Life Among the Living
“So, tell me about your week?” she asked with a cheery tune to her voice.
I couldn’t help but let out a sigh. She always asked; I had come to expect it. Being one of the most popular mares in Equestria, I should have a lot to talk about. But if that was true, why then was I silent?
The sofa I was sitting on squeaked slightly as I shifted on the pristine cushions. It had a dark mauve fabric over big, comfy cushions with dark-stained wood arms. To my right was a large, sturdy office desk. It had some interesting floral carvings in the front and the same color as the wood in the sofa. Across from me was an armchair, the same color as the sofa. But, I found myself staring down at the carpet rather than at the furniture…or at her.
The carpet, dull and grey—a perfectly boring accent to the rest of the room. I hoped the floor would help me think, but my mind was just as blank. I wanted to tell her about my week. No, I should tell her about my week. But it was hard to focus when my mind was buzzing with empty white noise smothering any thought that dared to form. I placed my hoof to my forehead and sighed again. “Sorry, Doc, I just…”
“There’s no rush,” she said from the armchair. Her voice was soft and sweet, kind of reminding me of my mom’s after I’d had a hard day.
As my hoof slid down my face, I finally forced my eyes up to her—a mare with a light-brown coat and a dull black mane—only making it to about her chest before my gaze dug its heels in and refused to move higher. She sat, waiting patiently with a warm smile on her face for me to speak. Next to her sat a small notepad and a quill with her hoof close by.
I slid my hoof through my mane and rubbed my neck without really realizing it. I took a deep breath. “I mostly sat at home and went to the gym once. I had practice too, I guess.”
“Not every week has to be full of milestones, Fleetfoot.” She chuckled, softly. “Don’t feel as though you have to share something monumental each session. Just getting out of your house can be enough.”
I shrugged on instinct. I always responded halfheartedly to stuff like that, but under that my heart sank in my chest. My foreleg fell down to my side and I pinched my eyes closed as an annoyed groan slipped past my lips. “I tried though.” When I opened my eyes, I caught the sight of her ear twitch slightly. It took me awhile to realize it meant I had her attention. “I tried to talk to somepony at the gym.” Something jabbed me in the back of my head, making my ears fall flat. I almost heard a voice whisper to me, telling me that was stupid.
“Good!” She reached for her notepad and quill. “I know you’ve been struggling with that lately. How did it go?” Her quill tapped against the pad in anticipation for me to continue.
My eyes found themselves back at the floor again. “Not good." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Any time I try to talk to somepony it just feels…” I bit my lower lip.
Her head tilted to the side. “Pointless?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Doc, I used to be able to talk to ponies no problem, but now I just don’t see the point. They don’t understand it and I…” Another swift jab came to the back of my head. Whenever I felt that I just stopped talking. I couldn’t help it—a little voice whispered for me to shut up, and I always listened. Either “they won’t understand,” or “you’re too stupid to tell them,” it’d say to me. Then I’d just feel like an idiot.
“It’s common with your condition. Ponies who have dysthymia often have a hard time expressing themselves.” I noticed her standing up out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the ground. After a moment, I felt her hoof on my shoulder. “It’s hard to put into words how you feel, so the thought becomes ‘why bother talking at all,’ right?”
It was annoying. She was so close to understanding, but I couldn't get her there. If I dared to try, the voice and jabs would set me straight. And in the end I'd feel like a big, worthless idiot parading about in a big, worthless uniform for a big, worthless audience. I was just the butt of some big joke. But, I couldn’t tell her that. How would I start? And would the jabbing even let me? Of course not. And even if I somehow managed to get that out, all she could do was just tell me I shouldn’t feel like that. Therapy's completely worthless.
After a few moments, I leaned back in the couch, and her hoof fell away. I knew why she had touched me—to make me feel better—but she knew I’m not that kind of pony. She took the hint and returned to her chair. Once she was sitting, I was finally able to pull my gaze from the floor, but not quite to her face.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she asked, bringing a cheerful tone back to the conversation. “How has work been?”
