A Scribe for the Heartless

“A bomb? That’s an absurd, ridiculous notion.” Mandy brushed off his theory. “Besides, no one in this town has the brain capacity to pull off something like that, but… we can go try and check it out, if you’d want…”

“Yeah, I know,” Mandy grumbled, her eyes downcast. “I did it purposefully, y'know? Anyway… my name’s Madeline and I’m pretty sure your name isn’t Goth Boy. What is it?”

“Actually, it is Goth Boy,” he snapped back. “That’s what people call me, that’s what I respond to, and that’s what I introduced myself as, so it’s safe to say that it is my name. One of them, anyway. Just because it’s not my real name doesn’t mean it’s not my name.” He realized that this was the first time in years that he didn’t have to look down when talking to someone, and Madeline’s height was... rather impressive. He knew better than to comment on this, though. “So, where were you headed, Madeline? Before you got to that blockade.” If they reached her destination before his, he could enjoy the rest of his walk in peace.

“Oh… ah… um…” *places hand on cheek* “That was… Who…? I—” *grumbles* “…unexpected…”

She took his hand, rubbing her thumb in his palm a little. "If it does bother you, we can leave and go someplace you wanna be, if you’d like. Um…” Liberty bit her lip. “Do you have a car? Because it is actually far out, unless you want to walk.”

The big black pickup truck was parked behind the House of Darkness, just like he said it would be. Somewhere along their walk to the car, she’d let go of his hand, probably because his legs were too long and she was worried about being dragged along behind him. He unlocked the doors and opened the passenger side for her. The truck sat high off the ground because he liked it that way, so he felt it necessary to ask, “Do you need help getting in?”

And just like that, Sapphire was onto the next thing. “Yo, I’ve got the best idea!” she exclaimed out of nowhere. “Let’s go to your place–then, I can see you instrumenting for reals and see what you’ve got!  Whaddaya say?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” He pointed down the street, toward the arch that signified the entrance of the forest. “I live in the back of the forest there for the darkness and solitude. It’s a bit of a hike, but it’s not too bad if you’re up for it.” Of course she’d be up for it. She was pure energy and ready for anything. He half-expected her to take off down the lane and beat him to his own house.

If you still want to keep in touch with me, feel free to ask for my phone number (if you live in the US), Skype, or Twitter if you don’t have these things already.

“A bomb? That’s an absurd, ridiculous notion.” Mandy brushed off his theory. “Besides, no one in this town has the brain capacity to pull off something like that, but… we can go try and check it out, if you’d want…”

“I don’t really care what you do.” He swiftly turned and started to walk away. “You can go your way if you want, or you can come with me. It’s up to you.” He hoped she wouldn’t follow him, actually. He had no desire to be friendly with someone who was so willing to let him rot in jail, and the sooner he could get away from her, the better. He threw a quick glance back over his shoulder and added, “It’s Goth Boy, by the way, but you were close.”

“Before you say whatever you’re about to say, consider this: no.”

“I am positive that you’re lying about that, and I will remain positive until I see some proof that you actually are telling the truth.” Something about this raccoon and her bogus accusations was awfully suspicious.

Washington Cemetery by Lorianne DiSabato Via Flickr: Keene, NH