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Upside Down2,498 words
First Year (13)526 words
Second Year (14)870 words
Third Year (15)807 words
Fourth Year (16)853 words
Fifth Year (17)2,693 words
Four Part Intermission2,714 words
Sixth Year (18)1,124 words
Graduation 3,375 words

Graduation

Here we are. Huh. Thought it would be encrusted in gold or something.

Rainbow Dash frowns at the simplicity of the door she faces.

It’s just wood—nice wood, mind, but still wood. And painted white. Nothing decorates it except the brass number 24.

She shrugs and knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

She can’t help it. Her smile stretches at the sound of his voice from the other side, and she slowly pushes the door open.

“Woah.” Stormee gasps from her place behind Dash. “Bro, your room is huge! I thought dorms were supposed to be small.”

He is nineteen and in his final year. In his final hours of his final year.

They are here for graduation.

He sits at a vanity on the very far side of the room, watching them as they slowly shuffle in and look around the impressive dorm room.

Stormee is right. The room is ridiculously huge, and has barely any furniture. There is a thick, fluffy carpet under their hoofs that stretches the entirety of the floor space. It’s in the color of cream, with not a single blemish on it. The giant canopy bed is pushed against the right wall, wearing bed sheets the color of the bright blue sky. A mahogany desk, absolutely overflowing with school books, sits on the other side of the room, pushed up against the left wall. There is a door right next to the desk that is slightly ajar, revealing a darkened bathroom.

He gets up from the vanity and moves to them. “Hey.” He says on a breath, his face splitting on a smile.

Pinkie tucks him into a hug first, and then Dash wraps him into one too. Sue also pulls him into a hug.

“Are you ready?” Pinkie asks from beside Dash once their eldest daughter releases him.

“Much as I’ll ever be.” He mutters.

“Don’t be nervous, Bolt.” Stormee drones lazily from her place sprawled on his bed. “It’s only graduation. You should be glad you’re getting out of this dump.”

“But I have to speak.” Lightning whines.

“Never been a problem for you.” Diane teases, leaning against the dressing table.

He pouts. “When is everypony else coming?”

“Apples should be here within an hour.” Skylar grunts absentmindedly from his place at Lightning’s desk, peering into his brother’s books. “Jasper said Opal’s bringing stuff to ‘make you presentable’.”

Stormee cackles from her place on the bed. “You’ll be the best looking one there. Absolutely marvelous.” She mocks.

“And you’ll be in the doghouse if Opal hears you say that.” Diane smirks at her younger sister.

Dash leans back against the wall next to the door, content to watch her kids bicker casually.

He grits his teeth in pain as his mane is tugged so hard that he wonders why it’s not coming out in clumps yet.

“Ow!” he hisses. “Would you stop that?” he growls at Opal.

He hears a sniff, and then another pull makes his eyes water in pain. “It wouldn’t be painful if you sat still, Lightning.” Opal tells him lightly.

“I am sitting still!” he says. “You’re still mad about that one night I brought you back after curfew, and you’re taking it out on my mane!”

“Please,” Opal sniffs. “I don’t hold grudges, darling.”

“You lie!” he argues, whimpering at the hardest pull yet. “Maybe I shouldn’t take you anywhere ever again. All you did that night was make out with Stormee.” He grumbles after the pain subsides.

Opal does not reply. They sit in silence for a while, punctuated by whimpers from him every now and then when she pulls a bit too hard.

He doesn’t even know what she’s trying to make his mane do. Aren’t there other things she could do to it and make it look good without balding him?

“How are you guys, by the way?” he asks quietly.

“Good.” Opal answers, with a good deal of genuine joy seeping into her voice.

He fidgets a bit. “My sister, uh,” Celestia this was awkward. “Is she treating you… you know… proper?”

Opal hums. “She is, believe it or not.”

“I do.” He says, and he does. “She really likes you.”

They fall into another silence, shorter this time. Opal is being gentler now, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the fact, relaxing for the first time since she came in and shuffled everypony out in order to make him presentable.

