"Twenty!" the voice rang through the hot unbearable training room, where she heaved up and down doing the painful pushups. Around the room were mirrors facing her, so she may look at her own sweaty face. The sweat dribbled off of her, and made a tiny splash on the red mat, making her hooves feel a bit more slippery. What had this been? Her eightieth push-up probably, and she was anticipated to do more. She turned to the small old clock, glancing at the time quickly before her instructor snapped at her. She couldn't stand her instructor anymore. Desert Eagle. That stallion was as mean as any other commander from the army, but she needed him instead of an instructor that babied her.
Desert Eagle was a former commander of the army when the war had been a problem. But the army was given cutbacks since plenty of peace was restored to Equestria. Desert Eagle was snipped from his job, since he acted as he was supreme compared to everypony else. Which now leads to this point, where Desert Eagle worked everyday to train Spitfire into the best shape she could be. Even if she didn't need it, it was required of her to be a Wonderbolt. It seemed she had to set an example, but she didn't know who was looking at this example. After all these were private sessions. No matter though, Spitfire felt sympathy for Desert Eagle since he was her first trainer in her flight training, and invited him to become her personal trainer. Even though she was regretting her decision, she couldn't fire him now, she had been too deep into the training.
"Fifteen!" the stallion shouted into her ear, pacing back and forth around her, readying to pounce on her like a hawk for its prey. As Spitfire heaved up and down, she had a few of her orange hairs unravel from her fake stuck up form, down towards her hot fiery cheeks. Desert Eagle drove his face into hers examining the tips of her mane. Spitfire tried her best not to wince, but it was hard not to.
"Spitfire, is that your mane becoming bland? Into that style you call casual? It is supposed to stay up Spitfire. Don't be foolish!" he snapped, lifting the hairs back to it's place. The shout had continued to ring in her ear, as she gritted her teeth together.
"Yes sir, sorry sir!" Spitfire replied in her regular relaxed tone, and not her demanding roaring tone. As she winced again waiting for him to scold her again,
"The voice, Spitfire. You can't speak to me like you're a little school girl! Speak to me like a real Wonderbolt!" he shouted, slamming his hoof into the mat, missing her fore hooves by a smidge. The words 'real Wonderbolt' clung to her mind, as he glared at her disappointingly. What in the world was a 'real Wonderbolt' anyway? Some sort of athlete that ponies adore yet behind the scenes, the Wonderbolt was told how to act, live, eat, dress, and basically do everything as told. Like some sort of slave to the media. She only stayed as a Wonderbolt to give hope to her fans... and please those she had failed in the past. As she closed her eyes, staring down at the mat, she gave another more huff and continued to go up and down as told.
"Five more Spitfire! Simple as that. Or are you going to quit? Become like some sort of fragile weakling? You've disappointed your parents enough haven't you?" he questioned her, pacing around her again like a hawk, with an evil expression on his face. Spitfire froze from her pushups and looked into his eyes. She had just broken the no-eye-contact rule. Surely that would've cost her ten laps around Cloudsdale. She stared into Desert Eagle's eyes and gritted her teeth. How dare he. He had just brought up how she failed her parents back then... and it wasn't her fault that they were no longer with her. It was the war's fault, not hers. Why couldn't anypony understand that? After wiping the sweat from her forehead and her mane, she stood up to Desert Eagle, glaring right back at him.
"Never. Never ever bring that up Desert. You know bringing up that up pains me. You know that it wasn't my fault that they died in that tragedy. I'd watch what you say Desert. I will see you next session, I hope you can be a bit more kind to me instead of treating me like dirt." she warned, turning away from him and heading towards her velvet gym bag. She tied her mane up into a ponytail and threw the back over her shoulder. Desert Eagle watched her leave, adjusting his rack of badges as if he was a somebody.
"Spitfire, I didn't know the subject bothered a mare like you so much. Heck, it's so tough to get you pumped up that I was at that point." he tried to explain. Spitfire shook her head, wiping her hooves on the green sticky carpet by the iron door in which she came in from.
