#it’s cold enough that cleaning off my windshield at the gas station after work left my fingers freezing

[marvelingjules]

It’s not gonna be above 53 degrees here for the next week, and it’s gonna rain from tomorrow through Tuesday. I love the rain and don’t mind the cold but even I’m pretty chilly after spending a couple minutes outside for one reason or another.

Wonder if I can convince my mom to make potato dumpling soup for the weekly family dinner….

[cloudytamaki]

traffic lights • i.hajime

⤷ genre: angst / fluff - hurt / comfort

⤷ warnings: mentions of death, car accidents, arguments

⤷ summary: it’s never good to leave the apartment on a rainy night with hurt feelings.

“you can’t be fucking serious, hajime! this isn’t fair at all, did you ever take my feelings into consideration?”

“i can’t believe you, y/n! you’re making this so goddamn bigger than it needs to be! i’m just needed a few hours later at work, do i need your permission to earn money?”

outside, the rain pours down, loud against the roof. streams of water slide down the windows and create puddles beside the house.

inside, you stand in front of your partner, throat sore from all the yelling you’ve been doing. tears of frustration glisten in your eyes as you snap another venomous remark at him.

“you know what, hajime? think about the house when you get home. there’s food on the table, everything is clean and tidy! who do you think does all that work after they come home from work? me! it’s getting to be too much, damn it! you live here too, you need to start helping me out more.”

“help you out more?” he scoffs in disbelief, “does paying the bills every month help you out enough? all the work i do is the only reason you even have a house to clean up in the afternoon!”

“okay.” you back away from him, keeping your voice calm (although you’re absolutely fuming). “i’m leaving.” you snatch a nearby jacket — not caring who it belongs to — and grab the keys from the hooks.

“if you leave now, you’d better not come back.” he barks out, each word stabbing you in the chest.

“i don’t plan on it.” you snap back, slamming the door behind you. soon, he hears the rumble of the truck’s engine, and then the screech of the tires as you speed away from your apartment.

you mutter every swear word possible, so pissed off you could barely think. once you’re far away enough from home (could you even call it that right now?), you twist the steering wheel so sharply to the right you can hear the tires slide dangerously against the wet pavement.

you’re hunching over the wheel, eyes narrowed as the windshield wipers desperately try to sweep away the rain. it’s getting hard to see through the now foggy glass — you keep going anyway.

slowly pulling out of the street and deciding to head over to the gas station for some snacks, you press on the gas and drive to the left. however, a car is driving out of the street you’re passing — you’re about to be hit.

slamming your palm down on the horn, you twist the steering wheel cruelly to avoid any impact; the truck hurtles down the street, left side of the truck bed smashing into the street post as one of the tires slips up onto the curb — and the car flies up into the air — for a second you think you see jesus.

but the second you process what’s happening and how your legs could be fatally crushed, the car slams down onto its right. pieces of crystal windshield glass drop down into the passenger seat beside you. all you can feel and remember is the way the truck flipped up into the air.

“oh my god!” you hear a male voice from your left and a head peaks through the shattered window, “call 911!”

back at the apartment, hajime’s still fuming — but now, most of his anger is towards himself. how could he allow his temper to get the best of him? why would he say such shitty things to you when all you wanted was some help at home?

he buries his head in his hands, combing his fingers through his spikes when his phone vibrates against his leg, a cheesy ringtone filling the silence — the ringtone you picked for him.

“hello?”

“hi, is this iwaizumi hajime?” he furrows his brows at the voice. it sounds like another guy.

“yes.” he answers gruffly, eyebrows furrowing deeply. questions run through his head before he speaks up again. “may i ask who’s calling?”

“i’m a paramedic.” he freezes at the words. “i’m calling to inform you that — is it—” the voice stops to think for a second, “l/n y/n? she’s been in a car crash, sir. she told us to call you—”

“shit.” he mutters under his breath, blood running cold as his right hand comes up to angrily tug at his hair, “where is it? where are you?”

“would you like to speak to l/n y/n?”

