Scootaloo was flying.
The wind itself carried her aloft like a feather. Above her were the boundless heavens, a bright blue sky that went on forever, and every direction was up. Scootaloo flapped her wings; they were full-grown and strong. Every beat of her wings sent her higher into the open sky. She soared slowly at first, feeling the air rushing all around her, but the higher her wings brought her, the faster she went.
The whole sky, in all its infinite beauty, belonged to Scootaloo. Time itself passed at her whim; in one moment the sky was as bright and warm as any clear summer day, and in the next it was the middle of the night, and the sky was full of stars. The stars danced with Scootaloo, swirling around her and pushing her higher still. They swept her up into a bright column of light which exploded into a bright sunny day once again.
Faster. Scootaloo wanted to go faster, and no sooner had the desire occurred to her than it became reality. She no longer felt the wind on her face or whipping through her mane. She became nothing but a pair of graceful wings rising ever higher into a sky that no longer resembled the familiar heavens above Equestria—the day, the night, the sun and the stars all melted together and wrapped themselves around Scootaloo. Her wings made her one with the sky. Scootaloo was home at last.
Scootaloo was in her room.
Half of a stale daisy sandwich lay untouched on the nightstand.
Scootaloo lay on her back in bed and stared up at the ceiling with the butt of a poison joke cigarette clutched between her lips. The end of it glowed bright orange as she took a final drag off of it. The smoldering end burned down to her lips and singed her before going out, but she didn't even flinch. To Scootaloo, the cigarette wasn't there. She had only her wings carrying her up into the sky; her wings were all she needed.