Blank Pages

by dormagio

Exposure

Buck. Am I alive? I hope so. I don’t think I did anything to deserve this Tartarus. Soarin’s wings felt like they were being danced on by two ponies made of stone. His attempts to move were met with a riotous protest. Not only that, but his wings were about four times as heavy as they should be. Opening his eyes, he found that they were encased in a pair of large, plaster casts.

“Try not to move them.”

Soarin gave a start at the obviously female voice. Looking around, he realized for the first time that he was not in a hospital as he had originally thought, nor was he alone. Sitting in a large purple comfy chair was a blue mare with short, cropped white hair and a cup of tea in hoof. Soarin knew he had seen her before, but for the life of him he could not place where.

“Merriweather set your wings, but it is going to take about a month to heal. Would you like some tea?”

Soarin just stared at her. A month? I can’t fly for a month? What about the team? We have a show next week!

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. Merriweather does not make mistakes.”

“But what about the team?”

“I took the liberty of calling your team captain and informing her of your condition. She went ahead and granted you a leave of absence.”

So that’s it then. Both wings broken and I’m in the house of a mare I don’t even know. Soarin glanced around and took in his surroundings. The decor was nice, if a little sparse. The large bed he was in dominated the dim room, and the only light sources he could spot were a dark window to his right, and a lamp on the nightstand to his left. Two large bookcases that dominated the wall opposite him were the only other furniture in the room.

“Not what you would expect, huh? I’m not actually as interesting as everybody thinks.”

The mare took a sip of her tea and looked at Soarin’s confused face.

“Oh of course! You don’t recognize me do you?”

The mare set down her tea and walked over to the nightstand. Opening the drawer, she removed a pair of large, magenta glasses. Donning them, she raised a hoof in the air with a flourish and said,

“Vhat about now?”

“Photo Finish?”

“In the flesh, as they say.”

She removed her glasses and stowed them back in their drawer. Looking back to him she said,

“Come now, don’t look so shocked. I feel like there’s something on my face.”

“But, you’re Photo Finish! You’re all about the accent and the style and the eccentricity!”

“Exactly. Ponies like a show. If I came and talked to them like this, they wouldn’t give a bad apple about what I think. I came up with the silly accent and the strange personality to get people to listen to what I had to say. Would people like the Wonderbolts as much if you were just a bunch of ponies that got together and flew around? Of course not. You dress up, you fly in formation, you give them a show. Sure you’re talented, so am I, but that’s not enough and you know it.”

Soarin’ took a moment to digest this. He had never thought about it, but it made some sense. Certainly she was the only photographer he knew, but surely someone would have recognized her without the act? As he opened his mouth, she interrupted him.

“No one cared. I tried twenty times before I came up with the accent. The very next time I was a success.”

Closing his mouth, Soarin’ descended into a contemplative silence. Photo Finish walked back to the chair she had been sitting in and retrieved her tea.

“I’ll have Danish bring you up something to eat in a bit. For now, you should sleep. It’s getting late and you need a lot of rest”

Soarin’ waited for her close the door before carefully slipping out of bed and walking to the window. His wings roared in protest, but he ignored it. The sight that greeted him was a far cry from the Canterlot lights that he had grown accustomed to. All was dark except for the light of the crescent moon and what appeared to be a small pond. Soarin’ took this in for a moment, before rushing back to the bed to avoid passing out from the pain. As he settled in, he gave a sigh. Man, I didn’t think that a flight to Cloudsdale would end like this. I guess next time I’ll walk around the mountains. Sighing, Soarin turned off the light and tried to make himself comfortable.

---

Soarin pumped his wings as fast as he could, but the beast behind him wouldn’t relent. It took all he had just to keep it from gaining. Each wingbeat made the next harder and brought with it a new twinge of pain. A quick glance backward told him that the creature showed no signs of wear. Soarin knew that if he didn’t do something quick, his remaing lifetime could be counted in minutes. With a tilt of the wings he shot backwards, rocketing past his pursuer and dropping into a dive. The stress on his wings was excrutiating, but he pushed past it and continued to gain speed. A shriek told him that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. A funnel of air began to surround him, and realized that this was his only hope. Summoning reserves he swore he didn’t have, he flew harder than he thought possible and broke the cone in a blinding flash. The creature’s shrieks vanished as Soarin found himself flying at impossible speeds over the countryside. The mountains disappeared and he soon found himself losing height over the Equestrain countryside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t overcome his increasing weariness. It was all he could do to steer towards a lake before he found himself slipping into unconsciousness.

Author's Note:

I really need to stop writing only when I'm tired. I hope this makes sense. I can't completely guarantee coherence, but I think it's good.

Comments

[Daedalus]

This was interesting. I want to see where this goes. Your take on Photo Finish is a neat idea.