Author's Note
I wanted to try my hoof at some pseudo poetry for this one.
Insomnia story. 2:23 am. After playing an hours worth of http://www.kongregate.com/games/briderider/fps-man
and listening to pretty songs to try and cheer myself up ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkk-T2bLKHo, & https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7HmzwI67ec) I ended up doing what I always do when I can't sleep: I write.
This is what I came up with tonight.
Cloud Call
The clouds called.
Scootaloo rolled onto her back and stared up at the endless sky. As a pegasus, it called to her; a siren’s song of flight and freedom. Demanding, no, commanding her presence above the clouds. The pull of something indescribable, unmistakable, unbreakable, unshakable. It was a need like no other, badgering her with grit teeth and snarling perseverance.
She reached an arm up as if to grasp for the nothingness of the atmosphere. Was it too much to ask simply to touch the sky like other pegasi? All she wanted to do was dance around the stars and feel the cold airy kiss of the night itself. That was all she wanted. All she needed.
The air called.
She pretended she didn't notice.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair to put the stars so close, but make them so far.
It wasn't fair to give her wings that turned all of her dreams into screams: Too small to fly or kiss the sky a ground bound pegasi begging for the answer; Why?
The atmosphere called.
She wouldn't cry. She couldn't cry. She refused to cry. But Princess Luna, how she wanted to. How she wanted to give in to despair and misery, the depression and the hopelessness. It was a tidal wave of emotions that over powered her on a daily basis, sending her into a tearful slumber, night after night, after night, after night, until she was a stick of dynamite lit on both ends, ready to explode on a moment's notice. A beautiful tapestry of hate and suffering with tears threatening to burst from the dam of her defenses, adding cracks to the mask that she wore every day. A personality made from agony and a mentality of blurred reality based on irrationality. She was a ground bound pegasus, watching the colors fade from the world, and the music slowly drifting to echoing nothingness. Her future was a breathtaking, awe-inspiring cruelty and all she could do was watch it crawl towards her with a fatal certainty. What did she have to look forward to?
A life without flight? A walking nightmare made up for laughter and name calling. Jeers and tears, grass and earth. A world so close and yet so far- Cloudsdale forever beyond her reach.
The sky called.
The sky called!
The sky called!
It was cruelty in its finest. It was too hard to ignore and it plucked at her heart incessantly. The sky was in her ears, and in her eyes, in her blood, and in her heart. She needed to fly and it wasn't an option anymore.
She closed her eyes, and pumped her wings hard, with the only thing harder in existence was her resolve to kiss the clouds. She pumped her wings, and prepared to touch the sky, because they were wrong. They were all wrong. They had to be wrong. There was a fire inside of her, that burned with something she couldn't place a hoof on. A word she didn't know and a feeling she’d never felt. But it was there. It was a white hot light that lit up her night, and if the world, all told her to quit, it was the voice that told her they were wrong. They were crazy, and there was a way. There HAD to be a way. There was no other day but today and today: She flew. Today, was the day her dreams would come true and today was the day she would begin life, anew. No amount of hatred could silence the voice inside of her- a little voice, so tiny and quiet and small but impossible to drown, regardless of the endless names they piled on top of it. A little voice that wouldn't be ignored simply saying, four little words: You, can, do, it.
It was right. There was no way it could be wrong. If the world was a circus then she was its freak show, but there was a key to her cage and if she spent every day reaching for it, one day she’d get it. She’d grab it and she’d break out! She’d be free and she’d be a graduating member of the school of success. She could take pride in the fact that flight or not, parents or not, family or not, she had the heart they wish they had. They could never know how strong it was, even if she got confused and the tears refused to stop and the abuse and names, and the agony and the suffering buried her for days;
She was still trying.
So they had to be wrong.
Her wings pumped furiously, but the strength all bled away after a minute, and she crashed to the ground like her dreams. She was a useless pegasus. A winged creature that couldn't fly. There wasn't any point. She'd never get off the ground. But even that didn't stop it. The voice was still there; tiny and quiet and persistent.
“You. Are. Wrong.” The world was wrong, true, but so was she. They had to be wrong. She HAD to be wrong. Please let her be wrong. PLEASE LET, HER, BE, WRONG. The last straw of hope she held onto with everything that she had. That maybe one day she’d fly without fail . And she’d smell the smells of the sky, and taste the air that passed by, and felt the wind rustling through her hair, and one day…maybe…she’d steal a kiss and find some pony whose baggage matched her own- who wanted her heart to beat in time with theirs. And maybe one day she’d stop waiting to die and learn to live. One day. Someday.
Today.
The sky called.
Scootaloo climbed to her hooves, and shook the rocks and dirt from her fur. Why not today? A lesser pony would have given up by now. Those ponies that called her names- ponies like her parents, that abandoned her, the world that dealt her a deck filled with rotten cards. They wouldn't have gotten up. They couldn't have gotten up. They’d have been defeated long ago.
But not Scootaloo.
Scootaloo spread her wings and drew in a deep breath. It was a long way to the sky and she was losing daylight. Today was going to be the day. But if not…
Tomorrow looked good too.
