Some ponies say "Never meet your heroes". I never really understood that until now. For most ponies, they don't measure up to the legend. For me, I didn't meet the requirements. All my life I'd been told to reach out for what you want and to just take it. The only thing that truly holds yourself back is you. Your mind, your body, your spirit. A few years ago I realized just how wrong I was; how wrong everything I had ever known was. I finally had a shot at my dream. I was going to become the hero of my own story, but I didn't meet the legend to be.
It's funny how quickly a life can turn around, how quickly something can go from stellar to dismal. The Wonderbolts Training Academy(fanfare and shining lights), the pentacle of the pegasi race's fliers. I had known I would be accepted; that much was obvious to anyone I had ever spoken with. How I had blabbed on and on Wonderbolts this and Spitfire that. It was the sole focus of my life and now it was nothing. My dreams had been whisked away with the dew of a dawning realization. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you worked, struggled, pushed, no matter what...you're still only a pony. A name-less face among thousands, trudging though life in a race to eternal peace. Or damnation. Both looked equally welcoming right now.
A pair of fists slammed into the cloud desk in front of me, bringing me back to the present. Right, I was being evicted. Joy. My landlord, a dark green pegasus with a bulging vein popping out his neck, was demanding I offer up any cash I might have or pack my crap and leave. Small specks of spit flew as he raved on about not running a poorhouse. I'd long since given up listening. I didn't have a bit to my name. I'd been fired from my last job after the fiasco at the Academy found it's way into the ears of my manager. Needless to say, I was out on my ass before I even really started my shift. Being accused of nearly killing some mares with a tornado didn't exactly look good on my résumé.
My ears flickered, catching a small snippet of the on-going rant. He told me I might as well go whore out on the streets if I wanted a roof. I could feel it coming, the tendons in my arm snapping taunt, the rush of air against my not-skin-and-coat. My fist connected with his jaw. A peg like tooth and a thin line of bright red blood sailed into the cloud walls of his office(it was really a side room in his slightly bigger apartment in this cloud-complex). Normally, a small hand like mine wouldn't hurt a grown stallion all that much. It would stun one if it was a good enough hit, but I was still a flier not a fighter. I marveled at the machine that had become my most of my body; the hard joints and the slightly bendable sheaths of half-metal. I gave myself a once over, oblivious to the world. My eyes clicked and whirled as they focused, my ears scanned frequencies most living creatures couldn't detect. My shoulders rolled and my wings shuffled with a normally inaudible scrapping sound. Most of my chest and back was covered in a skin of magic-hardened metal-alloy that felt like skin and fur. My leg joints hummed as well, keeping my actual legs from falling uselessly to the ground. The legs themselves didn't connect to the joint, but were locked in a magic suspension field and moved just like my old real legs. To some ponies, I was a freak. They look to me with mistrust, thinking I wanted this metallic body trapped in a flesh mind. In the monotony of everyday life, you tend to forget that you aren't one hundred percent pony anymore. Most of us have some sort of wiring or replacing done, if only to fit in.
I guess I should have mentioned this earlier, in the past few years monumental leaps in our technology has rocked our society to it's core. What started out as a simple prostetics lab in Canterlot quickly turned into the largest manufacturer of magitech this side of Equuis. Nothing seemed beyond them at the time. Wings, legs, horns, eyes. The entire body of any species of pony was now replaceable, customizable, and cold metal. Most had adjustments made to better suit them for their occupation or hobbies. Some of us weren't so lucky, and were altered for different reasons.
Coming back from my daze, my landlord was still on the ground. I couldn't tell if he was still breathing and at this point in my life I didn't really care all that much. I tossed my old messengers bag over my shoulder so that it would rest safely in between my wings, grabbed a small stack of bits that he had been counting, and left without a word.
Celestia's brilliant sun beat down upon the cloud homes, small boxes of fluff that made up the cloud complex. The beautiful blue sky was the only colorful thing in this world of monochrome steel and cloud. Pegasi flittered across the sky, going about their daily lives with little care for the small number of incredibly destitute ponies that I was counted among. The money distribution in Equestia was an interesting tidbit of hush-hush information. About 90% of the overall population lived happy comfortable lives, with enough money to live a normal life with a normal family. Of the 10% left over, 3% were the incredibly rich. Royals, celebrities, social butterflies, and other lucky individuals. The remaining ponies were destitute, ranging from barely scraping by to living off of coupons and check to check with their one room homes. I used to be among the latter of the two; now I found myself at the bottom of the rung, no family to help me, no home(like that prison cell could be called a home), and a grand total of twenty bits to my name.
Groans from the house reminded me that I had just K.O.'d my landlord and that I should probably bail before he called the guards. I flexed my wings, what was once a set of feathers and flesh now a steel doppelgänger. The miniature servos in my shoulders that ran off the residual magic of the world gave off a soft, warm, comforting hum. Unlike my legs, this was a hum that could be heard by most ponies. The servos channeled my inner pegasi magic, which is a large factor in pegasi flight, alongside the residual magic. To say that I was fast was an understatement. As far as I was aware, there was still only one pony faster than me, but I haven't seen her in years. I had always taken comfort in that fact that even if I wasn't a complete pony I still ruled the skies.
A single powerful down-stroke and I was streaking through the air; a turquoise streak with a zigzag cutting through it following me like a beacon across the early morning sky. The sky will always be my home, the rays of sun warming my cold feathers and body are it's loving embrace; the rain and thunder it's scolding breath. There was no home away from home, no summer vacation house on a nice beach. I lived for every moment I was in flight. It defined me. I cut through the air, paying little head to the lanes and streams of pegasi that seemed to always form in Cloudsdale these days. The sky was meant to be free, not restricted to flight lines and designated routes.
There wasn't anything left for me here. My possessions fit in my bag. I had no job. No home. No family or friends. I was a nobody in a sky of nobodies.
I picked a direction, and I flew.
Author's Note
Be aware, I changed all of maybe four words. The story has shifted to anthro. Yes I did just update a story that hasn't had anything new in something like two years. Yes I am much more likely to write more than I was when the story was first published. Bear in mind that it still might not happen.
