Before Songbird Serenade came to the spotlight, she was an inspired, but self-enclosed poet. (Note to readers: This story does not contain spoilers from the movie)
Whenever Songbird Serenade steps onto the stage, the crowd calls for her. They hear her voice. And more importantly, they hear the pegasus' words. But there was a time when Songbird's words were very small and not well known. During her high school days, Songbird was a poet inspired to capture the world by storm with words. Unfortunately, that mindset almost cost her the future she was destined for.
No movie spoilers will be in this story. This story is pure speculation.
I want to personally thank Crystal Wishes and the people in her Discord for making me feel welcome and happy. You are all great people. Really, thank you.
I wrote this story prior to the movie's release. Cannon lore about Songbird Serenade's may contradict my story, but I wanted to touch on who the pop singer was before she became famous. This is to feed the crowd until the actual movie is out in theaters.
Another day of school had my back aching from all the books in my saddlebag. If I would have tried to fly, my wings would have fallen off and I would end up a flightless pegasus. A mental note was made: watch where I walk when I go home; wouldn’t want to step off a cloud and be killed by my overwhelming education.
But my day at school was not over despite the bell dismissing everypony to their weekend. The halls of Cloudsdale High had a steady traffic of pegasi, both on the tile and airborne. With everypony wanting to leave in a quick hurry, I managed to arrive at my after school club in a matter of minutes.
I entered the classroom, noticing everypony in their own groups, discussing their plans for the weekend. One pegasus complained they had several exams to prepare for on Monday, while another said there was a party going on at High Heavens’ house. Trying to be the invisible pony, I trudged to the back of the classroom, my mane blocking out most of my peripheral. My option to be by myself was my choice alone. Nopony excluded me on purpose, but that also meant nopony included me with much other than club discussion.
The saddlebag slipped off my back beside the desk I chose to sit at in a heavy thump. Some turned to notice me, so I tilted my head forward in hopes no eye contact was made. My mane had not yet grown to the length I wanted it and I wished I was half unicorn so that I can grow it at a faster rate. My hoof grabbed my notebook that contained my poems and flipped it open. The other reason for my seclusion was because I cherished my works. Too bad I hated them just as much. Nopony’s eyes but my own were for the words I had scribbled down.
Ahead of my position, the whiteboard had in bold lettering, “Poetry Club. Today’s topic: Critique #8 and Special Event." Every Friday, my poetry club did critiques on other poems written by those partaking in the club. And every poem that was submitted is anonymous. The only pony who knows what poem is being discussed is the author unless the poet wishes to be known. The critique questions went in this order: the purpose of the poem/what the poem is trying to accomplish, what were the high and low points, and did it accomplish its goal. I never liked the last question. Every poem I have submitted had always failed at having its meaning transcend, further causing me to hate my works. But the effort I gave was my best and I tried to make something as amazing as the other poets did.
What did strike me was as strange was the second notice written on the whiteboard. Special Event? What did that entail, I thought. I was sure whatever the event was to be explained as the club proceeded its normal routines.
My eyes fan over my newest poem, hoping it was something the class may appreciate for once. Without removing my stare from the paper, I reach into my bag to grab a tiny music player, the Peach Mini. The screen was a little too small for my liking, but it was much better than being in a time where ponies had to carry around a boombox to listen to music on the go. I flicked through the device, though my fat hoof on the occasion tapped on something I was not intending to select. After painstakingly selecting the song I was looking for, I placed the buds in my ears and began to read my poem.
Once again, I listened to my poem’s inspiration. I had a unique way of writing my poems. I would write lyrics for songs that had no words to compliment them. Most of the songs that breed a poem were classical pieces from past ponies. Some poems would be inspired by electronic or alternative, but the point still rests; I demanded inspiration from songs.
As the instrumental in my ears concludes, so did my reading. The "Moonbeam Sonata", by Beethooven was my current source of inspiration. I've always felt pity for the sonata, not having any words explaining the beautiful notes it was conveying. Thankfully, the long-gone composer can rest easy, knowing that somepony was using his work to express what he couldn’t.
Curious when the critiques were about to begin, I looked up to see how many others have entered the room. But I immediately slammed my notebook shut when I noticed somepony had been standing in front of me with their eyes trying to find mine.
“No need to act skittish, Songbird,” Feather Wand said, flashing an amused smile. “It’s just me.” Even though he and I knew each other, that didn’t mean I was comfortable with him catching a glimpse of my work. Feather was objectively the best poet in the club, even though most believed High Dive’s writing was superior. Too bad they had crummy opinions. Feather Wand was more than just a poet; he was a composer. The stallion was a well-known pianist that wrote his own music with lyrics. He was also in my choir class, so if I knew anypony who had a great singing voice, it was Feather. There was a small amount of envy to be had every time I saw, heard, and even talked to him. Again, I wished I was a unicorn and wanted to use magic to absorb his natural talent for writing musical pieces. But alas, I was cursed to fly.
“An artist who wishes to remain anonymous may be a little unsure about how they feel when others know their identity,” I argued, though I managed to smile. “Unlike me, you like to let others know what poem you wrote.”
“I prefer a more up-front approach,” Feather said. “Ponies can point to exactly what I messed up on.”
I shrugged, “Not everypony is as confident as you are.”
My inspiration rose his brow, “Says the best singer in the class.”
Even though I like to talk Feather, I did not feel like I deserved any praise from him. “All I do is read what’s on the music sheet and move my voice up and down.”
One small frown from Feather was enough to deflate my mood. “Don’t cut yourself too low,” he said with a shake of the head. “Otherwise, you won’t grow leaves and end up a stump.” Feather gave up the effort to try and catch my irises and straightened himself. “I just wanted to see if you would try and show me what you’ve written.”
“No no no,” I stuttered, my hoof locking down on my notebook, afraid he would make a grab for it. “I'm not ready. Besides, it's nothing great.”
The poetic stallion slowly spun around, his tail and mane swaying like the tall figurative tree that he was. “You have greatness, Songbird. Give yourself some pride.” A pony entered the classroom and Feather went over to greet her.
My mind was taken away from the beautiful figurative language impromptu. If I would have tried to muster up something as wonderful as what Feather had said about leaves and being a stump, I would have lost control of my creativity and forget how to properly speak. I wanted to like my work and have his pride. But the criticism against myself and the feedback the other poets return to me is like… stone slabs cemented to my hooves and… I tried to swim with those stone slabs. It did amaze me to know how far I have come along in the club without giving up, but I feared that the stone slabs may finally drown me. I could only pray to Celestia that the critique would be a pleasant one; or at least not end up like my last poem.
“Alright, everypony,” Mr. Aileron spoke at the front of the classroom, silencing the chattering ponies, “I think it is a good time to begin our session.” Those who were standing took the nearest desk to them and sat down. The closest pony to me was was three desks away, but kept her attention to the teacher. Safe from wandering eyes, my poetic notebook once again opened.
Roll call was the first order of business as it has been for two months. After a short two minutes of calling out our names, Mr. Aileron asked the club members if they had any questions regarding anything related to poetry or the club itself. The first question that was obviously on everypony’s mind, including myself, was what the “special event” was all about. However, the teacher was very mute on the subject and addressed that it would be announced at the end of critiques. This caused the members to mumble to themselves, trying to guess what was in store for them. Being alone in my corner, I was left to assume there might be a famous poet coming to the campus. As for other questions, one asked if somepony could critique their newest poem that involved bears. I would have suggested myself to try and help, but peer to peer interactions was not something I was comfortable with. If I were to try and help a poet in need with their creation, they might ask about my works and try to see my private projects. Somepony did eventually offer their services to aid the poem about carnivorous beasts. A few simple questions followed the bear admirer which resulted in simple responses.
We jumped straight into critiquing poems with no delay once the q and a was concluded. On Thursday, the others and I can turn in our pieces to Mr. Aileron at any point of the day, either by turning it into him personally, to his desk at the office, or after the club. The only way to distinguish one poet from another was a number randomly given to each member. Also, the numbers were changed every week. This helped keep ponies, like me, anonymous. If the numbers did stay with the same pony, others might see a pattern and call out specific numbers when they detected a familiar style. A genius system set up by Mr. Aileron.