“yes,” he says tightly, heart pounding in his chest.

“hajime?” he’s so relieved to hear your voice, but he can sense the way you’re almost wincing. “the truck’s fucking totaled, i’m sorry.”

“where the hell are you?” iwaizumi isn’t angry, but panicked.

“uh...” you pause for a second, “carlson boulevard, near the food store.”

“i – i’m on my way.”

you hang up on the other end and the line’s immediately dead. iwaizumi jumps up, throwing open the closet and grabbing a jacket. he dashes into the garage, almost saying a fucking prayer; thank god he got the car checked and fixed up yesterday.

he opens the garage door and gets into the smaller blue car, squeezing the wheel and taking a deep breath before closing the door and taking off down the street.

when he gets to the scene, hajime’s eyes widen in disbelief. the truck’s on its side, windshield glass everywhere, bystanders peeking out through their curtains, police officers talking to you while you hold an ice pack to your head.

he parks the car and jumps out. the street sign is in someone’s front lawn and different coins are sparkling on the pavement. the pennies and quarters he’d saved for drive through’s, the little flower crown you’d hung on the rear view mirror ripped up — destroyed.

his lips part in a silent gasp. “sir?” an officer calls him over; he can hardly look at you. you’re all wet from the rain, clothes absolutely soaked.

words are exchanged back and forth but he barely processes them; you’ll be fine, the officer says, you’ll just need some rest. as for the truck, it’s totaled beyond repair. you’ll have to buy a new one or just get around with the tiny blue car.

the officer says goodbye to the both of you and walks away to assist with the cleanup of the wreck. he walks in silence beside you to the blue car, but before the both of you can get into the car, he emits a strangled sob; your head twists up in surprise.

it’s fucking raining and— shit. is he crying?

he aggressively wipes at his face, but the tears keep coming. you step over to him, removing his arms away from his reddened cheeks. “y-y/n—” he can’t get out your name without even breaking down.

“it’s my fault. i made you get into that accident... i – i’m so sorry—” he stiffens at first when you embrace him, but relaxes a little bit once you rub your hand over his back.

“hajime. it – it’s not your fault, please don’t think that, okay?” you lift his chin so his head can face yours. he looks so vulnerable, clearly suffering from the guilt and self deprecation. “okay?” you repeat, your eyes piercing his.

he nods wordlessly, hugging you tighter before he eventually pulls away, opening the door to the car. “i love you.”

you press a kiss to his trembling lips, ignoring the throbbing in your head.

“i love you too.”

[mascwhump]

Trenches, Part 2

Chapter 1: Thoughts of a Dying Atheist

CW: smothering, disordered eating (implied), manhandling, concussion, needles, noncon drugging

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow @tears-and-lilies @utopian819

-

"To make a long fucking story short," Mallory sighed as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were beginning to turn white. Nikolas turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue speaking.

"Some kind of WikiLeaks knockoff got ahold of some emails and they're demanding money to keep them secret. We're hiding until the government negotiates," Mallory finally said. Rain pattered against the windshield, increasing in intensity as Mallory sped up.

There was nothing to be seen outside the window besides dirt, rocks, dead plants, and distant mountains. Mallory was fidgeting in his seat as he reached to turn on the radio. He was going over 100 miles per hour now, determined to make it to Reno before the sun went down. The desolate dirt road was filling him with anxiety.

He adjusted the rear view mirror to look into the backseat. Charlie was asleep with his head against the door. The hood of the Oxford hoodie hung over his eyes just enough to block out the light. Mallory put the mirror back in its place and flipped through the radio stations. The ones that had good connection weren't anything worth listening to.

Eventually, the signal fizzled out into nothing. Mallory let the static play. They soon reached Tonopah and pulled into a gas station. Charlie woke up when Mallory shut off the engine.

"Not a word, remember?" Mallory threatened quietly as they got out of the car. Charlie nodded.

"Good. You can get a snack and something to drink."

