Taking Flight
Taking Flight
By Horizon Line
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Fiiiiillies and Geeeentlecoooolts! The Wonderbolts welcome each and every one of you to this year’s showcase featuring the finalists posed to become THE… NEXT…
WOOOONDERBOLT~.
Each finalist will be judged on their routine and the score they receive will make up only half of their total score of the night. I’m guessing you might know our three judges for the evening. Our first judge, the embodiment of speed, quick as a flash, you might even say faster than thunder, Wonderbolt—
LIGHT-NING-STREAK~~~~~
Our second judge, the quick but graceful flier raised right here in Cloudsdale, the ever cheerful, Wonderbolt—
MI-STY FLY~~~~
And last but certainly not least awesome, the current captain of the Wonderbolts, the energetic and exciting, and the provider of the unexpectedly entrancing thrills—
SUR-PRIIISE~~~~
As the judges take their seats, I have a special request for each and every one of you, think you can do us a solid and help the Wonderbolts out tonight? If you see a finalist you like, show ‘em as much support as you can SCREAM out of your lungs. This will help us out in determining that important other half of the score. The louder YOU are, the more points THEY get, sound fair to you guys?
Oh come on, I could just barely hear you, let me hear some noise!
Better, but I still don’t think the four finalists can hear you in the locker room, give em’ a little pre-show support.
That’s what I’m talking about!
Now, before the show begins I need to remind everypony that there is absolutely no flash photography so the performers can concentrate on their routine without blinding flashes. Remember we enforce this for THEIR safety. Your vocal support, on the other hoof, is greatly encouraged! If these four special fliers pull off an insane move, let ‘em know how awesome it was!
Let’s practice our support quick, who wants to see some mind-melting moves?
Who wants to be blown out of their seats?
Who wants to see tricks you could only dream of?
And who wants to go home?
That’s right, no pony would want to miss this show of course. Well, I think the judges are ready, I think the finalists are ready, and most importantly, I think you all are ready for this showcase. Fillies and Gentlecolts, my name is Spitfire and it’s a thrill to be your announcer for the evening. Now, just sit back and hold on tight, because all of us are in for one wild ride.
Down in the locker room below the cloud stadium, what would be the final competitor to go sat on a bench listening to the announcer’s voice coming from the speakers in the ceiling. A muffle roar could be heard from the crowd above the room and every so often the walls of the locker room would shake as thousands of hoofstomps shook the cloud stadium. The waiting light blue pegasus stallion took one last drink of water from his water bottle before snapping the cap shut and placing it back in the holder of his brown saddlebag. Well this is it Soarin’, the show has started. He took in a deep breath. How did I even get this far in the first place? Soarin’ ran a shaky hoof through his windswept, dark-blue mane and the walls shook around him again. O-ok get your head in the game, focus Soarin’, focus. He took in another deep breath and closed his eyes. He ran through the routine in his head once more. Just like the million times before. As he ran through the tricks, the knots in his stomach slowly began to unravel and instead were replaced with a slight tickle in his gut.
Soarin’ opened his eyes and nodded his head once. He looked back over at his saddlebag and reached over to it, lifting the faux-leather cover after unclipping it from the winged lightning bolt buckle. He reached a hoof inside and snagged an aged pair of blue flight goggles. The goggles drew his complete focus and he brought them over to his lap while carefully inspecting the reflective lenses. He ran his other hoof along the outside of the frame. On the sides were two golden lightning bolts, which attached a black, faux-leather strap to the metallic blue frame holding the lenses. He huffed on each lightning bolt before rubbing a hoof over the golden metal.
Once each bolt was gleaming under the incandescent light from above, Soarin’ let his hoof stray off the metal connectors. He traced along the smooth edge of the frame before he felt something rough brush against his hoof. He knew exactly what he felt, but just as a reassurance he turned the goggles and looked at an inscription carved into the frame, an inscription that had also been carved into his memory.
“Whoever says ‘the sky’s the limit,’ never flew,” Soarin’ muttered and a smile replaced his serious face. These goggles were given to him long ago. It was one of those days he couldn’t forget if he tried. It was the day where he truly felt that the sky was the place he wanted to be.
The sky was a constant in life, it was always there, and it was a way to escape from reality, a way to let his mind relax. It was also freedom as far as the eye could see, a full three-hundred sixty degrees of opportunity. At the right altitude, nothing could stand in Soarin’s way.
As he grew older and gained experience, he also dabbled into the extreme side of flying, hoping to fill the body with the neurochemical every racer craved, adrenalin. Freefalling from a mile high, with eyes closed in an effort to concentrate on the sensations, was an experience that would never age, leaving his heart racing every time.