My number for the week was 17. The previous was 13, and with the superstition following such a numerator, my poem met an unlucky predicament. I hoped 17 would bare a much more fortunate outcome. Just as the numbers given out, Mr. Aileron called out each number at random. 14 was the first one on the chopping block, which fared well and even I gave it my two bits. 13, the unlucky number following its older sibling, did not do as well as the first but was not terrible. I chewed on my tongue, wondering why the merciless number 13 shed mercy on another but tore my poem to pieces. I hated myself for wanting harm to fall upon another classmate all because of a random number… Maybe I did deserve the criticism given to me.
2. 9. 10. 4. Each went by with speedy discussion as if the world wanted to hurry to my poem. And to my great horror, Mr. Aileron called my number so early in the session. “Alright, Number 17, you are barely illegal to not have a curfew...” The class laughed at our instructor’s joke; I tried to laugh along with them but ended up sounding a lot more sarcastic than true. Thankfully, I had my mane to guard my eyes. But I was sure I was blushing and somepony would have seen it if they faced me. “...but I am sure you still have time to have your poem reviewed.” Something inside my heart almost spoke up, revealing my identity to the entire club members. I shut up the temptation by biting down on my lip. Mr. Aileron held my thin child in his hooves, peering down at it with judgemental eyes. But he didn’t falter for very long and he began, “Forest Lake, by Number 17..."
“A white ball up high
Reflects light off the lake.
Darkness below,
The fish always quiver.
A nat taps the
Surface and disturbs
The watery blanket,
Sending small waves.
Tall pines reach
For the moon
As if tricked by the light,
Thinking it be the sun.
The chirp of a cricket
Sings the chorus
Of the forest night,
Never allowing silence.”
The instructor bowed his head, indicating to the others he had concluded 17’s poem, and the classroom of pegasi clapped. I had to clap as well to hide that my work was being presented. The entire time Mr. Aileron spoke each line, I couldn’t breathe. Heart pounding in my throat, I manage to swallow it so I could reobtain the ability to use my lungs again.
“Alright,” Mr. Aileron clapped his hooves together, “Shall we begin with our first question: What is this poem trying to accomplish?” I quickly raise my hoof, eager to confess the meaning of my poem. “Yes, Songbird Serenade?”
Most ponies turned around to see me answer, including Feather. I glance down at my original copy of my own story, having the answer written. “The poem is trying to explain the activities that happen in the night at a forest lake.”
“Well, you are explaining what is happening in the poem,” the teacher began. “However, do you know what the poem is trying to convey?”
Anger took hold of my hoof as the pen ran a line across my preemptive answer. And I felt like an idiot. “It’s… trying to express how lively night times can be?”
“Hmm… Being unsure about what a poem is trying to represent might be a bad sign for it already,” Mr. Aileron said.
My eyes began to hurt. Already, the frustration began to eat away at me. I would have thought of a creative analogy to explain what was consuming my well-being, but my creative drive started to come to a slow stop.
I didn’t want anypony else to respond to question one. But to my displeasure and great humility, Feather spoke up, “The fish, nat, and cricket represent ponies who work in the night.” Feather’s detailed answer was not something I was expecting, but I was blown away by the response. I only hoped others would feel the same way about my accidental meaning. Some did, some had their own personal suggestion. As for my own personal thought, my feelings for my poem began to suffer.
“Now, let’s talk about what you liked and disliked,” Mr. Aileron proclaimed. “Remember, if you have one negative thing to say, have something positive. No matter how bad poem may be, there is always a redeeming quality. And for every good poem, there is always something that needs to be improved on.”
There was a rising urge to raise my hoof and simply say it just sucked overall. However, despite my poem being as terrible as it was, the practice of outright hating somepony’s work was like a taboo. Like Mr. Aileron had said before, “No matter how bad a poem may be, there is always a redeeming quality.” I could only sit in my chair and hope judgment was not going to be a cruel mistress.
As if he was trying to single me out, Feather rose his hoof first to give his feedback. I held the pen to my paper, waiting to note the stallion’s credible words. “I absolutely love the cricket’s conclusion to the poem. Number 17, well done.” A black circle surrounded my last stanza as I wrote, “He loved it!” Little hearts and stars began to litter themselves around the words I wrote.
“As for my unfortunate criticism…” The doodling of happy shapes came to a stop and I had to turn my head a little to see Feather through the crack of my bangs. “...I don't see the point of the third stanza. The pine trees throw off the flow of the poem. I would have stayed with the theme of using small creatures. I already know the setting is in a forest. There is no need to explain the trees.”
“I agree,” Drizzle interjected. “Also, the title tells us what to expect in the poem. Nothing surprised me or popped out.” An “x” was slashed across the third part of my poem while a line carved itself along my lousy title. I have done that mistake before but somehow keep falling prey to it.
“But there must be something good about it.” Mr. Aileron said with a raised brow. “Feather Wand found several. And now that you said there were two things you didn't like, I require you to find two things you do like.” The entire classroom laughed at Drizzle as she was thrown the spotlight. Yeah, find something great about my poem, I thought with bitter intention.
A minute of awkward silence dangled over Drizzle’s head before she finally had an answer. “The cricket chorus is very clever.”
“And?”
“And… umm…” Some of Drizzle’s friends gave her friendly pushes of encouragement, egging her to muster up another response. “I liked the fish as well. It explains that there are many things that lurk in the darkness.”
I would have preferred an immediate answer, but Drizzle’s second remark did make me like the fish under the lake a little more. The rest of the club members seemed to really love the last stanza. And with each compliment my cricket received, another heart and star surrounded the four-lined paragraph. But every other criticism created more blows to my pride. Why does the moon exist? Why does the poem explain every detail the nat was doing?
The worst input of all was when High Dive’s criticism came to light. “What was the point of the poem?” she asked with no harsh tone in her voice. If there was one pony who would give somepony the best and harshest critique, it would be her. “I'm being explained the scene of a lake at night. I can hear and see each image, and can almost feel the warm humidity of a summer’s evening.”
I looked down at my notebook, witnessing the slaughter of “Forest Lake” by my own hoof. Aside from the various insults littering my paper, long detailed notes were inscribed along the open spaces. It brought me great pain to write down every word my classmates had mentioned, but I might as well take note as to why my poem was terrible.
“It's just like what Songbird Serenade said,” High Dive continued. The mention of my name almost made me run out of the classroom. I thought I had been found out. But my fears dissolved when High Dive resumed, “she explained what the poem was doing but wasn't sure what the poem was expressing.” The fact that even I didn't know what my poem meant was a terrible sign of a failed piece.
“Anypony else have anymore words they wish to add?” the teacher asked, and I hoped no more words would be shared about my ugly work. Thankfully, nopony spoke another word. “Well then, time for our final question: does the poem succeed in what it is trying to convey?”
Even if anypony had some sense of sympathy for Number 17’s poem, not a single hoof was raised. Not even my own.
The rest of the critiques continued at a steady pace, but I was resistant to join in. Not even Feather Wand’s poem brought me to involve myself in praising him. Feather did say his number was 3, so everypony knew he was the stallion behind “Permanent Sand Line.” It was beautiful, and he even managed to sing it. But the more attention and positivity he received, the more jealousy began to corrupt my soul.
After Number 20 had their fill of positive and negative responses, Mr. Aileron jumped right into another topic. “Well, I think it is safe to say we all have had a successful critique session.” The only success my poem had was its amazing description of explaining a forest lake. “Now, onto the special event I have planned.” The teenage pegasi all clamped their mouths shut, eager to hear what was in store for us.
“Now, since we have all been here for two whole months, I think it would be best to try something new.” A wave of murmurs swept across the classroom. All I could do was hum to myself in curiosity. “Next Friday, we are going to the theater to act out our poems.” A wave of “ooo’s” following more chatter echoed off the walls. Acting was something I would not mind doing. Heck, various times have I been able to gain major roles in several plays before. But something made me uneasy about what Mr. Aileron said. “Our poems.” Will we be taking somepony else’s poem and act it out?
