Of all the common childhood fears, Bohemian Raspberry proclaimed to suffer very few of them. But one it was obvious she didn’t have was stage fright. So when it came time for the school’s end of the year talent show and only a few shaky hooves went up, she signed up for the very first time slot. She wasn’t afraid, even though it would be her very first public performance. It would be straightforward enough of an act; nothing avant-garde or experimental here. Seven minutes, no more, was the time allotted to her to do whatever she wanted.

And what she wanted to do this time was sing. For five minutes and fifty-five seconds, the stage would be hers and she was going to sing.

Bohemian Raspberry loved art of all kinds- painting, sculpture, the written word- but her one true love was music. Like her father, she loved to sing in front of people. She reveled in watching their faces light up as she entertained them; there was a spark in her that she wanted so badly to share with them. She wanted to share everything with them, everything about herself.

And so she picked a song that would make everybody smile, a song to which you couldn’t help but sing along. The words to the song didn’t mean anything, really- or maybe they meant everything. It was a little over five minutes long, and it was her favorite- for more than the obvious reason.

As she took her place on the stage, the ethereal voices on the backing track rang out from the speakers as she joined in the introduction. The piano cut in, and she continued, pouring her heart and soul into her performance. “Mama… just killed a man…” she crooned. She refused to close her eyes as she stared at the audience. There was her dad, her mom, her brothers, her sisters, her half-siblings- everybody she knew had come to see her. She smiled at all of them, trying to reflect all the love she had for her audience out at them. They’d come here to see her; she was going to put on a show!

Just then, the music cut out, the bouncy piano turning to silence. Something was wrong- the audio recording of the backing track had skipped and stuttered and then died completely.

It would have been understandable had she stopped, started crying, fled from the auditorium, or just stood there and stammered. The filly fully expected any of these to happen next; in those eternal seconds between the beats, she saw herself, face buried in her arms, sobbing as her nerve was shot.

But to her surprise, she did none of the above. Instead, she took a deep breath, reared up on her hind legs, grabbed the microphone from its stand, and planted her feet firmly, serenading the audience. She didn’t need the music- it was already in her.

“I see a little silhouetto of a man-“ she continued, singing loud and clear, refusing to stammer in the face of adversity. She wasn’t aware of the time anymore, or how strange the song would sound without the instrumental part meant to go with it- it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was her audience and her song. She could do this, backing track or no backing track. She danced with her microphone, belting out the staccato lyrics. She was dimly aware that the audience might have been singing along with her; at one point, she heard a voice that she thought was her father’s helping her out on the mama mia let me gos. In a way, he was up here with her; and so was her mom, and all the others who had inspired her. The song was almost over; not long now until the most difficult part.

“Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” she sang out, taking a deep breath. The backing track had the high note on it, and she’d used it to cover her own voice going flat before; what if she messed up now? “For meeee!”

Well, the answer was simple. She wasn’t going to mess up. She slid to her knees, throwing her head back triumphantly to belt out the final “For MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Just then, the backing track kicked back in, the guitar solo roaring with a vengeance. She didn’t miss a beat getting back on track; she was a phoenix, rising from the ashes. “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?” she sang to the crowd, throwing a hoof in the air as she jumped to her feet. This was her moment. This was her stage. It was just the school talent show, but to her, it was the world.

The furious tempo of the music fell, but the rush of adrenaline didn’t leave her. Breathing slowly to control her heartbeat, she lowered her eyes to sing the final verse in a low, sotto voice.

“Nothing really matters… anyone can see… nothing really matters… to me…”

But everybody, Boho herself, knew just how untrue that really was. Steadying herself, she put the mic down and beamed out at her audience, waving at them as they applauded, whistled, cheered – and gave her a standing ovation.

The rest of the evening was a blur, but Boho knew that there were two moments she’d never forget. First was the wave of excitement that came with the finish of her first public performance; the other, the blazing streak of euphoria that came when she realized that it had given her her cutie mark.