"And there aren't enough ponies who have sympathy around here! Once again Desert, see you next session..." Spitfire called and waved dismissingly, heading down the old wooden stairs. Oh why did Desert Eagle have to bring up her parents? After all, she had enough pressures to worry about. Between pleasing the Boss, going to photo shoots, parties, meetings, trainings, get-togethers, interviews, races, autograph signings and many more projects, she felt that her head was going to explode.
Spitfire stopped at the main floor of the gym and peered over at the jocks lifting weights. They looked like bulky, hunky, monkey-like stallions that took magic dust to get stronger. As they waved over for her to join them, she didn't budge. Those stallions had only liked her because she was a Wonderbolt, nothing more. Either that or they were going to ask her to snap on her Wonderbolt suit and show them some moves. Those pigs, utterly disgusting, they could go show each other some moves.
She opened up the gym door and peeked out at the shining sun, and the bright sky. She squinted, but placed on some sunglasses instead, her eyes hurting from the brightness. Looking around, she took a step out of the gym, and wondered what she was going to do today. If only she could just throw out her schedule and go shopping with her friends like every other mare did that was her age. As she trotted along the clouds, she heard a few snaps near her. Not the snapping of twigs, or firecrackers, but paparazzi's cameras.
They were always on her like little mosquitos that needed a good swat. Spitfire continued to trot faster, to avoid them but they just kept snapping photos. Through the years she began to get used to the snaps and the clicks. Instead of paying attention to them, she pretended they were really... really annoying birds. But some of the paparazzi's questions had got to her. There was always that one lilac filly who jammed the camera near her face and asked.
"When will you and your mate make it official?" she would ask constantly. Spitfire hadn't even told anypony about her special somepony. Yet she was asked who he was. It simply did not make sense, and the questions about her relationship with him fizzled, even if the paparazzi didn't know who he was. Maybe it was best that she shouldn't announce it to the world. Although she really wanted to know who couldn't keep their mouth shut, it would make it easier to get rid of friends who would stab her in the back. And boy, those kind of ponies had been really annoying.
She strode her way towards a perfect spot to lose them, a simple large puffy cloud that was a bit distant from the main road. She looked from left to right, seeing them running up to her to approach her with more never ending questions. Looking around once more, she leapt off of the main road and into the puffy cloud, holding her breath while inside of it. This was one of her favorite perfect escapes. Cozy, sneaky, well placed spot to sneak away from being chased. Hearing the murmurs of the ponies wondering where she went, the paparazzi all bolted off in different directions.
Spitfire poked her head out looking from left to light seeing the sun lowering a bit. Instantly, she darted out of the cloud and onto the main road, galloping towards one of her favorite places in Cloudsdale. Not because of what it was there for, but because there was somepony there that she could always talk to. After all, she was underage to drinking. This had been The Pub. An old, vine covered bar with roses growing from the sides, and just about everything inside was mahogany. Simple to clean up incase the drunks got too sick. As she entered inside on the red velvet carpet, she smiled as the drunkards all called her name, whooping and shouting for her. She just laughed, and waved to them, and sat at the bar with former Wonderbolt, Kitty.
Kitty was an older Wonderbolt, the Co-Captain. Kitty was supposed to be the Captain of the Wonderbolts, until one fatal accident where her left wing snapped in half. Spitfire preferred to not talk about it, since it had been the time when the two were rivals. But after Kitty had her injury, the two seemed to have become really good friends, even if Kitty had one artificial wing instead of two beautiful ones.
"Hey Spit!" Kitty grinned, opening up a bottle of cherry champagne. Spitfire placed herself in a stool next to Kitty and looked at the bottle of fizzy cherry.
"Kitty, may I ask for some advice from you?" Spitfire asked smiling at her Kitty's cotton candy colored mane. Or was it a wig...?