A clap of the hooves brought everypony’s attention back to the teacher. “What I would like for everypony to do before next Friday is to get their best poem and practice acting it out.” My stomach dropped a few inches, not liking Mr. Aileron’s plan one single bit. “In one week, we are all going onstage to become storytellers. This will be an excellent exercise to help visualize what your poem makes you do. Of course, you can revise any poem we have critiqued or even come up with something new. You can collaborate with others or be independent. But keep this in mind: you will be presenting your own work. Also, for those of you who wish to stay anonymous…” I had a strong sense that Mr. Aileron was directing his attention to me. “...this exercise will force you to open up and share with the class one of your poems. Nopony is required to act. But if you wish to be successful in your poetry, it is good for others to know about you. It may make you uncomfortable, yes, but keep in mind that we are all here to help one another.”
The only thing I wanted to help myself to was the door. And that's exactly what I did.
A plush heart pillow pressed against my muzzle while I rested on my bed in silence. The door was closed, sealing off my family from my beaten demeanor. I didn't want to move even though the room was extremely stuffy. I was intentionally trying to literally warm up what little inspiration I had but only ended up with beads of sweat on my neck.
Both of my wings fanned out to send a breeze of warm air onto my back in an attempt to cool down. Uneasy with broken emotions, I paced about my room, pondering about everypony’s poems presented during criticism. They all had an identity. They all had character. And above all, they had meaning.
And what about mine? It was- no, ALL of my poems were possible lyrics for songs without words. But why should my words taint what inspires me? It shouldn’t.
I flipped my sattlebag open and snatched my notebook. Each turn of the page was fuel for my angry pyre. My own ugly creations in black were supposed to be angelic personifications of musical inspiration. Instead, each poem was riddled with criticism and bitter remarks. I reached pages that had nothing written on them, but I still kept turning, picking up speed until the end was reached.
The folder hit the door, leaving a dent in the hollow wood. In a dramatic spin of teenage fury, I threw myself into the bed. Was I sad or angry? No, it was frustration, a combination of the two. There was a strange sense of relief when I concluded what I was truly feeling as the tears began to fall.
My dream to write poetry was dying. I held my pillow, pretending it was the literal interpretation of my inspiration. I didn't want to let got of the pink heart. It might drift away like a lone cloud and disappear without a trace.
I roll to my side and see my poem folder through a blurry vision. The notebook exposed a blank page, baring nothing but the blue lines striped across the paper. In a desperate attempt, it called back to me, begging to be used.
With the pillow clutched against my breast, I walked over to the collection of sheets and picked it up. But what to write about? Another non-lyrical piano piece that will lead to a bitter end? No. If there was one string of consistency that the critiques showed me, it was how my writing explained what was happening. I needed a different approach.
I pulled out a pen from my sattlebag but left my Peach Mini in the pocket. If music was the true poison to my poetry, then leaving it behind for once may prove to be useful.
Back on the bed, I stared down at my offered blank piece of paper. The heart pillow was bunched against my chest, comfortably elevating my back. I was prepped for another session of writing. And yet, I didn't know where to start.
Once more, the inspiration of writing anything down began to deflate. I had already exhausted my tear ducts but I would have started to sob again if I had the reserves.
Don't leave me, inspiration. I need you.
I blinked and was shocked to see those words written down. What possessed me to scribble those two sentences on the paper, I didn't know. Part of me believed I was part unicorn after all and had a subconscious ready to take over when I was in desperate need.
A pang of worry shot through my body. I still didn't know what prompted me to write, but I didn't want it to go away. I feared what took control was nothing more than me writing down what I was thinking.
Be a part of me, inspiration. There is no need for separation.
Consciously, I wrote those two sentences on my own free will. And out of pure coincidence, I ended up rhyming the last two words. A flow of words that ended with the letters “-ation” entered my brain.
I was enjoying the little word hunt as I continued to fill in every space on the paper; there was no need to write in between the lines. It was so enjoyable, I went downstairs and grabbed the dictionary to get more words. Never in my life did I think I would use such a thick book.
Relation. Contemplation. Relaxation. Temptation. Another word gross stallions would think about…
After I wrote down the last word, “aviation,” my hoof came to a halt. As much as I was enjoying the exploration of rhyming words, there needed to be a reason for my sudden flurry of -ations. Retracing my steps, I returned to my first few phrases.
Don't leave me, inspiration. I need you.
Be a part of me, inspiration. There is no need for separation.
Oh, how I needed inspiration. The urge to write lovely literature ached my insides. But the distraction of a possible failure prevented any work to be resumed, deflating what was being craved. My breathing began to accelerate, chest expanding and retracting. Up and down. The struggle of inspiration and demotivation pushing and pulling. And I knew the battle was going to end in bitter defeat.
I was suddenly inspired to write, but not in the way I wanted to be. But I was still afloat. Might as well write something while there is still life in my hobby.
***
Hunger grumbled in my belly. Not for inspiration, but from actual lack of food. But leaving my room was not on my agenda. No, my poem needed attention. In all its glory, my final draft was sprawled out on the bed. I still clutched my plush heart while I paced around my room with glee. A field of white paper balls randomly spotted my floor, a few being kicked around as I walked. Never in my life would I have thought that writing a sad poem would make me feel… good! Like, really good in fact! My fear of fleeting inspiration created something wonderful. If there would be an appropriate oxymoron to be used, it would be terrible beauty.
It did pain me to have to look at my past critiques. But I had to observe what errors I have made before in order to avoid them. And the work paid off.
My bangs did my eyes justice and didn’t block out the finished poem. Though, to my honest opinion, it was more like song lyrics to me than traditional poetry. I shrug off the thought, knowing how Feather Wand writes his pieces. He was also the direct inspiration for the style I went with.
But there was something missing to my creation: music notes. Mr. Aileron’s instructions for Friday was to act out how a poem makes the poet behave. If this poem was the last breath of my inspiration, then I wanted to go out with a bang. I grabbed my notebook with my wing and hold it in a tight grasp of feathers. It was time to get serious. The world was going to hear me cry and it, in turn, would weep.
***
Slow gulps of the water fountain's cold liquid soothed my throat, a reward for myself once choir was concluded for the day. Everypony crowded around the door, waiting for the bell to signal that the race to the cafeteria was on. Waiting in line for lunch was never something I wanted to do, but a sacrifice had to be made.
In the small cramped space, I called the band classroom, I sought out Feather Wand in hopes to slip him my weekend’s creation in secret. For two full days, I spent every waking moment focused on my poem. Too bad I had to wake up early in the morning to complete my weekend homework. But my procrastination was worth it. I had my poem tweaked to the point where I couldn’t find any errors and my first music sheet I’ve ever written complimented each word.
I knew criticism was the last thing I wanted to hear, but if my poem- no, it was a song. If my song was to be at the caliber I wanted it to be at, Feather was the only pony who could aid me. Thankfully, he was at near the back of the classroom speaking to our instructor. I chose to be idle and lean against the wall but didn’t look his way until Feather was finished.
“Hey, Feather,” I said as he approached.
My inspiration came to a stop to notice me. “Hello, Songbird,” he nodded. Not trying to be subtle, Feather quickly ducked to try and catch my iris, but my reaction was too quick and I turned away. Why he was so obsessed to look me in the eye, I didn’t know. Giving up, Feather made for the door. But he was not able to react to my quick interception.
My cheeks flushed as my rash behavior was getting the best of me. “C-can you help me with a song?” I confessed. “I really want to know if it is good in its current state.”
“Ah,” he beamed. “Finally seeking somepony to help you with-” Feather’s smile deflated and his brow rose. “Wait… did you say ‘song?’”
My head sagged, embarrassed I had the pegasus’ undivided attention. “Yes, I did.” Through my bangs, I looked around to see if anypony was attempting to eavesdrop on Feather and I. “But can we go somewhere private to discuss it?”
