Drown the Night

EIGHT

Drunken words and evil thoughts,
Are as much as sharpened swords,
A dangerous and hateful passion,
Leading to much more aggression.

Ain't no relief, a waste of time,
To engage yourself in mental crime.
Although kept and locked inside,
The hurtful pictures will abide.

They will subsume and multiply,
Will grow too strong, to swipe away.
Initial peace and confidence,
For playing out the violence,
Won't pay the toll for dirty deeds,
No matter how you've cleaned the sheets.

For fear has grabbed the steering wheel,
Empowered by the way you feel.
And soon you'll know, what has been lost,
We eat, we breath, we bear the costs.

#179

Dom allowed himself to think about a well deserved break, as soon as he felt sure enough that the distance he had put between them and the dangerous biker gang was reasonably large. After he had raced over the German autobahn and through the short bits of the Netherlands, Belgium and France, he had made sure, that he would leave the Euro tunnel behind them, before his drunken protegees would be waking up again. He couldn't stand the risk to suffer through another one of Aaron's episodes about the dangers of open sea travel and he wouldn't even consider putting him on a plane because of it. Dom lit another smoke and pushed the thoughts about the remaining challenges aside. He had to focus on his current mission, to bring the young band to the final band contest and to, hopefully, have them win.

It was just short of ten o'clock in the morning and the van left the motorway towards Birmingham for the promising sign of a gas station. Dom was eager to finally enjoy a delicious, British breakfast and a nice cup of coffee. He stopped the van on the small parking lot of the even smaller gas station and unlocked the doors.

"Get the fuck out! Or I'll forget myself!"

Mike opened his weary eyes and didn't instantly get a grip on what was going on. When he saw Dom smiling back at him, he knew that the shouting was just another of his stunts. He crawled out of his sleeping back and ripped the slide door open. The lack of oxygen sucked the fresh air inside the van like a vacuum. Mike stumbled outside and fought the ever present gravity for a steady stance, while the alcohol infused share in his blood was obviously still in majority. He staggered around the van and back to the side door. James was still tucked into his sleeping back and tried to avoid the pain of his waking consciousness.

"James, where's the rest of the whiskey?"

James just grumbled a few insults and snuggled against Samuel's shoulder. Mike dismissed the need for directions and decided to search for the supplies on his own. Aaron stepped out next to him and tipped on his back.

"Do you have some cash?"

Mike turned around. When Aaron saw his wildly confused facial expression and the deep imprint of the pillow in his face, added to the ruffled hair and the dried up saliva on his chin, he knew, that there was nothing much to get.

"Never mind."

Aaron left Mike and entered the gas station on his own. An old, grumpy man sat behind the counter and watched a rugby game on his small, flickering TV set. He chew tobacco and spit into a plastic pot almost every ten seconds. As soon as Aaron walked in, the grandpa wouldn't dare to let him out of his sight.

"What'cha lookin' for, boy?"

Aaron ignored the question and strolled around inside the shop. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, for trouble was the last thing that he wanted to find with his gnarling, empty stomach. The grandpa went back to his game and gave Aaron a little head space to pursue his endeavour. He went by the magazines first, before shoving a cheese sandwich into his black sweat pants. Then he continued to orbit the shelves with the drinks, took a couple of ice teas and went back to the sandwiches. Aaron checked for the old man and found him still deeply engaged in the rugby match, so he decided to do Mike a favour and packed up a bottle of whiskey. When Aaron turned around again to aim for the exit, the old man was suddenly gone. A bad hunch was slowly emerging from his guts and so he sneaked towards the door, while juggling the contents of his pants. Just before he reached the door, the distinctive click of a rifle made him freeze.