Some ponies might call Soarin’ a dare devil, adrenalin buff, thrill seeker, or if they wanted to be technical, crazy pony, but he only thought of himself as somepony who really enjoyed flying. Interestingly enough, Soarin did not always see flying in positive light. Too many failed attempts to fly left him frustrated and without direction to improve. The credit Soarin’ gave for what brought about this change in attitude from envious to enthusiastic went to the pony that gave him the flight goggles and taught him how to soar, his grandfather.
As Soarin’s parents were often very busy working in weather management for Equestria, he grew up having to teach himself many things on his own. He taught himself to manage his time as he had to complete schoolwork without much help. He taught himself to cook enough to get by until his parents came home to make a late dinner. He taught himself how to preen his feathers, and keeping them nice and clean. He even taught himself how to care for something else, a pet cockatiel named Feather.
Feather, who turned out to be a rather loyal companion and someone he could talk to, also became the friend who would listen to whatever plagued the young colt’s mind. However, as a young Soarin’ looked up as Feather swooped through the air above him, he was reminded of one thing he had not been able to teach himself yet, how to fly.
Soarin had been a late bloomer, and while the other foals were airborne, his wings were still developing and were not big enough to support him more than a few seconds of basic hovering. Frustrated that he couldn’t fly like the pegasi he watched around him in Cloudsdale do, he always looked at flying with a frown and secret longing. As the months passed, Soarin’s wings finally started to grow, but the damage had been done and he remained on the ground, unable to fly with the others.
The school year finally ended and with it the constant sight of others enjoying being up in the air. As soon as Soarin’ got home, he dropped his saddlebag by the door and ran upstairs to his room. He closed the door to his room and stood in the middle of the open floor. Feather the cockatiel squawked a hello from her perch and flew over to land on his head. Giving her a weak hello back, Soarin’ let his wings unfurl and drape along his sides, the outermost pinion feathers dragging across the ground. Letting out a long sigh, his shoulders slumped and his eyes turned downward.
Feather took off from his head and fluttered in front of his face cocking her head to the side in a way she hoped to convey ‘what’s wrong.’ Soarin’ looked up with his green eyes and watched as Feather hovered in front of him. “Will I ever be able to fly like you?”
With a squawk, she circled around his stationary body until she landed on his neck. Opening her wings, she laid them out against his neck and the tips wrapped around the front of his neck. Recognizing the comfort in her version of a hug, Soarin’ said a quiet thank you to his feathered friend.
After a few moments of her wings gently massaging his neck, Soarin’ straightened up and raised his head slightly. “Do you think I should try to hover again, Feather?” The response he received was a sharp peck to the back of his neck. “Ow…Ok I’ll take that as a yes.” The cockatiel drew back her wings before taking off once again, circling the room before landing on the headboard of his bed looking at Soarin’ expectantly.
“Ok, here it goes then.” Soarin’ brought his wings back up above his sides and looked at each one of those blue appendages which have given him so much grief the past few months. Trying to dispel that frustration, he brought his wings down with as much force as he could before bringing them back up. He started to feel lighter and lighter with each downwards wing flap and felt his hooves partially leave the ground. With more gusto, he quickened his pace of wingflaps and before he knew it, he had left his bedroom floor. One-filliadalphia, two- filliadalphia, three-filliadalphia, four- filliadalphia, five…
The muscles in his back started to strain
…filliadalphiaaahhh. On the last flap, his wings faltered under his weight and he lost height fast, landing with a thump on his bedroom floor.
Holding back tears of pain and anger, he brought his fore hooves up and brought them back down trying to drive them through the floor. They only bounced back off of the soft cloud carpet. Soarin’ pushed himself back up and he stumbled over to his bed before flopping down on the soft cloud mattress, face buried into the fluff. I can’t, I just can’t.
A couple knocks at his door snapped his attention away from the negative thoughts. A muffled voice from the other side of the door spoke up, “Dinner is ready Soarin’.” At the happy thought of food to cling to, Soarin’ swung his hooves over the side of bed and landed on the floor below. He stepped over to Feather’s food dish and filled it for her own dinner before he left his room and went downstairs.
His parents sat at the table and were having a quiet discussion before he hopped up to his seat and joined them. At his entrance, they stopped and looked at him, each giving him a smile. “Hey there bud, how was your last day of school?” Soarin’s dad spoke up. Soarin’ only responded with a shrug of his shoulders. He dug into his hayburger and fries. After chewing a bit, Soarin responded not taking his eyes off his food, “Just glad I have a break now, I suppose.”
