Final Flight

by monokeras

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance, Tragedy
Length: 3887

It all began so well. We were on cloud nine. But no, I had to botch it, in the worst possible way. And now, she’s gone and my life is ruined. What can I do but follow her?

To my family, to my friends.

I want you to know you were the most wonderful ponies ever. I enjoyed every bit of my life with you. Every single minute.

But since that fateful afternoon, I’ve lost my will to live. My days are drowned in guilt and booze. My nights are full of dreams. Of her body. Of her smile. That I’ve lost, forever. And it was all my fault.

It can’t go on like this.

When you find this letter, I’ll be gone. Don’t try to look for me, you’d lose your time. I’ve a final flight to carry out. A one-way ticket.

Don’t mourn me, but when the sun sets on the western shore that the ocean lulls with its tender waves, think of me. Think of her. Think of us.

I will miss you. Farewell, my friends. Farewell, mum. Farewell, dad.

Love to all,
[right]
Rainbow Dash
[/right]

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-09-22 23:20:01 UTC

Rise

The sky above is blue. The sea under me is blue, too. Not exactly the same hue, but I don’t care. The rare blotches of white in the heavens are matched by the thin moving lines of foam as the crests of the waves roll past me a thousand feet below. There is hardly any sound that high, except the hiss of the wind as I hurtle onwards, onwards to oblivion, flapping hard to put as much distance as I can between me and her.

Between me and guilt.

If only I could forget…

“Wow. This is spectacular!”

We both emerge from the cable-car amidst the other skiers and race straight across the little platform to the railing. I put my shades on. All around us the jagged outlines of the snow-bound peaks tower like giant fangs against the backdrop of the sapphire sky. The air is brisk and pure, thinner than in the valley down below. I feel a bit woozy, but I like it.

I wave my right foreleg at the not-so-distant round summit which overlooks the whole landscape. “Look over there! This is le Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in the range. And le Dôme du Goûter, le Mont Maudit, la Dent du Géant and further north les Grandes Jorasses.” My hoof takes the whole panorama in. “Have you ever seen anything more awesome?”

“I never imagined this could be so breathtaking! It’s… so beautiful.” Her voice quavers slightly in response.

How long do we stay there staring silently at the landscape? I lose track of time. At some point, she turns to me and kisses my cheek. “Thank you so much for bringing me here! You’re so sweet, sugarcube…”

I must be blushing. Why should a small peck send such a chill down my spine? Like I could—

The harsh, loud rattle of the cable-car door sliding shut brings me back to reality. I look around. Except for the maintenance guy, the platform is empty. All the other skiers have already climbed down the stairs on to the planked area below where one can comfortably ready oneself to set out for one of the most majestic pistes Equestria has to offer.

I shake my head. “Time to get a move on! We haven’t come here to gawk at the view, eh?”

“’Course not! Come on you lark. Lead the way.” She nudges me and I can read the bliss in her eyes, covered from the Sun by the large brim of her hat. The clang of our hooves against the metal steps of the stairway softens to a light crunch as we reach the snow-covered ground.

I unload my tackle while she slips into the tight orange suit that protects her from the biting cold. I hear the whizz of the zipper as she closes it, and turn my gaze to her. Sweet Celestia! Togged in that suit that fits her bulging muscles perfectly, she’s so gorgeous. My eyes lock on her body, linger on her barrel, then slip towards her plump rump, towards her crotch shyly concealed under the dock of her blond tail. I feel the fire welling up inside me. I want to rip that suit off. I want to kiss her. I want… her, right here, right now. To Tartarus with good manners and all that junk.

My face must betray my thoughts once more, because she averts her gaze and blushes slightly in turn.

“I can’t understand how, as a pegasus, you’ve learned to ski that well. Everyday pegasi’re just plain klutzes on slats!” she jeers, casually stomping each one of her hooves into the bindings that lock with a click.

Is that an attempt to dampen my lechery? She won’t get away like this. Maybe I can’t make out with her on the spot, but tonight in the hotel room she won’t escape me so easily. “Shush. It’s a secret!”

