Post by Diamond on May 6, 2013 2:37:04 GMT -5
The air up there.
The air up there is cold, and uncaring. It doesn’t matter if you’re a veteran flyer, or just a filly trying to save a life. It doesn’t matter if you’re a glory hound, seeking fame and fortune, or a Bolt-Head with a crush on Spitfire.
It doesn’t matter, because the air up there is all the same; Cold, and cruel, and crushing.
Nopony expected a filthy little orphan to compete in the world’s highest flyer competition. With wings so small, and a task so tall, what was this little filly doing there at all?
I was trying to make a miracle.
Flying as hard as I can. Flying like a life depended on it, because it does. Flying like the sky was water, and I was drowning for air, and the faster I go, the sooner I get to the surface. I flew like I had nothing left to give, no other reason to live, and I fly like there’s no other way to save the day.
And it doesn't mean a bucking thing when there are seven other contestants. Seven other full grown pegasi pumping full grown wings with well practiced strokes, shooting past and leaving me with laughter ringing in my ears.
But I can’t stop.
Everything has lead to this point, this contest, this drive to strive to save the life of a pony planted in a bed doing his best to protest joining the dead. And I’m trying so hard. I can’t stop, even if my wings are burning and my lungs ache and pegasi left and right shoot by me, like I was dragging a cart behind me filled with the weight of regret.
I know it’s crazy. I know, I’m crazy. I know. I’m no angel. I’m not anything even close, so trying to make a miracle happen is about as likely as having 6.7 billion ponies in the world, and the one with the miracles hearing an orphan like me screaming “PLEASE!!!?”
Please….
I fly like I’ve never flown before. Pain is a myth, and I reach for the sky, like down wasn’t an option and earth was just a fading dream. I fly harder than I have ever pumped my wings before, and breathe in cold shards of ice instead of air. Frozen feathers and cold joints warmed by a burn in my lungs and the screaming in my muscles, but I can’t stop. I won’t.
Even if the other competitors are out of sight; either too far above or too far below, too hot or too cold, I can’t stop. The stars are so close, and yet so far, and I’ve never seen them so clear; so near, like I could reach out and cup them in my hooves. And that’s all I need. I just need one. Just one star. Just one wish PLEASE, if ANYTHING is listening, PLEASE. If you want a follower, if you want a servant, if you want a slave, if you want me to be ANYTHING, please. Now is the time. Now is the only time. Let me touch one star- just one wish: PLEASE- “let Criss Cross be okay.”
It’s so cold I can’t breathe, cause the air is ice. I can’t see, cause my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel, because the cold wraps around me like a blanket. But I don’t care. I can’t stop. Stopping is for ponies who don’t have a foal in a hospital depending on you to keep them alive. I won’t let Criss Cross die. I’ll do everything I can, so even if the angels ignore my prayers- it won’t be because I didn’t try.
The wind is so loud it’s like a tornado in my head. The air is so cold it’s like I’m buried in snow. Theres ice in my lungs and my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel my wings- but I know I’m falling. I can’t go any higher because there’s no higher left to fly. Not for a filthy little filly from the slums.
I can remember the darkness swallowing me up- my last fleeting moments of consciousness. I was torn between wanting to see Criss Cross one last time- just to tell him I was sorry. Just to let him know how I really felt about him.
Or maybe I wouldn’t see him again at all. Maybe it would be too late. Or maybe this final plunge into the earth would be my last…would that be so bad? After all, how do you tell the foal you had a crush on, that you couldn’t save him…that you tried but you failed. Is “I’m sorry” good enough?
It really didn’t matter how badly you wanted it. The air up there was cold, and crushing, cruel and careless. I’m plummeting to the ground faster and harder than I ever have before, cursing the sky, and the wind and the air up there, the thousands of ponies who spend a single bit on a wish- the cost of a miracle tossed into a well without an care in the world.
And I’m not scared. I’m not mad, or angry or disappointed. I just have one wish. One thing I want. One thing I'm begging for- before darkness takes me, and everything fades away, and the ground swallows me up, and my world ends. I was too high to survive this fall. But it was alright. I only had one wish.
“Please. Let Criss Cross be okay. I don’t have any bits to spend, or anything to trade, and I know he’s dying, and I’m really trying, and there’s nothing else I can do, so please. Please. Please. Let. Him. Be. Okay.”
