As the Anemometer Spins

by Paracompact

Boiling Point

“Rumble, are you okay? What’s wrong? Should I call for somepony?”

Rumble writhed on the grass in anguish, clutching his fat, disgusting belly. It’s not fair. It’s not fair! He gets everything he wants without even trying!

“It’s… okay… I’ve had these before…”

I can’t compete with him. I can’t possibly compete with him! Wouldn’t it just be best if I succumbed to these pangs right now… I want to say I died pushing my worthless body to the very limit…

“Had what before? You just fell out of the sky!”

Don’t lie, you’re enjoying every second of this, Eddy. Just once I wish I could see you suffer like this!

Finally, after a sixty second interval that seemed to last an eternity, his abdomen ceased its disturbing gurgling. Still unsteady, he got back on his hooves, and brushed some crushed leaves off his coat. “It’s fine. You didn’t need to stop for me.”

“Wait, you’re going to have to tell me what that was, Rumble!” Eddy insisted, placing a hoof on his friend’s shoulder. “I was worried.”

“They’re just hunger pangs. They come and go. I’ve been getting them since I cut back on my diet.” Not that you’d know anything about dieting.

“Are you trying to starve yourself? You weigh less than me at this point.”

“That’s to be expected. You’re taller and longer, and make up for it with lean muscle,” Rumble said matter of factly. “I have no such excuse.” I would kill for your metabolism.

“Rumble, I...” Eddy muttered. “I really don’t think this is healthy.”

“A hunger pang or two won’t kill me. Once I get down to my target weight, I can—”

“I mean this whole thing that you’re doing! Look at you!” Eddy grabbed Rumble’s wing before he could react and gently pushed in on where it connected to his side. It was all Rumble could do not to squeal out in agony. “You’re destroying yourself!”

Rumble pushed Eddy’s hooves away. “Once my muscles heal, they’ll be stronger than ever. I’ll be raring to go again, after the rest days.”

“Will you though?” Eddy lowered his voice. “Don’t you remember when we were foals? Back when these hills were a playground, and not a training ground?”

“Yeah, I do. You always beat me, and then bragged about it. Now you beat me and say nothing, but I know you still love seeing me fail more than ever.”

Rumble thought he saw a rare glimmer of compunction in Eddy’s eyes. “I’m sorry, like I said, I’m really truly sorry what a doofus I was when we were young. But I was just a colt. We grew up. And these days, you’re very nearly in the same league I am when you’re in top form!”

“Am I really?” Rumble set the bait: “What’s the most objective measure we have of that?”

“The wind reader, of course,” Eddy said. “Your record gust from a 200-foot vertical descent is 5.7 wing power, and mine is what, 6.2? Heck, you might even beat me pound-for-pound!”

“That would be encouraging, if only it were true.” Without another word, Rumble trotted off. He quickly returned with the digital anemometer in hoof. “I bet you didn’t know about a nifty recordkeeping function this little guy had. I know I didn’t, up until a week ago.”

For the first time today, Rumble saw a drop of sweat on Eddy’s brow. He pressed the “select” button three times in rapid succession, and the default 0.0 was replaced by a much more telling number: 8.9.

“Am I correct in assuming this is your record, Eddy?”

His friend was silent, but his face told Rumble everything he needed to know.

“When did you even make this record? I’ve held on to this device since last spring!”

“Must’ve been last spring, then…”

Tears welled up in Rumble’s eyes. “You haven’t grown up at all! You would rather effortlessly lord your top-class talent over me than develop it! For once, why can’t you try as hard as I do, actually break a sweat? You have everything I could ever want, but you don’t even—”

“Y-you’re the one that needs to grow up!” Eddy interjected. He was shaking. “I’m not going to be a different pony because you tell me to, and you’re not going to become a better flyer by hounding me! Your j-jealousy has ruined everything between us, sometimes I feel like you hate my guts!”

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He wished it wasn’t true. “Sometimes I guess I do.” He buried his face in the ground. “The one thing my cutie mark says I should be good at, the one thing I try my hardest not to suck at, but I still do. Face it—at flying, at school, with friends, with fillies, you’re just a better version of me.”

Eddy was still amped up. “You, you! It’s always about you! Everything revolves around you!” He was shaking harder than ever. Rumble only now remembered that Eddy had a terrible phobia of conflict. Suddenly, Eddy took flight. “I’m sorry, I just can’t train with you anymore. You’re making me hate my own guts!”

And so he took off, leaving Rumble with a rain of a leaves and a spinning anemometer.