Plight of the Bumblebee
Once a month, without fail, the small Autobot would make the trek. He went alone; others would volunteer to go along with him, but he refused. He always refused, politely of course. It was something he had done since the day they died. And he would continue to make the journey, once a month and alone, until he too perished.
It was a beautiful place, one he had discovered while tagging along with Beachcomber during one of his infamous road trips. Surrounded by tall, strong trees, there was a dip in the land and it overlooked a roaring river. He was always impressed when he arrived, marveling at the magical appeal the area flaunted. The trees broke open at the cliff's descent, allowing a picturesque view of the sky.
He would sit on a large rock, the same rock he always sat on, and he'd gaze out across the clearing and then down to the icy water. Birds of many colors and sizes would fly by, often times singing their unique songs as birds often do. They provided the perfect soundtrack for the locale sheltering his solitude and allowing him time for reflection.
Soon the sun would begin to set, illuminating the sky with swirls of deep purple, bright orange, and passive pink. The night began to wrest the sky away from the day's long steady hand. Insects would begin their nightly symphony, and lightning bugs would supply nature's own fireworks. There was no place on Earth more intimate than this, no quieter place he'd rather be.
Finally, after waiting patiently for night to claim total victory over the day, Bumblebee would look up and count the stars. He found a release in the stillness of the night, and the darkness brought with it a most welcome sensation of comfort. And when he was ready, however long it might take, he would speak to friends long gone. Sometimes, in between the tears, he could almost hear them answer.
end.