In Bloom
Wind rushed past my ears, a great whooshing whistle that blocked out all other sound. I hazily squinted my eyes open, staring up at the star-speckled night sky receding from my field of view.
Oh.
I’m falling, I realized.
It took longer than I’d like to admit for that thought to really spur me into any action. I shook my overly light, ringing head and flipped myself over, thrusting my wings out wide and flat to increase my surface area—and not a moment too soon. The sound of the wind cut off, abruptly replaced with the whispering of grass, the loud cracks of snapping flower stalks, and bruising pain erupting all over my body.
I slid five, ten, almost fifteen feet, face first, before finally, inevitably sliding to a stop.
“Ow,” I muttered to no one in particular.
Carefully, I flipped myself over again, this time onto my back and, blessedly, on the ground. The heady scent of irises filled my nose as I blinked languidly up at the night sky. It was a moonless night, and the field was dark, but already fireflies were poking out from the tall grass around my path of destruction, their winking yellow lights trying to imitate the stars under which they danced. On another night, I’d probably relish the simple beauty.
“I’ll never be a Wonderbolt,” I murmured to the stars, trying out the new reality on my tongue. It felt wrong, but nonetheless true. The truths you didn’t want to hear always did.
A single tear tracked down my cheek, plopping down onto the trampled grass like dew.
Rainbow Dash leaned back in her chair, the cushion springs squeaking under the added weight, and sighed.
“Cadet…”
I tilted my head in question, but otherwise didn’t respond; my mouth was well covered by the soft cloth I was holding to my nose, still weeping blood since it started five minutes ago.
With a loud thunk, Captain Dash settled the chair back onto four legs and stood.
“I don’t like this,” she decided, snorting abruptly, pawing twice at the ground with her hoof, and starting to pace. I watched her carefully as she strode back and forth behind the desk. Captain Dash has always struck an impressive image with her rainbow mane and sky blue coat, the brightest daytime sky come alive as a pony.
I flexed my leathery wings. I was positively dull by comparison, my coat a dusky lilac that faded to dusty rose at my extremities, with a dark violet mane that I had shorn short for the Academy. I blinked once, eyes still tracking the Captain’s agitated pacing, and lowered the cloth pressed to my nose.
“What do you mean, Captain?” I asked, glancing down at the red-splotched rag and making a face. Ick.
Rainbow Dash snorted, cutting her bright carmine eyes in my direction. I shrank back instinctively.
“We’ve never had a thestral in the ‘Bolts,” she answered, more a sigh than a statement as she ran a hoof down her face.
My ears flattened. I could already feel my pupils contracting into slits, even as I tried my best to stare calmly back at my commanding officer.
“I see,” I offered levelly.
Rainbow paused, then shook her head vehemently. “No, no, you don’t, that’s not what I meant, Cadet.”
“Then what did you mean?” I asked carefully.
I was used to the uneasiness most ponies had around us. Thestrals were naturally dark-coated and nocturnal. By all rights, we were strange to the sensibilities of most of Equestria’s citizens—some even thought us inherently evil, a relic of Nightmare Moon’s rise and fall. I was used to the stereotypes ponies thrust at me; I was a thestral trying to become a Wonderbolt after all.
But, really, we were just ponies like anyone else. We ate flowers and fruit (and the occasional moth), but we had cutie marks and families and communities, hopes and dreams, just like any pegasus or unicorn or earth pony. Buzzing filled my ears as my emotions rose, trying to take over. The heady pull of rage sent my already light head spinning again.
“It’s not that you’re a batpony—a thestral, it’s nothing like that cadet, but—” She broke off in another sigh. “But it also is.”
Rainbow Dash stopped her pacing, settling her piercing stare on me once more. After a moment, it softened.
“You’re nocturnal, Cadet Vesper,” she said quietly. “The rest of your class isn’t.”
“But I’ve never missed a practice—”
“I know, Cadet, but switching your schedule to a diurnal one isn’t good for you--and don’t try to tell me that’s a lie. I’ve talked to the physical therapists doing your weekly check-ups.”