“I will.” My thrilled body almost jumped into the ceiling but I had my figurative stone slabs attached to my hooves. For once, they discouraged me from doing something obscure and awkward. “On one condition,” Feather spoke, his tone much lower than I would have liked.
“What might that be?” I asked, wondering what devil’s ransom I would have to pay.
The warm smile from earlier returned. “Let me see your eyes.”
As flattered as I was, I took no hesitation to lift my drooping bangs. “Deal,” I winked as an added bonus.
***
Feather and I took refuge on a high cloud that overlooked Cloudsdale High School. I was normally accustomed to sitting with mares when I eat lunch, so being really close to a stallion I admire made me chew my food to a watery pulp. What made the airborne eating session so much more nerve-wracking was because Feather was reading and humming the song I wrote. On the occasion, the stallion would take a bite out of his hayburger before resuming. However, Feather’s eyes never faltered. A genius was at work and all I could do was await feedback. I finally swallowed the third bite before opening my mouth to tear off another piece of carrot and cheese sandwich.
A lump of food rolled down Feather’s throat, pausing his creative mumbling. He looked at me, trying to look through my bangs. I did a preemptive turn of the head and applauded myself when I successfully avoided meeting his eyes. What was so great about my eyes? My poem needed attention, not me.
My fourth bite didn't linger for much longer. The long silence was bothering me to no end. Patience was being evasive. “How was it?”
A smile like never before burst forth from Feather’s mouth. “It was amazing!”
A high-pitch squeal escaped me and my face felt warm. “Really!?”
“Yes!” Feather pointed to the small remainder of his sandwich. “Best hayburger I've ever eaten!” Since he was so eager to see my eyes, I lifted my bangs. Little did Feather know or expect, he was met with a disapproved and irritated stare. That straightened up his attitude. “Sorry, I was just messing around.” Just because Feather was somepony who inspired me, I was not amused to have my emotions jostled by anypony. My cheeks puffed out to express my irritation even further.
Unable to resume our unofficial staring contest, Feather looked back to my poem- song. It was hard to call it that, considering how much poetry I have actually written. I settled my hoof back on the cloud, digging into the platform and awaited Feather’s feedback.
“It's great.” The sudden answer from Feather almost didn't register in my brain. I wondered where his enthusiasm went. The azurite-blue stallion was so eager to tell me his lunch was great. Maybe the hayburger was more exciting than my poem. Feather’s compliment wasn't enough to get me to smile as I thought that I was overcome by a sandwich. But the electrifying touch of his hoof on mine made my cheeks twitch upwards a little. “It was great,” he reassured.
Playing his teasing game, I asked Feather, “On a scale of one to a tasty hayburger, how great was it?”
It was free game the moment I joined in on poking fun on Feather. “I think it is… a Number 6.” A six?! Why such a low number…? My ears fell back and hid just like my eyes. “Hey, a number six is much better than a simple hayburger,” Feather smiled, his hoof never moving from mine. “It contains a hay burger with grilled onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and ranch dressing. With a side of a small cola and fries.”
My eyes hone in on Feather’s sandwich in his hooves. I sat with pride as I had overcome the tasty food with delectable words. But that only left me to ask him about the details. So I did. “What did you like about my song?”
Feather pressed my poem close to his chest. “It is extremely relatable. The struggle of being inspired is something I always worry about. And you hit every note perfectly.”
I balled my hoof in a triumphant squeeze. “I never thought my song would be so perfect.” Feather bit his lip, a sign there was a flaw in my creation.
“Now don't get me wrong,” Feather began, holding his hoof up to protect himself from my frown, “the poem was superb!” I nodded but held any input I wanted to make deep inside me. “The only thing is… well…”
It was obvious Feather wasn't in any position to want to hurt my feelings. So I did the same thing that got him to understand the situation he was in: lift my bangs. “Tell me,” I said with a little flutter in my eyes.
My half-unicorn powers captivated Feather to tell the truth. “The musical notes need some work. A lot of work.” Even though the criticism was a good punch to the stomach, I knew my skill in composing music was close to none. “Good effort,” Feather added.
“Thank you for reading it,” I choked, but I was the bigger mare over my sensitive emotions and didn't let them overwhelm me. To combat them, I confessed to Feather, “It makes me happy that the one who inspires me liked something I made.” The urge to cry was gone. However, a wave of nervousness crashed over me like… a wave of water… symbolizing my nervousness. No… I needed a better analogy. I felt like I had just confessed an overwhelming crush to the stallion of my dreams. Yes, that worked much better.
Through his thick blue coat, I could see flush in his cheeks. “I-I inspire you…?”
“Of course you do!” I exclaimed, trying to shake off his embarrassed expression. It confused me why he was taken so far back by my confession. The inspired shouldn’t fluster the inspiring. It just doesn’t work that way! “Your skill is like… like…” Perhaps improvising figurative language aloud needed work. So I resorted to a shorter compliment. “You do so many things at once, Feather. You can… write poetry and make musical pieces out of them. Not only that, you sing and play the piano.” None of my words seemed to remove Feather’s dumbstruck expression. Rather, I made it worse! The stallion’s redness spread throughout his face and I worried it may become a permanent stain. I scooted close to him and grabbed his forearm. Feather lost his grip on the hayburger. It fell apart as gravity claimed it. In control of his limb, I used his hoof to push my mane up. We were caught in a magnificent stare, both shocked at who was before us. I was hoping for a change in his expression, but it never changed; except for the moving blush.
“Why are you looking at me like that!” I demanded, my grip on Feather’s arm trying to squeeze out an answer. A hard pounding in my chest rippled throughout my body. I didn’t know how long it was behaving that way, but I finally noticed it.
Feather dipped his head as if to try and block out both eyes with his short turquoise mane. “Because you inspire me…” he finally answered. My body went limp and I fell off the cloud.
It was my turn to be red in the face. The wind tried to cool down my cheeks but did nothing to steady my heart. I heard Feather Wand cry my name as I fell toward the campus. There wasn’t anything to worry about, I wanted to say to him. All that happened was my girly emotions got the best of me and I wanted to fall for a little.
But my inspiration caught up to me, firm in his arms. I didn’t feel Feather catch me, but did feel the pull from his lift. The look of determination and worry plastered on his face made me want to roll out of his grip and fall a little more. I wanted to keep falling and have him catch me over and over. I noted myself to write down the idea as a possible song; wouldn’t want an idea to evade me.
Feather and I returned to our platform for a soft touchdown. But my joints hardened and my fur absorbed his warmth. At least my lips were not stiff. “How come I inspire you?” I asked, not sure why I was something Feather admired.
His shoulders sagged and the hold on me weakened. To my displeasure, it was time to depart from Feather’s embrace. I fussed about the cloud, sinking into it before getting comfortable. “You’d be surprised at how many ponies you wow,” Feather said with a nervous smile.
“By what? My singing?” I roll my eyes in my head, and I was glad they were hidden from my inspiration. “I mean, I know I am good at it, but it is nothing too difficult. All I do is move my voice up and down.”
It brought me great pain to see Feather crease his brows and direct them at me. “What doesn’t inspire is how you put yourself down all the time. Every time somepony compliments you on your amazing voice, what do you do? You say it wasn’t anything special.” He jabbed a hoof at my flank. “Then what is that? What does your cutie mark represent, Songbird? Your name? Your everything?” Feather had to take a breather before continuing his rant about me. “When you move, I see you. When you sing, I hear you! You let the music flood through you like blood in your veins and your voice cries louder than any sonic boom.” He pointed a hoof at his chest. “I want to have your energy in my music. Expression is in your very soul. You take any written song and make it sound better.”
As much as I was enjoying Feather’s praise, I didn’t agree with his final statement. “That last thing you said was wrong.”
