Red was the color of an early morning sunrise over Seaddle, as it danced across the sky and gently enveloped the city in its tender grasp. Red was the color of the rays that shone through the windows of Manehattan and bounced off the skyscrapers that towered up towards the horizon.
It was the color of many other things, most certainly, but Cherry Berry liked to associate it with morning skies and evening light, and of hot air balloons and navigation manuals. She had traveled the world, and in every corner she saw red.
Red was the color of love.
Cherry maneuvered her balloon a little bit lower as the sun began to break its way through the clouds, with all the grace and time in the world. Sunlight glinted off of her flight goggles, which were resting atop her head, and reflected in the murky brown liquid of her coffee.
The ground rose up to meet her as the balloon sank deeper and deeper towards the earth. Every now and then Cherry would glance at it over the side of her basket, before going to her instruments and looking up at the flame dancing above her.
Red was the color of fire, too.
After a few seconds, the balloon gently made contact with the ground, bouncing up and down slightly. The basket skidded across the earth for a little before it came to a halt. Cherry smiled as she reached for her thermos, mentally congratulating herself on a virtually perfect landing.
Red was the color of her balloon. The one before that was pink, and the one before that was a slightly lighter shade of pink, one that closely reflected her coat. Of course the others noticed, and of course she gave them all a variety of reasons for the change.
She wondered if any of them ended up guessing the truth before she had told them.
Cherry Berry unstrapped her flight helmet and turned off the flame with a shrug. She liked to think that she had been subtle enough about it, but her friends were often smarter than she gave them credit for.
Red was the color of her rip line. She gave it a pull and glanced upwards as the balloon began to deflate. Cherry kept pulling with one hoof as she sipped at her coffee again, letting her mind wander as she let the bag grow smaller and smaller.
She hummed a little song to herself as the early morning songbirds began to stir, chirping and filling the air with ethereal, haunting melodies. Early morning dew stained the tips of the grass blades around her, and from somewhere beyond the clearing, a rooster let loose a cry.
It didn’t take long until the entire balloon had shrunk itself down. Cherry stepped out of the basket and began the process of folding it up, seizing the red fabric in her mouth and dragging it about, the same way she had done hundreds of times before.
Red was the color of the night. Cherry smiled at that thought. It was a fairly controversial one, perhaps, but for her there was no truth greater than that.
She remembered vividly that night, shuffling on her hooves nervously with a bouquet of roses in her mouth. The flowers were red too, of course, but the brightest shade was her. When she opened the door, Cherry’s mouth fell open and the roses tumbled to the ground.
Cherry spit out the fabric and laughed to herself at the memory, before trotting off towards the nearby barn. She let her mind wander back to that night, when everything was tainted in that brilliant shade of crimson, staring dreamily at her from across the table as a candle flickered between them.
Perhaps it had been too tacky. The two of them entertained that thought years after and laughed about it, but in her heart Cherry knew that that was the night when her world became red. And frankly she didn’t regret it.
Her friends used to say that they were meant to be, and Cherry was inclined to agree. She, an earth pony in the sky, and her, a pegasus on the ground. Perhaps they were parts of the same pony, one that had split apart many years ago.
Red was the color of polaroid photographs and carnival games, and red was the color of the train as it pulled into the station, ready to take them home.
After she finished folding the canvas, she trotted down the grassy path towards a dark red barn that sat nearby. Once she reached its large wooden doors she pulled them open, feeling a cool breeze pass through her mane.
Red was the color of tragedy, too. It was the color of the roses that they left on a tombstone in a graveyard, and it was the color of her tear-stained eyes and the color of the veil that obscured her face that day. Red was what she saw when she hugged her tight and whispered into her ear, leading her out of the cemetery and back home.
She retrieved the chute bag and harness from where they were stashed and returned to the dismantled balloon, fitting the chute inside with ease. When it was done and sealed, she tossed it into the basket, hitching herself up with the harness and pulling it towards the barn.
Red was the color of anger.
Cherry grimaced at that. But that was also a necessary truth, that red was the color of war, and red was the color of hate. After a time the red stopped being beautiful and began to be fierce, like a scrapyard dog on a very long chain.
Red began to seep into her dreams and into her sheets before it claimed her body completely. Red began to taint the words she spoke, and with the red came rage.
“You’re never home anymore,” she had said angrily. “Do you even care about me at all?”
Her reply was red, and she wished it had been anything but.
Once Cherry had pulled the basket inside the barn completely, she unhitched herself and returned the harness to its hook on the wall. She pulled the barn doors shut and turned around to take in the valley.
It made for a grand landing spot, and was perfect for early morning flights. The seas of green rolled around her, rising and falling like waves in the night, and the trees and crops that surrounded the clearing were something to look forward to.
But the perfect spot did not always make for a perfect flight. She found that out the hard way, back when the red had clouded her mind and her eyes, and she had stormed out of the house, fighting the roaring winds of a tyrannical spring.
Cherry Berry was by no means an amateur, and she definitely knew better than to try to fly through rough conditions. Of course, that didn’t stop her then. She wished it had.
Red was the color of blood. Red was the color of the ground spinning and spinning as it rushed up to meet her, not at all gently. Red was the color of the scream that escaped her lips, and red was what she saw when she closed her eyes.
But a second after, all the red was gone and she saw her, perfect as always, sitting on the porch in a perfect morning sunrise. Surrounded by fields and fields of strawberries and cherries.
Cherry trotted down the path towards the farmhouse that seemed to glow in the early morning light. She trotted up the creaky stairs and to the door, the smell of pancakes passing her by.
Red was the color of the hospital room, but only when she was there. When she wasn’t, it was the color of white and regret. Cherry didn’t want to see her at first, but when she did the red came back. Subtler this time, and not at all intense.
She watched as she cried, apologies and prayers leaking from her mouth like a river breaking through the damn, and her pain like the night in its darkness.
And Cherry broke, because she was sorry too.
Cherry opened the door and was greeted by framed pictures and homely decorations. Hallways of wood and carpet promised comfort, and a set of stairs seemed to smile at her as she passed. She followed the smell of breakfast to the dining room, where a set of utensils and a stack of pancakes were already waiting.
Red was the color of her.
In the kitchen, Cherry found her, hips swaying as she sang a song to herself. Another batch of pancakes was sizzling on the stove, and she kept a watchful eye over them. Cherry set her thermos on the counter and approached, nuzzling her lover’s neck and sighing.
She giggled, responding with a cheery “Good morning to you too.”
Cherry buried herself into her mane and sighed. It smelled of strawberries, as it always did. She broke away and kissed her on the cheek, offering to oversee the batch while she ate.
Red was the color of a lot of things. It was the color of an October sky and the color of a picture-perfect sunset. It was the color of the strawberries she unwaveringly loved and the color of the apples that she inexplicably hated. But above all, red was the color of Strawberry Sunrise.
And that was more than enough.