“Tut-tut, sugarcube! No such things between us.”

I sigh. “Okay. You know that little piece of land my parents inherited near the road to Canterlot?”

“Yep. Real hilly and shadowy.”

“Well, when you’re in charge of the weather, it’s not difficult to get some extra snow, even outside the official winter period. And with the wings, no need for those ski lifts!”

She scowls at me, then bursts into laughter. “Cheater! You should be ashamed to pull rank like this.”

I grin. “Sure ma’am. Will do.”

I put my skis on. We waddle on the planks to reach the groomed snow, then, after a last glance at the cable-car station, we set forward.

Why should it go amiss? We were on top of the world. We really were, in every way. I had never felt so… carried away. I wish time had stopped and we had remained here, tiny specks of dust awash in an ocean of white and blue, on the shore of eternity. Just the two of us. Clinging on to each other in an endless embrace.

But no. I had to botch it. Me and my big mouth. And now my life has lost its meaning and I’ve become a wraith, drowned in remorse and booze…

Far away, almost lost on the hazy horizon, a dark mote rises. I call upon what strength still lies in me and speed up.

Turning around I crack up into a loud chortle. Twenty feet above me, half-buried in the snow, supine, her skis wriggle frantically in the air as she tries to recover from her fall. How she has managed to keep her hat on is a mystery to me. I become airborne and alight next to her.

“You know what you look like?” She glares at me and mumbles a grunt. “You look like Tank with his rotor buckled upside down! Bwawawah!”

“Bah, you ! Help me up ’stead of poking fun at me!”

Sneering, I put one ski on her barrel, hold my head high. “The awesome Daring Do has once again vanquished Ahuizotl the snow-caterpillar!”

“C’mon. Quit bein’ such a blowhard!”

“Pah! You’re such a spoilsport.” I remove my ski, and lend her a more helpful hoof. Soon, she is back on all fours, shaking the slush off her suit.

“Thanks. I thought I’d be stuck.”

“Why did you trip?”

“Was looking at the view and didn’t mind a bump.”

“Hey! This is no tourist outing. You oughta concentrate. The trail is rather bumpy, that’s where the fun lies. If each one knocks you out, it’ll take us forever to get down.”

She looks daggers at me, then hightails at full schuss. “The last one to get to the thicket down there is a rotten egghead!” she yells, clipping downslope headlong.

With a beam on my face, I turn and dive down in hot pursuit.

Westward, westward. The crimson Sun slowly sinks into the ocean, slathering the sky with blood. Blood. I feel its taste in my mouth. I have probably bitten my tongue. I spit, once, twice, but the taste persists. Where is the wound I bleed from? I know it too well: deep in my head, and nothing will ever stitch it. Never. It is a gaping crack in which I keep falling, falling…

I am but at a few miles from the island now. From my vantage point, I admire its beautiful shore of thin, soft white sand, delicately bathed in the twilight. Further inside, I can even make out a tiny village of cozy bungalows tucked in the middle of a thicket of palm trees. Is that a fire whose smoke I see? I imagine the life of the those ponies, the rhythm of the tides, the warmth of the Sun, the quietness of the starry nights…

Warmth of the Sun. It was warm that day. Cold outside but so warm inside. Why couldn’t I clasp her in my hooves forever?

“Time to have lunch, don’t you think?” I propose.

“How can you be hungry? You snarfed up your breakfast! You’re greedier than Twilight!”

“Me, greedy? That’s a laugh. I am just hungry, period.” I point one of my hooves at a chalet a few hundred yards downhill. “That’s La marmotte down there. It’s a good restaurant, they serve tasty regional dishes and the terrace faces the Sun. Want to give it a shot? My treat!”

“Why not?”

“Swell! Let’s go!” We slalom lazily down the piste until we reach the edge of the chalet’s terrace, where we unlock the bindings and put our skis in the rack specially provided by the owners of the place.

