//------------------------------// // Before the Princess : The Terrible Trade // Story: Adventures of Diamond Dancer (Mission Logs) // by RarityEQM //------------------------------// The air up there. The air up there is cold, and uncaring. It doesn’t matter if you’re a veteran flyer, or just a filly trying to save a life. It doesn’t matter if you’re a glory hound, seeking fame and fortune, or a Bolt-Head with a crush on Spitfire. It doesn’t matter, because the air up there is all the same; Cold, and cruel, and crushing. Nopony expected a filthy little orphan to compete in the world’s highest flyer competition. With wings so small, and a task so tall, what was this little filly doing there at all? I was trying to make a miracle. Flying as hard as I can. Flying like a life depended on it, because it does. Flying like the sky was water, and I was drowning for air, and the faster I go, the sooner I get to the surface. I flew like I had nothing left to give, no other reason to live, and I fly like there’s no other way to save the day. And it doesn't mean a bucking thing when there are seven other contestants. Seven other full grown pegasi pumping full grown wings with well practiced strokes, shooting past and leaving me with laughter ringing in my ears. But I can’t stop. Everything has lead to this point, this contest, this drive to strive to save the life of a pony planted in a bed doing his best to protest joining the dead. And I’m trying so hard. I can’t stop, even if my wings are burning and my lungs ache and pegasi left and right shoot by me, like I was dragging a cart behind me filled with the weight of regret. I know it’s crazy. I know, I’m crazy. I know. I’m no angel. I’m not anything even close, so trying to make a miracle happen is about as likely as having 6.7 billion ponies in the world, and the one with the miracles hearing an orphan like me screaming “PLEASE!!!?” Please…. I fly like I’ve never flown before. Pain is a myth, and I reach for the sky, like down wasn’t an option and earth was just a fading dream. I fly harder than I have ever pumped my wings before, and breathe in cold shards of ice instead of air. Frozen feathers and cold joints warmed by a burn in my lungs and the screaming in my muscles, but I can’t stop. I won’t. Even if the other competitors are out of sight; either too far above or too far below, too hot or too cold, I can’t stop. The stars are so close, and yet so far, and I’ve never seen them so clear; so near, like I could reach out and cup them in my hooves. And that’s all I need. I just need one. Just one star. Just one wish PLEASE, if ANYTHING is listening, PLEASE. If you want a follower, if you want a servant, if you want a slave, if you want me to be ANYTHING, please. Now is the time. Now is the only time. Let me touch one star- just one wish: PLEASE- “let Criss Cross be okay.” It’s so cold I can’t breathe, cause the air is ice. I can’t see, cause my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel, because the cold wraps around me like a blanket. But I don’t care. I can’t stop. Stopping is for ponies who don’t have a foal in a hospital depending on you to keep them alive. I won’t let Criss Cross die. I’ll do everything I can, so even if the angels ignore my prayers- it won’t be because I didn’t try. The wind is so loud it’s like a tornado in my head. The air is so cold it’s like I’m buried in snow. Theres ice in my lungs and my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel my wings- but I know I’m falling. I can’t go any higher because there’s no higher left to fly. Not for a filthy little filly from the slums. I can remember the darkness swallowing me up- my last fleeting moments of consciousness. I was torn between wanting to see Criss Cross one last time- just to tell him I was sorry. Just to let him know how I really felt about him. Or maybe I wouldn’t see him again at all. Maybe it would be too late. Or maybe this final plunge into the earth would be my last…would that be so bad? After all, how do you tell the foal you had a crush on, that you couldn’t save him…that you tried but you failed. Is “I’m sorry” good enough? It really didn’t matter how badly you wanted it. The air up there was cold, and crushing, cruel and careless. I’m plummeting to the ground faster and harder than I ever have before, cursing the sky, and the wind and the air up there, the thousands of ponies who spend a single bit on a wish- the cost of a miracle tossed into a well without an care in the world. And I’m not scared. I’m not mad, or angry or disappointed. I just have one wish. One thing I want. One thing I'm begging for- before darkness takes me, and everything fades away, and the ground swallows me up, and my world ends. I was too high to survive this fall. But it was alright. I only had one wish. “Please. Let Criss Cross be okay. I don’t have any bits to spend, or anything to trade, and I know he’s dying, and I’m really trying, and there’s nothing else I can do, so please. Please. Please. Let. Him. Be. Okay,” * * * * * Three broken ribs. Right wing shattered in seven different places. Broken nose. Hairline fracture on right foreleg. Two cracked ribs. Concussion. Severe case of frostbite. 3 severed arteries. Dislocated left foreleg. That was my diagnosis when they admitted me to Lifeline Hospital in Manehatten; breathing shallowly with labored wheezing. Only barely conscious and unresponsive- wrapped in a blanket of in-coherency and sputtering hisses of protest to the dark place that was trying to pull me into it's depths. Invincible. Ha. You try dropping in from so high over the planet you can't even see it and see how great you do. Silver stars, there goes my reputation. But my injuries didn't mean anything compared to Criss Cross being so sick. I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, lost in silence, and drowning in my own tears. How could I speak when there was nothing to say, and try as I might I couldn't anyway. My voice was buried; lost to somewhere I didn't know existed inside of me. Stricken and silent, in a room bared of any and all sounds other than the buzzing beeps of the machines that crowded around me; I stared helplessly at the newspaper at the foot of my bed. I couldn't make out much other than the headline through my tears, but it was enough. I had flown has high as I could. I took on the odds as if I had flunked out of math class, and