I Dreamt I Was Old

by Coronet the lesser

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Sad, Narcotics
Length: 2285

An old Rainbow Dash dreams of the sky and the days of her youth.

As an old Rainbow Dash in the twilight of her life watches the newest Wonderbolts Cadets perform, she dreams of the days when the sky was hers.

It is not something she can forget—it is forever etched within her mind, no matter how she tried.

The days where impossible feats lay at her hooves and adventure seemed to always lay around the corner.

Back when the world made sense.

Now with an audio reading! by WindsweptArctic. Huge thanks to them!

Set several years after the Epilogue.

Narcotics tag for a mention of alcohol.

All credit for artwork is due to Tyruas

Published 2021-06-25 19:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-06-25 19:50:01 UTC

1. Somewhere Between Earth and Space

To soar in the sky was to dance between mortality and the divine.

Up there in the sky, the world beneath was a boundless green landscape that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The skies were a dim rounded blue forever curling away from the sunset, dotted with lumpy clouds that lazily floated within the prism of the celestial sphere. Beyond their thick cover, the veil of the world parted—and you could swirl beneath an array of the very stars themselves.

It is not something I can forget—it is forever etched within my mind, no matter how I tried.

Most ponies did not understand. They thought flying was just an interesting method of movement. To them, it was merely the most efficient way to a destination. But as Twilight would say, it was a science— a living, breathing experience.

Sure, it could be taught, but to truly fly was instinctual, a longing to push to the very limit of what was achievable.

They knew.

Far above, the Wonderbolts completed their performance. From my seat in the stands of Cloudsdale’s Colosseum, they were nothing but tiny dots dancing in the shadow of the sun.

But even though they were so far, and the roar of the crowd was deafening, I could feel every breath, each turn of a feathered wing, the wind whirling past my ears as I completed a loop or the tug against my fetlocks as I banked hard turning.

Then all was light, as the sky was encompassed in the colour of the rainbow.

To fly was to challenge the elements themselves and say atop the pinnacle of the world that you were no mere visitor amongst the clouds but a master of their domain demanding acknowledgement.

One never forgets being a Wonderbolt. You were forever part of the stage that was the limitless wild blue yonder, and from upon it, you bequeathed apparently impossible feats to the regular ponies of Equestria.

I once occupied that stage, and I believed my role would carry on in perpetuity. But the steady march of time cares not, and eventually, every curtain must close.

I wanted to fly again.

But it was never a matter of want. Those days had passed. So, I had to content myself with knowing the truth, and for that, perhaps I was more blessed than most.

I watched as these new Wonderbolts descended in a flurry of colours and smoke. With them, they brought a sliver of true flight from the heavens above. They took in the adulation of the whooping crowd and bowed and waved as they were greeted rightfully as heroes.

I applauded as any good audience should, even if it pained me so— the stage was mine no more, only a memory.

I was invited to the awards ceremony, of course.

As if this celebration of the newest generational greats required my presence to offer a degree of legitimacy. Otherwise, I do not know why they summoned this old relic out of hiding. Just so some politician can shake my hoof, use my name and stand me awkwardly off to the side of the arena as he lauded the cadets.

They then called my name, and the audience let forth a collective cheer. I took my place at the pulpit and began to recite some speech I had rehashed a thousand times before. By the time I finished, I had already forgotten what I had spoken.

However, I did remember the faces of the young fliers as they received their awards. I shook their hooves and said some comforting words. When I looked into their youthful eyes and I could only see my younger self, standing where they now stood—awestruck before the adoration of the crowd after my first appearance as a Wonderbolt. I recognised the spark in their expressions, for I had once had that very some look not too long ago.

The face of a pony who had realised her dreams had finally come true.

It seemed like only yesterday.

And it only seemed that a day later that I was in some doctor’s office where I was being told that my career was finished after a particularly nasty crash.

I also remembered the night after that, where Fluttershy held me as I cried.

That was ten years ago, and in many ways, I had not changed. But my body did. I still thought I was the young, brash mare creating sonic rainbooms and causing local municipal councils all sorts of trouble.

I frowned briefly before catching myself.

Nopony noticed, much to my evident relief. Everypony was lost in the grand story playing out before them—so happy they were for the newest generation of elite fliers. All of whom no doubt worshipped at the altar of the legendary Rainbow Dash, humbled that their idol now stood before them, recognising their unique talent. The classic story of the wise mentor proudly passing on the mantle and sailing off into the sunset.

A beautiful lie if there ever was one.

Before I could get lost further in memory, I was swept away to the afters party and found myself mingling amongst high pony society.

A glass of cider soon found its way into my hooves, and then another shortly after I finished the first. Alongside the sudden appearance of the alcohol were a group of hanger-on’s who listened on bated breath for each word I spoke. Their presence and the sudden intake of alcohol made me feel far more important than I had any right to be.

I produced a false bravado to the assembled crowd. I joke at one point about how the rookies still could not outdrink me and how soft this generation had become. It was all health and diet focused, I complained. Every calorie counted, each fliers metabolism carefully monitored for maximum body efficiency in the air. The days of the Wonderbolts sneaking off the local dive bar after a long week of training now existed only in dusty history books. They all laughed and snickered.

All of this performance was just a mask—that of a younger Rainbow Dash, one I was loathe to lose. Though no pony noticed, the burden of its weight grew with every passing season, an ill-suited parody masquerading as reality for far too long. However, it didn’t matter.