“It’s been about the same. Practice is practice, and we haven’t had any appearances or shows this week.” I set my head against my hoof and propped it up on the arm of the sofa. This is what my life had become. My jaw clenched just thinking about it. This whole ritual began because some doctor wrote on a piece of paper that I was feeling down.
Every seven days I would end up here—in this office, with her—and just talk about my week. We’d either discuss problems I had or things I did. It was all dumb and a waste of time, but I guess getting it off my chest was better than nothing. What little I could get off at least.
“How are your teammates? Have they talked to you this week?”
I shook my head. “Not really. They’ve been busy. Spitfire’s been a hardass this week because of a show we got coming—not that I can’t handle it.” Work was always easier to talk about; I didn't have to think for it. I barely noticed the voice and jabbing pain fading. It was times like these I felt almost normal.
“Well, from what you’ve told me, you’ve always been a hard worker.” She cracked a smile. It was only there for a moment. “But, you’ve had some concerns about your performance lately, haven’t you?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I can still do my job just fine. I just need to get a little more sleep is all.”
“Prideful as always.” She was smiling again.
“I just don’t want to be the slacker on the team, even if I get a little more tired than I used to. Then Soarin’s been taking it easy since his last injury, too. I think his age is catching up to him.”
She laughed as she picked up her notepad once more. “He’s barely older than you, if I recall.”
“Don’t remind me.” A swift jab poked my head. I think she noticed me wince, because her laughter stopped and was soon replaced with somber silence. As hard as it was, I swallowed a growing lump in my throat. “Everypony else has been focused on practice,” I forced myself to add through the white noise. I had to shift the conversation. That nagging feeling—the one that told me I was pathetic—just grew worse the more I dwelled on it.
“I know these sessions can be tiresome, but this is how we have to deal with this. I’m sure your doctor’s told you we don’t have any medicine or spell that can fix dysthymia, but talking the problems over with someone has been shown to help. And I do think we’re making progress here. Especially after your incident.”
My heart stopped at the mention of that. When it started again, I noticed I was staring at the wall instead of her. My jaw clenched as I sat up. “Yeah, my doctor told me all that—about the medicine and stuff. This session’s over, right? I’ve got to get going, Doc.”
I didn’t have to look her in the eyes to know she was concerned. I could already picture the face she was making—furrowed brow and a small frown—as she waited for me to continue. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke up. “Very well. I’ll see you next week, Fleetfoot.”
“Yeah,” I barely managed to say, let alone with any enthusiasm.
I left her office. It was a small, old building sandwiched between two taller new ones in downtown Canterlot. Larger buildings seemed to be springing up all over the place these days. The old being squeezed out by the new, just like most of the city. The whole place just felt like it was losing its identity. All the old glory being replaced by flashy new crap—no one appreciated the old relics that this place was built on.
But, speaking of flashy, I had to get home and prepare for another pointless party. Probably the last place I wanted to be. Everyone would be eating, joking, and having a good time—but not me. Not that I didn’t want to do all that, but I just didn’t see how they could. How was it that they could all enjoy themselves, not a care in the world, when all I could do was feel pathetic? Why should a worthless pony like me even go? I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.
But, I’m a Wonderbolt; I had to go. It’s my job—whatever that even meant anymore.
And, unfortunately, I was right about the whole thing. As I walked along the edge of the room, watching everyone chatting away, I felt it. Poking in the back of my head like a needle, drilling deep in, and the voice in my ear whispering that I didn't belong there. My eye twitched, and I pictured myself shoving it—needle and voice—out a door.
Once the pain dulled, and the voice mostly silent, my eyes moved around the room. Some lame orchestra group played some boring music that was somehow stuffier than the high-class crowd. The whole thing took place in a big, wasted ballroom rented out for some bigwig’s party. White marble pillars lined the walls, glossy marble floors, actual silverware, and hired stiffs serving the guests—I should have been used to it, but seeing all the decadence and excess just brought another quick jab to the back of my skull. And to top it all off, my limbs were heavy and numb. What I wouldn’t have done for just some rest.