“How has your year been going?” Opal asks him, and he grins immediately.

Celestia, where does he start?

Blizzard had not been exaggerating when he said that seventh year would more than make up for the hell of sixth year.

Seventh year was almost boring in its simplicity and general lack of responsibilities that they had. They had two classes every day that only lasted an hour each, and almost never gave homework. They had a gigantic dorm room all to themselves, did not have to get permission first to do things on campus. They had special privileges like no curfew, and the best seating in the house at every assembly, race, and extra-curricular activity.

At the beginning of the year they were called in for a special seventh year assembly that was mainly constructed of them being showered with praises for reaching the final year and outlining all of their many privileges.

Dean Blizzard then talked about the long standing tradition of selecting the two students who had persevered all six years—one in the department of aptitude, and one in the department of academics. These two individuals were awarded the highest of honors and were granted the titles of Talent Marshal and Academic Marshal, respectfully, and were required to speak at graduation—the same way a valedictorian and salutatorian might.

“This buildup is so unnecessary.” The mare next to Lightning had grumbled, but good-naturedly. “Everypony knows who the Talent Marshal and Academic Marshal is in our class.” She said, nudging him in the side with a knowing smile.

And it was true. He did know that he was going to be awarded Talent Marshal—he had gotten a letter telling him as much two days before the beginning of the year.

But regardless of his prior knowledge, his stomach still swooped excitedly when his name was called as the year’s Talent Marshal.

“Lightning?” Opal inquires softly, jolting him back to the present.

He’s grinning like an idiot, he knows, but he doesn’t care.

“This year was great.” He says.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seating, resisting the urge to touch his mane. Opal had brushed it out, coming away with quite a few clumps of several-year-old tangles, and then cut it a bit shorter in the back, before finally slicking it away from his forehead and absolutely drowning it in some sort of spray that made it feel like rock.

He would never admit, but the fact that he could see much clearer now without his mane blocking his vision was an added plus. As were the wolf whistles from his classmates.

He might have to rethink his manedo in the future, if this kept up.

He shifts again, glaring up at the bright, hot sun as it mocked him from its place up in the sky.

So bucking hot out here.

He turns his glare on the article of clothing he is wearing.

Stupid suit.

It was a handsome suit, nevertheless. Ivory colored and relatively lightweight, with a cerulean tie and a golden tiepin.

Ivory, cerulean, and gold—school colors.

He rolls his eyes.

Lame.

At least he got a mace. Maces are cool, right?

His mace looks cool, at least. Decorated in bumpy, tiny jewels and with the circular seal of the academy on the flanged end. It’s small for a mace and kind of heavy, but he can easily carry it. It stands next to him, one end sealed into a specialized compartment in the ground so that it can stand on its own without him holding it up.

He’s not the only one with a mace, of course. The Academic Marshal—a stallion named Guiding Light—has a mace too, and so does dean Blizzard.

The ceremony is boring, so far. The dean talks for a long time about the school and its history, and then the mayor of Cloudsdale comes forward and drones on in her boring voice about pride and tradition or some other crap like that.

His wings shuffle, aggravated that they are pinned by the seat’s back and can’t flap like they want to to relieve him of his energy.

He sighs under his breath and scans the crowd. He’s long since located his family, of course: huddled near the front along with the Sparkles, Apples, and some of his mother’s Wonderbolt teammates.

He’s too far away to tell what they are doing, but he’s sure that Athos and Aramis have wedged Porthos between them—he smiles at the clever analogy. Opal and Stormee are undoubtedly sitting together, probably cuddling. Sue is probably with Knight Sparkle—they are dating, after all, as Stormee had informed him this morning.

He makes a mental note to have a talk with his sister’s new coltfriend in the very near future.

He tunes back into the ceremony in time to hear Blizzard introduce the Academic Marshal—again talking about the tradition to have one, and then a bit about Guiding Light as a student.

