Flying

by eLLen

Altitude

Rainbow Dash loved flying.

She loved soaring though the air, feeling the rush of the airborne waves of air cruise by, all at the high speeds of a racer. She loved the thrill of dives and banking turns as she pulled off impossible tricks that no other could do. She loved the view of seeing the entire world below her become a blur, a mere blotch of continuous colors on a randomly splattered canvas, only the distant objects of the grounded mountains and distant celestial bodies, even higher than her, being able to keep up with her vision.

She was flying now, over the smile and quaint village that she so often called home. Unlike most pegasi, it wasn’t a city of clouds, crafted into momentous designs of pillars and show, but an earth town called Ponyville, a quaint little village. Sure, home could very well be anywhere she lived, as definitions go, but to her, home was where her family was. Her friends. She had many, but five were closer to her than any of the others. Ironically, most of them she had only known for a shorter amount of time, a year in fact. Time was not a testament to bonds in this case, however as, instead, an assuming yet flashy necklace that she claimed (or was it the other way around?) indicated. It belonged to a set with others like it. Just like how she belonged to a set with her own friends. Fitting, she thought.

But she was getting off topic, her mind wandering. She wanted to fly, and so she was. With a mighty flap of her wings she ascended, her pace completely unchanged. That was something to be proud of. Few others could have the bragging rights to such a feat. As she continued her ascent, ever increasing her altitude, she decided to show off a bit. Of course, there was no pair of eyes to watch her and awe at the sight, but her own ego often proved sufficient in such a situation.

She further increased her speed, actually accelerating while going skyward. While doing so, she adjusted the angle of her blue-feathered wings, pulling off stunts she considered minor such as rolls and going upside down. They weren’t much, in her thoughts. A real trick would involve high speeds, velocity changing on a whim as sharp angles and dives melded together into a brilliant show of skill and precision.

However, her favorite trick actually didn’t involve any of these. It was, in fact, just a straight shot of unrelenting speed, her against the air, in a winner-take-all match with sound itself. Ever since a week ago at a certain competition, that she had won, of course, sound was always the loser. And it ended, every single time, with a bang. Quite literally, since going supersonic let loose a powerful force of broken sound, only matched by the most forceful of cannons, along with a visual eye candy of an expanding contrail and circle of her color. Or, more accurately, colors.

By this point she could look down upon the world, but not high enough to see the world she lived in’s curve (That was impossible, she was told, but she didn’t buy it. They had said breaking the sound barrier was impossible as well.). She approached cloud level, but has no intention of stopping. Instead, she shot like a bullet through the airborne water, piercing it effortlessly and leaving a hole through it. If it was a rain cloud, she would’ve laughed. One lucky pony on the ground would’ve been saved a downpour for a bit. That would make a good prank. She stored the idea away for later.