“I say, is that Fleetfoot?” a voice called out. I turned to see some stallion in a tux coming up to me. He had a glass of something—probably champagne—floating in front of him and a polite smile on his face. “Simply capital to finally meet you! I’ve been absolutely dying to make your acquaintance.”
I stared at him for a moment, his smile slowly deflating before I realized this was the part where I was supposed to say or do something. I clenched my teeth, and yanked the ends of my mouth up for probably one of the most awkward, forced smiles I'd ever put on. “Nice to meet you too…Uh…”
“Fancy Pants, my dear.” My eyes dropped down to see a hoof extended out towards me. I told myself to shake it, but my body didn't move, like I'd turned to stone. I glanced up, only getting to his neck before my eyes fell down to the floor. He cleared his throat, and pulled his hoof back. “Well, I’m positively thrilled that the Wonderbolts could finally attend one of my humble soirées. You are quite the elusive group of celebrities, but maybe that’s because you’re in such high demand.”
“Thanks.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't look him in the eye. Every time I tried, invisible weights strapped themselves to my eyeballs and dragged them back down. But somehow, willpower or whatever, I forced myself to look at his eyes, even if for just for a moment. The slightest glimpse immediately turned my stomach with regret just as another needle jabbed the back of my head. The half-closed stare he gave me felt like he was judging me.
For whatever time I managed to look him in the eye, he stared back almost expectantly before clearing his throat once more. “Good show in the derbies, by the way—just between the two of us, you make the other contenders look like they're hovering in place. In fact, I have a modest sum placed on you winning in particular."
All I could hear in that remark was sarcasm and it dug deep. So deep the needles in the back of my head somehow burrowed down to my heart too. “I guess,” I said out of obligation. My rank had been dropping like a rock and he knew it. Before I realized, I found myself glaring down at the floor. “Sorry, I, uh—”
“Fancy Pants!” Spitfire called out. I didn’t look up from the floor to even see her, but I suddenly felt a firm and reassuring hoof planted on my shoulder. “So, I see you met Fleetfoot. She’s one of our stars, you know.”
Fancy Pants laughed. “But of course. Why, I just finished telling her how impressed everypony is with her skill!”
I brought my eyes up from the floor to Spitfire. “Sorry, I’ve got…” I trailed off.
“Go ahead and get something to drink, Fleets.” Spitfire gave me a nudge and a wink.
As I walked away the voice came back, whispering softly how I had bungled that so badly Spitfire had to bail me out. My jaw clenched as I dragged my hooves off the polished marble, and stood between two pillars. But no matter how much I moved away from Spitfire, the voice stayed right on my heels. I turned back to face the party, my eyes eventually falling on Spitfire again. She was mingling—or at least I guess that’s what it was. I could barely see her, almost like she was miles away from me. I focused my eyes to clear the blurry image. It was just so odd. Her eyes were relaxed, she didn’t force a smile—she didn’t even have to try and talk. She was just doing it so casually. Like I used to. How does she do it? How do any of them do it?
“What’s up, Fleets?” A mare’s voice pulled me from my musings as the owner walked up next to me.
Walking along the wall, dressed in a brown flight jacket, was Lightning Dust. My eyes drifted downward, but not quite to the floor. “Hey, Dust.”
She stepped next to me and turned to look out at the ballroom. “How’s it going?”
I only stood silent, my eyes locked straight ahead.
“I thought as much,” she said with a sigh. “Therapy’s going that well, huh?”
“It’s okay.” Deep down, I knew I should say more, but the words wouldn’t come. They just died in the middle of being formed. Somehow, I managed to pull my gaze from the crowd and look over at Dust. Behind her cool demeanor, she knew what I was dealing with—one of the only ones who did.
She nudged me with her foreleg. “We should hit the gym like we used to. It might get you out of this slump.”
There was a short pause before I forced myself to respond. “The doc says it’s not a slump.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever it is, you just need to get back into the swing of things and it’ll be cool.”