“That’s right you do have a break now, and your father and I were talking about that,” Soarin’s mother said ducking her head trying to meet Soarin’s downcast eyes. “You would be alone for most of the day, so we were thinking of something you could do for the summer. Would you like to spend your vacation with your grandparents? They could watch over you and I’m sure you can find something to do at their ranch.”
Soarin’ weighed his mother’s words over another bite of his burger. After swallowing he replied, “I guess that would be alright. I haven’t seen them in a while either.”
“Great! We will fly you over there tomorrow then.”
Fly you over…yeah. He moodlily crunched a couple of fries. “Ok then, I guess.”
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The next day, he arrived at door of his grandparent’s home. It was a fairly small, earth-anchored, wooden home and a red barn stood high above the house in the backyard. Any way Soarin’ looked, all he could see was fields and rolling green hills for miles. It was a quiet place, nothing like the busy city that Cloudsdale was and Soarin’ found he enjoyed the change of scenery. The door opened to reveal two aged pegasi, one tan stallion and a turquoise mare. The mare rushed forward as soon as the door opened, grabbing Soarin’ and pulling him into one monster of a hug. Soarin’s dad, who flew the foal being squeezed with affection here, bumped hooves with his dad and started to talk. Nana had released Soarin’ and told him to follow her to the kitchen where she had been making fudge.
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“Now, when I left the academy, I was as fit as a hummingbird and every team wanted a piece of me,” an older, tan colored, pegasus related as he dug through a chest full of ‘junk,’ voice muffled as his head was buried in the depths of the chest. He brought his head up and looked over at Soarin’ who was using his wings to dust off some chairs lying around in the attic. “Hey little drop, what’s taking so long? You should have been done by now.”
Soarin’ paid no mind to the last comment and was instead more interested in his grandpa’s story. He instead asked, “Grandpa Lightwing, which team did you end up choosing in the end?” Soarin continued to flap his wings in an effort to get the remaining dust off of the table.
“No, no, no, this won’t do. No grandchild of mine will be flapping like butterflies under my watch.” Light strode over to Soarin and spread his own wings wide, revealing a still brilliant, plumage of feathers. “Little drop, spread your wings…like this.” He raised the tips of his wings as high as he could above his head.
Tilting his head to the side before following his grandfather’s example, Soarin’ unfurled his and began to stretch them out. Soarin’ felt a pull in his flight muscles as his wings came up and stopped above his head.
“Do you feel that?”
Soaring nodded in response, he definitely felt something he hadn’t before in his wings.
“Good, now look at your wings, what do you see?”
Soarin looked back at his wings raised above his head. He could clearly make out each primary feather as they were spread apart from stretching his wing. He voiced this back to Light.
“Yes, exactly. Now as your wing is stretched out, more of your feathers can push the air in whatever way you decide to swing your wings from here. You want your wings to grab as much air as they can, so stretching your wing not only raises them higher but it makes more air catch on the increased surface of your wings. Ya got that little drop?”
Soarin’ nodded his head starting to understand.
“I want to see you raise those wings of yours up to where they are now, each time you flap ‘em. Now, let me see you try it. Try to knock me over with some air. Think of the way you want the air to go and just aim your wings. Oh, and put some oomph into the swing, not that weak butterfly fluttering I saw earlier.”
Soarin’ nodded and brought his wings down with as much force as he could. In an instant, Soarin’s body rocketed backwards, his upper body flying over his tail before gravity took over, pushing his back into the ground with a large thump. Soarin’ let out an oomph as the air rushed out of his lungs on impact. His wings, which were still in the downward flap position, lost their strength and fell limply to the ground.
Light let out a chuckle and strode over to Soarin’, offering a hoof so he could pull himself back upright. “I said knock me over, not you. We’ll have to work on that.”
Sitting back on his haunches with a smile on his face, Light spoke to Soarin, “Still, that, little drop, is how you flap those wings. That is how you fly.”
Now fully upright, the young colt’s face shifted to one of dawning, lower jaw slowly dropping as he stared back at his Grandpa Light. The gap between his lips shifted to a smile which quickly grew and spread to his eyes.
“That is how I fly! That is how I FLY!” Soarin’ laughed and tried to flap again springing him into the air a couple feet before he came back down, only this time on all four hooves.
Soarin’s laughter filled the air for the next ten minutes as he sprung around the attic, trying to flap higher with each jump. The blissful time, though, did not last for long as his previously unused flight muscles began to get sore until he found he couldn’t find the strength to flap them again. Rest sounded nice at that moment.
Soarin’ sat on his haunches and watched as his grandfather stacked another box on an old dresser. Suddenly remembering a conversation from before Soarin spoke up, “Hey grandpa you never finished your story. Which team did you end up choosing?”
