My mind latches onto a few pertinent facts as I fly away.
'Pertinent' is a stupid word.
My wings kinda hurt.
I'm the biggest sucker this side of Equestria.
You know. Normal thoughts to have.
My wings, even though they kinda hurt, pump as fast as they ever have. My good old wings, sky-blue and always with me when I need them. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be an Earth Pony, or a Unicorn; living with magic, or Applejack's absurd strength...
...But then I get into the air, and I realize there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
I guess it all comes down to that, doesn't it? The speed, the adrenaline, the wind in my mane...
What can I say? I like it.
A lot.
...Apparently, too much.
I can still hear the words, though the voice carrying them isn't the same one that said them.
'Rainbow, this has been a long time coming.'
I snort. Yeah, sure. A long time coming. Didn't feel like it...
The sign ahead of me reads 'Cloudsdale City Limits'; there's a Pegasus waving, a grin painted on her cloud face. I growl as I approach; everything in this friggin' city's made of clouds. I think about punching the mare's head off. It'd certainly help..
...No, it wouldn't.
Instead, as I pass the sign, I give the mare a high-hoof, the cloud making a satisfying 'poff' sound.
Goodbye, Cloudsdale.
And good riddance.
The countryside streaks by below me, rich and golden with this autumn's harvest. Wheat, barley, corn, all that junk that other mares eat. I used to scoff at food like that; an athlete's diet's gotta be strict, fine-tuned to give them the best they can get.
I keep flying.
From the Cloudsdale sign, it's about a two-hour fly to get to Ponyville, but there's a decent tailwind; I'm going around 24.357 miles an hour faster than I normally would.
...Okay, so exactly 24.357 miles an hour faster. So what if I'm good at stuff like that? All W...
All athletes have gotta have that kind of stuff down. It's got to be as natural to them as flying, or breathing.
I try to force the words away, keep them out, but it's like trying to swat a swarm of parasprites one at a time - they just keep coming.
'Rainbow, you're the best young flier we've seen in generations. you've got heart, speed, stamina; you're a top-of-the line athlete.'
I growl again. 'Top-of-the-line athlete', but when it comes to-
A gust from the side shakes me, and I flip on instinct, diving down to avoid the mass of cloud pumped from that floating carcass behind me. That's one of the things ponies look for in a Wonderbolt, in an athlete; agility. Decisive thinking. Quick reactions. constantly analyze your surroundings, even when your main focus is on something else. Do this one thing, and you'll become the best Wonderbolt ever.
...Oh, and make sure to do the seventeen thousand other 'one things', too.
I keep flying.
The farmland gives way to rocky bluffs and plateaus; Pinkie country, as I like to call it. Rock farms and quarries dot the blank grey landscape, the farms sitting on giant rivers of stone, waves of boulders small and large, while the quarries latch onto mountains, pony-made crags and slots in the stone marking where the harvest has been most plentiful. My thoughts turn to the Pies, especially Pinkie's freaky sister, Maud. Fast enough to outpace me on hoof - get real, nopony's a match for me when we're both skybound - and strong enough to throw a boulder two miles, to punch through rock like it was paper.
And she plays it off like it's nothing because, to her, it is nothing. her talents aren't revered, they're just accepted. She doesn't need to prove her worth, to find her place, she knows it; it's protecting her sister.
And there it is; the words cluster around me, and I land, my hooves shaky, sit down, place my head in my forelimbs and let them wash over me.
'But there's more to being a Wonderbolt than sheer ability. We're an example. We're the ponies Equestria looks to when things are at their worst. Sure, we aren't the best ponies - even I've done some things I'm not proud of - but no matter what, we learn from our mistakes. And you, Rainbow Dash... You haven't learned a single thing.'
I shrink more, withering into a ball as the arrows embed themselves into my ears, pierce my heart.
'You're arrogant. Stubborn. Reckless. You've shown complete disregard for anypony and everypony around you. And you know what, Dash? We've been willing to overlook that. We thought you'd grow, that the discipline of Wonderbolt training would help mold you into the best mare you can be. But we were wrong.'
I can't. I can't just stand there and take this. Fight or flight, and I can't fight this.
My wings are out, but they're shaking; my takeoff's wrong, all wrong, and I crash to the stone, my hoof twisting painfully under me. I bite back a cry of pain and leap into the air, wings pumping, rising, rising...
...Falling.
This time, I can't fight back the shout of pain as I land on my bad hoof.
'I don't want to do this.'
I can hardly see; my vision's red and there are tears blurring my eyes, but I'm not crying, I'm not crying, not in front of Spitfire, not in front of him, can't give them the satisfaction. Another step, a gallop, a yelp as my bad hoof hits the stone, and I'm airborne, and this time it sticks. My wings gulp greedily at the air, big sweeping flaps as I rise, eyes shut tight, relying on smell and the feel of the air to guide me.
'But you need to shape up, Rainbow Dash. Stop acting like a filly. I know... I know it isn't what either of us wants, but, until you've proven that you've changed your ways... I hereby suspend you from all duty, training, and Wonderbolt-related activity.'
The voice is Spitfire's; I know that now. Except it isn't, not completely; I can hear him, the slurred baritone of his words right there with hers. The two ponies I respected, the ones who held my life in their hooves...
It makes sense they'd both come to hate me, after a while.
The wind howls, pushing me forward so fast, faster and faster until I realize it's my wings, beating harder and harder, gotta get away, I can't just stand there and take this, fight-or-flight except I can't fight-
The smell of rock assaults me, and I open my eyes just in time to see the mountain before I hit it.
The sun's gone down by the time my eyes decide to open; I can see stars, clouds, even a little bit of the moon, through the top of the ravine. I raise a hoof, weak and shaky, trying to do something, anything, trying to paw at my one chance of escape.
