The car was silent, all noise absent from the cabin, save for the engine and the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Feather Wing sat in the passenger seat, eyes out of the window, silent. No one lit a bong, no one rolled a joint and no one spoke. Feather cast one last look at his companion before closing his eyes. Flower was pissed, obviously. At whom, he didn’t know and at the moment didn’t care. He was tired and the car’s gentle rocking started putting him to sleep, the trails of light on his eyes making some interesting shapes. Flower Blossom sighed and turned towards Feather.
Things have been…awkward to say the least between the two since the drug trip. What transpired after they both passed out was left to a series of incidental clues, all pointing towards the same culprit. Memories fade. Maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the obvious. No, Feather thought to himself, this DID happen and there’s no way around it.
“Look, I know what happe-“Before he finished, Feather put a hoof on his mouth, his lips tracing the word “no”. He knew all too well what had happened. Or at least, he thought so. They did “it”. The horizontal boogie, the beep bop boom. He plowed Flower’s rice paddy. Well, they were both high, blazed out of their minds on all sorts of drugs. Still, Feather should have known better, even when high. After all, he wasn’t gay. He always did notice things about some colts others didn’t but he wrote it off as "odd". He never did something he later regretted while high, not before this. This was…different.
Something told him that this was a turning point. He needed out, needed to collect his thoughts. The car passed a sign saying “Beowawe, NV, 18 miles”. The sign read the population as 517. Just big enough crowds not get Feather noticed.
Within a few minutes he would buy a bus ticket and within a few hours his little “adventure” would be nothing but a bitter (if not interesting) memory, left in the dust. He switched seats, climbing in the back as the car entered the small rural town. After a few minutes of digging, he pulled out a small satchel covered in stickers. That’s all he head, minus the shirt on his back.
The car came to a halt just outside the only bus stop in town, loudly grinding the dusty road beneath its wheels. Feather opened the door and looked inside one last time. Flower Blossom kept his eyes on the road, intently ignoring the small blue Pegasus staring at him.
“Look man, I’ll see you again” Feather’s voice was almost pleading “What happened was obvious, but hey, maybe you liked it?”
He did his best to do a goofy grin but car’s door slammed shut. Flower drove off with the speed of a hundred mad horses, leaving the small blue mess of fur and feathers in a miniature dust cloud. He was alone again, trying to find a place to stay. It was getting cold already.
About a mile down the road, Flower’s mind was positively ablaze. He just left a long-time companion in a dust cloud over something that may or may not have happened. He loved sex, but doing it with ponies he truly and completely loved was strictly off limits. That had gotten him in trouble once already and now for the second time. Years ago he had made a promise, sealed by a barrage of bitter tears that he would never get intimate with someone he knew for longer than two years. It was too much of a risk, possibly costing him some of the best company he could find anywhere.
He spent that night next to the road, thinking more than sleeping. He remembered Feather’s words. What if he did like it? Should they have done this before, possibly off drugs? He honestly didn’t know. It was time to forget it all and move on.
It was already morning when Flower woke up, pulled out of the soft security of his dreams by a harsh, cold and very real radio announcement. It was like that every time he was alone, not relying on his internal clock to keep him awake. The sun stung his eyes, a single sleepy hoof ransacking trough the glove box, looking for a pair of sunglasses. It was very important for Flower to begin his day with a mindful of positive thoughts. That was his only morning routine and the only thing he ever stuck to. Being happy or unhappy was a choice. It was a choice Flower made during the last few hours of Cymbaline’s life, a choice bound by a promise he would never break, not as long as his lungs still drew air.
Well, new day, new roads and hopefully new companionship. It was time to hit the road once again. The first few hours were rather uneventful. Nothing but songs he had heard a million times, scenery he had passed more than a few times and a distinct feeling of emptiness. The road that stretched underneath the car’s tires seemed endless and tired. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time that he left it all behind. Yes, that was the answer he had sought all this time. Too much had happened on these roads, with friends he had met here. He would probably make his way west, further down towards LA. He had a few buddies he could crash with, probably pick up a stray on the way too.
Flower Blossom took three deep breaths. After each one, a part of his history fell from his shoulders, stripped away by his newly found freedom. There would be only one he would keep in his mind, only one he would never forget. He licked his lips, pushed the throttle and turned the dial on his radio.
“Cymmi, babe, this one’s for you”
***
Freedom is never dear at any price. It is the breath of life. What would a man not pay for living? – Mahatma Ghandi