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You can't escape your life.

You can go anywhere you want. You can run as far as you want. But you always take yourself with you.

There is no escape from yourself and your past.

"Doesn't matter," an answer most people don't believe when it comes, just like it was at Christmas when Sierra said, "There won't be any nasty surprises because of me, okay? As far as that goes, it's all good."

"If you say so," also a response where most people immediately knew there was still some doubt, but Sierra left it at the Christmas response, "What's with you and motorcycles anyway? Nobody drives cars anymore."

"If you look at the streets, it's true, there's hardly a car to be seen anymore," Sierra confirmed, pulling the corners of her mouth down as she nodded, "Um.... I'm not big on motorcycles."

Time to change that. At least if Christmas had his way, and that would be soon. And as long as none of the others were here, and the two of them were just standing around stupidly at the moment, they might as well use the time better, more wisely.

In the end, it didn't matter how many times Sierra refused, or rather, refused, it didn't change Christmas' stubbornness.

While Sierra said all kinds of no's, Christmas dismounted and pushed her to his motorcycle, where he simply put his helmet on her head. Done. That was the end of it....for Christmas.

Discussion was pointless.



▪︎▪︎▪︎



"I....," Sierra began in a shaky voice, breaking away from Christmas and hastily dismounting the red machine, only to rip the helmet off her head the next second and drop it to the ground with a gasp, ".... woah... okay...."

"We didn't even get started," Christmas laughed, "Most people ride before ...."

"I killed someone, okay?" Sierra interrupted the short haired man, making Christmas' grin disappear as he watched uncomprehendingly as she paced with her hands clasped behind her neck.

No reaction. From then on there was silence. What was an appropriate response and reaction to someone telling you that you had killed someone?

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