Flying never felt this good after a torrential downpour over the Everfree.
The humidity had peaked, rain had fell to the ground, and winds had swept the landscape. Ponies were still indoors, well, except one. She loved to fly after a good shower. She loved to kick clouds out of anger. She loved to showoff how quick she could break them. She was Rainbow Dash.
Kick, punch, kick, punch; a pattern she kept up when she hit a cloud, popping it like a balloon. Cheer, growl, cheer, growl; the joy of ending something to show yourself off while benefiting others. Climbing, falling, climbing, falling; the thrill of flying high in the sky before plummeting down at a breakneck pace to smash twenty clouds in a row before looping and starting the process again was something Rainbow Dash loved to do. She loved every second of flying and smashing; an adrenaline rush she endured ever since she was a foal. Well, not noticeably, she crashed a lot when she was younger. Bullies loved to poke that at her, pin her as "Rainbow Crash". She didn't find it too insulting, except on a bad day or when they harmed her friends. Of course, sticking it to them when she did better was much more rewarding.
Eyes low, scanning the area, Rainbow Dash looked for a clearing: a place to land. She had popped the final cloud, letting the sun shine brightly for all to see. While she heard doors opening, ponies conversing, happy cheers and joyous clamoring directly below, Rainbow Dash had her eyes scoping for the right place, the right spot to finish her routine. Yet, as she scanned the area, instead of finding a clearing, she found a prairie. She smiled, raced towards the beautiful landscape, and landed gently on the ground, no skid marks to show. She flicked her tail, settled on the ground, and watched as the trees danced in the wind, a gentle gust that flipped her rainbow mane slightly. However, as she watched, a feeling of elation came over her, followed by a morbid sense of curiosity. She looked down.
She gasped. On the ground was a key, almost submerged in a small yet deep puddle. It was a brass key, to be exact. It had an intricate design: the bow (the end of the key) was shaped like a three leaf clover, but rounded on its tips. Holes dug inside its leaves, where hooves of her size couldn't fit. It had an edge on its bit, a type of edge for an axe head rather than a key she saw.
"Where..." she muttered, eyes searching around. "Did anypony drop this?"
Not a sound was to be heard. A silly question to some, but one that she had to ask. Her eyes kept searching, but not one owner claimed the key.
"I guess it's mine, now..." She had grabbed it in her hoof, before setting in her maw. She had left her saddlebag at home, knowing that if she kept it on, the thing would be soaking wet due to the rain. Yet this was a whole different issue. Bag or not, she still had a key, one that she didn't know where it went in.
She sighed. Her tail flicked, her eyes darted to the key, then back to the puddle; she wanted to leave it there. There was no use of keeping it. Finding the owner would be impossible. She didn't want to knock on all those doors, interrupting those poor ponies just to give a key back was not cool. Plus, not knowing where to find the door to this key made the desire to even have it pointless.
Yet...
She looked at the key again. Focusing, an engraving of "D.D." was on the stem (middle section). They sounded familiar, like a character in a book, or a pony she had met. She--
"Daring Do?" Eyes glimmering at the sight of an artifact. "Maybe she lost this key..."
A possibility, Rainbow Dash thought. One that would make sense. She's always running with someone else's goods anyway, so why not have a key to keep them safely locked in a vault of some kind?
Gazing at the key again (flipping it in the process), she found her logic to be flawed. On the back was a signature. It read a name of Don Dell. There, underneath the name, was the words that caused Rainbow Dash to falter. It said:
"The key to your heart."
She almost dropped the key when she read that. It sounded all... mushy, a sensation that she dreaded. This Don guy must've been in love! Yet, with whom? Whose heart? Why was it here?
"And what type of pony is named Don Dell anyway?"
Eyes widen as she found the key to be flipping on its own. As it flipped, she looked closely and gasped.
The signature had changed; different words appeared it its place.
"For you."
Brow raised, gasp controlled, and heartbeat calm, Rainbow Dash said, "Why?"
The key flipped again.
"I must show you who you are."
Then, the key vanished.
"WHAT?" Eyes flickering to the high grass, the flowers near the prairie, tree tops fluttering in the breeze, yet nothing was of the key. "Where did it go?"
Then, Rainbow Dash felt the world closing in on her. Within seconds, the trees became larger, they stared at her with anger. The grass became taller. The sun became smaller. The sky lost its color.
And her wings became folded pieces of paper, flying away into the distance.
After her wings disappeared, Rainbow Dash couldn't recall a thing. All she knew was the sea of black had surrounded her, and her wings were no more.
Meanwhile, a man sitting at his typewriter flicked in his fingers across the black keys, pressing and hammering away at a piece of paper that would be sent to his colleague. His eyes were seeing letters, symbols, and sparking the ideas in his head to reality. As the chime of the typewriter sounded, he slipped it back in place. When he needed more ink, he would walk to the nearest shop and ask for some. In his black trousers and white hat, Don Dell knew of his profession: a typist. He typed the newspapers, some letters to his family, office work (payment totals, forms), and lastly, his final book. He had been typing it for years.
The book was his prized possession. It symbolized his intelligence, whereas others did not settle for petty story-writing. Instead. He liked to be different. He liked to stand out. He also loved to try something new, and master it too.
Yet, as he grabbed for his key, a jagged edge like the sharpness of an axe head, one that he could get from a master craftsman, he stopped. He was just about to open his door to the outside world. Something inside him though felt off. A bit hazy was his vision; the lock on the door was turning into a dilapidated mess of color.
He didn't think anything of it though, probably a lack of sleep. After all, his work does span 'til the night time falls. He must be tired.
Yet, as he inserted the key, the door spun around, its hinges severing the connection to the frame. There, the door fell, and there, his visitor, unexpected and non-human, arrived, her eyes shut and her face clenched in fear. He stood still, frozen, wondering how something like this would be in front of him. He didn't know how to handle them either, other than his friend who trained him to ride them for leisure, not for sport. Yet, here, no harness was to be found. No saddle either.
As it opened its eyes, the horse gasped, but what it said shocked Don to the core, "Who are you?"
"You can talk?!"
