The bell rang to signal the end of class, but Flash Sentry didn’t move right away. He paused—only thirty seconds, but a pause nonetheless—which was enough time to let most of the students around him pack their bags and stand up, filing out of the room.

“Have a good weekend, Flash!” someone called as they stepped out the door, but they were already gone by the time he looked up. Probably one of the football players. Shrugging, Flash folded his notebook closed and slid it into his backpack. He smiled at Miss Cheerilee as he stepped to the door, and finally he’d escaped the oppressive warmth of the classroom. His sneakers squeaked on the blue and white-checkered pattern of the tile as he turned right, threading his way through the mass of students meandering around the lockers.

He went on for a couple minutes, carefully dancing around people who might want to say hello until he reached one particular locker. As he stopped, he eyed the stickers with angular logos of punk bands that dotted its façade—and the wear that betrayed them as relics of a year gone by.

“Hey.”

Flash turned his head to see a familiar face approaching with a swish of long red hair that splayed over the leather jacket below. “Hi. How’s it going?”

Sunset Shimmer stopped, leaning against the locker next to him. “Eh, fine. I was starting to fall asleep in my last class there... thank Goddess it’s over and I can go home now. Might even take a nap.” She smiled a friendly smile, something he’d only ever seen her do in the last couple months. It suited her.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve had a couple of late nights myself recently.” Flash’s hands made quick work of the lock as he spoke, and he swung the door of the locker open.

There was no empty space to fit anything else inside; the height of the metal cavity was taken up by a black fabric guitar bag resting carefully against the side. Sunset peeked around the corner into the locker, eyeing it as well.

“There she is, huh?”

“Yep.” Flash stared for another moment before taking hold of the handle and lifting the heavy object with a grunt. Sunset took a step back so he could set it delicately against the front of the neighbouring locker, and Flash could see she was gazing the instrument with a... somewhat less than enthused expression. “Restrung her last night, too,” he added, stepping back. “Should be all good to go.”

Sunset blinked in surprise. “You did all that, really? Well, I might as well throw in another 20 bucks then...” She smirked, giving Flash a knowing look he’d only seen a few times before.

“Oh, uh...” Flash scratched his head. “I actually meant to say earlier, but... you can just take it, it’s fine.”

Sunset raised an eyebrow. “...Take it?”

Flash nodded, maybe a little too quickly, but he laughed it off. “Heh, yeah. I don’t really need the money, and I’d rather you just have it.”

Sunset shot him a very strange look. “Flash, I’m not just taking your guitar, I’m gonna pay you for it. You did say 80, didn’t you? I’ll just round up to a hundred.” She reached into the jet-black purse at her side and produced a leather wallet, from which she procured a handful of twenties.

“Alright, alright,” Flash said, taking the bills as Sunset handed them to him. “Can’t blame me for trying to be generous, though.”

“You’re already being plenty generous,” Sunset shot back as she replaced the wallet in her purse. “Heck, I still can’t understand really why you’re willing to sell it to me in the first place. I remember when you wouldn’t stop playing this thing, even here at lunch.”

Flash shrugged. “Guess I just moved on. Can’t keep doing the same thing forever, you know? Sometimes things have gotta change.”

Sunset nodded slowly. “That’s true.” She reached over and took a hold of the guitar bag’s handle, lifting it with apparent ease. “Still, can be kinda sad to see things change, especially when you’ve got good memories attached.”

“Mmm,” Flash hummed.

Sunset Shimmer smiled, and turned as if to leave—but, a moment later, she turned back. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t we hang out, for old time’s sake? You, me, tomorrow for coffee at Sugarcube? I feel like I hardly see you these days, and it’s been forever since we’ve caught up.”

Flash hesitated. “Uh...” He racked his brain, trying to think of an excuse, something.

Sunset rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you have anything better to do! I’ll see you there at noon, okay?”

“Okay,” Flash said, surprising even himself. “I’ll see you then.”

“Perfect,” Sunset said, and then she turned to go for real. At this point, the halls were nearly empty, and Flash just stood there, watching as the redhead carried the guitar further and further and then pushed her way out the large double doors at the end.

---

His hands on the wheel and foot on the pedal, Flash Sentry did something he never did while driving; he whistled. Usually, he’d have his phone hooked up to the car stereo, shuffling through whatever music he’d loaded on there a few years ago—but all those songs were long worn out, no longer fresh enough to captivate as they once did. So, Flash whistled. Not anything in particular—at least, not that he could tell—but simply letting the melodies wander as they pleased.

And his eyes, they stayed focused on the road. It was relaxing, in a sense; he knew where he was going like the back of his hand, so he could just zone out and let himself be carried, like the melodies, by reflex.