“Ah, I chose the team that didn’t want me. I chose the team I had to work for to get into.”
Soarin’s eyes widened and said, “The Wonderbolts?”
Light gave out a deep but gravely laugh, “Those snowflakes, heh, no I chose to gun for another team, a team older than the Wonderbolts. I wanted to be an Aviator. It was the team that came before the Wonderbolts. Ohh but they were tough! They could dispel the nastiest of hurricanes, the coldest of blizzards, or the worst eastern gales. Heh, not to mention they attracted all of the gals, except your grandmother, she was the weird one and it didn’t find her attention…no, I had to work for that too… But that wasn’t why I wanted to join them, nope, I wanted to join the Aviators because they got to push past the limits of the sky.”
After letting a small chuckle escape, he continued, “And so I trained as much as I could, invented a few tricks here and there… maybe I’ll teach them to you when you’re older Soarin’. Anyways, odds ended up bein’ in my favor and before I knew it I was flying with the Aviators, a dream came true. An’ flying with them was a wonder I got to experience for years.”
Light paused and let out a sigh before continuing, “After I had retired, a new flight team was emerging, the Wonderbolts, and as they gained popularity, the Aviators lost theirs. The Aviators disbanded and now it is but a memory for all of those who lived that dream. Now don’t get me wrong, the Wonderbolts gained their popularity for a reason. They were a strong bunch o’ fliers that were looked up to by all ages, still are. I suppose I’m still a bit ‘suaded to the Aviators, but the Wonderbolts still carry those with a talent for flight. Still, I got to live the dream for long time, and I would never take that feeling of being an Aviator back. It was definitely something else…”
Soarin’ was mesmerized by the tale, he never knew much of what his grandpa said. He sat in stunned silence. His grandpa, noticing a lack of thought in the young colt, smirked and dragged his hooves across the carpeted attic floor, making his way over to Soarin’. Light placed one of his hooves on Soarin’s shoulder. On contact a small spark of static electricity shocked his body, causing him to flail away, tripping on his tail and landing on his back again. At least the floor was carpeted…
After checking to make sure Soarin was ok, Light laughed and said, “Thought you died on me little drop. I had to make sure, maybe by restarting your heart.” He smirked at the young colt and walked away.
Soarin continued to lie on his back even after his heart calmed back down. His mind was still trying to write today into his memory. It wasn’t until a muffled, feminine voice came from below him, where he managed to break away from his thoughts.
“Dinner’s ready you two.”
His stomach growled as he got up onto all fours. He looked over to his grandpa who had been digging through the chest of junk again. Soarin’ saw the aged pegasus sitting on the floor. A closer look revealed that his grandpa had a medallion, with a large ‘A’ carved into the bronze metal, resting in one hoof, but he noticed Light’s attention was drawn to a pair of blue goggles held up with his other forehoof.
Soarin’ began to walk over to see but as he got closer, his grandpa gently placed the goggles and medallion back into the chest before shutting the lid with a click. Light turned his head over to Soarin’ and noticed him staring with his head tilted slightly.
Before Soarin could speak up, Light got up and started to walk over to him while saying, “Come on little drop, can’t leave a gal waiting for company. Let’s go down to eat.”
Soarin fell in line behind his grandpa as they made their way down the steps to the kitchen. Soarin took one last look at the attic and let his eyes linger on the chest until the lights were tuned off and the attic was lost in darkness.
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Soarin had spent the rest of his summer flapping from place to place around the ranch, helping with chores where he could and otherwise having a relaxing vacation. The wide open space really helped clear his head. With each flap, his wing strength grew, and with a little experimentation and a several crashes into carefully positioned haystacks, he finally managed to hold a hover. This simple feat kept him practicing each day, building up his strength even more. Before he knew it, he could zip around the barn faster than he could sprint on hooves.
When his dad arrived on one of the last days of summer vacation, he was sitting on top of a cloud that floated above the ranch. He was beginning to understand why so many liked to fly, or wished to fly. Having the wind rush through your mane at high speeds, or simply gliding through the air, allowed the young colt to enjoy the time up in the sky. It was a freeing feeling, an unknown weight having been lifted from his back as he finally understood what it was like to swirl in the air letting the wind carry his body through the vast blue sky.
For once, he actually was excited to go back to school. He could now flap around with the other foals at recess and enjoy the time in the air with them. He wasn’t grounded anymore.
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School had started and he had made quick friends with some of the foals. Soarin couldn’t be happier chasing the tails of his friends, only to have to bolt away quickly as the tagged became the tagger. This game of chase could last for hours after the final bell of a school day, on weekends it could last even longer. But like most good things, the feelings of elation and growing confidence did not last forever.