“There you go aga-”
“Let me show you what I mean…” I didn’t want to show him the terrible poems of the past, but it was to prove a point. I grabbed my notebook and flipped it open to show Feather how wrong he was. “These poems…” I started, flipping through each page of past failures, “...are results of songs that inspired me to create poems.” Feather’s brows relaxed and his ears pivoted slightly to hear me better. “Beethooven, Sea Basstion Bach, Mozhart, and several others are responsible for assisting me in creating these!” I let out a sigh and confess my style of poetry to Feather. Not once did he make an interjection. It was very sweet of him to listen to me vent, even though I’d rather talk about how amazing he was.
“Well, when you put it that way, I understand why you would say I was wrong.” My ears fell back and I was certain he agreed my poems were something beyond below average. “But!” The exclamation made me twitch. “Heh, sorry…”
“It’s okay,” I simply responded.
Feather looked down at my folder, specifically staring at Forest Lake. “What you did, showing me your old work, is a great step in the right direction.” I tilted my head to express my confusion. “On Friday, I told you that I prefer to let ponies know about what I submit to the club.” I nodded in silence to confirm I was listening. “Because I have done that, I have my poems all laid out so the others can point out consistent errors in what I write.” Feather directed his hoof to my notebook. “After reading everything that was not your song, I’ve come to the conclusion that… you… should perhaps… but it is your choice-” I unveiled my eyes to force out the words. “-stop writing about songs and focus on your own ideas.”
“But why?” I asked. “I want to be the translator for songs without words. I want my words to give meaning. I want my words heard by others. Why else do you think I don’t credit myself when I sing?”
Feather shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean. You are being quite vague.”
I lightly clapped my hooves together as I attempted to reconstruct my next sentence carefully. “I don’t like singing other songs because they are not my songs.”
Feather winced at my excuse. “That seems a bit… in the best way… no… You…” My half-unicorn magic was about to be used, but I knew Feather could speak the truth without my eyes. “It’s selfish to be like that,” he finally said. “Not just to others, but to yourself as well.” I could see the pegasus’ discomfort in being truthful to me. He didn’t need to worry; I needed to hear his criticism. My ears wanted all of Feather’s words. “Do you like music?”
For once, Feather said something stupid. “Of course I do.” I gesture to my notebook with a careless wave. “I just told you about how classical composers are, or at least was, the core structure of my poems.”
“Are there any songs that you do like singing?” Feather asked. He closed my notebook and returned it to me. I glossed over the black and white cover like it had the answer embroidered in the random patterns.
“There are a couple,” I admit in a quiet whisper.
Feather’s smile came back to his cool face. “Then I am sure that just because those songs are not written by you, they inspire you on a different level.”
“Well… aside from you, there are singers who do just that.” Admitting to Feather he was an inspiration to me a second time was not as nerve-wracking, but it didn’t make me clammer.
“And what do they inspire you to do…?”
“To want to write my own songs.”
A blue hoof touched Feather’s chest. “And singers like you make me hope that someday, a wonderful pony with an amazing voice would choose my song and perform it.”
What a strange and lovely world Equestria was. My dear inspiration was somepony I inspired. And it did make me think about how my singing wowed my fellow chorus members. That just left one question. “Why should I stop writing about songs? Nopony will know about classical music pieces if I don’t rescue them from obscurity.”
Feather’s brows creased, the gears in his head turning slowly. “Do your poems make you happy in the end?” he asked.
My defense for my older poems fell to the ground. “Not… really…” I had to really think about my answer and be sure none of my poems made me happy. “I mean, except for the one I finished writing over the weekend. I really love that one.”
“Then what do you think would be the best choice for you to do?” Feather asked, his voice begging me to make the right choice.
Part of me did not want to let go of my old style despite the misery it brought. “Instead of writing poems on classical music, I can write about what I see when I listen to them with simple sentences.”
My suggestion got Feather thinking as well. “And! Maybe you can write about how it makes you feel. Perhaps how it makes you move, too.” His mood quickly became excited. “Have you ever had a song that made you want to dance a certain way?”
The same spark I felt when I wrote my song tickle my heart. “Yes! Like Sea Basstian Bach’s Toccata and Fugue makes me feel like I am on a carousel, going up and down. And when I do sing a few of our choir songs I like, they make me want to fly.”
Feather nodded in agreement with me. “You allow the music to move through you and take control.” My inspiration flushed and his ears flopped backward. “I have watched you from afar bob your head to pop music before. I am sure whatever you were listening to has made you want to dance at some point.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Then maybe that cutie mark of yours is more than just a cloud and six hearts!” Feather said, with a point of his hoof at my flank. “I think you can do more than with just write songs. When others hear you sing, they hear confidence. When I see you carried away in a song that it moves you, I see… I see… somepony who…”
I finally understood why Feather Wand was so flustered when I told him he inspired me. I felt sorry for him as he struggled to say the right words. “You see somepony inspired by music.”
“Y-yeah, that,” he nodded nervously. "And it would be wonderful to have somepony like you taken away by my music." Feather wiped his face and tried to get rid of the red off his cheeks. His cute act only made me blush. I wondered if our future conversations would be awkward and embarrassing, considering how we both inspire one another. Clearing his throat, Feather regained his composure. “Like I said, your cutie mark is more than just what is on your hip. It symbolises the potential yet to be unlocked from within you. I truly believe that, Songbird. You were born to fly. So fly with my suggestions. Write about how a song makes you feel and what you see. But also write poems or songs that make you feel a certain way.” Feather picked up my song and pointed to it. “I am sure you wrote this because you were afraid of losing your love for poetry.”
“Yes,” I answered. “But I think I found it again.” Happy with how helpful my inspiration had helped me, I wrapped my forelegs around him and gave a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Feather.” I didn’t feel him move or try to hug me back, which concerned me.
I looked at Feather to see his eyes wide and his blue-azurite face flared with red. “Are you okay?” I ask as I let go of him. To my horror, Feather Wand fell off the cloud!
Steam from my bathroom flushed out of the doorframe as entered into the hallway, pretending I was walking through smoke and strutting down a stage. My only audience member, my mother, took a simple glance at me before returning to her papers. Then she had to do a double-take. “Songbird Serenade!” Mother exclaimed. “You look wonderful!”
“Well, I need to be ready for today’s performance,” I said as I pranced back to my room. “And I’ve got to look my best if I want to perform my best. Confidence is key.” Yes, the day to perform my poem had finally come. All week, Feather and I managed to sit down whenever we had time to help fix my musical notes. On the occasion, while he moved around a few notes, I looked over his song to see if the lyrics made sense. Of course, it was just as wonderful as every creation Feather had made and I could not find anything wrong with it no matter how many times I looked it over.
To top off the wonderful Friday, Feather said he would play the piano for me while I sang. I hugged him when he offered to play along with me, but that only made him fall over again. Maybe my unicorn magic affected Feather alone.
I hummed to the tune of my song as I stepped in front of a tall mirror. No more was I in that hot bathroom and, instead, in a much cooler atmosphere. My mane and tail was done in a square-like pattern and I almost laughed at myself for looking like a checkerboard. However, it only looked that way because of my natural hair color. The idea of being more square came from my mom’s old disco magazine issues I managed to sneak away. When mom was younger, she and the other ponies had a style of mane that was more frizzy and jagged. But instead of making myself look like I had been electrocuted, I wanted to be more blocky. More even.
Even though my mane was thick and nopony would ever get to see my eyes, I was able to see just fine. The lowest hanging part of my hair almost blocked out the whites in my eyes, but it still wasn't fully grown to the preferred length. Unfortunately, my unicorn magic worked on Feather Wand and not on faster hair growth.
I fanned out my wings and gave myself a little spin around, making sure my coat was spotless. But I still felt plain. Something was missing. My mane was obviously in great condition and I smelled like sweet pink roses. But what could compliment my simple cream and black color pallet?
I sat down and rubbed my face, thinking about what to add. A hair clip with a flower? A necklace? A bracelet? I breathed through my nose in hopes an idea might stick and doesn’t end up a booger. Gross… The only thing I smelled was the same rose scent that clung to my fur. A possible poem idea did enter my brain and I wondered if trying to find an accessory might be something somepony would read. I thought against it but archived it in the back of my head in case something of it might come up.
