Some very short stories

Rainbow awoke with a start. Her restless blood burned in her veins, yearning for freedom.

Night had long since settled in, wrapping Cloudsdale in solemn darkness, but Rainbow never questioned this feeling. Desire didn't describe it—it was nothing less than a movement of spirit: spirit, that which overcomes the physical realm, that which alone is truly free. For freedom was what she craved. Her experience of sheerest freedom had affected her so deeply, years ago, that she still felt its influence in everything. Even now, her whole being—not excepting her physical frame itself—continually cried out to taste the freedom reserved for pure spirit.

Casting aside the burdensome sheets and stone-heavy blankets that chained her down on a nightly basis, Rainbow sat upright in bed, her mind clear, her heart focused on one thing only.

True freedom demanded a high price. But the cost to anyone unwilling to pay it was much steeper: the slave trade was hot in Equestria. Ponies daily sold themselves into every kind of slavery: slavery to the stomach, slavery to habits, slavery to possessions. Slavery to personal opinions, to popular opinion, to self-esteem. The slaveries of pride and of envy were particularly insidious, raising strife, hatred, and ill-formed desires where before there was only harmony and love. Nothing, however, matched the despair and confusion suffered by those who were slaves to double-mindedness, nor was any part of the disgraceful trade so widespread or subtle as this one.

"Know thyself!" enjoins the ancient saying, and the few who are wise enough or simple enough achieve self-knowledge.

The walls of Rainbow's cloud mansion seemed suffocating: a private prison of her own construction. She broke out in a panic, and began to fly.

She flew all night.

And when the night was over—she kept on flying, straight into the eye of the rising sun.