I stared out at the party. Again, anything I wanted to say was drowned out.'Getting back into the swing of things' might sound simple—all I had to do was just act like I used to—but anytime I tried, it ended the same; it ended like it did now, with me being silent.
Dust took a deep breath. “This party blows. A bunch of dick nobles, Spitfire’s attention whoring, and Soarin’s devouring the buffet.” She sat down on the ground next to me and tucked her hooves into her jacket pockets. “Just another party for the Wonderbolts.” She chuckled to herself.
I let out a short hum to let her know I heard her as my gaze drifted down to the floor. Why did I feel this way? I had to talk. I had to get it off my chest.
“These used to be fun, but after a few times it’s—”
“Dust.” She looked at me, waiting for me to say something. My eyes fell closed and I tried to shut the voice up just for a moment. “I’m thinking of quitting the Wonderbolts.” The noise around us vanish, and for a moment, my heart was at ease. I said it. Something I actually wanted to. And the voice even agreed.
She just stared at me for a few seconds. “You serious?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
For what felt like the first time in months, I was able to pull my eyes off the floor and look up at the ceiling. “What’s the point?” I asked her, but I didn’t expect an answer I would be satisfied with. Dust was still a recruit; she didn’t know it all like I did. But, I still had to ask.
“The point? Of the Wonderbolts? They’re the best of the best, aren’t they?”
A laugh came without me even realizing it, though I couldn’t bring myself to smile. “Not just the Wonderbolts. But, yeah, what do we do? We do some stupid stunt shows and come to parties. That’s it.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, and?”
“You don’t get it.” I let out a long sigh.
“Help me get it, then.”
I stared at the vaulted ceiling for a few seconds in silence. My thoughts weren’t drowning for once. There just weren’t any. “It just doesn’t matter anymore,” slipped past my lips without me realizing. “We used to do stuff, you know? The Wonderbolts used to help ponies. But lately, we’re just dancing monkeys for the masses. Hell, when Tirek attacked a while back, we couldn’t do jack.”
“So, what? You want to be a hero or something?”
I shook my head, then opened my mouth to say, "See, this is why you don’t get it," but the words never formed, and silence was all there was between us. It stayed inside and died—killed by that nagging whisper and needles.
I pinched my eyes closed again. I didn’t want to be a hero—I just wanted something in my life. What that was, I didn't know. I just wanted something that wasn’t so worthless. Parties and shows don’t do it—that’s just for attention whores. I need a reason to get up in the morning, and being a celebrity wasn’t cutting it. I needed something to make this life worth living, but my stupid brain wouldn't think of anything. Just deafening silence—even the party was silent. Tears felt like they might come, but they'd long since dried up.
I couldn't even manage that.
When I opened my eyes, I was staring out at the ballroom once more. The sound all came back—the chatter and music, but here I was, standing on the edge looking in. I couldn’t speak or even properly talk to them. My best friend was here and I couldn’t even tell her how I felt. What even was I anymore? I just shambled through my life. Work, gym, therapy, parties—but why?
I let out a low sigh. “Sometimes, I just feel like I should give up,” I said with a soft, quivering voice.
“Don’t you dare,” I heard her say without a single moment of hesitation. I slowly turned to look at her. Her eyes narrowed out at the crowd. “I don’t want to find you like that, Fleets. Not again.”
My jaw fell slightly agape, and I slowly turned my head back to the ballroom. I swallowed, and then asked, “Tell me, what’s the point, then?”
She whipped her head to look at me. “Of what?” she asked, soft, but desperate.
I opened my mouth to speak, and a needle jabbed again. The voice whispered in my ear, telling me it didn't matter—none of this mattered. And, once more, the words I tried to say were drowning, but I knew I couldn’t be silent again. I had to tell her; I needed an answer. I took a deep breath, and shoved that voice out of my head. “Of life.”
She let out an almost hysterical laugh. “Of life? You serious? You’re getting too deep for me, Fleets. I don’t know that.” Dust let out a long breath. “Spitfire’s starting to worry about you. That’s why she came to save you earlier. Everypony knows something’s not right.”