Nikolas had already disappeared inside the gas station. Charlie grabbed a bottle of Pepsi and a bag of Chex Mix before meeting Mallory at the register. He shoved his hands into the pocket of the hoodie, avoiding eye contact with the clerk. He could feel her eyes on him, examining the cut on his lip and the healing bruise on his brow. They finished the transaction and went back to the car, where Nikolas already pumping the gas.

Soon, they were off again. Charlie quietly nibbled on the Chex Mix and sipped his soda. It had been so long since he had junk food, never mind a soda. Nikolas was picking at pathetic salad while Mallory attempted to eat a protein bar one-handed. The rest of the drive was fairly uneventful, and Charlie had managed to sleep for most of it. They pulled up to the house an hour before sunset.

It was very industrial-looking, and sat on a hill. There was a view of the rest of Sparks and most of Reno. Mallory unlocked the door, and Charlie and Nikolas followed him inside. The pair froze when they heard footsteps coming toward them. Charlie was surprised to see Basil appear from the hallway.

"All clear, sir," Basil spoke. His eyes seemed to light up when he saw Charlie.

"Good, good. Alright. Nikolas, your room is down here, across from Basil's. Charlie, you're upstairs with me. Basil, I'm sending you into town to get some things," Mallory said as he walked into the kitchen, setting things down on the counter. He took a notepad out of a drawer and began making a list. He tore off the sheet and handed it to Basil, along with two-hundred dollars and his keys.

Basil glanced over the list before shoving it into his pocket. He left before Mallory could give him any new orders. Charlie stood awkwardly by the stairs as Nikolas went to his room and Mallory walked over to a window. He then felt something touch his leg, and looked down to find Sasha rubbing against his sweats.

"Sasha," Charlie said quietly as he leaned down to pick her up. He placed her on his lap as he sat down on the bottom steps.

"I missed you," he whispered. He could feel his throat tighten as tears formed in his eyes. Sasha snuggled against his hands as he pet her. It was the first bit of genuine affection he had received in months; it almost felt alien.

"She missed you," Mallory said as he reached for her. Charlie hadn't noticed him move. He whined against his will as Sasha was removed from his lap.

"You're really pathetic," Mallory jeered. He cradled Sasha in his arms as he walked back to the window. Charlie remained on the stairs until Basil returned with groceries. It was enough to feed the four of them for a week, maybe ten days if Charlie was given his usual portions.

"I'm going to have a bath. Nik, cook us something, will you?" Mallory said. Nikolas ended up making spaghetti. Charlie could tell he wasn’t very fond of cooking. After dinner, Charlie begrudgingly followed Mallory up the steps and into the bedroom. He stood awkwardly by the door.

“Just lie down somewhere. Not my bed, though,” Mallory said as he pulled back the sheets.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Charlie mumbled. Mallory stopped what he was doing and shot him a glare.

“Speak up if you’re going to talk to me like that. You know, you’re lucky I forgot your collar,” he hissed. Charlie let out a silent sigh and went to an empty corner of the room. He did his best to get comfortable, and he was grateful for the plush carpeting.

Mallory got into bed and shut off the light. He began to watch videos on his phone, much to Charlie’s annoyance. He just wanted to sleep. He did his best to block out the sound. After awhile, Mallory finally shut off the videos and settled. Charlie thought about grabbing a pillow and smothering him in his sleep.

Charlie was still wide awake long after Mallory had fallen asleep. He decided to creep downstairs to get a glass of water. Carefully, he stepped to the door and twisted the handle slowly. The door didn’t squeak, much to his relief. He slipped out of the door and down the steps successfully. He walked into the kitchen, but froze when he saw Nikolas there. Nikolas was sitting at the counter on his phone, eating a bowl of ice cream. He looked up and stared at Charlie for a moment before going back to what he was doing.

Charlie slowly continued to the cabinet where the glasses were. He kept glancing back at Nikolas as he got his water. He drank it quickly, practically chugging it before cleaning the glass and returning it to its place in the cabinet.

“Nikolas?” He said quietly. Nikolas looked up from his phone again.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” Charlie asked sheepishly. Nikolas shook his head.

