Obsidian Fangs

☆ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝟙☆

It's midnight... or wait... she checks her phone; no, it's 2:37. I better get going. Bentley Myres, a short-haired white cat with black splotches and piercing green eyes, grabs a few more bags and throws them in. She climbs into the car and shuts the door. It's a metallic navy blue Volkswagen Jetta with chrome accessories. Inside, there are little metal star charms from thrifted necklaces dangling from the ceiling, as well as small beads of glass of various shapes and sizes.

Plush black leather seats line the interior. On the rearview mirror hangs a spell jar made and given to her by her best friend Cassidy, along with various chunks of rose quartz and tiger's eye crystals suspended in small cotton twine nets.

She lets out a shaky breath. "Fear is the mind killer." She looks to the side; in the cup holder is a nip pen. She sighs and gives it a few puffs. The effect is almost instant. She tilts her head back and breathes out slowly, watching the smoke drift from her mouth in elegant swirls. She lets out a small laugh, which disrupts the smoke and turns it into a gray haze.

"Ok, shut the fuck up," she laughs at herself and starts the car. She's high; she smoked a little too fast. The engine roars to life, as do the LEDs she installed last year. They were this eye-bleeding shade of purple right now. She fiddles with the controls and turns them to a dim reddish-orange. She backs up and gets on the road.

Once she hits the highway, everything goes to sh*t. She finishes two cigs and chugs a bottle of margarita mix—it's like super sweet limeade without the alcohol—and blasts music. "I'M ASKING NICELY!!!" she screams out the window. "GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!" The lights that were dim reddish-orange are now set to a custom strobe effect—purple, pink, orange, yellow, max speed, max brightness. The road is empty, which is cool, so she swerves through all the lanes to make her car dance.

She's approaching a hill, so she stops swerving, opens the skylight, and stands up, howling and cackling at the sky. The wind was fierce; she could barely breathe. It ravaged her fur, making her black splotches shimmer against the white. She pries her eyes open; they are a bright emerald green and burning with adrenaline.

The car starts to drift to the side. "Shit," she says, sitting back down and grabbing the wheel, steadying the car. Her hands are shaking; she lets out a nervous giggle. "Welcome to Vale," announces the GPS. She checks it; the city is another six hours away. Better take it easy and chill out. She stopped at a gas station, grabbed more snacks, and filled up the tank.

She was going to throw something away, but the trash cans were locked (animals like to get into them). She went behind the building; there was probably a dumpster back there that she could squeeze her trash into. As she circled the building, a horrid smell assaulted her nostrils. She gagged and held her shirt over her snout.

Then she saw the top half of a deer, its entrails strewn behind it in a puddle of blood, and its cold, lifeless, cloudy gray eyes regarding her. The terror was still carved on its face. Wasps, maggots, and beetles were writhing around under the skin, having possibly the most exquisite feast of their lives. She wrinkled her snout into a grimace, but she had already made up her mind.

She had to get this done, or else it would bother her for hours. So she carefully stepped around the carcass, getting on the tips of her toes to reach the dumpster. As expected, there was a small crevice, and she slipped the garbage inside. She tripped on the front hoof of the deer; rigamortis hadn't set in yet.

She broke into a sprint to escape the putrid stench, its empty, glassy eyes, the blood, and its agape mouth. She scraped the toe of her shoe furiously on the asphalt, grinding any trace of the deer away. She rushed to her car and slammed the door, breathing heavily—too heavily, too fast—and shaking the images from her mind. She grabs her nip pen and nurses it for a solid 3 minutes, inhaling more nepetalactone than oxygen.

She gasped; her breathing was returning to normal, but her hands were shaking. A few more puffs, and she was drooling a little. "Shit, I gotta tell Cassidy." Still shaking, she picked up her phone to dial the number, but hesitated. She checked the time. "When I get there," she says, setting it back down.

The rest of the ride was peaceful and rather uneventful. She saw some cows, and that was about it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Welcome to Emberreta Heights," the GPS chimed. It was around 7:30 am, and the streets were packed; the traffic was bad, but Bentley didn't mind. She had time to soak everything in. The lights were on, berating her with advertisements, but above the blinding billboards, the skyscrapers reflected the sunrise. There were dazzling shades of gold, orange, purple, blue, and magenta. From down here, it seemed as if the ground finally dominated the sky in magnitude and brilliance.

Below the billboards were smaller storefronts, street vendors, and musicians. Some were good, some were bad, but the smell of the food—oh my god, it was so mouth-watering. Bentley's stomach twisted with longing; she rolled up the windows and gripped her stomach, creating small punctures in her skin, trying to drown out the hunger with pain. It didn't work, so she popped some vole jerky. That would satisfy it for now. She kept driving. It took her hours to get to Cassidy's apartment.

"Finally, what took you so long? Come inside, girlie, those bags look heavy." Cassidy reached for her bags. She was a long-haired, pale ginger cat with soft blue eyes and a sprig of basil tattoo on her inner left forearm that stopped at her wrist. "Traffic!" Bentley wheezed, thrusting some of her bags into Cassidy's arms. "I figured," Cassidy groaned, the weight catching her by surprise. She quickly set it down and embraced Bentley, kissing each other on the cheeks (like the French do).

Cassidy's apartment was super nice. To Bentley's right was the kitchen, which consisted of the necessities: an oven, stove, fridge, cupboards, pantry, and an 11-in-1 crockpot air fryer. To her left was the main bathroom, which was connected to the closet, which was connected to the guest bedroom. In front of her was the living room with a super big leather couch and a window door thing that led to a small balcony overlooking the apartment pool, hot tub, and basketball court.

"You look tired. Go rest somewhere; I'll make you breakfast," Cassidy smiled. "Oh, thanks, Cassidy," Bentley said softly. She didn't realize how tired she actually was. Everything felt heavy. Her feet ached, and her eyes stung. She flopped onto the couch. The cold, stiff leather wasn't exactly comfortable, but she didn't care. It will warm up later. Cassidy came over with a blanket and laid it over Bentley. It was fresh out of the dryer. Bentley mumbled incoherently at Cassidy. It probably meant thanks, and she fell asleep almost instantly.