II. Dolphin
forgive me faron
ANTIQUES! Every other sent-sent-sent-sentiment an antique!
The shitty detachable radio skipped over and over again, as it always had. Oliver always thought about replacing it, but none of the newer models had the animations like this one did. It was stupid, but there was something about the silly repeating graphics of dolphins and Formula 1 cars and slot machines that appealed to him far more than an actually functioning musical experience. He breathed in the chemicals, the fumes of fake leather and gray plastic brought out by the evil magic of the Texas sun, even when it was only moderately warm outside. He was stuck in one of the busiest intersections downtown.
Wait, here? Why here?
He made the left turn approaching the arena, banners of the star power forward, calm and collected, looking down upon him from the streetlights. Ollie reached down onto the upholstery and intertwined his hoof with the paw of the wolf next to him. He looked over and gave him a smirk, before the wolf swiftly returned to bumping and jiving in his seat, singing along with the radio. Him. Faron. The realization crawled up from an open pit in his stomach.
Why was he remembering this? Stop! Stop! Wait!
Ollie kicked at his brain, trying to gain control over his body, but he found himself pulled away by the chain in his neck, burrowing him in, calm and secure, against the headrest. All he could do was bang at the windows, desperately screaming from the inside, as his memory glanced out into the next intersection and missed a glimpse at another truck barrelling out of control down the open road, his own thoughts occupied by the glitching radio and the singing voice of his boyfriend. He was trying his best, after all.
He can’t fucking do this again! Get out of there!
What came next was pain. The horn that echoed in his mind forever. The cuts from the glass, the jellied legs, the seatbelt suffocating his chest. The slow loss of consciousness as he looked right, now above, to see Faron hanging limp from his seat, shrouded in crumpled metal and shattered upholstery and torn airbags, dripping blood onto his face.
Welcome aboard, and thank you for choosing OllieAir. Your health and safety is of the utmost importance to us.
ANTIQUES!
The chain burned into his spine. He was back behind the wheel again, back upright, Faron still alive next to him. He tried to swerve into an open space on the side of the road, only to feel the wheel tense up beneath his hooves, refusing to budge until the left turn, then locking up again. The horn only produced silence. The keys were jammed into the ignition. He frantically slammed on the brakes, but found himself whiffing at open air. Looking down, below the steering wheel, he saw his foot bend around the brake pedal.
Dolphins swam in brilliant cyan water, the sunlight reflecting off their skin.
I’m driving on a straight road, it never alters…
Looking up, to his right, he saw the truck coming once again.
Please remember to stow all carry-on items securely in the overhead compartment, or below the seat in front of you. Please keep all aisles, exits, and bulkhead areas thoroughly obstructed.
ANTIQUES!
He came to and his foot slammed the gas pedal through the floor, trying to make something happen to change the flow of events. Maybe careening into the car in front of him would fuck up his rigid neuron pathways enough to disrupt his memory. He only could react in designed defeat as the world around him accommodated, accelerating along with him.
It only happened faster, now.
In case of an emergency, some sacrifices must be made. Please take stock of those who are least likely to survive in a crash or water landing. Remember their faces before you allow our staff to escort them away.
ANTIQUES!
Ollie slammed his head against the steering wheel, producing no sound. The memory of Faron next to him did not react. Something fell onto him from the sunroof, bouncing off his head into the cupholders. It was a birthday card.
Roooooaaaaarrrr! You’re 7!
He flipped it open as the left turn was made for him.
Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. At least there’s still some stuff that works in here. Let some air in before your head realizes what you’re reading.
Have a Jur-tastic Birthday!
Let some air in? Ollie fumbled for the window crank, and slowly opened it to pure nothing. The city simply smudged into a blur on the window as it lowered, and then that side of the world was gone. He frantically moved to the other door, bending almost in half as his seatbelt refused to give, splayed across the lap of an unresponsive, dancing Faron. The wolf kneed him in the face as he cranked the window open with the very tip of his hoof, and he looked up and saw darkness interrupting the city skyline, and silence instead of traffic.
Still, he clutched tightly onto Faron’s waist, latent adrenaline seizing his brain. He was waiting for the horn to sound again, waiting for the impact and the death, for the shattered glass and metal as the annoying country twang on the song to soundtrack the worst failure in his life just kept picking up, kept intensifying as he clung tighter and tighter to the man he wished he could say was still around for him to love, but please just let the song end, he can’t bear to hear it again, just let it end, cut to any other song, just not this one-
We’re glad to report only one fatality on all flights since our founding. No matter what, you can trust in the safety of OllieAir. Thank you, again, for flying with us.