The soft sound of dripping bounced off the motel walls, echoing through the bathroom. In the small porcelain cell, a colt, his head hanging over the sink. Drops of blood accumulated near the drain. Small, tiny red blotches, swirling off into the drain. Feather snorted. How could he have gotten himself into this? His face was bleeding, each drop making a silent rumble as it fell onto the tiles.
The lazy shape stumbled out of the porcelain prison, the silhouette outlined by a faint neon haze. Feather was a fool. He walked over to the bed. Fool, fool, fool. With a thump he leaned onto the old shingles, filthy with dozens of cigarette burns and hoof prints. He slid to the floor. To his left a handgun with a single chambered bullet. To his right a bottle of pills leaning onto a whiskey flask. Fool, fool, fool.
He felt like dying, his whole world coming crashing down. He had the room for one night only, no plan, no future and no money. It was make or break time. There was no other way out, in front of him nothing but an endless spiral of depression and self-destruction. Within days he would be begging strangers for money and within weeks he would die on the streets of some nameless town, dehydrated and lost.
Feather's mouth stood agape as he pressed the gun against his temple, his hoof shaking. The metal felt cold, alien even. His mouth formed words, words of pain and forgiveness. This was it. He was going to do it. He weighed his options around in his head one last time, always reaching the same conclusion. In this world of tyranny, oppression and pure capitalism he was a stray, a nameless fugitive, running from the endless and all-encompassing system. If he ran it would kill him. If you don’t participate in the system, you die.
His hoof probed the gun’s shape, alien and cold. The gun. He opposed it so much in his life, going to protests to stop wars and bring peace. He used to believe that the gun could bring nothing but death. He used to believe that the world was going to change. Somewhere deep within his soul he carried the hope that one day Celestia would be overthrown, that one day everyone would realize the extent of her atrocities. She was the problem; she was the ring-leader. Driven mad by her multi-millennial reign she met any and all opposition to the “Equestrian way of life” with violence, pure animalistic violence.
Feather opened the gun’s drum, rotating it. There was a faint shine to it, almost inviting. He hated that shine. It would invite ponies to pick one up and use it against others. That shine was what he truly hated about all guns. The vastly creative pony mind created an extremely complex machine, amazing from a technological viewpoint. And why? Only so that ponies could kill other ponies, other living beings. It was despicable. The very metal object Feather held in his hooves was the culmination of a hundred year journey to find the best way to eliminate another mind, to completely remove it from existence. In a way, Feather held all that he hated about the corrupted civilization that surrounded him.
The only friend he ever had left him, the only glimmer of hope in this dark place extinguished. The good times were gone, the last joint was lit and the goodbyes were said. With Flower gone he lost his last friend in the whole wide world. There was no one to save him, no one to pull him back from the edge. He had been in this position only once before, ready to make the final cut.
“Fuck it” he gasped, a single tear running down his face. The gun touched the fur on his temple once again, a small drop of swear passing over the muzzle. Feather blinked a couple of times before taking one, last, deep breath. His world was about to fade. He pulled the trigger.
The bang came and gone quickly, no pain. Not anymore. Just silence and the soft sound of the rain outside, thumping against the window. In the corner of the small, dusty motel room laid a motionless shape, a gaping hole in its forehead, surrounded by a pool of blood and some stray feathers.
A car passed by the window, its headlights lazily illuminating the room for a few seconds. Nobody knew, nobody cared. Another mind got blown away and the world was just a little more insane.