"Of course Spitfire, you know I'll always be here for you! I used to be like your ma right? And you used to encourage me to keep going. Even with broken lefty ova' here!" Kitty cackled trying to stretch her wings, but failed. Although Kitty was approaching thirty, Spitfire didn't find her old. For some reason, Kitty always complained how old she was getting, and how she deserved to be young forever. Spitfire thought otherwise, thinking that thirty wasn't old, Kitty was probably just too dramatic. Yet, it wasn't Kitty but the media who preferred the fresh and new ponies other than the older ones. Perhaps Kitty had been gorgeous when she was young, and now she was slowly becoming an old alcoholic. But Spitfire could do nothing but watch because Kitty had that stubborn attitude.
"Uh... Kittiana to Spitfire over?" Kitty coughed trying to get Spitfire's attention, before indulging in another sip. Spitfire shook her head back to reality and looked at Kitty.
"Sorry Kitty, I have a lot going on, but I have a question. What did you do when you had such an imploding schedule, and so many ponies to please that you wanted to explode?" Spitfire asked, curious to see how Kitty reacted to pressure, while fixing her ponytail. Kitty placed her glass cup on the bar table and cleared her groggy throat.
"Well Spitfire, when I felt like giving up, I said a little... a little poem to myself. You know what I'll call it a script alright? Yeah... yeah a script. And it has those words that those unicorns like to write, long and meaningful. Fancy-shmancy. Well when I took a little trip to Canterlot, I was given a paper with these calming words on them. Here, I think it should go to somepony who deserves it." Kitty began to slur, handing Spitfire an old wrinkly paper with words written in script, curly script to be exact. That's what they called in Cloudsdale, they weren't too fond of writing up there.
Spitfire held the paper delicately seeing the tear drops and the splattered champagne corners. Perhaps Kitty really liked to read this... a bit too much. As Kitty slurred for another glass of champagne, Spitfire began to read the scrap of paper.
"To whomever reads this, I hope you are planning for a wish to come true. Not just any wish, your wish. Something you've been craving for. Regardless to whether it's having a lack of satisfaction in your life, or your overwhelmed, or your suffering, there's this paper that is going to help your wish come true. First I need you to kneel by your window. Yes your window, keep your elbows on the windowsill please. Make sure the time is around midnight. Right where the moon is pitched in the middle of the sky. Once you do this, make sure your eyes are closed, and focus on that one thing your wishing for. You have to wish so hard that you're going to shiver. Remember one more thing, you are not wishing on the moon, you must pick a star. Any star you want, just pick one that interests you in someway. Now go! Wish! What are you waiting for?
--This was made for Twinkle, who didn't know how to wish.
Spitfire looked up from the paper and glanced back to Kitty. Kitty smiled, with a drunk look on her face. Not too surprising since Kitty was an alcoholic in denial.
"Kitty, this makes no sense at all. Wishing on stars is for foals! Did you forget my age? I'm eighteen not seven Kitty. Are you sure you didn't ask a unicorn to write this for you? Possibly when you were drunk?" Spitfire asked in disbelief of the words. Wishing was for little foals that were hopeless. Even if she did feel pretty hopeless, this junk would never work.
"Spitfire this is for your... your own good. After all, I'm the one who gives you advice, no?" Kitty slurred, now unable to pick up her glass. Spitfire gave a worried look and was about to crumple up the paper, but had the urge not to. Maybe she could give the script one simple chance.
"Fine Kitty, but this is a rather... silly way of having something happen. Do you need me to assist you home?" Spitfire asked kindly, slightly moving the glass away from Kitty.
"No, no Spitfire. I... I got it! Old righty here knows how to get in gear," Kitty slurred, patting Spitfire on the back. Then Kitty turned towards the bartender and slammed her hoof on the mahogany counter top. "Twenty bits for some of that dope magic ya'll ponies got back there!" She hollered, and headed towards the bathroom, waving to her young friend. Spitfire giggled at Kitty and hopped off of her chair and out the door, covered in vines and roses. She placed her glasses back on and checked her watch. It was almost time for dinner, and she had a meeting to attend. Tapping her chin on whether to attend or not, she realized that the script seemed pretty important, even if it was really silly.
"The meeting can wait," Spitfire told herself and bolted along each cloud, skipping and hopping. "Time to see if wishes really do come true."