Dawn Patrol
By Missy

SERIES: Dawn Patrol

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: PG (drug content)

PAIRING(s): L/L

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine.  Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

 

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: SOL

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Post-show - set at Woodstock.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: "Around them, Woodstock wakes up"

NOTES: Solita wanted someone to write her something.  I obliged.

 

 

***

 

The sky was ocean blue inside, with a cheesy yellow sun hanging high over the blurred, creamy clouds.  She watched a plane float peacefully by, stricken by the silence of the afternoon, the time to be wasted.

 

She looked like a gypsy and talked like a trucker in her lacy blouses and billowing pants - the image of a woman beyond the conventions surrounding her.  It was her way, her manner of being, that differed her from the others in her world, and he loved the pieces of her that made up the whole. 

 

The ground was muddy and filled with trash, dazed hippies lying in their ponchos in the sunlight, tripping on homemade acid.  You couldn't walk without stubbing your toe on a mood ring.  He was nicely baked himself, but she would swear herself sober as a judge.

 

How long had they known one another?  Too long.  His embrace is exotic but timeless, scented with licorice.  The same and yet perverse.

 

Her head falls backward at his touch, her mouth opens.  Is it the ecstasy of the moment or the chemicals in the air?  There are thousands around them doing worse.  Their kiss is almost quaint.

 

Through the distance, Jimi Hendrix picks up his guitar, closes his eyes, and begins playing.

 

Around them, Woodstock wakes up.




The End!













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