They saw what they wanted to see.

Just as I lied to myself, so too did my admirers deny that the Rainbow Dash was anything but immortal. I was the forever fixture, like a pleasant grandfather clock, stuck in a different era but ever personifying the comforting adage ‘at least some things don’t change’.

I wonder what my parents would say if they could see me now? How far I had fallen. Would they still cheer me as if I were still the little filly that had just won the young fliers competition?

I would give every shiny trinket ponies had pinned to my chest, all the multitudes of merchandise that bore my face, every solid gold bit, to speak to them again for five minutes.

After my third glass, I excuse myself from the party, much to the dismay of the gathered guests. My head was beginning to ring; unpleasant memories mingled with slight intoxication sapped my willingness to stay.

Finally, I came up with some excuse about important business in Canterlot at the behest of the Twilight. The sudden mystery of palace intrigue set off a new wave of discussion that dissuade any further protests at my departure.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth—no point in bringing everyone down.

I wanted to go home.

I sometimes ask myself why I keep accepting the invitations to these events when all they bring me is misery? I tell myself each time that it’s not worth it, that I need to let it go.

But every time, I still go without hesitation.

The flight home was slow, monotonous, and painful; everything that required more than minimal movement had recently become like that.

My joints ached, and my wings cried out in agony with each strained beat; my jaw locked so tightly that I was afraid I would crack some teeth. I took no joy from the landscape surrounding Cloudsdale. I had long grown accustomed to seeing the earth as a consistently moving blur. Now I moved so slowly it was almost as if I was stationary. It did not excite me to any degree.

I could have avoided this unnecessary punishment by taking a balloon or an airship. But to choose such things came with a different kind of humiliation—that being the admission, I could not do what most normal pegasi could do comfortably. I would never accept that for as long as I could delay the inevitable.

By the time I reached my home in Ponyville, I was utterly exhausted. A thick slew of sweat had built on my forehead, and the dull pain in my wings became a claxon horn of pain. I pushed through my front door in a rush before proceeding to slump down onto the floor, my breathing coming in ragged gasps. I don’t know how long I lay there just inside my hall; time seemed to warp in the presence of my current discomfort.

How could something that I had loved so much become such an unbearable chore?

My house walls had no answers to my question. By the time I had regained my bearings, I wanted nothing more than to embrace the comfort of my bed. I groggily stumbled through my living room up toward the stairs. My surroundings were nothing but a blur of medal cabinets, posters of me in uniform and various other knick-knacks from my Wonderbolt days.

I hated it.

I should have thrown it all out years ago. But just like those invitations, I still held onto the lie.

Fortunately, waiting for me in my room was something in my house that actually brought me joy. As I limped into my bedroom, I smiled as Tank came into view. He lay contently at the foot of my bed as he always had and raised his head to greet me. At least, I could be assured that my little buddy would not change on me. He seemed to be the only thing that didn’t these days.

I gave his head a gentle pat. I swear I could see him frown—as if he could perceive my discontent. Regardless, I assured him I was okay and proceeded to collapse into my bed.

Sleep was never far from claiming me, and I was eager to answer its siren call. I crawled atop the sheets and just let go. Suddenly all of the tension I held onto released.

As soon as the waking world faded from view, I found myself not being myself—for I dreamed I was a different mare.

The pain in my joints disappeared, withered wings flexed with renewed strength, and I moved once more with the speed of the storm, the ghostly chains of time melted away. Every movement was as seamless as how I remembered it had once been.

Here in the metaphysical world beyond the realms of reality, I existed high enough that I could almost touch the stars themselves.

It was not me, but it was me.

This younger Rainbow Dash glided across an endless sky, and thereupon the swift horizon lay beyond my vision, where the land below was still young and without memory. The warmth of the sun greeted me in an embrace like a dear old friend, and the wind was the rapturous applause of my audience.

I flew again!

I flew and flew until there was nothing but the tremendous rush and the clouds parting before me. The thrill had re-entered my heart and drove me ever toward a world where unending adventure awaited, content that my life was as exciting as any Daring Do book.

I banked suddenly and stared downward. Immediately I instinctively knew what I had to do. I sharply inhaled, the intake of air hit my lungs like a surge of energy building within my chest.

I then found myself diving, the wind growing ever fierce as my velocity increased. Then, finally, I could see myself in Cloudsdale, the greatest living Wonderbolt reborn once again. The crowds on the edge of their seats as they awaited the advent of the grandest of all ariel stunts.

Then there was light.

I then let forth a great whoop as my namesake encompassed the sky in rays of colour spilling forth in great consecutive waves over the clouds and carrying onward until even the light of the sun seemed somewhat dim in comparison. A vision of my great accomplishment stood forth before me, and though intangible, I could see it with my own eyes.

The cries of my name amongst an incorporeal audience rapidly replaced the lashing of the wind. I soaked it all, and at that moment that I once again knew true bliss.

But even then, amongst the ecstasy of my triumph, my thoughts ever drew me back to the world below, where an old pegasus mare dozily slept in ignorance to the world around her.

Where I dreamt I was old.

Author's Note

A short story inspired by my Dad for Father's Day. It was after he told me that his mind was still 25 but his body is far older, which I found a bit sad.

First person perspectives are usually my style so I really hope people enjoy this because I've been meaning to change things up a bit and experiment more.