Suddenly, she was interrupted by the doctor who stepped in as he looked at her with a sincere look in his eyes, as if bad news was to be told for this poor rainbow mare.
"Miss.. Rainbow Dash?" He questioned, looking towards him. "Yes?" She answered politely as her voice filled the air, wiping away the silence that had overcome the room. She slightly tilted her head with curiosity, waiting for his response.
"Ah, yes.. This may be difficult to tell you, but I must in my honest in deepest regret." His voice was cold and dull.
"Wh..What? What do you mean..?" Her heart was filled with worry. Absolute worry that would possibly ruin her reputation, her sanity and her life.
He cleared his throat and took a moment to recall what he was going to declare. "I've..looked at the x-rays and information.. Unfortunately, Dash..."
The suspense was menacingly rising. Dash starved for the truth and declaration.
"You...can't use your wings anymore. The wing is severely damaged with no chance of recovery. It needs to be amputated."
Dash's world tore apart in his sentence. She stood frozen, unable to move or talk. After a few seconds, she bursted into tears of agony and sorrow, sobbing and looking down, horrified to hear the terrible news that had arrived for who was the faster flyer in all of Ponyville.
"I-I'm sorry.. for it to come like this.." He left the room, turning his back on the guilt that sufficed among them.
(Maybe she was right.. Maybe if I hadn't drank all that cider, I wouldn't have crashed.)
(The surgery operation is four days from now.)
(And... If I have no wings, then there is no reason for me to be alive anymore.)
Two days passed, and Scootaloo entered the room, reaching for her saddlebags and pulling out the smuggled knife that Rainbow Dash requested. She seemed to be sleeping, Scootaloo placing the knife on the table. "Anything for you, Rainbow Dash.." She whispered under her breath, trotting out of the room. She had no idea what Rainbow Dash was going to do with that knife.
A few hours had passed. Rainbow Dash awoke in the middles of the night, clearing her vision and looking at her surroundings. She noticed the knife that was firmly placed on the table. She smiled a bit, immediately grabbing the knife with her mouth and adjusting it to her chest. By then, guilt threw her into a pit of worry and pity.
(What will my friends think of me..? They'll think I'm crazy!)
(You HAVE to do this! Get ahold of yourself! There's nothing more in this terrible life that you have!)
Her mind was arguing with each other. In pressure, anger and frustration she...
..made the stab come true.