Guiding comes forward, unrolls his parchment, and thanks everypony for being there before starting his speech.

Lightning resists the urge to groan very loudly and extensively, because Guiding Light is almost as boring as the mayor was. The Academic Marshal’s voice is high and shaky, and he pauses several times to glance back to his speech, no doubt because he forgot what he wrote.

Amateur.

Lightning smirks a little, finding pleasure in the fact that he himself had always been a master of words.

Guiding Light finishes his speech, much to the thinly-disguised relief of some, and then dean Blizzard comes forward and Lightning licks his lips, all ears.

“The Talent Marshal,” Blizzard begins in a formal tone that does nothing to hide his pride. “Is defined in article nineteen, section B, as being ‘a pupil of outstanding aptitude in the overall ability of flight, as well as a deep rooted natural talent and ability in all of its different components.’”

The dean pauses then, and looks up at the crowd. “The young stallion that wears the title of Talent Marshal this year is more than a simple ‘pupil’ to me, fillies and gentlecolts. He is a dear friend.”

“From the moment he stepped into my office at the beginning of his fourth year, I knew that he was special. He has not disappointed. Academically bright, beloved by his classmates, a leader amongst his peers—”

“Guys.” Stormee leans across Opal's lap to murmur to her siblings. “The dean has a stallion crush on our brother.”

"—Lightning Tempest Dash is an exceptional member of this year's class. He has broken several school flight records during his time with us. We did not let him know this, of course, in order to preserve his ego."

"Good move on their part." Skylar snorts.

"Overall, he has been a joy to have under my tutelage, and next year will not be the same without him here. So, without further ado, I present to you this year's Talent Marshal, Lightning Tempest Dash."

He gets up from his seat to the appreciative roar of the crowd, and pauses at the applause, soaking it all in. It's kinda cool. He could see why his mother got high on this kinda stuff.

It's not for him, though.

His speech is unrolled, not needed except for general appearance. He's long since memorized it from the many, many practice sessions he's had in front of his vanity.

Nevertheless, he places it on the podium and then smirks at the still roaring crowd.

Yeah. Definitely kinda cool.

Once they settle down, he clears his throat and smirks.

Now, what most ponies didn't understand about speeches was that the most enjoyable and memorable ones were usually humorous. Humor never took itself seriously, and neither should the pony that makes the speech. Just because you're up in front of a crowd of some seven hundred ponies, doesn't mean you need to make a hugely impressive speech. The fact that you're up in front of a crowd instead of sitting in it already made you totally more awesome than them, so why ruin that awesomeness by being boring?

No reason.

So, instead of reading the speech in front of him—which is already full of amazingly cleaver puns and jokes that made him out to be the totally witty and remarkable pony that everypony should already know him to be—he simply speaks from the heart.

"You know, most of my speech was full of lighthearted bragging and totally funny jokes, because that's kind of what's expected from me." he begins in a strangely uneasy voice which surprises him. "But considering Dr. Blizzard already made me out to be the totally awesome pony I am, I figured I would simply speak from the heart."

The crowd laughs a little at his playful admittance to his blatant and frankly joking self-promotion, but inside he's scowling.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, I have no idea what I'm doing up here." he admits, and his voice sounds weak to his ears. "Not, like, the 'make a speech' part—I've always been really good at talking—but the 'Talent Marshal' part." he stops there for a second, lets the information sink in. His heart was taking over his mouth. At the end of the speech he would probably be in tears.

"Yeah, okay, so I'm really good at flying—but seriously, look at who my mother is. And my family might say, 'but Bolt, you totally didn't fly until you were like six' and yeah, I didn't. I had a late start. And at this point you will think that because of that I had to work extra hard to get to where I am today.

You're wrong. I didn't work extra hard. I just advanced unnaturally fast once I started. I'm seriously nothing special."

The crowd is silent—it's that awful heavy silence that he hates with everything he has. Nevertheless, he straightens up with a confidence born of spilling his secrets.