Because my wings hurt.
My wings and my hooves and my head and everything else. I can feel something drip down the side of my throbbing head. I think it's blood. I chuckle bitterly, my voice coming out cracked and broken.
At least things can't get worse...
The rain hits me in sporadic bursts, the drops smacking my head whenever they manage to get through the thin crack of the ravine.
'Arrogant.'
I curl up, trying to do something, anything, to block out the words.
'Reckless.'
It's definitely blood; I can taste the iron-y smell, see the red that coats my hoof. The moon illuminates at least that much.
'Stubborn.'
Somepony's whimpering; it's me, I'm whimpering because it hurts, it hurts so bad... Why, Spitfire? Why? Why am I not good enough!?
And then the words turn deeper, slur themselves, drunk on my fear and anguish, drunk on cheap whiskey again, the third time this week, as he stumbles through the door...
'Worthless.'
I can feel his stinking breath, his matted fur on my own as he grabs me, lifting me up, pressing me against the wall, his hoof on my stomach until I can't breathe.
'Stupid.'
I can feel the blood, it's everywhere, all over me... It's going so fast, I can't even tell where it's coming from. It's stopped hurting, but he's still pushing me, still pressing, harder and harder, I can feel my ribs straining.
'Garbage.' he calls me. 'You're a waste of life, you know that? If it weren't for the promise I made to your dear departed parents, you'd be dead, you hear me?'
It doesn't hurt at all any more. I can see the blackness, creeping up, my vision tunneling, just like it did before, when he wouldn't stop, when he went further than he'd ever gone before...
...And then a third voice speaks up. It's quiet, so quiet; I can barely hear it, but it's there, like the soft fall of leaves on a forest floor, like the sound of a cat walking on carpet.
'Brave.'
And, just like that, the hoof stops pressing. It's still there, and I'm still nearly gone, but at least it isn't getting worse. It's stopped.
It didn't do that before.
And then a fourth voice.
'Loyal.'
Dry, but alive; the spark of a candle in a quiet place, the rustle of paper in a silent library in the dead of night. It's smooth, like ink, lying neatly on a page, ready to read.
I can open my eyes again; there's a pinprick of light, but it isn't the end. I know it isn't. It's back, back the way I came. Back to the ravine, to blood and pain and panic.
...I don't want to go back.
'Awesome!'
The fifth voice is an explosion; it's fireworks and candy and a balloon popping and a drumbeat, a single word containing an entire crowd, a voice shouting out as loud as ten thousand.
The light's brighter, and I can feel the pain, just a little now. But now it's not too painful. It's tinged at the ends with a grim kind of pleasure, a sharp, heady euphoria.
'Graceful.'
Graceful! Me! I laugh inwardly, but the voice cuts me deep, and I know it's true. this river; this sixth voice, smooth and flowing, every single sound serving a special purpose, set in a perfect sentence. It's graceful... And so am I.
I'm not bound by petty things like tunnel vision any more. The pain? What pain? All I can feel is fire, surging through me as I look up at the sky through the ravine. The clouds are thick, black, raging; I can see lightning, ragged, darting, flicking across the sky, ready, waiting, tensed.
Like me.
I stand, my hooves steady, my wings unfurled. From deep in me, the fire coalesces, bursting into bright words that seem to illuminate the crags and edges of the ravine.
"Worthless? Arrogant?" I spit at the stone. "You know there's nopony as good as me. I was the best thing you could've ever had, and you threw me away. Worthless? Not even close! I am loyal! I'm graceful! Brave! Awesome!"
The clouds churn. My mind rages. Spitfire's face, smug, drunk off his flank, sneering, stinking of blood and pride and hate...
'Rainbow Dash!'
The last voice is a wooden house, walls secure around me, the smell of apples wafting through the air, a fire blazing in the hearth. It's a sanctuary, immovable and forever with me, a safe place to rest my head, a bastion to lean on. It's comfort. It's home.
"You think you can break me, don't you? You think I can't take it? Well, I'm not gonna run, not anymore! I'm gonna stand and fight! I can take it! I am Rainbow Dash, and you could never take me!"
And then lightning strikes.
Ponyville glows in the lingering wetness after the rain, the streetlights casting glittering light off of the houses, the streets, and the giant crystal castle smack dab in the middle of town.
Sometimes, I just sit back and wonder just why the Rainbow Box stuck it right there. It's been nearly a year, and I still haven't figured it out.
I take a deep breath and cast a look behind me, at the grassy plains and, just on the horizon, the grey of rock... A two-hour journey, over in seconds. I puff out my chest, before an errant sigh deflates it. I'm faster than I've ever been, but, for once, that's nothing to brag about. I glance at the sky, at the river of electricity leading through the clouds, flowing to a point right above me...
...And dismiss it.
In less than an instant, the lightning's gone; rain pours down on Ponyville again, and I flap gently through the night air, landing gently on the large cloud I call home. Ugh; how did I ever think a place this big was cool? It's so cold, so empty...
I don't even bother with the door; I just fly through the wall and into my bathroom, shaking the water from my mane and coat and drying what that didn't with a towel.
Trotting past the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my face; the glow in my now-blue eyes has faded, but it's still there, radiating power and comfort in the dark room...
I give my reflection a high-hoof and head off to bed.
Author's Note
Hey there.
So...
This is another one-off I wrote in a stupor at around 3 AM. Like most of my one-offs, I barely remember writing any of this, but - again, like most of my one-offs - I'm posting it as-is. The ending's a bit strange, and even I found myself re-reading the thing, the morning after, wondering just what I'd written. But, in a way, that's kind of its charm. It's open to interpretation.
...Either that or it's just plain badly-written.
Hope you enjoyed it anyway.
再见。