It seemed Soarin’ had reached that special age in a foal’s life where they could begin to understand what makes them stand out from the rest. It was the time where many foals started to earn their cutie marks. One night a friend of his would go home after playing, and come to school the next day with a mark on each flank. At least this is what it seemed like to Soarin’, who once again felt like he was falling behind the others.
The year passed still, and Soarin’ decided to join a junior speedsters racing club team, hoping it might lead to his own marks. He flew faster and faster each day, passing other young pegasi with practiced ease, but as he looked back to check out how far ahead he was, he couldn’t help but stare at his rear-end and realize how seemingly far behind he was in something else.
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Grandpa Lightwing was lying under the summer sun, watching Soarin’ flying above. Soarin’ had wanted to stay over again for summer vacation to show off all the tricks he had learned during the schoolyear, as well as spending more time with his grandparents. As Soarin’ banked and preformed a series of aileron rolls, his grandfather smiled knowingly. As far as the aged pegasus knew, he could be watching a true flier develop before his eyes, and it was none other than his grandson. Admiration of Soarin’s progress never waned with each passing trick shown. With a nod to himself, Light made a decision to teach him some of his own tricks this summer.
The days passed by and Soarin’ continued to push further and further up into the sky. Lightwing stood on the ground below, waiting until his heart said Soarin’ was ready.
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It was a warm summer night, with only a couple clouds passing over the ranch. Lightwing came out of the house with an old pair of goggles under his wing and Soarin’ in tow. Light had explained the trick to him earlier, but he decided what this young colt needed was a demonstration.
Reaching an open field with a cloud drifting above, the aged pegasus stretched out his wings and told Soarin to have a seat, he would need it. Securing the goggles to his head with a snap of the black faux-leather strap, he opened his wings and with one downward push, shot like a bullet into the sky. Reaching the correct altitude learned from years of practice, he let gravity take over and begin to push him back to Equestria. Allowing his body to relax and long tail to flail wildly in the air, he descended rapidly to the ground, aiming for the lone cloud.
Static buildup from his tail movement sparked around, tickling his back legs. As he finally dove through the cloud, the static charge discharged from his body, reacting immediately. The cloud turned dark grey as a chain reaction inside started to build a massive electric current.
After a few laps around in the air below the cloud, Light was finally satisfied with the charge the cloud should have held and punched another hole through the cloud. The effect was instantaneous.
Out of the cloud belly came a giant bolt of lightning snaking towards the ground while a sonic wave and large boom shook the land below. Out of the top of the cloud came a pegasus, an electrified cloud trail following him in his wake.
Lightwing swooped back to the ground, a trick dubbed Lightwing’s Lighting now completed. After gliding over Soarin’s head and landing softly on the grass below, he took a glance up at the sky and what remained of the smoke trail. Reaching up with a forehoof, he took off his flight goggles and brought them down staring into the blue tinted lenses. He gave a small smile to his reflection.
Light turned to Soarin’ who was still standing stiff, mouth agape in shock, and walked over to him. Placing a forehoof on Soarin’s shoulder, his touch releasing what still remained of the static electricity. This shocked Soarin back into awareness and he looked up at his grandpa. Light sat down and with both forehooves, placed the cushioned rim of Light’s flight goggles over the young colt’s eyes. He reached behind Soarin’s head and snapped the strap into place.
“You’re the pilot now Soarin’, go get ‘em.”
It was only one week later when Soarin’ came crashing through the front door. He stood proudly before his grandparents, a winged lightning bolt adorning each flank, and a wide grin on his face.
Wide smile on his face, Soarin’ ran his hoof over the words engraved into the metal rim again.
Whoever says ‘the sky’s the limit,’ never flew.
He turned his goggles around and raised the old things up to his eyes. The soft cushions pressing into his face, he dipped his head forward and brought the faux-leather strap behind his head, releasing it with a snap. Soarin’ looked up again, smile never disappearing, and leaned forward falling off the bench and onto his hooves. His hooves clacked and echoed in the locker room as he calmly walked over to the door, pushing it to enter the main hallway.
As he walked alone down the large tunnel, he could feel the ground shake under him. The announcer had grabbed the mic to introduce the last finalist of the night. Her words were lost on him as he walked through a set of double doors leading to the entrance into the stadium. Head held high, he took in the sight of the stadium. Tonight was the night the Wonderbolts were going to learn some old tricks passed down from an old Aviator. Soarin’ turned his gaze to the sky and spread his wings letting his instinct take over. I’m the pilot now.
It’s time to fly.