“Don’t ask” seems to be the only thing I’m saying these days.
I know they want to. I know they’re curious about my busted-up wing and messed-up mane. I know a lot more than some take me or.
I do everything in my power to hide my flyaway hair strands and frazzled feathers. I do everything in my power to hide myself. The curious and/or disgusted glances are enough to drive me insane.
There’s another thing I know–another reason to hide. They recognize me.
“Founder of the Washouts,” somepony whispers.
“Makes sense she washed out,” says another.
“Shut up,” I feel like screaming. But instead, I duck behind a nearby dumpster and try to disappear.
My ex-friend Rainbow Dash thinks I pushed myself too hard. What do I think? I think my life always went better when I pushed myself too hard than when I didn’t push myself at all.
That’s what I’m doing right now. I’m not pushing myself. Instead, I go with the flow. I don’t like going with the flow. I sort of wish–maybe really wish–that the flow would go with me.
I’m now in Manehattan. A lot of places to hide. Unfortunately, there are also a lot more ponies to hide from.
“Hey, Ginger Snap,” a cream-colored Unicorn whispers to her friend. “That pegasus over there…”
The unicorn’s friend, a tan Earth Pony that I assume is Ginger Snap, nods. “The blue one?”
“Yeah, her. Why’s she behind a dumpster?”
I blush redder than a tomato and hope they don’t notice.
The Earth Pony giggles. “I don’t know. But what’s up with her mane?”
The Unicorn cackles, and I creep away. I didn’t want to be behind a dumpster. I just thought that nopony would see me there. It seems I was wrong.
I try to ignore the hot tears on my face, but it’s no use. Not when they keep coming. I quickly dash into a shop called “Rarity For You” that doesn’t look too busy. A light blue Earth Pony with a bright pink mane greets me at the door. “Welcome to ‘Rarity For You’,” she says, pretending not to notice my injury from the previous– and final– Washouts show. (It had something to do with a rocket scooter, that I was almost going to allow a filly to ride. Not my best moment.)
“How may I help you?” she asks, breaking me out of my daze.
“I’m just, uh, here to browse?”
“That’s what we’re here for, darling! I’m Blue Bobbin. What are you looking for? I’m sure we have something to fit your tastes.”
“Anything to hide my disheveled mane,” I mutter.
“It’s not that bad,” Blue Bobbin reassures me. “But we have quite the arsenal of hats and the like.” She escorts me to a section with a shelf piled high with headwear. “What’s your style?”
A black, floppy hat catches my eye. “That?” I suggest.
She passes it to me to try on. I look in the mirror on the wall. At the very least, it covers my chaotic tresses.
“How many bits?” I ask. I can’t afford much at the moment: nopony would want to employ a mess like me.
Blue Bobbin tosses a few bits into the cash register. “None. It’s on me.”
I can’t remember a time that anypony treated me with this much generosity. I resist the urge to hug her. Instead, I say “thanks” and head out the door.
It’s cold outside.
The hat upon my head isn’t enough to protect me from the glacial cold, but it protects me from having glacial comments made about me.
I can’t remember a time without those comments, actually. I think back to being a little filly, when I came in second place in a race in which I participated.
“Second place?! Dusty, you’re better than that. You need to push yourself harder, have more discipline!” That was Nimbus Cloud, my older sister.
“I have discipline!” I cried. “And I push myself plenty hard!”
“Second place means falling short,” said Nimbus, her voice rising. “It’s practically in its definition.”
“So what?!” I retorted. “Maybe I don’t even care!!”
“That’s what I meant when I said you had no discipline!” Nimbus exclaimed.
I felt small, and part of me wished I were, and wished even deeper that I could shrink so small that nopony could see me.
Every time that followed that I tried to measure up to my sister’s expectations. But it was no use. I remember my race places after that. Third was next, followed by second, followed by fourth. I got a scolding from Nimbus Cloud each time. She told me to do everything in my power to meet my goal, which might’ve been good advice if she hadn’t said it so forcefully. At that point, my goal was to be a Wonderbolt.
Now I don’t know what my dream is. Except having a friend. That would be nice. Leaving behind Nimbus’ bad advice would be nice.
I pull my black hat over my tear-stained face. Redeeming myself would be nice.
A thunderclap sounds, and I dash back towards “Rarity For You” just to get out of the newly pouring rain. Each heavy drop sends a dull pain throughout the whole of my injured body. I shiver when I reach the door, and I push it open with my hoof.
“Back so soon?” asks Blue Bobbin as I step in, my hooves aching from the frigid weather.
“It’s cold,” I reply, and immediately realize just how lame this sounds.
Blue Bobbin does care. “Cold, rainy weather is the worst,” she agrees. “Are you looking for something to keep warm?”
“Not really,” I say. “It’s just…warm in here. I’d buy something, but it isn’t really in my budget.”
“That’s fine. Free heat, am I right?” She looks at me gently, so I know that she isn’t making fun of me.
“Thanks again,” I say shyly.
“No problem,” she chirps. “It's been a pretty slow day. It’s nice to have somepony here, even if she isn’t buying anything.”
“You’ve just been so nice to me. That’s not exactly how most ponies treat me,” I admit.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blue Bobbin empathizes.
“I haven’t always been a great pony, and it sort of haunts me,” I tell her tearfully.
Then she brings up the dreaded subject. “Is your wing okay?”
“It will be. If you didn’t know, I’m Lightning Dust, founder of the now-disbanded Washouts,” I explain.
“I kind of figured as much,” she says. “Either that or you’re a look-alike with the same cutie mark.”
“I got injured during the final show. A little filly had recently joined our squad, which I really regret allowing. She was going to do the stunt, but…things got complicated and I ended up getting shot into the sky on a rocket scooter. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I guess I just felt I needed to prove to my ex-friend that I deserved for this young filly to look up to me. Maybe I didn’t. But I try so hard to be…” I trail off, my words hanging in the air.
“You’re a good pony,” Blue Bobbin says, looking me in the eye. I don’t know if she knows this, but this is exactly what I needed to hear.
I have hope. This time I don’t stop myself from thanking her with an embrace. It isn’t even awkward. It’s just there. It’s also something else, I think. I think that this is the start of a friendship.
Author's Note
This is my first story so please be supportive, as I am new to Fimfiction.
