Best of tubular's Flashfics

by tubular

FAITH

The bell rang; I stepped up to the counter. My time to shine, bitches.

“The name’s Sharkpuncher. No, scratch that. Sharkfister. Yeah.” Now that’s badassery in a can.

“Sh-Shark... fister?”

“Yes, you heard correctly.” I put on my coolest-looking face, and smiled a carefully calculated, accidentally-on-purpose smile. “Sharkfister. Need me to spell it out?”

“Oh. Oh my. That’s...” The secretary pony at the counter looked on the verge of tears.

“That’s...?”

“That’s godly! ‘Sharkfister’ sounds like you could punch through a plane with your hoof by accident it’s wonderful and amazing and sexy and ohmygoshineedadrinkofwaterthistoomuch- excitementohmy...” The tears were flowing freely now, and she was trying to wave some cool air to her face before suffering a heat stroke.

I knew it was a sweet-ass name, but I didn’t think it would be this effective.

“NEXT PONY, PLEASE. QUICKLY NOW, I HAVEN’T ALL DAY.” I took this as my cue, and quickly ripped the printed ticket from behind the counter, peering over at the now-unconscious pony.

As I trotted up over and up onto the stage, the lights seemed blinding for a fleeting moment, and I almost lost my nerve right then and there. But then I thought back at all the ponies that helped me get this far.

My friends, Car-Crash-Man and StrawberryEater—Picnic Bundle and Twiddleflower, respectively, because those first ones weren’t really their names, just personas. For all the countless times that we were chillin’ out, maxin’, and relaxin’ all cool. For inspiring me to do this. I couldn’t let them down.

And my trainer. Called himself Brewski. Never knew why. Heh. Regardless, he taught me all I know. Invested all that time in me; I couldn’t let him down, that’s for sure.

And Orange Dole. Him I couldn’t disappoint, oh no. That wouldn’t do. He was special to me.

And Sour Grapes, and ol’ Scribe, and Miss Cheerilee, and my parents, and him, and her, and her too...

I could do this. Just gotta believe. I am Sharkfister. I am THE pony. I can do this.

I stepped onto the stage, with newfound vigour. The pony at the front of the seats called out to me, in a somewhat bored and preoccupied tone..

“So, next pony is...” He stopped, and rubbed his eyes with his hooves. A second time. He blinked, and stared. “Shark... fister?”

“Yes,” I responded through my orange shades, “who else could I be?”

He started to say something, but I cut him off, now on a roll. Getting into a groove, if you will. “Who the hell do you think I am? I am no mere contestant. I am a champion, waiting to try my hand at the game I know I will win!”

I began to pace on the stage, calling out, like a true orator would. “I am none other than Sharkfister!” A large gasp from the direction of the fourth wall, but I was unable to see where it came from, or how many had participated.

“I am here to win! My resolve is matched only by my skill!”

A triumphant song began to fade into my mind, matching my footfalls on the wooden boards.

“I am unmatched! I am undefeated! And I am in no state of mind to let that change tonight!”

There were cheers coming from somewhere. Maybe the back of my mind. Maybe from a crowd.

“I am here to win!”

It didn’t matter.

“I am here for nothing else!”

I was on top of the world.

“This spelling bee is mine!”

[2011-06-22]