Cherry Cola Fantasy

Chapter 1: Mike's Shop

There was a haunting glow coming from the neon signs perched upon the gas station's windows. Purple ambiance decorated Luke's skin. The rocky road spread dust particles alongside the shop. Far out onto the horizon, the sun had begun to set. Luke's boots hit the pavement one at a time. He slammed his car door shut. This ghost town was dead silent apart from the sound of Luke's belt buckle clinking. He didn't bother to lock the door; only two cars, besides his own, were parked in the lot. He stared at the building for a second.

"'Mike's Truck Stop,' huh? Well, Mike, doesn't look very promising..." Luke said to himself after reading the fading sign. He walked to a pair of glass doors. Slowly, he pried it open and stepped inside. His boots continued to make their noisy music. The place was slightly better on the inside. Everything was modern for the time. Cranberry, mauve, and citrus shades decorated the walls in complex patterns. There were brown contrasts that made the gas station seem more homely than a place where you simply paid for fuel. The neon signs were even more abundant along the colorful walls. All of them read either something poetical or something extremely confusing.

"Hello, welcome to Mike's. I'm Michael. Do you need anything?" A voice chimed. Luke looked up, jumping a bit.

"Er, um, no. Just looking at your snack selection." Luke answered. Said Michael had on a short-sleeve button down tucked into a belt and high-rising pants. His hair was fringed and fell into his eyebrows. Luke wondered if he listened to punk music. Punk music seemed to really popular right now.

"Let me or my employee Corey know if you need any help." Michael spoke carelessly. Luke nodded, walking down the many aisles. Some had toys, some candy, and some had simple necessities. The blonde man grew intrigued, however, when he saw a small table with a box full of vinyls on sale.

A smile grew on the guitarist's face when he began to thumb through the records. His eyes lit up when he saw a copy of Morrison Hotel by the Doors.

"No way...I couldn't find this anywhere..." He whispered, thumbing over the year-old record that had been sold out in every store he had searched. It was still in the plastic, and Luke knew he had to have it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I love Jim Morrison," A strange voice made Luke jump. He clutched the record to his chest, peering over his shoulder with a nervous expression.

"Er-um, are you Corey?" Luke's voice was a little scruffy. He didn't trust anyone, let alone people in ghost towns. Stranger danger still applied to adults.

"No, I'm Ashton. Are you going to buy that?" This man, Ashton, asked. He was shorter than Luke, with slicked back hair and down-turned lips. There were creases by his eyes when he spoke, and his body seemed very toned and manly. His jacket clung to his shoulders, and the fabric made a sound as he moved.

"Yeah," Luke cleared his throat. Ashton stood right beside him.

"You look like you don't belong here," Ashton muttered, twisting one of his rings. Luke caught his eyes, and together they stared before he got nervous, looking away. He was taller than this Ashton, but he remained untrusting.

"I-I don't know what you mean," Luke turned, record still cradled in his arms.

"You look so...golden. You don't belong in this town. What's your name?" Ashton sat on the small table, careful not to push the record boxes off of the table. He looked back to Luke.

"Luke. I'm not from here. I'm headed to Vegas," Luke told the man he just met. His heart rate was speeding. Luke didn't understand why this stranger was trying to analyze him. Maybe, he wanted to murder him. The whole gas station did seem sketchy. Even Luke's new, beloved record seemed oddly placed. The taller man tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"How old are you?" Ashton's voice was gravely, like the tumbleweeds that should have been rolling through Henderson, Nevada.

"I'm twenty-one. Why are you asking me this?" Luke asked, growing even more skeptical.

"Told you, you don't seem like you're from Henderson, Nevada," Ashton shrugged. He stood back to his feet, "Planning to hit it big?" The other man smirked teasingly. Luke blushed.

"Well, kind of. I want to travel." Luke stared at his feet.

"Well, traveling boy, you sure have a good taste in music-" Ashton said, an unfamiliar voice cut him off.

"If you would please not sit on the table; I'm the one who has to fix it," The other employee said. This time, Luke spotted a name-tag that read, "Corey." He had a similar punk look to him that the Michael-guy had.

"Sorry," Ashton shrugged simply. His eyes returned to Luke. The employee rolled his eyes and quietly cleaned the table.

"I...I would love to stay and make friends, but I should really get going. I um, only came for snacks," Luke held the record to his chest. He prayed the snack shelves were on the aisle furthest away from Ashton.

Luke was unlucky. He grabbed a bag of Cheetos, never dropping the precious record in his hands. The aisle was only a few feet from the table Ashton had been sitting on. He could feel the strangers prying eyes on his back.

"Don't you need a drink?" Ashton's words almost made Luke jump. When Luke looked over his shoulder, the mysterious man was smirking like crazy.

"I...yeah," Luke pushed past him towards the line of refrigerators. He grabbed a bottle of iced tea, and quickly trudged to the punk cashier.

"Is that all?" Michael yawned, sliding the items over a laser scanner. Luke watched with big blue eyes, slowly nodding.

"Yes, thank you," He pulled out his black wallet. Only fifty dollars remained.

"That'll be twenty dollars even," Michael seemed to hate his job. Luke felt bad for even bothering him. He noticed a picture of him kissing some guy's cheek that was taped to his workspace. Luke wondered if Michael just wanted to go home to that boy.

His long fingers fumbled for a twenty dollar bill. Luke slid the money across the counter.

"Thank you. Come again, or whatever," Michael smiled softly. He gave Luke a small receipt, a bag with his record, and another bag with his snacks.

"Thank you," Luke smiled back.

When he carried his items out the his car, he noticed how Ashton was now outside. He was creepily watching Luke put things away. Did this guy get his kicks out of terrifying strangers? Luke didn't want to stick around to find out.

Luke climbed into his car and reversed out of the parking spot in record time. The clicking of his seatbelt came later, as he was driving down an open road.

"Mike's Shop," left Luke with many thoughts. Maybe that Michael guy was openly gay. Did his parents accept him? Luke wondered what it was like to have a real job and a real lover.

If Luke had a right mind, he'd find someone to love him and give up music.

But he didn't.

His boots made a tapping noise against the accelerator as he sped through the desert's landscape. Beautiful cacti and an orange sky decorated the open space.

Luke sighed in relief when a sign read, "Henderson City Limits."