Climbing on a few stairs to the terrasse, we edge our way through the wooden tables crammed with patrons. I recognise one or two pegasi that were with us in the cable-car. I look around and spot an empty table. We sit at it. She grasps a menu left there, squints at it, then flings it back on the table. “It’s all in Prench!”

“No wonder. They hardly speak anything else here.”

”So what do we make of it? You speak Prench?”

“Nope, but chill out! Cider is simply cidre. That’s easy enough.”

“And apple cobbler?”

I rack my brains. “Err… I don’t think they bake cobblers over here. But you can try the chausson aux pommes instead.”

“Showson ow palm?”

I snicker. “Yeah, that should be close enough! But they serve better dishes, more traditional ones like tartiflette or matafans.”

She grumbles. “How do you know all that stuff?”

“I’ve been in Prance time and again. After a while, you end up memorizing some basic words, especially beverages and dishes.”

She does not answer. I look idly around for a waiter, but don’t see any. They must all be inside fetching the various beverages and dishes. Hanging on the eaves of the roof, amidst a forest of icicles, a loudspeaker softly plays a traditional ballad.

Mon amant me délaisse,

O gué vive la rose,

Mon amant me délaisse,

O gué vive la rose…

I whistle with the melody.

“What’s that song about?” she asks. “I like the guitar riff. Like country music.”

“Must be some sort of old tune. I know Mon amant means ‘my lover’, but the rest’s over my head. Hey! I’m not a egghead. I don’t know bajillions of languages.”

“My lover kisses me, maybe?” She looks straight at me with a coy smile.

…On dit qu’elle est très belle

O gué vive la rose…

I lock my gaze on her emerald eyes and smile in return. What should I do? No way to pass up this innuendo. I hesitate for the slightest moment, then have an idea. I close my eyes, open my lips—ever-so-slightly—and slowly stretch my neck forwards. By Celestia almighty, I hope she does the same, and that our mouths will meet halfway over the table.

…Bien plus belle que moi

Vivent la rose et le lilas…

“Salut les filles!” a stallion’s voice chirps next to me. I open my eyes and jerk my head back. The waiter, a young unicorn, glances at each of us in turn. He seems to realise the awkwardness of the situation.

“Oops… Désolé, je peux repasser…” he says in an apologetic tone.

She looks at me with a puzzled face, calling desperately on me to translate the sentence.

“Non, c’est bon.” I answer to the waiter. “He apologised,” I explain to her.

“Oh! You girls are from Equestria?” the waiter asks with a heavy Prench accent.

I grin. “Yes, from Ponyville. Ever been there?”

“No, but I know the name. I studied one year at Canterlot’s school for gifted unicorns while I was an undergraduate.”

“What the heck are you doing here slinging hash if you’re such a highbrow?”

“Oh. I work here part-time to earn a pittance. Pocket money, you know. But anyway, no big deal. The place’s nice and the patrons quite cool. Makes the experience a lot more fun. What will you girls have?”

“Matafan for me, chausson aux pommes for my… friend.”

He jots our orders on a tiny notebook. “Drinks?”

“Bottle of cider of course! Brut!”

“Right away!” He smiles, bows, and walks off.

I watch him go. “I—” At this very moment, a faint, but unmistakable rumble echoes around us. She whirls around, trying to pinpoint the source of it. Other ponies look high and low, too, but nothing is visible.

She turns back to me. “What was that?”

I shrug. “Probably the sound of a distant avalanche.”

She frowns, as in concern. “You get avalanches in these parts?”

“‘Course! Avalanches are common over here. High altitude and steep slopes. Besides, it snowed the day before yesterday, and it takes time for fresh powder to settle down. But no need to worry. The piste’s groomed and purged every night, as they say here. As long as you stay on it, you’re perfectly safe.”

She grumbles something I don‘t understand, lowers the brim of her hat, closes her eyes and reclines in her chair to enjoy the sunshine.

Fall

“Well, shall we move our flanks or I order one more round?” I tip the third cider bottle into my empty glass. Nothing but a thin trickle of dregs comes out. I belch. “Sorry for that!”

