Home, I thought as I walked to the shoddily constructed shack. The familiar sent of pine flowed into my nose as the soft needles cracked ever so softly beneath my hoof. The pale moonlight, despite the branches of the groove, illuminated the path made four small wheels that I was so very accustom to seeing. The night was starting to chill, and I would be cold if it wasn’t for my crusading outfit. Though it did nothing to warm the ice of my soul. It was a beautiful reminder of how much of a failure I was.
Today would have been a great day for crusading, sunny and a pleasant temperature for so late in autumn. But there was no such thing as the Cutie Mark Crusaders anymore. Months ago Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle got their cutie marks, but me? Never.
My eyes start to water over the thought of the two I used to be best friends with. I remember how Sweetie Belle’s voice made the world stop to listen, and it could melt your heart. That’s why she got hers, that magical voice of hers. Once or twice she came out looking for me with Apple Bloom. She sang a chorus over and over; one that begged me to come home. But I was home, here in my shed, and it would take more that her singing to crack the steel of my heart.
As I approached my home sweet home I noticed the door was ever so slightly ajar. I smiled, my poor building skill— evident by the innumerable protruding nails, many leaks in the roof, and off hinged door— had actually helped me. To fully close the door it has to be pushed up slightly, so I know somepony who doesn’t know that went through my shed.
The loud creek resonated through the forest as I opened my door. A glance inside revealed that no one was still in there. I crept slowly through the drying mud of my floor to my bed; constantly spinning circles to make sure I was alone. I sighed and was about to lie down when I saw the note placed on my straw bed.
It wasn’t written, there were no clues or arrows to point me in a direction but its meaning was clear. Laying there was one of my small orange feathers placed underneath a soft as the sky cyan one.
They say rain on a roof can lull you to sleep, but not rain like this. This torrent of rain assaulted my tiny shack, and the streams that fell from the walls and ceiling converted the middle of my home into a mud puddle. It would not stop me though; the invitation from yesterday was unconditional. She would be there, and so would I.
I stepped out into the deluge of rain, no coat or anything on my back— I would walk into this meeting with dignity. I slogged through the mud on the trail to my practice ground. Streams of water ran into my eyes as their source pelted me like rocks.
I squinted my eyes, and the lights of Manehattan flashed before my eyes.
“How was school Scooty, my dear?” Mom’s sweet voice asked.
“Those bullies made fun of me for not being able to fly again…” I replied from the couch, fore legs now crossed and head observing the pattern of the carpet.
“Sweetie, you know they’re just early bloomers, you’ll learn to fly soon enough,” she said with a smile that could light the city.
“Mom, when I was at QS’s house, there were a bunch of pictures of her with her parents in the hospital, and her parents said everypony took them, so why didn’t you, did you not love me, did you have a camera?” I blurted out that night that my world was shattered.
“Honey come over here,” she called to Dad before looking deep into my eyes, “It’s time we talked.”
“Scooty,” she said in a gentle tone as she looked at me, sitting between her and Dad on that old couch, “We’re not your first parents.”
“What!” I shouted.
“We found you wrapped in a blanket outside our apartment building and took you in as our own,” she explained.
“Why, why would my parents do that…?” I whined.
A violent whistle blasted as the train hurtled away from the city. I was alone, heading out into the world to find my real parents…
The crack of thunder brought me back to reality, and I realized I had stopped. I continued walking, but the memories persisted in shining through the darkness I hide them in.
That first day in a small town I was walking down the street I heard the sweet voice of my mother singing out, trying to call me home. I ran into a bush, and as she was just passing me I gasped.
The tiny filly that was singing looked over to me and smiled as warm as she did too, “Who you hiding from?”
I opened my eyes wide, trying to dispel the phantoms that haunted me. But the mare whom shortly I will see plagued my mind.
I watched her dancing through the windy sky in ways I could scarcely imagine. Filled by wonder I observed the sky each day to catch some of the tricks I could hopefully do for myself one day. I developed a fan club for her; she was my idol.
I thought back to what that Scootaloo would have said about this meeting, how excited she would be to meet Rainbow Dash. Not me; to me, she was another pony who got in the way of my practicing. Part of me wished that she wouldn’t even be there, actually most of me did.
But up on that small hill atop that smooth stone under the great tree she sat, waiting for me. Once I was at the top and beneath the tree she began talking, back still turned, “This is a Weeping Willow, planted here so something would always be mourning the planter’s love. This is a grave for somepony that was well loved.”
“Why’d you tell me to come here?” I asked bitterly.
“I asked nothing of you,” she answered turning now to face me, “I simply gave you a gift.”
“Don’t patronize me; I know you wanted me to come here.”
“I wanted to let you know that you were as loved as this this pony here. Did you look at it closely?”
“Yeah, it was a feather that got some rain on it, nothing special,” I replied with a smirk, knowing she didn’t think I was that observant.
She stood up and began walking towards me, “No, it never got touched by rain. I asked Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle if they wanted to add something to make it more personal, and they both shed a single tear on it.”
My heart dropped as she said that, but I remained bitter. They both betrayed me, “So, what? Do you expect me to start crying and follow you back to town?”
“No, but you’re here because you feel unloved…”
“Look,” I interrupted, “I’ve had dreams and goals, but they always collapse around me; I’ve had enough.”
“Scootaloo,” she said, now directly in front of me, “the Pegasi are the freest type of pony. We can fly in the open air and set our hearts free in the wind,” she continued, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the sky, “We’re called the most spirited, and rightly so. But to fly we need that spirit, that vigor, we need that desire to be free” she inched her head forward and stationed it next to my ear. Her warm breaths heated my freezing skin, “Set yourself free Scootaloo,” she whispered before trotting away, leaving me sitting, tears joint with the rain to form a river down my face.
For weeks after Rainbow Dash talked to me I’ve tried hard than ever to learn to fly. But each time I only hit the ground harder. One day I knew this hill wasn’t big enough for flight training, so I went far from my house, far from town, and far into the mountains.
I found a great cliff, hundreds of feet deep, if not thousands, and looked down. I looked at my pathetic wings, took a deep breath, and did as Rainbow Dash said.
I jumped, whether I flew or fell I knew one thing—
I would be free.
