southbound

It was probably the first thing out of his mother’s mouth that day, and she didn’t make eye contact with him when she said it. Nothing was given in return, Eddie simply ran a quick hand through his shaggy auburn hair and shrugged a single shoulder before leaving the house, door slammed behind him.

He tried to stay out of the house more often than not. It didn’t matter where he was, the skate park, a parking lot, the mall, playing Apex at his friend Mike’s. Today he didn’t really have a destination, just a skateboard in tow. He’d had it for a while, if that weren’t made obvious by the stickers and decals that covered the whole board. His favorite was a cutout of Sasha Grey’s breasts on the bottom of the board, and the eyerolls he got from Katie and Joey were beyond satisfying.

His phone was dry after he sent out a few texts asking people what they were doing, so he went into town by himself, dodging and weaving around people and bikes. The sun beat against his neck underneath the two flannels he was wearing, and he was too distracted by the thought of whether he should take them off when loose stones caused him to lose his balance and fly right off his board.

The taste of copper slipped into his mouth, and the palms of his hands stung. A small group of people were surrounding him, but he waved them off. “I’m fine. I’m fine!” Besides, the worst injury of all was in his pocket: his wax cartridge broke.

Friday night was rarely a night off for Katie. Between cheer, student vice presidency, and babysitting, there was always something to do…except tonight. It was a bye-week, a lull between winter formal and prom planning, and it seemed like none of her usual parents needed a date night. Katie never minded some time off, but a Friday night just felt like a waste. Not even a party in sight? So, she decided to canvass the old fashion way: well designed, half-sheet flyers with her babysitting experience and contact information, printed using the yearbook class’s nice printer. They wouldn’t miss 20 pages or so, and even if they did, Mr. Barnes didn’t mind. Mr. Barnes would let Katie get away with murder. A lot of people would let Katie get away with murder. Maybe it was because they knew if she’d done it, she probably had a good reason for it.

“You have plans tonight?” She said expectantly, holding her half-sheet towards her target with a smile on her face. “Would you like some?”

In typical Forrest fashion, he was late for work. Arriving on time wasn’t his problem, per-say, Forrest just had difficulty arriving on other people’s time. On Forrest time, he always arrived when he was suppose too bu his bosses had never shared the sentiment After he started working at Randy’s, he’d been trying to put more effort into being on time. He had, for the first time in his life, rent to pay. It did not help that he actually liked his boss Randy Stone. That was new development in Forrest’s life, most of his boss’s he resented to some degree but Randy was just too likable.

Despite his best laid plans, he was late to work and not just a little late - very late. The hardware store was definitely suppose to be open by now. The very worst part in Forrest’s mind was that he hadn’t even gotten to sleep in. He had woken up on time but somehow the time had just slipped right by him. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already late but when he tried to leave, he couldn’t find his keys.

Honestly, he could have rushed more but he wasn’t expecting anyone to be at the hardware store this early. Of course, the morning wasn’t done shitting on him because there was definitely someone waiting outside of the hardware store. Fuck. He pulled up to the store with a screech and half walked/half ran to the door to unlock it. “Hey,” he said, his eyes fixed on his ring of keys as he frantically searched for the right key,”sorry about the wait. I-um, I’m just gonna get this door open real fast so you can do whatever it is you gotta do.” Right key found, he opened the door and rushed for the lights. “So, welcome to Handy Randy’s hardware. I’m not Randy but if you need something, I can help. Probably.”

too many drinks and that anger turns into self-loathing. self-loathing begets self-destruction and the whole cycle seems to end with broken bottles or noses. in this case, probably her own on both counts. as usual, instead of the violence pushing her deeper into a darker mood, she feels somehow satiated by the stars in her eyes as well as the public demonstration and validation that she is, in fact, as big of a mess as her mother always said she was. there is such primal validation in blood. “ha !” she shouts in surprise, after getting popped with what she’d deem as a weak right hook. grabbing her nose as it starts to bleed and she stumbles backwards into the brick wall behind her. “i probably–definitely–deserved that, but you still look like a fucking viagra commercial, so who’s the real loser?”

Some days, it was easy to forget he came from anywhere else; some days, it felt like he’d been living in Boot Hill all his life. Other days… well, other days Mitch would be channel flipping and find the all too familiar image of his home town in a movie on the television. Today was one of those days. He paused on the channel, trying to figure out what about Sitka, Alaska seemed so damned familiar, but then there was that one shot, and there was no denying the pang he felt in his chest; that was home, and it sure as hell wasn’t Sitka, Alaska. Mitch quickly powered off the TV with a shake of his head, a physical manifestation of his need to clear his head, before getting up and heading out.

