Hello, I'm Burning Up Again

And That's Okay

There was no space in this world for us, we knew. Everyone made that abundantly clear.

And so, it is with that message etched into our wooden hearts that we trudged on, day after day, wandering and eternally searching for our own damned graves.

I crushed the jagged gravel beneath me. Fog and dust curled up around my ankles wistfully, as if each step released a ghost from its entombment.

Next to me, Rubie shook the folded page in her hand absentmindedly: a weathered, old picture of a bright, red car. The damned thing looked just about ready to fall apart any minute now.

She blew thick smoke into the air, tainting it with an ashy, bitter taste.

I grimaced.

She had a habit of doing that. For nerves, she said.

Leaning against the banister, she pressed her weight down on it as if it were the only thing that kept her standing, eyes darting around. Those cigarettes were supposed to help.

I don't remember when this had become our reality. The days melted together in my head whenever I tried to think about it too hard.

"What are you looking at, Ant?" Rubie asked, eyes narrowed.

She peeled herself off of the fencing and tapped her foot.

Antton stared out into the barren branches of the dead trees around us.

The trunks, washed in white from old age, knotted into the bark twisting into wicked faces. If any trees could be haunted, these certainly were.

He pointed at a dark spot in the distance, and I squinted for a few moments before a shadow flickered like black fire in the distance.

Once I crept closer, I noticed the shape of a large, black bird.

The thing circled around us a few times, and Rubie dug her nails into the side of her arm hard enough to leave marks.

"Right on schedule," he said. His smile gleamed.

Antton pushed a heavy hand on my shoulder, ushering me to walk with him.

It landed maybe ten feet away from us looking peculiarly over to the left.

And it's eyes, it's bleak, dead eyes didn't move. While there was no malice behind them, as for it's heart... who could say?

It's beak reflected the light menacingly as if waiting to pluck out my bones.

The sombre air grew warm the closer we stepped toward it, thrumming with a soft, artificial heat as if it were trying to replicate a sense of vitality, of realness. I suppressed a shiver.

Antton didn't look at me, not even once.

Instead he said, "We're following."

The crow took his words as a que, and spread its wings out, before taking off, just in sight enough for us to stumble after it, tripping over roots and dead branches.

We took off at a rather rushed pace that left my chest pounding and lungs burning, a nice, clean breath always one step out of reach.

My eyes strained from squinting, searching for any sign of blurred movement as the bird wove between the treetops.

A dark cloud loomed over us, and I bit the urge to bolt back the way I came.

Rubie and Antton stumbled to a halt as the road shifted to concrete, and I took the opportunity to heave, acid rising in my throat.

"Shit, I lost him," Antton cursed.

"Not exactly our biggest problem right now," Rubie muttered, taking a few steps back.