End of the Line

by Sunlight Rays

Chapter 5: Tried

Turns out that forgetting to turn off the tape recorder can really pay off sometimes.

After I was found by somepony who saw the bullies leaving my room covered in blood and taken to the hospital, an investigation into the incident ensued. I told the investigators everything that had happened over the past few years, from the very first day of school when it all started up to the point of somepony opening my room door and screaming, as well as the location of my tape recorder. That somepony, who preferred to have his identity unknown, also told the investigators what he had witnessed. The recording, the assault, and the testimony were enough to get all the bullies expelled from the school.

Eight weeks later, I returned to school. I assured them that it would be fine, that since the bullies were expelled and school year had just started, while I also got transferred to another class. After making countless promises that I would alert my parents should something go wrong, I returned to my dorm.

The first thing I noticed after coming back to my room was Echo’s cage. It had been untouched while I was gone, just like everything else in the room. The white powder was still on the cage floor. I stared at the cage for a moment. Then, I took the cage to the sink, and began washing the powder away. After thoroughly washing the cage, I put the cage where it was, just how it used to be when Echo was still alive.

With one last glance at the cage, I picked up my saddlebag and went to class.

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Did I mention my grades were dropping near that time? Because boy, my grades were dropping. Guess the bullying finally took its toll on my studies. By the end of my sixth year, my average grades had dropped to a B-, with getting even a D on some subjects. Compared to the A- I had gotten for last semester and the A a year ago, it was clear that something was not going right.

I only assumed that it was because of all the bullying that was happening, and that they would get better since the bullies were gone.

How wrong I was.

The class I had been transferred to, and thus began my seventh year at school with, was taught by Professor Top Marks. He was a strict teacher: gave us lots of homework, graded our projects by-the-rules, never digressed from the original topic of the day’s lesson, and so on.

I mean, I was fine with that. If we wanted a little breather during class, we had break times for that. The real problem was that I couldn’t understand what we were learning. When I listened to his lessons, fine, I could easily follow him. Or at least, I thought I could. But when I tried to apply what I learned in class to my homework or project? It became a totally different story.

My first assignment was a problem on spell-development and topology. It read:

a) Show why the spell used for transforming an object into another requires a phrase that dictates the magnitude of change in the Hoofmann Number, and explain how the phrase affects the mechanics of the spell.

b) Based on your response of question a), create a basic spell that would transform a donut into a sponge. Explain why you created the spell using your method, and the mechanics of the individual parts of your spell.

c) What would the change in Hoofmann number have to be in order to transform a ball into a Maneger sponge? Provide a proof to your answer.

Looking at the assignment, I dove into it head-first. Approximately five hours later, I was staring forlornly into the stubborn piece of paper, while bits of crumpled up paper and stacks of books from the library lay haphazardly on my desk. I hadn’t made a single bit of progress since I started, and this problem was supposed to be a basic one!

I was baffled at first. How could this be? I thought understood everything needed for the assignments. But then, the truth was that I might have dozed a couple times off in class so far. Also, this class had the most gifted unicorns in the school, so it was natural that homeworks and assessments were difficult. I had only been able to get into this class because my average grades throughout the years barely satisfied the minimum threshold, no thanks to the average B- during last semester. So yeah, that had to be it, right? I just had to push myself a little bit harder, and I would be able to finish my homework and catch up with what we were learning in class.

Or, at least, I thought so.

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“Well, Mr. Cognito. You haven’t finished your homework, which was due today. So, you automatically get a failed grade. Here, take your assignment,” said Professor Top Marks. His tone wasn’t exactly chastising, but it wasn’t comforting, either. As I returned to my seat with my homework, a big red F written on it, I glanced at Professor Top Marks, who was busy calling out the next student.

I had tried my best to finish the homework, I really did. But then, even after countless nights without sleep, I wasn’t able to make much progress. I sighed, and forlornly looked down at the sheet of homework. A big, red F. It looked back up at me, as if telling me you’ve failed! in my face.

I roughly put the paper away into my saddlebag. Staring at it wouldn’t turn an F into an A. I pulled out my textbooks, and prepared for the day’s lesson. Let’s do this again, I thought to myself, because there’s still a chance for me. Today is a new day.

And so I tried, over and over. Hoping that tomorrow would be different. That my next assignment would be different.

It never was.