to my cheeks once again. “Y-yeah,” I stutter, causing him to nuzzle my cheek. I sigh and return the nuzzle. “You are my motivation, my beginning as a flyer in the Wonderbolts…”
Then, I hear something I never thought I’d hear.
“You’re my motivation too, Spits.”
I gasp and pull back, gazing into his eyes. “You really mean that?”
He nods. “I do,” he proclaims confidently, holding my orange hoof with his. “You’re my influence, my captain, and the best, strongest mare I’ve ever met. I’m so glad we met on the same day, on that tryout…” He brings his gaze to mine. “Because I wouldn’t have the best friend I’ve ever had right here, in front of me.” He gives my hoof a gentle squeeze.
I give him a warm gentle smile. “Soar…”
“Yeah?” he says, tears slowly coming to his eyes.
“T-thank you…” I sputter, cuddling with my stallion.
He sighs and keeps me close, laying his head on mine. “Anytime…”
In the sea of white lies an orange and blue dot, holding onto each other for dear life as they float into the endless white void, hoping for an escape to unfold.