My gaze found its way back to the floor, and the voice laughed hard once it found its way back in. “That’s not what I asked,” I muttered.
I felt her looking at me before she let out a another sigh. ”For me, it’s about proving I’m the best. If you want to know what your life’s about, you’ve got to find the answer for that yourself.”
I sighed too. “I used to be like that; just trying to be the best…” Two ponies popped to mind who put that notion to rest—one yellow with fiery hair, and another blue with rainbow streaks. I glanced up and looked at Spitfire again. She was still chatting away effortlessly. Once I pictured those two, the voice fell silent. Its job was done, but a jab from the needles still came. “I just shouldn’t be here.”
We sat in silence for a few moments longer before she finally spoke again. “I don’t know what’s going on with you or what it’s like, but let me just say that if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. If you didn’t help me, I'd have been some washout who never got straightened out. I’d have left the academy and sure as hell wouldn’t be on the reserves.”
I couldn’t help but laugh again. For a moment, the pain in the back of my head was gone. My chest and head both felt lighter, and I actually kept my gaze up off the floor. “I was just in charge of your discipline at the academy. We just started working out together, and I’d drill your ass if you started doing that crap to me like you did to the others, that’s all.”
She cracked a small smile. “Look, my point is, this ain’t pointless. You helped me and that’s pretty damn important.”
My gaze drifted back down, but not because my eyes fell there. My chest welled up with something—pride? Happiness? Something I hadn't felt in a while. I needed to think. Dust wasn’t the type to pour her feelings out, and if she was, that meant something. If it was important to her, then maybe that was a reason.
When I looked back up, I simply said, “Maybe.”
“So, tell me about your week?” she asked.
I couldn’t help but let out a sigh. She always asked; I had come to expect it. It’s a question that should be easy to answer, but buzzing white noise always smothered any answers that dared to form. But I still wanted to tell her about my week.
I placed my hoof against my forehead and leaned against the arm of the couch. I took a deep breath and then I did. “Better.”
She looked up from her notes with her ear twitching. “Better, you say?”
I nodded. “Yeah, better.” I laughed a bit to myself, maybe at how silly it sounded to actually say. “I don’t know why, but it was.”
“Well, let’s start with that. What did you do this week?”
I shrugged. “Nothing special. I went to a party for the Wonderbolts last week after our session and I sat home.”
She frowned a bit. “So, you still sat home.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m still feeling really tired, but this week was different though. I didn’t sit home because I didn’t want to leave. I was thinking.”
She scribbled something down on her notepad. “About what?”
“Life.”
She nodded with her pen placed to her lip. “What exactly about life?”
“What’s the purpose of it.”
“That’s a complex question. I didn’t quite peg you as a philosopher, Fleetfoot.” She giggled. Once she marked something else down on her pad, she looked back up to me. “Did you go to work?”
“Actually, no,” I said with some confidence.
“Any reason why?”
I shook my head. “Work’s just…” Doubts started to creep back into my head. I had probably the best job a pony could ask for, and here I was fed up with it. But I swallowed those doubts, and pushed out what I wanted to say. “I think I want to quit.”
I could see her lean back in her chair. This time, she set her pad down on the table next to her and placed her forehooves together. “That’s a serious change.” I could feel her eyes on me for a moment—examining me. It was still hard to look her in the eye, so I dodged her gaze once she started looking me in the face. “What brought this about?”
I shrugged, half-heartedly like always. “I talked to a friend and I think I just don’t want to be a Wonderbolt anymore.”
She nodded her head, listening.
I took another deep breath, bracing myself for some sort of backlash. Even it she didn’t tell me I was wrong, I knew some part of me would. “I think I hate my job.” I laughed hysterically as those words left my lips. “It’s not what it used to be. Everything’s changed. There was a reason besides the shows and fanfare.”