Charlie went back upstairs and opened the door slowly. His blood ran cold when he saw Mallory sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Why’d you go downstairs?” He asked.

“I-I’m sorry, I just needed some water, and I didn’t want to wake you up by getting it from the bathroom,” Charlie replied. His grip on the door handle tightened as Mallory moved from the bed.

Charlie began to back out of the room as he was approached. He was nearing the stairs, and knew he couldn’t move any more.

“Then stay down there,” Mallory said. He pushed hard on Charlie’s shoulders, sending him backwards and down the stairs. Charlie hit the floor with a loud thud. His head smacked against the wood, causing his vision to double. Mallory went back into his room and slammed the door.

Charlie stayed where he was and fought back tears. His body was aching. His head began throbbing with sharp pains. He eventually tore his gaze away from the ceiling and looked over at Nikolas, who was staring at him. He then walked over, and shined the flashlight of his phone into Charlie’s eyes.

Nikolas nodded before going over to the couch and pointing at it. Charlie forced himself up, stumbling as he made his way to the couch. He sat down, and Nikolas shook his head. He gently pushed on Charlie’s shoulder to get him to lie down. After he did, Nikolas walked away. The room was spinning, and Charlie was becoming nauseated. He closed his eyes in attempt to stop the motion, but still felt as though he was on a boat.

He heard footsteps and opened his eyes again. Mallory was at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him. He eventually walked over and shined his own flashlight into Charlie’s eyes.

“Fucking hell,” he sighed, “your pupils are completely different sizes.” Nikolas returned with a syringe in his hand.

“No. I’m not wasting that on this,” Mallory protested.

Charlie began to gag and rolled off of the couch onto his knees. He got up as quickly as he could and rushed to the bathroom.

“Fine,” Mallory hissed, “give it to him.” Nikolas went to Charlie and gave him the serum. When they returned to the living room, Mallory was standing with his arms folded.

“I’m fucking exhausted. No more of this tonight. Come on,” Mallory said.

Charlie followed him back up the stairs. He went back into his spot in the corner and sat against the wall. Mallory fell asleep again quickly, while Charlie couldn’t even close his eyes. It wasn’t anything new for him. He hadn’t been able to sleep at night in months. He slept periodically throughout the day.

An hour passed, and Sasha began scratching at the door to be let out of the room. When Charlie opened it, Mallory woke up.

“Again?” He questioned.

“I’m letting her out,” Charlie said.

“I just want to fucking sleep,” Mallory groaned as he put his pillow over his head. Charlie’s mind drifted back to his earlier thought, and his heart raced. He could do it. The opportunity was there. He should have learned by now that taking risks never worked in his favor. But he hadn’t.

The first part was easy enough. He just pressed down as hard as he could. He wasn’t prepared for the struggle, though, and panicked. He had to get on top of Mallory to prevent him from moving any more. Mallory scratched at his arms hard enough to draw blood; it was dripping down, staining the pillow red.

Mallory was becoming weaker by the second. Charlie maintained his hold, until he looked over and saw Sasha looking at him from the floor. She let out a small meow, and a switch flipped in Charlie’s head. He abruptly stopped his assault and tore the pillow away. Mallory began violently choking in air. Charlie was frozen in place. Once Mallory had sufficient oxygen, he managed to flip Charlie onto the bed next to him, now becoming the one on top.

“What the hell was that?!” Mallory yelled as his fists sloppily rained down onto Charlie’s face. Charlie attempted to get words out, but only managed a few pained squeaks. Mallory got off of him after a few more seconds and rushed out of the room.

Charlie curled up into the fetal position with his hands covering his face. He was shaking violently now, and he couldn’t control his staggered breaths. Mallory soon returned to the room, and before Charlie could react, he felt a needle in his neck.

[izzy-b-hands]

Running Away

Another bit of Modern AU, inspired by my own love of night drives that I haven’t gotten to take with anyone in years and miss desperately.