All I could think about was the sweet smell of roses. Sweet pink roses. Pink roses… Pink! I ran over to my dresser and almost pulled my drawer all the way out. An old bow my mother tried to force me to wear when I was a little filly rested at the bottom. It still held itself together and the pink didn’t seem to fade in the slightest. I walked back to the mirror to fuss with it a little before finally getting it into my thick mane.
There I was. A star that reflected back at me. Nothing could weigh down the smile I held. I was ready for the day.
My mother’s reflection entered from behind and froze at the entrance of my door. I turned around and fluffed my bow. “It still fits,” I said.
Mother’s eyes began to water. “It looks great on you, Birdy.”
***
“Wow, Songbird,” Feather Wand said with a slack jaw. “Y-you… are… did you… have-”
“And you look handsome,” I finished for him. The poor stallion was unable to still himself because his bundle of rose smelling inspiration stood before him. It was hard to contain myself when I saw Feather all fancied up with his mane slicked back.
“Are you ready for today?” Feather asked as he gestured me to walk alongside him.
“Mmhmm,” I nodded, my checkered mane bouncing a little. The two of us walked down the hall, our normal talk absent. I couldn’t blame myself for behaving in such a way. It’s not every day somepony gets to walk with the one who inspires them, especially when that pony is beyond good looking.
We entered our choir class quiet and steady. Several mares noticed my change in style and were quick to compliment me. It felt good to be showered with attention, boosting the confidence within myself; however, it didn’t change how nervous I was for being around Feather. I returned the favor and complemented those who took notice of me as well. One mare in particular, Four Eyes, was taken so far back when I told her the glasses she wore looked were cute, started crying! I wasn’t wrong! Her large rounded glasses gave her a very charming and attractive appearance. If me dressing up was going to cause every mare to cry, then perhaps letting out my inner unicorn had to be shown every so often.
Feather Wand and the other stallions were not as dumbfounded as me and the other mares when it came to complimenting good looks. Some of his friends gave him slaps on the back, one even hung on Feather’s neck and almost ruined his mane.
Four Eyes, the sweet thing, finished her crying and told me that she loves my singing and wants to have a proud voice like mine. I cautiously gave Four Eyes a pat on the shoulder as a way of saying thank you, but not too hard; I didn’t want her to explode with emotions again. I told Four Eyes to use those tears of hers during practice and cry to the heavens.
Class began with Feather and I sitting next to each other as we awkwardly exchanged glances on the occasion. Thankfully, I had Four Eyes sit beside me as a means of escaping Feather’s handsome exterior. I still didn’t understand why, that despite how Feather and I had been friends for five days, I couldn’t get over my stupid girl feelings. Was I in love with him? The thought alone made my face hot. Four Eyes took notice of my flush and was worried I had a fever, but I reassured it was nothing more than lovely inspiration in my cheeks. I didn’t know what I was saying, but Four Eyes ate it up.
Class began as it normally did with our instructor by doing the ritualistic mouth warming up exercise.Then our practice began. While I practiced along with everypony, I put forth a little more effort in my singing than I normally did. Part of me was excited to sing my song, while the other half wanted to, as Feather put it, “wow the other classmates.” I didn’t do it for attention, no. I did it because my voice inspired Feather and the others. And I wanted to give what they liked to hear. Too bad Feather and his charming inspiration was quite a distraction when we sang in class.
I got carried away when we started to practice Wonderful Grace. It was one of the few vocal pieces that made me want to fly into the stratosphere. Tears ran down my face and made my music sheet wrinkle a bit. Four Eyes was there to hold my hoof as I cried, which further fueled my singing fury. Together, she and I sang in beautiful succession. Feather was kind enough ask Four Eyes and I if we were okay once we finished, and I told him we music got in our eyes.
The period ended faster than I would have liked, but at least lunch was the consolation prize for making through another class session. Feather went off with his friends, while Four Eyes and I sat beside each other, talking my performance I planned to do during poetry club.
“I will be honest, I am a bit nervous,” I admit to Four Eyes. My bangs protected my eyes from the world, but I knew my brows were at a worried bend.
“Then don’t,” Four Eyes said. Too bad for her, the light-brown pegasus’ glasses couldn’t hide her eyes as well as my mane did. “Sorry, I am not good with advice.” Four Eyes’ ears did hide very well in her wavy blonde mane, but that only made how she felt more obvious.
I bat a hoof at her, “It’s okay. But it is a good nervousness.”
“Then… be nervous?” I tried my best not to be amused with Four Eyes’ unsure nature, but my giggles escaped me.
“Hey, you want to have lunch with me?” I ask, comfortable I had befriended a pegasus I could trust. Too bad my question made her flush and Four Eyes began to cry again. I noted to ask Feather Wand how many ponies I wowed for another time. My unicorn magic needed to be suppressed somehow...
***
Four Eyes managed to finish her lunch in the time it took me to take my first bite of my sub. My appetite was being evasive while my nervous attitude was on the assault. The long sandwich was very tasty looking and longed to be consumed. However, I just couldn’t eat it.
“Are you okay?” Four Eyes asked.
I lightly bit my lip. “Just a bit more nervous than I was before.”
“Was my advice earlier not helping?”
Four Eyes, despite her very sensitive nature, made me smile. “You are not the problem,” I reassured. My happy expression quickly lowered itself as I looked into the future. “It’s my song that I am worried about.”
“I am most certain that it will sound amazing!” Four Eyes weakly beamed. Her shy smile was unstable, but I knew she was being genuine.
However, my good friend corruption began to harden my heart and seeped its poison into my body. “But what if nopony likes my song?” Burdening my brown friend with questions was not my intention. If anything, I should be bottling it up so Four Eyes didn’t have to worry. I thought the old me hating my works was a part of the past. Then again, that was not even a week ago, so a sudden change of character may not be as instantaneous as I thought.
“Do you like your song?” Four Eyes asked.
“Yes,” I nodded. “But-”
“Then you already proved yourself wrong.” I wasn’t sure why I was incorrect and I tilted my head. The pegasus fidgeted with her milk carton. “You said nopony would like your song, but you yourself do. So, you are somepony. That means somepony does like what you made already.” Four Eyes hunched down a notch. “I hope that might help in some way.”
“I guess it is good to be wrong every once in awhile,” I smiled, cheered up by Four Eyes’ statement.
However, my friend took it personally. “I’m sorry I was wrong…”
“No, I meant me! You were right about somepony liking my poem and it was me all along.”
Four Eyes straightened up. “Oh!” Then she sagged again, “Sorry for being wrong about being wrong…”
I understood how much I inspired Four Eyes, but I wanted her to see me for me. “There is no need to be sorry or sad or scared. If you are worried about impressing me, don't. Just be you without the nervous part.”
My words seemed to lift the sad furrow in her eyes. “I'll try. Being nervous is kind of a part of me. I wish I had your strong confidence.”
“Not to put myself down, but I am not always confident,” I said. “Look at what I just did a second ago. I wasn’t sure if anypony would like my song, yet here you are, proving me wrong in the best way.”
“But you really have nothing to worry about,” Four Eyes reassured. “I know you can stand up on stage and sing your heart out. I have seen it before.”
“I understand, however-”
Four Eyes held up a hoof and gave me a serious stare. Her cool blue eyes took me by surprise, and yet, I was glad to see a composed pegasus. “I know you are singing your very first song you wrote and I would be nervous, too. But do not worry. And if it makes you feel any better, and…” The squeaky Four Eyes returned with the blink of her eyes. “...if you don’t mind, I would like to see you perform if that is alright. I just… don’t want to invite myself, but I would really like to watch you sing.”
A surge of confidence entered my cheeks and I smiled at Four Eyes. “You are right. Thanks, Four Eyes.” I hugged the brown pegasus, glad to have somepony fill me with determination. “I would love to have my friend come and watch me sing my song.”
I parted myself from Four Eyes. Once again, I watched her brows writhe with the intention to cry. “I-I am your f-friend?”
