Jared pulled his tired old Ford pickup into the floatplane slip, pulling as close to his DHC-2 Beaver as possible without sending his truck into the lake. He shut off his truck and climbed out, shutting the door with a slam. Heaving himself into the bed, he knelt and pull-started a small pony motor. The motor chugged to life, providing power to the pump for the 120 gallon gas tank crammed into the bed of his pickup. He grasped the thick fuel hose and the small ground strap and drug them out over the water to his plane, climbing aboard the left float, and unscrewing the chrome gas cap on the side of the fuselage.

He inserted the nozzle, pulled the trigger, and waited. A few minuets later, the nozzle switched off with a heavy ‘clunk’. He slowly stepped back to dry ground, careful not to push the float away from himself and end up in the lake. He put the nozzle away, shut off the small gas motor for the pump, and drove his truck out of the way, against the far embankment. He walked back to his airplane, neglecting his pre-flight, and untying the gleaming craft. Climbing into the pilots seat, he shut his door and began his mental checklist, turning on the master, the lights, the avionics, magnetos, prior to priming the engine, cracking the throttle, and turning the magneto key. The engine cranked over with a whine, one, two, three blades of the prop spun by and the motor caught, firing up.

The loping of the powerful Pratt and Whitney Wasp Junior at idle carried the floatplane out of the slip. He didn’t really care where he went, he just wanted to get away from the terrible feeling sitting in his heart. When he’d maneuvered to the longest stretch of the lake, he pressed a button on his yoke.

“Wolf Lake traffic, Beaver 6-5-6 Alpha Romeo departing the lake to the northwest, exiting the pattern straight out, Wolf Lake.” He announced across the radio, opened the throttle and held the stick all the way back to keep the nose of the floats out of the water. Within moments, his Beaver was on step, then torn from the water, ripped into the sky’s domain.

He knew a small lake in central Alaska, 350 miles away or so, in the mountains. A beautiful spot, one he liked to frequent on weeks off of work. Days he’d save up or holiday. He guided the plane away from Wasilla, wanting to leave and never look back. Hurtful words floated in his mind, subconsciously piloting the plane as he’d done so many times before. He climbed to an altitude of 9000 feet and leaned his motor properly. Beneath him, snowy peaks glittered in the sunlight, white clouds billowed in a carpet below. He smiled softly at the sight. It had been almost 2 hours of flying over the mountains, valleys, and rivers below, when he descended to get a closer look at the mountains. A strange sight on the peak. The airplane slowly circled as he lost altitude. Now only a few hundred feet above the peaks, he spotted what looked almost like an old medicine wheel of rocks atop one of them.

Jared navigated down over the tops of the rocky mountain side, and as he passed the medicine wheel, entering a narrow pass, his plane lurched to the right, rolling almost a full 70 degrees. He kicked left rudder and corrected with the yoke, as his plane got nearer to the rock face.

"Oo-oH fuck." He exclaimed, attempting to straighten his craft.

He had seconds to react before the airplane struck the rocks. His plane straightened, and suddenly lost lift as the mountains changed their airflow. He pushed mixture in full, and power, simultaneously pushing the yoke full in.

“Christ!” He groaned, every ounce of strength he had was put in his arms. Trying to recover from the sudden dive, the wind fought him tooth and nail for control. He put his boots on the dash and pulled back as hard as he could. He reached to pull out the throttle, losing more ground with the yoke as the right wing clipped a rock outcropping in the pass. It sheared off at the end of the strut, metal and pieces of long range fuel tank falling away, fire now dripping from the wing. The airplane, suddenly producing more lift on the opposite side began to spiral.

He pulled the mixture out, dropped the flaps, and countered the spin. He tried anything to slow his descent, there was no way to recover, but maybe he could still survive. Putting his feet down on the pedals, he tried to yaw and aid him in slowing down. 215 Miles per Hour. Way too fast. He gritted his teeth. The last words he formed were unintelligible, blended into a harrowing cry of defeat.

