The Mental Maunderings of a Mad Man

Sixth hour ends just after I reenter the shop and I push into the mob of people congregating in the halls. I force my way past the hoi polloi and grimace when my knees buckle and groan under my sizable frame. I soldier on to Mr. Wong’s room and promptly slump into a front row desk. I like the front row despite its reputation. I rarely get called on to supply my Asian-born U.S. History instructor and on the off chance that I am picked I always know the answer, either that or I can bluff well enough to please Mr. Wong and progress the day’s lecture.

This week we’re discussing American involvement in Vietnam and I continue to hear snippets of racial jokes and mocking as the less interested and more sociable pupils in the back ignore the lesson. Every few minutes Mr. Wong glares at them with open contempt but he never even so much as demands their attention and silence, he’s just too nice I guess.

The hands on the clock dance wildly, as though they intend upon splicing a Waltz and a mosh-pit together into one circular entanglement to pass the hours. And precisely that they accomplish and all to soon I notice how little of class there is left, the minutes have withered away unnoticed and uncared for due partially to my affinity for this class, and more importantly to the sun’s advanced dip into the western border of land and sky.

My attention drifts from Mr. Wong’s ramblings about how politics intertwined with military actions and my focus latches on the inexplicable path of the star Sol. At a time when it should still be high above it’s now sliding down with such speed that I can track it’s course over a span of mere minutes.

“What in Goddess’ name…” My contemplation is interrupted and my concentration shattered as the intercom screeches and the assistant principal asks Mr. Wong to forgive his sudden disruption of the class.

“Would you kindly send a few students down to help us for a brief moment?” Mr. Whilts’ voice crackles through the aged communication hub and Mr. Wong asks for volunteers.

A whopping three hands lift off of desks and into the air, one of which drops back down before being noticed. Mr. Wong nods at an effeminate sophomore with golden curls and then at me. Together we abandon our books as well as our class and walk to the office.

“Ahh anything’s better than being stuck in that class!” the boy, whose name I forget, it’s Ford I believe, says as he stretches out his arms and yawns loudly.

“I enjoy it.” I argue.

“Well to each his own.” He replies with an unnecessary pat on the back that lingers just long enough to be quite awkward. “So what do you think we’ll be doing?”

“Well I don’t know about you but I’ll not be there to find out.” Without warning I veer left down another hallway and out the side doors of the building.

Looking past me Ford giggles in a high pitch and shouts to me, “Oh you boys chasing those girls, good luck!” I wave off his comment and walk up to the “girl” in question.

“Hello.” I kneel down a few feet away from her and look her over; she’s bright blue with fluorescent hair of every color in the rainbow that hangs short and jagged off of her head and a tail to match.

“Oh,” She mutters rolling her eyes of fuchsia and returning her intense gaze at the track, “Hi there, say is that track for anypony to use or what?”

“Yeah, you’re more than welcome to it, I doubt anyone will care,” I tell her and follow her closer as she trots over to the dark maroon racing strip.

“You look in good shape,” she slams me on the side with an outstretched wing, “how ‘bout a race?” she takes a place on the outer most lane and waits there eager for a competition.

“Sure,’ I lumber on over beside her, “I think my legs can hold out for a one lap run.”

“Great,” the blue Pegasus grins at what she assumes to be a surefire win, “I’ll go easy on ya, no wings at all!” She folds her feathery appendages tightly against her back and bows down into a runner’s stance. “Name’s Dash by the way, Rainbow Dash.”

“How original.” I Quip as she begins the countdown.

“Marks,” I lean into an athletic stance myself, “Set,” I take a deep breath, “GO!” she screams at the top of her lungs and tear away from our stating position.

All care about today’s odd events and all caution for my bad legs flee my mind as the euphoric pain of rigorous exercise pumps adrenaline into my veins and dopamine into my head. My breaths fall into rhythm with my strides and soon my pace and Dash’s are matched.

“So Dash, if I may call you Dash,” I shout as we take the first corner, “you’re the fifth pony I’ve met today,” I take a deep, ragged breath and press on despite the burning in my lungs.

“Yeah, so what?” she takes a slight lead and I push hard not to fall too far behind, “You’re the first… whatever you are that I’ve met and I could care less as long as I beat you!”

I gasp desperately for air and force my legs to keep going. “Yeah but…” I start to slow.

My vision blurs again, this time violently, and the world around me folds away like a deck of cards being shuffled. Colors bleed away and one by one everything fades to black. I keep running blindly as the abyss swallows me whole. I shout but the echoes only ring like school bells in my ears. I stumble and start to fall.

“But what?” Dash yells at me, bringing me back from that hollow world, as she nears the second turn.

“But,” I holler as I pump my legs furiously and catch up to her, “This type of thing never happens to me, it’s kind of a big deal being visited by talking mythical creatures and all.” I grind my teeth, ignore the bad acid trip I just encountered, and take the lead. “You’re good.” I compliment my flamboyantly colored opponent as we near the finish line.

“I know!” she attests, “I’m the best flyer in Cloudsdale, in all of Equestria even!”

“That may be so,” I clench my fists, fight the growing discomfort and sprint all out towards the finish line, “But this ain’t flying now is it?!”

We crash through the imaginary banner signaling the end of the race and I’m quick to slow. Rainbow tries to decelerate at the same speed as me but fails and instead crashes into the back of my legs. Together we crumple to the ground and lie there in silence for a moment, no noise besides the rampant beating of our exhausted hearts and the violent wheezing of our depleted lungs.

“I won!” Dash proudly exclaims as soon as she’s caught her breath.

“And I’m the Prince of Bufu Egypt.” I retort sourly.

“Oh,” Dash gasps, “I’m so sorry, your highness! Are you OK?” there isn’t even the slightest of a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

We untangle ourselves and sit opposite of each other.

“Good race,” Dash raises a hoof which I softly bump with my own balled fist, “Your highness.”

“I was kidding about that.” I tell her somberly.

“Oh.” She stutters. “I knew that.”

“Sure you did, hotshot.” I pat her on the back and begin to stretch my now sore and aching legs.

“That doesn’t sound so good.” she mentions when my knees pop and crack as I shift them about.

“I know,” I tell her as I lie down and rest on the hard asphalt.

“That was fun!” Dash giggles quietly. “Up for round two?”

“I don’t think so, no.” I bend my knee again for her to hear why not.

“Ohh, yeah.” Dash grimaces at the crackling joint. “Well thanks for racing me once at least.”

“Sure, anytime… well not anytime soon but you know what I… And she’s gone.” I look over to see that my assumption was a correct one. “What a day.”

I head back into the school and then into Mr. Wong’s room to collect my things. All the while I twist and turn in my hand a small earring in the shape of a lightning cloud. Before venturing off for my final class of the day I slip into a restroom to put on the curious piece of jewelry. I pierce the previously untouched flesh and slide the earring into place.

‘What a day indeed.’