It was my turn to be stern and I was ready to use my unicorn magic to aid Four Eyes with my own eyes. My hoof lifted my thick bangs, which snatched up Four Eyes’ intention to cry. She stared back at me with bewilderment. I figured, just like everypony I inspire, Four Eyes has always wanted to see my iris’. So I gave her what she wanted. “Of course you are. And just like you said, there is nothing to worry about, specifically me.” Four Eyes looked away from me. I moved my head to where she was staring to re-obtain her attention. “I am a pony just like you. We both have emotions. And we both want somepony to treat us like a regular pony.”
Four Eyes only nodded. So I upped the stakes. “How about this: when I am around you, I forbid you to cry. I know you appreciate me for my talent, but appreciate me for me.” I touched Four Eyes’ chin with my hoof and rotated it forward, testing her ability to fight the urge to overflow with tears. “Remember: confidence is key!” The exercise proved to be quite challenging for Four Eyes as her cheeks puffed with flush. Thankfully, my friend successfully avoided tearing up.
“Great work!” I beamed.
“Thanks,” Four Eyes sniffed, ready to explode.
“Now on the occasion, I will allow you to cry.”
“C-can I cry tears of joy right now?” Four Eyes squeaked.
I didn’t expect Four Eyes to hold herself together the first time my rule was implemented, so I gave her the go. “Yes.”
My hoof held the door open for Four Eyes and Feather Wand to the poetry club. “The club awaits,” I said with a nod of my head. Four Eyes walked inside while Feather didn’t follow behind the light-brown pegasus.
“I can get the door for you,” Feather said as he leaned his hoof on the door.
My lips twisted into a grin, “Why couldn’t you get the door for Four Eyes?”
“I-I… well… I was going to… but you...”
Four Eyes stepped into the picture and surrendered herself to the act of teasing. “Yeah, Mr. Gentlestallion? Why only her?” My marefriend and I giggled a bit at Feather before quickly stopping ourselves from embarrassing him to no end.
Feather got a grip on himself and the door, gesturing Four Eyes and me to enter. “After you, ladies.” For some reason, I couldn’t help but flush when Feather spoke. His voice was so… musical. Even Four Eyes fell prey to the stallion’s tone. He was embarrassing us by accident.
I followed Four Eyes once she decided to break free from Feather’s unintentional grip. She hopped into the seat that was right at the front of the class. My legs stopped right before the seat beside my new friend. Insecurity kept me from putting myself beside Four Eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Four Eyes asked while the old desk in the back of the room called for its seat warmer.
“I’m… a little…” I put my hoof to my head to try and force through the mental block. “...It's coming back.”
I didn’t need to explain what I had meant and my sweet friend extended her hoof to save me. “Then let me help.” Like a… magnet! Yes, magnet. Like a magnet, my forearm flung itself toward Four Eyes and grabbed hold of the lifeline.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile, though my head dipped. The seat felt like any other, only much closer to the front.
Through the jungle of my mane, I saw Feather approach Four Eyes and I. He sat behind me and I had to turn around awkwardly to see him. “Glad to see you took a seat up here with all the other poets,” Feather said while he took out his song.
I did the same thing as Feather and took out my original work. But unlike him, I shivered the entire time I went to retrieve it. The thing that took me all week to perfect was right in front of me, sprawled out for anypony who walked by.
“Songbird!” Four Eyes exclaimed. “You’re shaking so violently!” Before I had time to respond, my friend gave me a hug. Too bad for her, she was not expecting a wild ride and was rattled by my unstable feelings.
A hoof touched my shoulder, distracting the invisible force that tried to shake my nerves. “It’s okay, Songbird,” Feather said. He walked beside my desk and did his best to get his arms around me and Four Eyes. “We both know you can do this.”
My cheeks lifted so high up, I almost couldn’t see. “Thanks, you two,” I squeaked. My shivering simmered down to a low rumble, enough to not be so obvious at how nervous I was.
“Aww, how sweet!” I had to lower my smile to see High Dive looking at me and my two friends. The second best poet came up to me while Feather and Four Eyes removed their hold. Feather turned back at me and nodded before walking over to the other stallions who entered the classroom. High Dive looked me up and down, her critique mind was at work no doubt. “You look great today.”
“Thanks,” I nod. I rested my arms on my song, worried High Dive might get a sneak peek.
With great fortune, High Dive looked to Four Eyes. “And who might you be?”
Four Eyes did not have the nervous complexion I was expecting when she was mentioned. “My name is Four Eyes. I am here to watch Songbird sing on stage.” I nervously hunched over, my secret pronounced to the entire classroom. Several others looked to me once their heard Four Eyes.
“You wrote a song?” High Dive repeated. I nod again at the poet.
Four Eyes saw that her words affected me. “I-I’m sorry! I didn't mean to-”
“It’s okay,” I said. I looked to Four Eyes, even though she most likely couldn't tell that I was looking at her. “Besides, everypony is going to know eventually.” My nose then pointed to High Dive and I whisper to her, “But please, I want to keep it a secret until then.”
High Dive giggled and winked at me. “Don't worry, I won't tell. And I can't wait to hear you sing.” The poet turned around but gave me a second glance. “Sit up front more often. I'm sure the club would like to see what you have written.”
I didn't want to disagree with High Dive because of her sweet character. But she was not going to be graced by my old poetry. I felt a tap on the shoulder and I turned toward Four Eyes. “Again, I am sorry for telling her.”
“You don't have to be sorry, Four Eyes. You didn't know.” I removed my hooves from the desk and push the song over to her. Easing Four Eyes didn't seem to be too challenging and I didn't want her to worry. “Speaking of 'know', would you like to know what my song looks like?”
“Really!?” Four Eyes gasped. Her outburst brought other ponies to gander at us. “Sorry...” she squeaked.
However, Aileron stepped in front of the class and spoke, interrupting Four Eye’s chance to look over my poem. “Good afternoon, everypony.” The announcement brought everypony to their seats. Feather Wand was with his normals group, though I wanted him nearby. My inspiration was far from me but I remained strong.
“I see some of you have prepared for this Friday with your own props and outfit,” Aileron said to nopony in particular and I was glad he wasn't addressing me. “I do hope everypony is ready because we are heading to the theatre.”
***
Feather and Four Eyes sat at my sides as we looked forward at the stage. High Dive was performing her intense poem about the four seasons. It was difficult to watch her speak and hear the words she proclaimed. There was nothing wrong with her act or poem. The problem was my mind. I watched High Dive flail about the stage with sudden swings of the head, but I could not listen to her words because I was too focused on my performance.
“Feather…” I whisper to my right.
“Yes?” he responded and twisted one ear at me.
“Are you sure you got everything down for my song?” I ask. Before Feather could answer, my mouth asks another question, “Do you need to warm up before you play?” I ask yet another, “Should I go last or right after High Dive?”
My inspiration looks at me while still trying to focus on the stage performer. “Go when you want to.” Feather quickly returned his full attention to High Dive. I looked to see her on her back, pawing at the air with a weak hoof. I heard Four Eyes sigh beside me, fully immersed with the poet. Deciding to not focus on my song, I too watched High Dive. Too bad I didn’t know what was happening because I wasn’t paying any attention to High Dive, which brought me back to my dilemma.
I didn’t want to bother either of my friends but something itched me to want to talk with them. So I just sat still and waited for the performance to end. The floor below my hooves were so dark, I worried that if I tried to stand, I would fall into an unknown void.
A round of applause yanked me back to reality and the tile floor regained its solid surface. High Dive curtsied a few times before flying off. “A wonderful performance,” Mr. Aileron said and the clapping slowly died out. “Very unique way of using a tortoise to explain the seasons.” Too bad I wasn’t listening to know what the tortoise was enduring. Four Eyes and Feather talked across from me, sharing their thoughts about the poem. I didn’t bother to pay attention to a discussion I was not a part of.
“What was your favorite part, Songbird?” High Dive asked me.
“I… wasn’t paying attention…” I painfully admit. High Dive was definitely a poet to be respected and I wanted to give her my undivided attention, especially after how she spoke to me before we came to the theatre. But I could not remove my thoughts from my eventual performance. “You can assume what I have been thinking about.”
