Dear Rainbow Dash,
Mrs. Glossy says that we start gym class tomorrow. She said that, as a real teacher, she didn't know much about what we'd be doing, but she assumed that it'd have something to do with flying.
I think that I'm going to throw up.
Doesn't she understand that not everypony can fly??????? Doesn't she understand that, maybe, not everypony's parents have time to teach them how to fly?????? Doesn't she understand that Ponyville is an earth-pony-based town, without much time for flying lessons?
Blah, blah, blah. Right. Now you're supposed to tell me that the whole point of flight training is so that I'll learn how to fly. Oh, and now you're supposed to tell me that not every pegasus knows how to fly, especially not at such a young age. But you know what, Rainbow Dash? I haven't seen one pony that's not able to fly. Not one. Even that one foal who I scared can fly like a pro.
I hate myself.
It's not like I haven't tried to learn how to fly. Look, maybe my wings are weird and small and I'm way better at using my scooter than flying. But sometimes, when I'm not crusading or just hanging out, I try to practice flying. I'll get up in a tree, start buzzing my wings like a hummingbird, jump . . . and fall. I don't understand it! I practice way more than anypony else, and I'm just doing what I see them doing! I can't help it if my head is freakishly big and my wings are tiny . . .
Just a few minutes ago, I tried to fly. I went to Grandma's backyard (can I even call it a yard if there's no grass?) and jumped around, flapping my wings so hard my lungs burned. And guess what? Nothing happened. The only thing I got out of the flight attempts was that I should do it in a more private place next time, since by the time I was done, thirteen ponies had given me strange looks. (Yes, I counted—it's not like I have anything better to do with my time!)
Anyway, I ditched the flying attempts and stomped upstairs, ignoring Grandma's greetings. What, are you going to yell at me for being rude now? It's not any ruder than Momma and Daddy are being to everypony.
I'm sorry. Rainbow Dash. I'm being a jerk. It's not like it matters, since nopony's ever going to see these letters, but still . . . I feel like there's something wrong with what I'm doing. I feel like crying, even if only babies cry. I'm going to stop writing now and go downstairs to see if there's anything to do.
Bye for now—
Scootaloo
Dear Rainbow Dash,
Okay, so I'm back again. It's not because I'm bored again—kind of the opposite, actually. I didn't even get to try to have fun, because the second I took a step down Grandma's stairs, I heard a door slam. Daddy didn't actually say anything, but I could hear Grandma whispering his name and telling him to calm down.
I've heard what happens next a million times, so I really don't feel like listening to it again or telling you exactly what's going on right now. I can give you a summary, though, so here's what's probably going on as I write this:
1. Daddy's standing in the kitchen, his face unnaturally pale. He's got deep circles underneath his eyes, and he smells like really strong, really fermented cider.
2. He's coughing a lot and muttering about things that don't make sense.
3. He's bumping into things and cursing.
4. He's acting like a total alcoholic.
Yeah. So how, exactly, do I know all of this?
Well, it's not like this is suddenly a new thing. He's been sorta normal for a while, but lots of times, before I met the crusaders, things would get bad. Real bad. And sometimes, I'd be the only one around to stop him from hurting himself or hurting Momma. (Kind of ironic, now that Momma's the headstrong one and Daddy's weak!)
I don't have much left to write, but I'm not going down there. I can hear Grandma shouting at Daddy, and I think that Daddy might be crying a little. My hooves are shaking as I write this.
Why did he go out and start drinking again? And in Cloudsdale, of all places? The cider's probably not even that good . . .
All right. Off subject, I know. I'm just trying to distract myself from the major issue at hand, the issue obviously being that Daddy's drunk.
Want to know what's going to happen when Momma comes home? She's going to start yelling at Daddy and telling him that he's a moron. Then Grandma will see how screwed up my parents really are. And then . . . well, I don't know what's going to happen. As far as I know, nobody but Momma and I have ever seen Daddy drunk.
Great, just great. I think that I just heard something shatter downstairs. Now Daddy's cursing and screaming.
I'm not sure what's worse: my home life or my school life.
Later,
Scootaloo