It wasn’t long before he was at Coyote’s, a beer and an empty shot glass sitting in front of him. Leaving his shot glass behind, he took his beer with him as he went to peruse the jukebox in the corner. He couldn’t begin to estimate the number of quarters he’d dumped into the machine since his arrival, over a year ago. “So what are we feeling? The Cars? Boston? J. Geils Band?” he questioned the person nearest him him as he loaded several quarters into the machine, punching in a few different codes, and then waiting for the other’s opinion as his fingers hovered over the buttons. “I have to admit, though, you look like an ‘Aerosmith is the best Boston classic rock’ type, and I hate to break it to you, you’re wrong,” he remarked, his face and tone taking on more serious notes, though he was hardly being too serious (even if Aerosmith wasn’t exactly his jam). (@boothillstarters​)

the shining appeal of the house party ( a term they all used loosely, as her friend louisa lived in the miracle mine trailer park ), decorated in flashing lights in some year-round, macabre amalgamation of christmas, had tarnished before she’d even finished her first beer. a group of guys from high school that she could never quite stand had crashed and were making themselves at home in louisa’s trailer because that girl was too goddamn spineless to say anything. after her sister’s death, joey’d never laid her hands on a car key after drinking, but there had been an unease in the desert night air since she’d arrived at the party on the outskirts of town. it was only half a beer and a shot anyway and she was glad that she’d been conservative about her drinking, even if it meant leaving home early.

she barely noticed as the sobs started, but straightened up suddenly, immediately snapping into self-awareness as someone beside her coughed.

she swiped at her tears, turning towards them as her cheeks reddened.

“i’m sorry - i -”

she didn’t know why she was apologising, but did so anyway.

for too long she had been left to dream of colours, patterns and ghosts from a past unknown. 

“welcome! the movie ain’t ready yet..” her eyes drift to meet theirs, suddenly coming alive as she leaps from her stool - her head knocking against a flashing neon sign that advertised the movie and the name of the theatre. “or - OUCH! - did you come to see me?” 

He’d just wanted snacks. That was it. With tentative plans to head back out onto the open road tomorrow morning, Shepherd had thought that a trip to the Amen Grocery Market to restock his mini-cooler would’ve been easily accomplished. But, instead, he found himself frozen halfway down an aisle and eavesdropping. Well, he was ‘eavesdropping’ in the least incriminating sense of the word, because the pair of obnoxious teenagers a few feet away were having the loudest conversation possible – which very well could’ve been done on purpose. How else would locals get their kicks than by scarring the out-of-towners with artfully crafted urban legends? If that had been their intent, then mission accomplished, because, fuck, did Shep hate ghost stories.

“– That’s not true, is it?” His words were hushed and conspiratorial as he turned towards the nearest person to ask, eyes still tracking the retreating backs of the teenagers as they laughed their way towards the checkout. Holding a bag of Doritos in one hand and Cheetos in the other, Shep seemed a little more than ridiculous to be debating the validity of secondhand gossip, but his thoughts had already drifted to how difficult he’d found it to sleep these last few nights. How he could swear all he heard was static when he stood in the shower. He shook his head, frowning just slightly. “About… that shrieker thing? Amen Shrieker?” Shepherd pressed, hoping to find a voice of reason. “You haven’t heard anything about that, right? It’s ridiculous.”

Walking into Coyotes’ was rough. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Something was haunting his dreams and he couldn’t understand why for the life of him. Rather than toss and turn Talon found himself drinking and binge watching old classic films his grandparents had laying around their home until it was about that time to head back into work.

— The day had been a long one as her boots slammed against the hot concrete, jacket had been replaced with her denim one, a simple pattern embroidered into the fabric, something she sported often and found comfort in. It was worn down with fraying sleeves and marks she had long ago given up on trying to remove. Wasn’t it funny how we clung onto memories through items such as clothing. She’d knew her destination the second she’d left the house, music booming through her head phones as she listened to the steady guitar of Tom Petty and the heart breakers’ Mary Jane’s Last Dance. The sun had created an orange glow as she walked, taking in the day’s end.

She reached her destination within no time as she took a moment to take it in, before her feet carried her over to the looming front door.

She stood outside of the tall oak colored door, never somewhere she’d visited often; if ever? But yet she found comfort in the place. Before she could stop herself her knuckles were rasping against the door three times. She stood two strides back as she let her hazel eyes wander over the exterior of the building, lingering on certain parts as she tried to figure out what kind of life it had, did families used to live here? An old couple? Young? This was what she did to pass the time often, created stories in her head to keep her happy. It really helped time move along, she found.

‘‘Hello?’‘ She calls when no answer comes, had she came to the right place. Looking down at the note in hand with the scrawled address she furrows her brows. This had to be, right?