“I can,” Feather answered. I looked at him as the stallion leaned on his armrest. “And I think you should perform now.”
Corruption sank its poison into my heart once more. “B-but we haven’t gotten through half of the club’s poems! Maybe I should wait until-”
“Songbird, we are already two poems in and... well… I hate to say it… but…” Feather looked at Four Eyes and asked her, “Can you help me out?” But Four Eyes only shrugged, not sure what Feather was getting at. “Ugh…”
“Just say it,” I said, knowing very well my inspiration had nothing positive to address.
“You’re distracting me.” Feather sighed as he removed the heavy weight from his shoulders but quickly placed it on my heart. “I want you to have a good time and enjoy everypony’s poems. But if you only focus on yourself, then what is the point to being inspired?” Oh Feather, always at the ready with advice.
“I’m sorry…” was all I could muster up.
“Don’t be sorry,” Four Eyes said. “Feather and I both understand how you feel. But I would suggest the same thing: go perform now. Show everypony what you can do.” She lifted her armrest and scooted to my side. Feather did the same and I suddenly felt a small flame of encouragement.
“You can do this,” Feather said. “Go inspire everypony with your voice.”
“Yeah!” Four Eyes shouted, her encouraging spirit screaming in my ear. I clearly got the message my friends were expressing but would have liked to not have my light-brown friend scream in my ear.
“Sounds to me like somepony is excited about the next performance,” Mr. Aileron laughed, along with the entire club.
While Four Eyes’ ears flopped backward, I leaned into my friend. “Thanks,” I said. I then leaned onto Feather. “Both of you.”
“Alright, who is next?” Mr. Aileron announced. Four Eyes and Feather looked at me with eager anticipation, wanting me to take the initiation. It was hard but I rose my hoof to answer the call.
“I’ll be next!” That was not my voice.
“Very well! Well everypony, let’s give it up for Skipper and his poem.” While everypony clapped for the stallion, my friends smiled at me.
“That was a good,” Feather said. “You tried to be brave.”
“But I failed…” My hoof slowly fell to my side.
“...and it also looks like Songbird Serenade wants to perform as well!” Mr. Aileron spoke. I was not paying attention to the world around me and I looked to see the instructor facing me. “You will be right after Skipper, okay?”
“Okay,” my voice cracked. Fate finally inscribed my destiny in its book.
“Good luck, you two,” Four Eyes said as Feather and I stood up.
“Thanks,” I said. I leaned toward my marefriend and whispered into her ear, “I give you permission to cry.”
“O-okay.” I wasn’t expecting her to start sobbing right away and I quickly held her.
“Not right now, silly,” I giggled, though I felt crying myself because of my new friend’s genuine care.
With every step I made, my hoofsteps echoed throughout the hollow theatre. Feather followed right behind me in silence. The walkway to the stage stretched itself in an attempt to intimidate me. So I took flight instead of walking. When I touched down, my hooves sounded like a… like a… hammer… striking a nail… Well, it did! The analogy I was trying to come up with left my subconscious as I turned around to face the crowd. The club members were off to the side, not directly in front of the stage which proved to be distracting. At least there was something to occupy my mind from worry for a moment.
Feather Wand touched down beside me with my song in his hoof. “You sure you don't need your lyrics?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. But I am sure you will need it.”
My inspiration smiled, “Who's to say I already know it in my head?”
“Then that means you really like what I have made.” We quietly laughed amongst ourselves as our audience waited patiently. “Well, let's do this.”
“Yes.” I stepped toward Feather and pulled him close. “Thank you,” I whispered, my face heated with emotion. “You are the best friend and inspiration I could ever ask for.”
As I kept Feather still from moving, the stallion did his usual nervous stuttering. “It's… I… thank-”
“Your welcome,” I giggled and then motioned Feather to the piano.
“Well, Songbird Serenade,” Mr. Aileron said from the crowd, “I am glad to see you take initiation by going so soon.”
I looked back at Feather and saw him propped up on a stand, ready to perform. My throat cleared what nervousness was held in my throat. “I think it's time for me to express my words and let everyone know my creation. For too long have I kept quiet and been so worried about being terrible at poetry. I just want to write and sing!”
Mr. Aileron clasped his hooves together. “Wonderful energy, Songbird Serenade! Keep that energy within you!” The instructor cleared his voice to simmer his excited mood. “Might I predict that your, I would presume, song will be a joyous one?”
Part of me wanted to tell Mr. Aileron he was half correct but I kept myself from giving him and the audience something to expect. “I will be singing. That is all I will tell you.”
It was impossible to tell but I had a strong feeling Mr. Aileron was smiling in his seat. “Keeping to your secret ways as always,” he said. “The stage is yours. Sing that voice so many others have told me about.”
Everything felt so large as everypony looked at me. There was not large spotlight beaming on center stage, but the gravity of one was still there and it was heavy. Nopony made a sound as I started to count…
One.
Two.
...Three…
It’s showtime. “The song I will be performing is named, ‘Stay with Me, Inspiration!” I announced. Ready to begin, I turned around and gave Feather a nod. The instant he began to press the keys, his style of playing made me sway in place. It moved my body, heart, and soul as Feather moved up and down the piano. There was a small amount of me that was proud of what I had created, considering I did attempt to add notes to my poem. But the song would not have been as perfect as it was if Feather hadn’t looked it over and gave it his bit of magic.
The notes slowed down and my time of silence was up. My lungs took in as much oxygen as possible and I began to sing:
Something was happening to me as I sang. It was not intentional or planned. My hooves carrying me around the stage and I couldn’t stop swaying my hips and torso in the hypnotic rhythm. And even though Feather was playing while my song had a break in lyrics, I still moved. I was possessed by my song. More had to be sung, so I recalled the lyrics and continued:
Feather’s hooves mashed the keyboard, each note playing louder and louder as I spun around the stage. I was in a dance with my own urge to be inspired. It threw me left and right, trying its best to throw me to the ground. But I held myself upright. Everything I had felt before, all the pain that plagued my soul, crashed into me and I knelt down, just as Feather stopped playing. Perfect timing.
“You have stopped moving
And look me in the eyes.
Your mouth moves slowly
But I hear nothing wise.
The ground around you
Is filled with nasty weeds.
They grasp at your hooves
Sapping all of my needs.
Our magic is weak,
You bond on me slipping.
The world comes to see
An end of a loved king.”
The sound from the piano began to grow like an earthquake on the approach. Wow, I didn’t have to pause and think about a simile. Inspiration lifted me onto my hooves and I started to toss myself around.
I cried as loud as I could as I sang the last two stanzas. My eyes flooded with tears alongside my lyrics. The tragic beauty of my song being proclaimed to my audience felt so good. Deep down I knew I was afraid of losing my love for writing poetry and having my inspiration die out. I wanted somepony to hear me cry. I just wanted to relate to somepony. I already knew Feather was that one pony who understood the constant worry I felt. And for once, he and I played along with each other, glad we have somepony to inspire us.
With the tragedy coming to a close, the notes and my steps began to subside. It was time to finish what I had started.
“Feelings for you have reached to none.
I guess it's safe to say we’re done…”
The conclusion of my song did not cause anypony to clap. I spun around to Feather who looked back at me with the same confused look I was expressing. He stood up and walked to my side. “Maybe we... should bow,” Feather said as he offered a hoof to me.
As I took hold of his hoof, my lips rose. “We should.” Ending our little performance, Feather and I rose each other’s arms and bowed our head to the audience.
A roar like no other erupted from the club members. Four Eyes couldn’t contain her sweet unstable self and flew out of her seat, darting straight for the stage. I could see the tears on her smiling face and wondered what would have happened if I told her to not cry. My wings fanned out and I flew up to catch her. Four Eyes almost knocked me out of the air when she collided with me. “That was so amazing!” she cried and I almost didn’t hear her over the applause. Feather came up to greet us and we all held each other.
“Thank you!” I said, lifting my bangs to show them my tear filled eyes. “Thank you, both!”
