"The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary."
You looked around the graveyard for any clues for where to go.
Back where the headstone you were previously sitting at, the roses were blowing in the sudden breeze.
A few of the crimson petals that had detached due to your harshness when you threw them down in front of the Ringmaster's statue, and had began to blow in the wind, almost hypnotically.
Frowning, you watched them gust through the gravestones, curious to see if they'd reveal anything meaningful.
They blew to a large marble mausoleum in the centre of the graveyard, the wind wailing more harshly as it smacked the petals against the dull stone.
Keeping the paper tight in your hand, you jogged to the tomb.
As soon as you were about five paces from the mausoleum's entrance, the wind vanished. The rose petals fell to the ground.
"That couldn't have been a coincidence," you remarked, glancing down at the petals and then at the paper in your hand.
You put a hand against the cool marble and pushed against the slab gingerly.
It ground across the floor, moving just enough for you to slip in.
Stepping into the mausoleum, you were blinded suddenly by a bright light.
Hands out in front of you, you felt for the wall of the tomb.
Finding nothing, you cautiously opened your eyes.
"What the hell?"
You were in a desert.
A fucking desert.
Looking around, you noticed a derelict gas station in the distance, dry shrubs, almost white coloured sand and nothing worth noting behind you.
"Where did the mausoleum go?" You muttered, walking in a circle and finding nothing.
A jolt of horror made your pupils dilate.
You didn't have the paper in your hands.
"Shit!" You cursed, your hands flying to the pockets of your hoodie to search for it, only to find a cool, leathery surface.
In surprise, you looked down at your clothes.
Instead of wearing the grey hoodie, black sneakers and jeans you had worn in the graveyard, you were now wearing a fake leather jacket, a yellow tank top and black skinny jeans. You had a gun holster strapped to your right thigh. You had a sneaking suspicion there was an actual gun in there. Across your shoulder you had a simple bag.
Rummaging in the bag, you pulled out the paper.
"Found you," you sighed in relief.
Putting the paper back in the bag, you started off in the direction of the gas station. Maybe you'd be able to get help from there.
You picked your way through a particularly thick bunch of shrubs, thinking about where you could be.
It still looked like California, somewhere in the desert.
"Maybe it's the Killjoy Era," you mused.
That was impossible, though. You can't just travel to some alternate universe where the Killjoys were real.
Right?
A loud yell answered your question.
"KILLJOY!" A voice screamed at you.
YOU ARE READING
Fake Your Death
FanfictionI had a dream about a music video for Fake Your Death that I told a few of my friends and they encouraged me to write it, so here's the idea!