The air up there is cold, and uncaring. It doesn’t matter if you’re a veteran flyer, or just a filly trying to save a life. It doesn’t matter if you’re a glory hound, seeking fame and fortune, or a Bolt-Head with a crush on Spitfire.
It doesn’t matter, because the air up there is all the same; Cold, and cruel, and crushing.
Nopony expected a filthy little orphan to compete in the world’s highest flyer competition. With wings so small, and a task so tall, what was this little filly doing there at all?
I was trying to make a miracle.
Flying as hard as I can. Flying like a life depended on it, because it does. Flying like the sky was water, and I was drowning for air, and the faster I go, the sooner I get to the surface. I flew like I had nothing left to give, no other reason to live, and I fly like there’s no other way to save the day.
And it doesn't mean a bucking thing when there are seven other contestants. Seven other full grown pegasi pumping full grown wings with well practiced strokes, shooting past and leaving me with laughter ringing in my ears.
But I can’t stop.
Everything has lead to this point, this contest, this drive to strive to save the life of a pony planted in a bed doing his best to protest joining the dead. And I’m trying so hard. I can’t stop, even if my wings are burning and my lungs ache and pegasi left and right shoot by me, like I was dragging a cart behind me filled with the weight of regret.
I know it’s crazy. I know, I’m crazy. I know. I’m no angel. I’m not anything even close, so trying to make a miracle happen is about as likely as having 6.7 billion ponies in the world, and the one with the miracles hearing an orphan like me screaming “PLEASE!!!?”
Please….
I fly like I’ve never flown before. Pain is a myth, and I reach for the sky, like down wasn’t an option and earth was just a fading dream. I fly harder than I have ever pumped my wings before, and breathe in cold shards of ice instead of air. Frozen feathers and cold joints warmed by a burn in my lungs and the screaming in my muscles, but I can’t stop. I won’t.
Even if the other competitors are out of sight; either too far above or too far below, too hot or too cold, I can’t stop. The stars are so close, and yet so far, and I’ve never seen them so clear; so near, like I could reach out and cup them in my hooves. And that’s all I need. I just need one. Just one star. Just one wish PLEASE, if ANYTHING is listening, PLEASE. If you want a follower, if you want a servant, if you want a slave, if you want me to be ANYTHING, please. Now is the time. Now is the only time. Let me touch one star- just one wish: PLEASE- “let Criss Cross be okay.”
It’s so cold I can’t breathe, cause the air is ice. I can’t see, cause my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel, because the cold wraps around me like a blanket. But I don’t care. I can’t stop. Stopping is for ponies who don’t have a foal in a hospital depending on you to keep them alive. I won’t let Criss Cross die. I’ll do everything I can, so even if the angels ignore my prayers- it won’t be because I didn’t try.
The wind is so loud it’s like a tornado in my head. The air is so cold it’s like I’m buried in snow. Theres ice in my lungs and my eyes are frozen shut. I can’t feel my wings- but I know I’m falling. I can’t go any higher because there’s no higher left to fly. Not for a filthy little filly from the slums.
I can remember the darkness swallowing me up- my last fleeting moments of consciousness. I was torn between wanting to see Criss Cross one last time- just to tell him I was sorry. Just to let him know how I really felt about him.
Or maybe I wouldn’t see him again at all. Maybe it would be too late. Or maybe this final plunge into the earth would be my last…would that be so bad? After all, how do you tell the foal you had a crush on, that you couldn’t save him…that you tried but you failed. Is “I’m sorry” good enough?
It really didn’t matter how badly you wanted it. The air up there was cold, and crushing, cruel and careless. I’m plummeting to the ground faster and harder than I ever have before, cursing the sky, and the wind and the air up there, the thousands of ponies who spend a single bit on a wish- the cost of a miracle tossed into a well without an care in the world.
And I’m not scared. I’m not mad, or angry or disappointed. I just have one wish. One thing I want. One thing I'm begging for- before darkness takes me, and everything fades away, and the ground swallows me up, and my world ends. I was too high to survive this fall. But it was alright. I only had one wish.
“Please. Let Criss Cross be okay. I don’t have any bits to spend, or anything to trade, and I know he’s dying, and I’m really trying, and there’s nothing else I can do, so please. Please. Please. Let. Him. Be. Okay.”