I double dog dared probability to stop me. I should have been dead, and I was hooked up to so many machines that I doubted there was room in here for a doctor- but it didn't matter. There was no first-aid kit that could have healed me like that head-line: MIRACLE MARE FROM MANEHATTEN SHATTERS ALL TIME RECORD FOR HIGHEST FLYING FILLY I cried. I cried so hard, because I was so happy, and I 'd never, ever, been in that place before. DIAMOND DANCER ; (Now known, as the Impossible pony) Brought the crowd to a standstill on Monday, when the little filly crushed the world's record for Highest Flying Pony in the history of Equestira. Diamond Dancer, kissed the sky by traveling to the Stratosphere, only 7 feet away from reaching the Mesosphere and broke the held record of highest flying Pegasus (Cloud Kicker, in the early days of Equestria) With a reward of 50,000 Bits, Diamond has dedicated her winnings to a friend in local LifeLine Hospital, suffering from a severe case of Horn Rot. The little pony, against all odds, beat out the competition, and sought nothing more than to reach for the stars, and after a spectacular crash, was discovered to be alive and has been admitted to Life Line Hospital for observation and treatment. Diamond wowed the judges with her flight patterns and sheer determination to exceed goals. When she returned to earth after her flight, the little foal had a distinct marking on her flank that wasn't there when she undertook the massive task. Miracle Mare to be sure, not only did Diamond Dancer shatter the world's record, donate her proceeds to an ill friend in the hospital, but she got her Cutie Mark in the process. This 'Fantastic Filly' certainly displays the sort of courage required to be a Wonderbolt, which is fitting since part of- I stopped reading because it didn't matter anymore. The rest of the story was entirely unappealing to me in the moment. Still I wish I was well enough to actually see my cutie mark. Broken ribs don't offer much flexibility. But really, it didn't matter! I wiggled my hips, with the knowledge my cutie mark was on my flank- I closed my eyes with the knowledge that Criss Cross was going to be ok, and I fell asleep, knowing that when all was said and done... I was the Fantastic Filly. I was the Impossible Pony. I was the Miracle Mare. And everything was gonna be ok. Or so I thought. When I woke up, three days had ticked by I hardly remembered. I was far more out of it than I thought. . Three days since my ‘miracle’ was made and three days since I tossed and turned and my heart would leap with every beep of the machine next to me. Three days since the doctors said there wasn’t much hope for a beat up little filly like me, wrecked and ruined by the events relevant to prevent the death of my friend; Criss Cross. But I remember the nurse coming in; after crying my heart out, and squealing for joy after reading the newspaper somepony left on my bed. She looked nice enough- curly blonde mane, Terran pony, bright pink coat...a sweet disposition, an older mare, the grandmotherly type. And she had a smile- the saddest smile I had ever seen on a grown mare looking at a filly who’d just gotten her cutie mark- a smile for me. I’ve seen those smiles before- those sad, heartbroken-down-on-your-luck-don’t-have-the-heart-to-tell-you-the-angels-didn’t-hear-your-plea-or-maybe-they-just-didn’t-care-smiles. Those terrible, heart wrenching, horrid, soul crushing smiles that are promising precursors to a bad day. The smile she was holding for me was the granddaddy of those type smiles- the most horrible of them all. At first I thought it was Criss Cross. Maybe something happened- maybe something went wrong with the medicine, or maybe there wasn’t enough money! I was the Miracle Mare-, so maybe I could get some more, or maybe, if I asked the right ponies- But no. I babbled incoherently about trying to rescue Criss Cross, or maybe the Wonderbolts decided not to give me the money- or maybe I wasn’t old enough to receive it, or … No. That wasn’t it either. I could see it in her eyes, but try as I might to deny it, I already knew what it was. I was stalling for time, pretending it wasn’t the horrible black splotches on my face that were getting bigger everyday, or the fact that I’d been hiding how sick I’d felt. I wanted to deny that I had Horn Rot- that was something unicorns got. Maybe it was the Feather Flu, but the Feather Flu didn’t turn your coat black. Maybe it was the Pegasus Pox, but I didn’t have spots. Just splotches. Nasty horrible blotches and splotches that started out on my nose and slowly started to get bigger. But it was there- clear and plain on her face. That smile was a heart breaker, and it was my heart she was about to break. But I had to know-… “Is…Is Criss Cross ok?” She sat down next to me, quietly, still smiling that terrible, motherly smile, and nodded her head. Her eyes were misty and her lower lip was quivering. I knew then and there it wasn’t Criss Cross. It wasn’t Criss Cross, or the money, or the Wonderbolts. I could deny it all I wanted but it was me all along, and could feel it in my chest, that it was gonna get worse before it got better. “…Criss Cross ain’t sick no more…but I am…aren’t I?” I asked, my voice nervous and reluctant. She gasped, quietly, and after a brief pause, she slowly nodded her head. I swallowed and closed my eyes. “….I…I ain’t got da kinda sick dat you’se get betta from….do I?” She didn’t answer, but that was answer enough for me. Slowly she stood up, and told me she would go and get the doctor. It hit me like a kick to the stomach. Like a little bubble of a warm dream bursting into cold reality; I didn’t make a Miracle. I wasn’t some savior to a friend or some pony that managed to bring down some marvel from the heavens. I had begged anything that was listening to let me save Criss Cross, and something answered. I hadn’t made a Miracle. I had made a trade. A terrible, bone chilling, unthinkable, unspeakable curse of a trade. I gave my life in exchange for Criss Cross. My good health, my fate, my destiny, all in exchange for the foal two rooms down to keep breathing. … And looking back on it all. I said I’d do anything. I would do anything to save Criss Cross. I flew to the heavens and back, searched high and low, and the only thing I managed to find, was a trade. My life for his. … And I wouldn’t change a bucking thing about it.