"Classmates," he addresses, staring them straight in the eyes, one by one. "In life, we will start at the bottom. Being an adult will often times feel like the worst decision-that-we-never-made ever. I know this because my parents totally complain about it always." he ads the last part in a jokingly exasperated voice, and the crowd visibly relaxes and laughs. "And I'm not going to be some stupidly optimistic foal and tell you that 'if you stick with it, it'll get better' because that's not the world we live in.

You'll fail. Maybe you'll even have to change jobs. I don't know. I can't see into the future. But I do know that in life, you'll fail, and you'll fail a lot. Why? Because you're not perfect. I'm not perfect, as hard as it is to believe." He smiles briefly, but it's weak and fake. "Point is, I'm not going to stand up here and give you a falsely inspirational speech, and encourage you to 'chase your dreams' and 'never give up', because who cares what I say? You'll forget most everything I say in two days tops." his voice is strong, not exactly shouting but not exactly calm either. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. His next words are weary.

"So like I said, I have no idea what I'm doing up here. The, the only thing I can say is, try and enjoy life, okay? Don't take yourself too seriously. After all, your voice is the one you hear in your head the most. Make yourself smile with a clever joke once in a while. Treat yourself to dinner—Celestia knows how many times I've taken myself out on a date on Friday night. The fact that it was simply 'cause nopony would do it for me will not be mentioned. Listen to music too loud. Party every night if it makes you happy. Make sure to always eat cake, or candy, or something sweet. In my extensive research of the subject, I have found that ice cream fixes everything."

Another laugh. His classmates were grinning at him now.

"But mostly,"

Pause for dramatic effect.

"Mostly, you should stop listening to me talking about nothing, and finally get on with your life."

Graduation is a huge deal.

Two hours after the actual graduation, he stands in the middle of the school's dinning hall. Except, the dinning hall is not at all the dinning hall he remembers. The seven tables are no longer present, leaving a massive room where guests can mingle. There's a huge buffet table on the left side of the room, long and stuffed with everything a pony could possibly dream of in terms of food. He eyes it, feeling a tiny bit intimidated by the sheer mountain of food.

He shifts in his tuxedo, hating the scratchy material.

A ball.

So.

Lame.

Indeed, due to some long-standing tradition, the graduates had to attend a formal ball as part of their graduation. During the ball, they had to dance with everypony in their family or some other strict crap like that.

He rolls his eyes.

Well, there were certainly worse fates in life, he guesses.

Besides, he was a totally awesome dancer. Why not tear up the dance floor and show everypony how good he was?

Nevertheless, through out the night, he barely has any time to gather his bearings before he's whisked off into a dance by one of his family members. By the end, he's pretty sure he's dance with everypony at least two times. He knows he's danced with Stormee four times.

His hooves frankly hurt, but he can't quite keep the smile off of his face.

"Hey, LD." a voice calls out to him through the crowd of sweaty ball gowns and tuxedos. His ears rotate towards to voice, and then so does him head.

"Guiding Light." he greets somewhat weakly. The other stallion smiles greatly at him.

Guiding Light looks frankly ridiculous in his tuxedo. It's plaid and all the colors clash in ways that make Lightning's eyes hurt, even without any sort of fashion sense at all.

"What's up?" He asks, taking his eyes off of the ridiculous assemble.

"Well, after the ball, there's another party. Some of the guys wanted me to invite you."

And this was what he didn't understand about Guiding Light—total nerd that he was, he had a ton a friends. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Wasn't Lightning himself supposed to have a lot of friends?

Whatever.

"Yeah. Totally. I'll be there."

Maybe it didn't really matter. Point was, nopony hated him. He was loved by his family and admired by his classmates. So what if he could never be at the top of the food chain? He had just graduated from the most pristine flight academy in all of Equestria. How's that for top of the food chain?

It was done. He was finished with the academic horror.

And life? Life was pretty damn okay.

Author's Note:

There. Done.

Thanks for reading, everypony. Also, huge thank you to Lion for putting up with my bull.

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