“Don’t you think you’ve already drunk too much, sugar?”

“Come on! I bet I could knock a couple more back and still feel fine. Their cider is so wishy-washy.”

“I found it fine. And you know I—”

“Yeah, yeah! You’re an expert in cider. Just quit strutting your stuff all along. It gets my goat. Let’s move on.” I reach for my pouch, scrabble in it, draw out a note and some coins and throw them on the table. “Hey!” I call the waiter that slouches by the entrance of the inside room, and wave my hoof to signal him I left the bill on the table. He nods.

“Thanks! Good bye! Have fun!” he yells.

“See ya!”

We walk through the mostly deserted tables back to the stairs down to the snow. There’s barely the time to put our skis back on, and we take to our heels.

She was right. I had drunk too much, but I was too brash to own it up. I didn’t feel that buzzed. Maybe the thin, brisk air had numbed my senses. I don’t know.

Not that I want to know. What use would it be?

I fly above the beautiful island. I wish I had chosen that destination for our first holidays together, rather than the high peaks of Prance. But fate is fate, and even the two royal sisters must suffer its whims.

I reach the opposite shore. There’s a bonfire blazing on the beach. In the guttering light I see tiny dots dancing around it. Straining my ears I think I can faintly hear the shrill echoes of ukuleles. Far above, the sky has darkened into deep purple and the brightest stars poke out. However appealing, I am not bound here. I must fly farther on.

I am a legend on its way to meet another legend.

She stops by a wooden signpost and looks dubiously ahead at a nearly flat expanse of snow. “Your piste’s a drag at this point. A highway for yearlings,” she says when I join her.

“Yeah. I know. However, I’ve got something up my sleeve.” I point at a hairpin somewhat downslope. “See that switchback? If, instead of following it, we go straight ahead, we take a shortcut through that wood there and avoid all that boring stretch. What do you make of it?“

She seems to hesitate. “Isn’t that risky? I mean—”

“By Celestia you’re so chicken on skis. What can happen in a wood? Crash into a tree and find yourself buried under a heap of snow? Come on! Work up your guts! Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for her answer and start headlong for the first trees a hundred of metres below.

Why? Why had I to take this track that fateful day? Just to shunt half a mile of flat ground? Hooey. I knew of this shortcut, but I had never taken it before…

Darkness has fallen now, and the tropical night is studded with stars. I look above and try to make out some of the constellations I am familiar with. But… it’s weird. Some stars seem to be at the right place, but others are strangely wayward. It must be a sign. Maybe the legend is true, after all?

“What now?” she asks.

“Err… hold on. I need to get my bearings.” We are standing in the middle of a clearing. I scan the edge of the wood in search of an answer, but I must admit I’ve no clue where to go next. This or that way? They all look the same.

“We’re lost, eh? Explain this!“ she taunts me.

I feel self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I must have overlooked a fork somewhere. It’s been a while.” I know this is a flimsy excuse, and she won’t take it. But I cannot confess to her it is the first time I have actually been here, and that I have lied just to show off.

“No need to get stuck here forever. You know what? We should simply pick a random heading and follow it as best as we can. Move your rump. This time I lead the way.”

I can hardly utter an answer that she is already gone. She sashays ahead between the trees at a surprisingly fast pace, so that I have to pull out all stops to keep up behind her. After round about a quarter of an hour of this race, the trunks clear away somewhat. Five minutes later, we reach the edge of the wood. She stops a few yards farther, right on the border of a ledge, and I skid to a halt just next to her.

She gestures with her right foreleg towards downslope. “Any landmark you recognize, maybe?”

I peer into the distance, but it is difficult to make out any particular in this scenery. The snow reflects off almost all the brilliance of the Sun, and, even with my shades on, I have to squint to fend off the bright light and avoid being dazzled.

She waves at a small clump of chalets somewhere midway to the valley. “Isn’t that the piste down below amid the chalets over there?”

