Gray Day ∞ ashton a.u (being rewritten)

one

It happened on a Wednesday, when the sky looked more like ash than clouds, the type of sky you'd expect for doomsday. But it wasn't doomsday, exactly. It was a nightmare.

"It's one of those days."

"I know," I nodded, my fingers tracing shapes on the armrest as I glanced out the window at the houses we drove passed. My eyes trailed upwards, catching on the faint reflection of colored hair in the window.

"Gray Days," Michael breathed out, drumming his fingers on the wheel before he ran them through his red messy hair. "Gotta love them."

Michael Clifford, the kid with colorful hair and a great taste in music. He was a giant compared to me, as was our other friend, Luke. He had a heart bigger than any I've ever seen, and a serious knack for playing the guitar and videogames. He was the weird kid who moved across from me back in the sixth grade with no friends and just an iPod until fell in step behind him on the walk to school.

"Gray Days," I muttered, breath fogging up the window.

Right, Gray Days. You'd think that in a town where gray skies and chilly weather were the daily forecast, almost every day would be called a Gray Day. But that's not quite how it works.

Gray /greɪ/

adjective, gray·er, gray·est.

1.

Of a color between white and black; having a neutral hue.

2.

Dark, dismal, or gloomy: gray skies.

3.

Dull, dreary, or monotonous.

One, for the color of the sky and the vast ocean, separated by the thin horizon.

Two, for the atmosphere of the town.

Three, for the community of people.

Combine all three of those lovely conditions and you've got what we had today. A Gray Day.

And yet, there was something even more different about today that I couldn't explain. It was there when I woke up, stitched into my eyelids when I opened them. It felt like the tingle you get along your spine when something creaks in a lonely house, the hiccup in the back of your throat when you miss a step going down the stairs.

"Mila, hey," Michael's voice roused me of my thoughts, his fingers snapping right by my ear. "Mila, I'm talking to you."

I blinked, shaking my head as if to clear it. "Sorry, I zoned out..."

"I was asking you if you wanted to go down to the beach after school today," he rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the road.

I was about to give him an answer when I felt an uneasy feeling root itself in the pit of my stomach. My skin prickled with a cold chill as if my blood had frozen over. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, a weird coldness that came from nowhere else but beneath my skin. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I looked over at Michael with my eyebrows furrowed.

He gave me a concerned look. "You okay there, M?"

"Do you feel that?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper although there was no one else who could possibly hear.

"Feel what?"

I was about to answer when I saw something dart across the road out. It looked human. And too close.

"Michael, stop!" I shouted, my shrill voice startling him enough to slam his foot down on the break. The car screeched to a halt, rocking us both forward in our seats only to be snapped back by the belt just as there was a loud thud on the hood of the truck. I looked up in horror, preparing to see the worse, that we had hit someone, just as Michael swore under his breath.