I noticed her scramble for her pad. She started frantically trying to scribble down what I was saying, so I waited. “Being a Wonderbolt is a badge of honor,” she said after a few seconds. “I’ve talked with many pegasus ponies who had that as their dream.”
After a swipe of her pen, she looked up at me from over the top of her pad. “But, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. It’s a sensitive topic, being something so admired among ponies, so I’ve been building to it.”
She took a deep breath and lowered her notepad. “When I talk to you about work, you always seem very disillusioned or detached. It’s clearly not the physical part of it or your team mates, but your obligations have always seemed to cause you to retreat.”
I stared down into the carpet for a moment before nodding my head. “I hate going to those parties and public appearances.” After a moment, I laughed again. “I hate being some icon rather than who I am. I have to watch what I say and be the perfect ‘cool’ pegasus to live up to the image. I’m a Wonderbolt first and Fleetfoot after that. Ponies only care about my position on the team, not me.”
She nodded, but didn’t write—simply listened.
I finally lifted my head from my hoof and pulled my focus from the floor. “I feel so damn worthless because I’m not me. Everypony wants a Wonderbolt, so what does that make me? I might as well just be the suit. What do I even do anymore? I train, do a show maybe once a month, and go to a bunch of events for ponies I don’t owe a damn thing to! For what?”
After a few nods, she slowly opened her mouth. “So, you want to find your freedom?”
“I want to find a point in being me.” I slid a hoof through my mane, “I’m too old to do this anymore, I get that. Age and this depression crap is making me too tired to keep up. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m past my prime. Sure, I can train and go to the gym all I want, but that won’t fix me falling in the rankings.” I bit my lower lip. “Spitfire’s still in her prime, that’s why she got captain. Then there’s that pony—Rainbow Dash. That kid’s got some serious talent.”
She rest her head against her hoof and leaned in. “Would you say you’re jealous?”
I shook my head. “I’m not, and that’s what’s weird. If you asked me a few years ago, I would have been gung-ho to compete with them. But now? I couldn’t care less. It’s not about beating them—I know I can’t—so I have to ask why I’m even on the team.”
She leaned back once more and a big smile came across her face. “This is a big stride for you.”
“I mean, I still feel worthless, but I think I know what to do now. I think I want to quit the team. I look at Soarin; he’s out with an injury every few weeks and he’s barely keeping up. That’s going to be me in a few years. I’ve seen what it looks like when you hang onto the past.”
“And? What are you going to do after that?”
I managed to look her in the eyes. I think it was the first time I had ever done so. They were a dark shade of brown, almost like warm chocolate. “I think I want to be a coach.”
“As long as you have an idea for the future of what to do, I don’t think it’s destructive. Quitting your job might be a bit extreme, but—”
And here was where she'd shatter my mood. I felt my heart freeze. This was going to be the backlash. I said something stupid and now she was going to tell me off for it. The voice had been right. I braced myself on the arm of the couch.
“—I think a change is what you need in your life. If you’re not happy where you are, Fleetfoot, you should make a change. I’m not encouraging you to quit your job, but perhaps talk to Spitfire about transitioning from an active member to the coaching staff for the Wonderbolts.”
I blinked absently for a few seconds. There was no scolding or anything. “You think she’d let me?”
“I can’t say for certain. I don’t know her personally, but I think it’s something you should discuss before outright quitting. Flying is a passion of yours, so training the next generation might be a way to keep in touch with that passion. I do think that’s healthy.”
I nodded. It made sense. And despite that voice in the back of my head telling me I was worthless, I actually felt good for the first time in a long time about something. Even if it was small, I could do something of value. I could help someone rather than just be an idol for the masses. I might feel dead now, but I don’t think I’d be that way forever. I don’t want to feel that way forever.
If helping was important to Dust, it should be important enough to me. I might be able to for another pony—another generation. The prospect of helping others obtain that greatness I’d grown tired of made my chest well up with that feeling again. I'd finally realized after what it was—what I hadn't felt in so long. It was hope. Hope that I might just be able to find worth in life, and maybe, I could slowly make my way back to being part of the living.
The End