The plane skittered off the gravel slides at first as the pitch of the mountain closely matched the drop of the airplane. The floats dug in, the nose tipped down as it clipped a boulder, shearing off the floats altogether. The fuselage immediately going ass-over-teakettle. On it’s roof, the plane screeched as it slid across the gravel for what felt like an eternity. After several minutes, it slowed to a stop on what appeared to be a wide roadway on the mountain. Jared didn’t have the focus to realize he was on train tracks, or what they were doing in the middle of nowhere. The plane was in pieces, completely totaled. Upside down, in pain, and confused, Jared fumbled for his belts. He was in shock, the stage where nothing feels quite real, his hands were at awkward angles, probably from the yoke slamming into his hands due to the force on the elevator in the crash. With his wrists fumbling limply for the latch, AVGAS quickly pouring around him, his vision slowly faded. His strength was quickly dissipating as he fought the fatigue to reach the belts. His head hurt, he couldn't make his hands work like he wanted. He quickly fell unconscious as the fire was engulfing the cabin, his chest hurt with every breath.

Gasoline filled the wreckage, surrounding the rocks. The ELT Blared over the empty radio waves, the small orange box didn't know that no human being would ever find the wreck. He would be the only human to see his crash site.

Celestia sat in the Royal throne room, discussing with two ponies, both male, a matter of the royal court. It was only a zoning dispute, but it still required her and her sister Luna.

“Then this impolite 'mare' comes out of nowhere, and plants her bush on my lawn!” One stallion complained. She began to zone out as they made their arguments. She would make a small speech about friendship and property lines, and send them on their way. She only snapped out of it when she heard a droning sound in the distance, getting closer. Somewhat like a desk fan, but louder. As if bigger, spinning faster.

“Excuse me, my little ponies.” She stood and walked down a short hallway behind the throne. She peered through a stained-glass window, quizzically darting from side to side to find a clear pane. The droning grew in pitch before it cut off, a sound equivalent to a lawnmower hitting gravel echoed through the mountains. Scraping of steel on rock. A large metal creature careened over the hill, dripping fire. The bottom portion, its legs, broke cleanly on a boulder. The creature flipped, its wings detaching. It rolled and skidded to a stop some 250 hooves away. She rushed back into the throne room, quickly addressing her personnel.

“Royal Court is Adjourned for the day. Guards! There has been an accident on the tracks just south of the city. Send a detachment of the fire brigade, I will be there immediately.” Celestia spread her wings and leapt through a nearby window without another word.

She soared above the city, setting her sights on the black smoke billowing from the tracks. The noise of air beneath her wings was deafening as she propelled herself towards the crash. She landed not far away, the heat singed her fur, even at a distance. Ignoring the discomfort, she rushed up to the wreckage. An ovaled, blazing, yet fairly intact, DHC-2 lay flaming on the tracks. A strange hominid creature was sprawled across the tracks, covered in lacerations, blood dripping from his face, he lay unconscious on a railroad tie. It appeared as if he'd crawled from beneath the defeated carriage. She rushed up, watching him for breath. After a moment, she found the faint rise of his chest. She nearly gasped, supposing him to be dead. The princess surrounded the creature with her magic, gingerly. She slowly lifted him from the ground. The deity closed her eyes gently before disappearing. She apparated in Canterlot General Hospital's Emergency Room.

"This creature is in dire need of medical assistance!" She announced. Two nurses leapt from behind their desk, one striking a button on their way from behind it. Two doors swung open, revealing a long hallway. From the end, two ponies in lab coats rushed a stretcher down the hall. They slowly swung it under the floating body, Celestia putting him down upon it. The doctors rushed back down the hall, the princess looked to the front desk clerk.

"Alert me, as soon as it's awake. And do your best" Celestia instructed. The clerk nodded quickly, as Celestia walked out the front doors.

Author's Note

Story inspiration

Reworked, revamped. Better.