Into the Night

Welcome back to Fairfax

The setting sun warped the sky into a miasma of orange with a polluted array of light green. A bruise faded away, while their eyes inched to the heavens that they'd never know.

A crescent moon swung over their delicate skin, lowering itself on withered ropes, inching down to cleave their reconstructed hope in two. The once commandeered bus headed down the same road that the previous bus was torn to shreds on. The bus of victims-to-be entered Fairfax, a bus of corpses left it, and now the monsters were coming home. Not the strangest of occurrences in a secluded town of monsters, murderers, and the musically challenged.

Inside the bus, the laws of their nature were suspended. Inside the cabin, they weren't traveling a few miles per hour over the speed limit. They were in a pocket of space and time where monsters and humans could coexist without one resorting to sociological cannibalism.

Sella sat with his legs over the manwich's lap trying to pretend he wasn't morbidly afraid of another wreck. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck against the cool glass. He no longer found himself able to find solace in the night. He instead focused on the manwich that continued to flirt with him, despite having been alive less than a month. This time around he didn't fight off the advances, since he understood they were just that. It helped him not focus on his final destination.

"You know, while I thought it was strange that your aunt kept making detours on the way back, I'm sort of glad she did. We got to spend time together, got to see a ton of America that most people don't and frankly I don't know how to tell my dad I'm actually alive... "

Sella put down the book he bought from at a store along the way.

"I would think that would be easy to do? Even something you would want to do as fast as possible to make his suffering end. You're pretty confusing for someone so upfront about everything. "

He shook his head, slapped by his assumption.

"You don't know my dad. He doesn't suffer, he wallows. On some level I think he seeks out the feeling so he can retreat into his mind. Looking for a reason not to live his life. He's probably too high right now to realize I died and my sister ran away. "

His words caught fire and burned any notion of paternal affection away.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't realize that you felt that way. A lot of social interactions I wing and base them off the books I read. "

While his father adhered to his misery, his son refused to cling onto his torment. He'd rather see it float down the river, instead of locking it away inside the museum of his suffering.

"You're still a mystery to me. "

Sella dropped the novel. He stopped diverting his attention from the witch that spoke to him between bites of trail mix and sipping Gatorade. Being wanted had a way of bewitching and disarming him. A symptom common in those that lived the majority of their lives relying on themselves and receiving little positive attention. However, even independence aches for the warmth in the arms that's carrying a cage.

"Well we have plenty of time to solve me, since you're a witch and I'm unsure of my mortality." He lied at the beginning and continued with honesty, a simple way to mask deceptions. A bright white smile returned to his face. With death in the past, and his now unending life ahead of him, his romantic heart couldn't help but swell at the idea of a love that even time couldn't tarnish.

Charlie's copper hair covered knuckles brushed from his ankles, to his knees, and trailed to his thighs. The bright whites vanished from his face as his smile twisted into less than pure intentions. His thumb pressed in his inner thigh and his fingers tapped down in a wave.