When he reached the intersection with Mane Street, slowing for the red light, he decided the whistling had worn out its welcome too. So he stopped his whistling as he stopped the car, and he sat there in silence with nothing but the sound of the engine and the cars passing in front.

Casually, Flash glanced to the side; next to him, in the other lane, was a weathered red sedan that looked oddly familiar. He glanced in the window, and was met with the sight of a middle-aged woman with cropped green hair. A middle school science teacher he’d had, Flash thought, though he couldn’t remember her name. He raised a hand as if to wave, but she didn’t look his way.

The light turned, the other car turned, and Flash... he sped onward.

---

The car radio was on as Flash pulled up to the empty driveway, and once he’d parked he let it play on just a little longer.

“Now you lead a quite different life from the one that I lead... and I think that’s alright, and I think that’s just fine...”

As the guitar solo hit, he turned the volume up halfway and a bevy of notes cascaded out the speakers to fill the space. He closed his eyes and imagined himself playing that solo, fingers moving up and down the fretboard of his trusty Red.

And then, in time with the final drum hit, he reached out and turned the key to stop the engine. Gathering his backpack and jacket, Flash stepped out of the car and shut the door a little too hard behind him.

It was warm, and more quiet than he would have liked as he walked up the drive, but it was always like that; his mom’s house was in this nice little neighbourhood that bordered on suburbia, where all the lawns were well-kept and the one- and two-storey houses looked fairly uniform. His destination itself, standing before him, was an average two-storey home painted a deep neutral grey, ordinary as ordinary could be.

Flash walked up two concrete stairs and picked up the newspaper that was sitting on the welcome mat. Then, fumbling with his keyring in one hand, he managed to slot the correct one in the lock and get the door open. He set the newspaper on the end table by the door, slid his shoes off and set them in the foyer, and then carefully tread inward in his socks. The finish of the wood floor had gotten all screwed up sometime before his mom moved in and she’d never gotten a chance to have it fixed; many a time he’d walked through carelessly and gotten splinters.

The ceiling lights were off, and the setting sun shining in from the living room windows cast the common area in a strange, eerie sort of light. Flash didn’t pay this too much mind, however; he was too focused on the dining room table, which he walked towards. In the centre sat a clear crystalline vase—empty—but his focus was trained more towards the small piece of paper that stuck out like a sore thumb from the deep green of the tablecloth. As he approached, Flash could make out a familiar loopy scrawl in blue ballpoint pen—the latter point he could tell because the instrument sat next to the note on the table, uncapped.

Working late again, leftovers in fridge
Remember to pick up your brother from practice at 7
Love you
Mom

He smiled. The note hadn’t been necessary—it was basically the same routine as every Friday—but he appreciated it all the same. Flash slid off his backpack next to the table and glanced up at the clock before stepping past the table to the fridge. He opened it, bathing him in a refreshing coolness and the glow of artificial light.

It was only a couple minutes later when the microwave dinged to let him know that his mac ’n’ cheese was reheated, and he stood back up from his seat to collect it. When he returned, he sat and ate in silence; by that time, the sunlight had shifted, leaving him shrouded mostly in shadow.

He didn’t eat too quickly, but it still didn’t take him too long to get through his bowl. When he was done, he brought it over to the sink and rinsed it out. As he wiped his hands off, Flash checked the time again, and nodded in unspoken approval. He grabbed his backpack again as he walked past the table, and from there he stepped up the stairs.

Flash’s bedroom was at the end of the short hall, past his brother’s and across from the bathroom. Unlike his locker, the face of his door was blank; that was at his mom’s request, and he didn’t really care to find out what would happen if he defied her. He opened the door, hanging his backpack on a bedpost as he closed the door behind him.

The room was totally clean and his bed was made—a bit unusual for him, but it’s never too late to turn a new leaf. The carpet was bare, and he’d vacuumed last night; his desk across the room was clear and his laptop sat on it, closed. An empty guitar stand stood beside it, below the curtains-drawn window; Flash let out a little sigh at the sight of it. He stepped over and picked it up, and within moments it was tucked into a space behind the curtain covering the closet, out of sight.

Out of sight, out of mind.

From there, Flash stepped back at sat down on his bed, careful not to mess up the bedspread. He just sat there in silence for a few minutes, taking it all in—gazing at the room he’d spent so much of his time in for the last several years. Homework waited in his backpack, stuffed haphazardly into folders, but it was Friday afternoon and he didn’t have to worry about it for at least another day.

Whistling another indeterminate tune, Flash reached over to the bedside table and tugged at the little metal pull on the front of the drawer. It slid open and from within, between the container of dental floss and a backup phone charger, he pulled out a handgun. He took a deep breath, put the barrel to the underside of his chin, and the lights flickered and died.

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