I abruptly shut my mouth, which had been creeping open to contest.
“But, it’s more than that. The way your physiology is, how you fly… it’s different from a pegasus.”
I blinked forcefully, trying to push back the burning in my eyes before it could absolve into tears. “I’ve trained my whole life, since I was little, and I got in, I passed the entrance exam.”
“I know,” Rainbow Dash muttered. “I know this is your dream. I don’t like telling ponies what they can and can’t do, it makes my teeth itch--who the hay am I to tell somepony that they can’t have what they worked so hard for?” Captain Dash snorted again, her brow screwed up into a scowl as she glared down at her desk.
“But I’ve talked to the doctors, I’ve talked to all the egghead scientists who’re at the top of their fields, and they’ve all told me the same thing.”
I drew a sharp breath, biting my lip. Captain Dash’s gaze slowly dragged up to mournfully meet mine.
“What happened today happened last week,” she said, gesturing to the blood still languidly dripping from my nose. I hastily covered it with the rag again. “It’s not going to get better, it’s going to keep happening until you hurt yourself permanently or kill yourself falling out of the sky.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“Yes,” Rainbow answered back quietly. “There’s a reason the Wonderbolts have never had a thestral on their roster, why a batpony has never been part of a single weather team.”
“No,” I insisted.
Captain Dash didn’t pause to answer my pleas. “The way you fly, the way your bodies work, prevent it,” she bit out, each word a tooth being pulled.
“I’m sorry, kiddo, but… you’re never going to be a Wonderbolt. You can’t reach the altitudes necessary for our maneuvers. It’s not your fault, it’s just… how you’re built,” she concluded bitterly. “You’ll fall out of the sky every time you try, just like today, and I can’t give the okay for you to endanger your life like that.”
“It’s my life, it’s my dream, I get to choose—” I hissed, the tide of anger rushing up and spilling over as I unfurled my wings to hover in front of the Captain. She rose to meet me, her own wings a furious blue blur behind her.
“Not when I’m responsible for you,” she cut me off firmly. “You’re a danger to yourself and others when you’re up that high.” Her solemn expression softened minutely as she met my streaming eyes.
“I’m sorry, Vesper.”
Wordlessly, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, pressing my hooves to my buzzing ears. The bloody cloth fell to the floor, forgotten.
With a huff of despair, I wheeled around and practically punched through the cloud wall of the office and out into the late afternoon sunlight.
x x x
Of course I’ll never be a Wonderbolt, I thought numbly as I lay in the field and stared up at the sky. I ran a careful hoof down my front, the bright blue and yellow fabric of my uniform garish to my darkvision eyes.
The first time I’d fallen from a cloud I’d only blacked out briefly, and had come-to in time to straighten my path with nothing but a nosebleed for my trouble. Today—twice, I reminded myself, regretting my most recent foolhardy ascent into the stratosphere--I hadn’t been so lucky.
I carefully raised one hoof to point at the sky, lining it up with the Evening Star, the one I’d been named for and the one stamped on my flank. The stars always looked so close. I’d always wanted to touch them, had been convinced I could, when I was little, if I just got stronger, became a better flier.
Now, that same bright star twinkled, mocking me.
It had never looked so far away.
“Pull yourself together, Vespertine,” I muttered, tugging my sore body into a sitting position. The grass swayed around me, the irises bloomed, the fireflies flickered, and the crickets started their chirping once again.
And I… would never be a Wonderbolt.
I pressed my hooves to my eyes, as if the pressure could shove my tears back into my skull.
Could it really be so simple? My dream, my life’s goal and purpose, swatted down by reality so easily, nothing but an annoying insect born to die.
No, I decided, relaxing the pressure on my eyes. The world was blurry as I blinked them open, staring sightlessly around the half-destroyed iris field, but maybe that helped me see things a little clearer.
“If I can’t be a Wonderbolt… I’ll just have to make a team I can belong to.” I glared up at that same mocking star, so bright against the endless velvet of the night sky.
Maybe I couldn’t reach it.
But maybe… I didn’t have to.