I look in the direction she is pointing. She is right. “Bullseye! This is Deret hamlet, the piste runs straight across it. Gosh, you’re a miracle on hooves!”

She winks at me. “Dunno, but at least I’m better than you at finding bearings! Come along! Unless you want me to call you a winged snail?” And she scoots off.

She has a fine time teasing me: I have made a fool of myself. My eyes follow her as she gracefully rounds the shoulder of the ledge and comes back towards me, twenty yards below or so.

I don’t like to lose, and lose face less than anything else. Somehow I must get even with her. I must.

I have an idea. A stupid idea.

I watch her approach. When she is almost below me, I plunge downwards and jump over the ledge. Using my wings for steering, I alight right in front of her. ‘Woo!’ I shout, as if to frighten her.

Curious that hollow sound the snow makes as my skis touch down on to it. I know about that sound. Somepony has told me about it. What—

Something rustles ominously just above me. I jerk my head sideways, just in time to witness a wide crack opening in the snow. Paralysed, I watch it widen, slither above her, continue its course crosswise the slope. Slowly, but inexorably, the layer of snow above us starts to slide down.

‘Apple—’ I cry out, but my voice is lost in the uproar. Transfixed, I am unable to move as the marching snow reaches me. I don’t even think about taking off. It’s too late anyway. I totter, stumble, fall as the ground gives way under me. Swept away by the avalanche, I roll, tumble madly down, faster and faster amid a deafening rumble of thunder. There is no sky anymore, just whiteness, soft, powdery, fluffy, pushing me ruthlessly down. It lasts for a slice of eternity, until I crash against something hard, everything stops and a pall falls upon me.

I wish I had died this day. It would have been so much simplier. No pain. No guilt. Nothing. All would have ended, and maybe we would have met somewhere else, in another world, a world of eternal summer, a world of wonder and love, free of cold, free of snow. Just the two of us, united for eternity.

In the offing, something shimmers, like a soft glow. The sea is luminescent. So the legend is true, after all. Who could tell? Come on my wings, don’t fail me! It’s a matter of minutes now…

When I open my eyes I see only whiteness. Not the same whiteness though. It is remote, as if observed through… My head aches. I try to move my legs, but they are firmly held… Held? By what? Despite the pain, I crane my neck out. My body is swaddled in white bandages. Three of my legs are immobilised in casts. I am bedded in a hospital room. I let my head plop back on to the pillow.

“Hello, Rainbow,” says a familiar voice next to me.

I start, turn my head. Twilight sits by the bedside. Her face betrays a subtle mix of relief and sorrow.

“Twilight? What am I doing here? What happened?” It’s a pointless question. I already know the answer.

“You were caught in an avalanche. You and Applejack. You were badly injured, but the doctors say you should recover quickly.”

Applejack. Applejack. “Applejack, where’s she? How’s she?”

I must sound panicked. Twilight looks at me gravely. She does not answer. Instead, she lowers her gaze.

“What?!” I blurt. “No. NO! NO! Please don’t tell me…” I can’t say more. I have a giant lump in my throat, the words are stuck in it. My view blurs. I am reeling. A dark pit opens below me. I close my eyes.

Far away, the voice of Twilight, sombre. I don’t want to hear it, but the words still manage to crawl into my brain. “I’m sorry Rainbow. We couldn’t find her. We’ve scoured everywhere. It’s too late now. She—” The blackness engulfs me, and, thanks Celestia, I hear no more.

I have finally reached the end of my voyage. Above me, the darkness of the sky. Below, wide patches of light dance on the surface of the ocean, describing intricate whorls and strange arabesques. Is this some sort of signal sent to an alien, formidable intelligence? Maybe I am about to find out, like so many who have vanished here before.

All of a sudden, a radiant shaft springs from the water and blinds me. I feel pulled down, seized by a formidable force I can’t resist. I don’t even try to anyway. I flare my wings, empty my mind, take a last deep breath of marine air. I taste the brackish spray on my lips. I close my eyes for the last time. In peace at last, I glide down, effortlessly, towards a mighty sun.