Made a playlist for this one, a combo of what I was listening to while writing as well as music that I think would fit in their playlist for one of these drives: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Zk6fxk6XUJiaejoIhJ54d?si=pVdaxoX3SSSc0LN1enTTpQ

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

Most nights it’s unspoken, save for a few words.

“Your car?”

“Sure. Snacks?” 

“Got ‘em. Water?” 

“Got it. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They save it for nights when neither of them work, and when neither of them work the next day, so they don’t have to worry about a time crunch. That would ruin the flow of it completely.

It feels liquid and velvet (black with the smallest but shiniest rhinestones, just like the night sky), windows down so the cool summer air can flood the car, and it’s almost too cold but the goosebumps and shivers feel good, and make the hoodie he wears all the more comfortable. 

He watches Eugene do the same, snuggling into the sweater he wears, one he stole from Snafu back when they first started dating. He’ll never ask for it back, but he wears it whenever Eugene has to travel for school or work, soaking in the scent of Eugene to tide him over till his boy is back home and in his arms. 

Any music on is kept low, their playlists full of songs that don’t play so much as ooze, drift, slide from one into the other with beats that sit perfectly in the background, good to listen to but not intrusive on any conversation they might spark up.

A lot of times, there isn’t any, and that’s okay. Just the sound of the highway and the wind and everything they pass by. He focuses on the sounds and the odd and occasionally not so great scents that are all a part of the drives. It’s all sensations and feeling and nothing of what they both know awaits them back at home. 

The worries. The fears. The responsibilities, big and small. The bills. The phone calls to make that neither of them want to make, but that they cheer-lead each other through. The sense of being trapped, because they can’t afford to move out of the city even though moving elsewhere and getting a small house or condo would be less of a waste of money than dropping it monthly on rent on the apartment, and how can they try and save for the wedding like this or put anything more than the few dollars they try to shove in savings each pay period and-

No. Stop. Not right now, not tonight. Tonight is about the velvet sky he swears he can feel under his fingertips just by looking at it as they go on down the highway, about the cookies Eugene baked earlier this week (sugar, “sweet like you” he told Snafu, and his lips tasted just like it, from his taste tests to ensure they were up to his personal par as a baker, “because I don’t feed my man bad cookies.”) sat in between them balanced on the cup-holders in a container Eugene’s mother had given them for their apartment-warming, about how free it feels to be out there so late at night and nobody knows who they are or where they are or why they are and who thought not having any answers or needing to answer to anybody would feel so good even if it’s only temporary.

And when they finally pull over for a quick break, at a truck stop with a bathroom that’s decently clean and a vending machine so they can get another few bottles of water because they never bring big enough reusable ones from home, they linger. 

On the hood of the car, a blanket spread out over it, watching the stars together, knowing the second a cop pulls up (and one always does) they’ll have to tear it all down and get back on the road, answering ‘no trouble sir, just enjoying the night sir, yes we know the time sir, yes of course we’ll be on our way sir, of course we know that bad things can happen at night sir, we didn’t mean any harm sir,’ and it burns Snafu up to have to cater to some kid in a uniform that doesn’t fit him, who doesn’t know what real ‘trouble’ and trauma look like and wouldn’t be able to stomach it if he did, and if he did know he’d understand that sometimes the only cure for it is a taste of freedom and night air and your lover’s hand in yours while he points out the brightest stars that he likes the best, even though you both know there might be even more beautiful ones just hidden by the pollution of the nearby city lights, but it doesn’t matter because you can see the ones he points to and you tell him how if you could you’d buy him that star and when you both die that’s where you’ll go, to wait out the end of the universe together, all energy and left over soul burning in the coldness of space. 

But being back on the road isn’t so bad, because another truck stop eventually presents itself and they can try again, and sometimes there’s enough time for Eugene to fall asleep against him, his nose cold against Snafu’s chest as he snuggles close, his fingers frozen so Snafu wraps them in his hands, pulls them under his hoodie to warm them, shivering at the touch more than the cold. 

They take turns the rest of the night, pulling over as needed to swap seats, until the cookies and water are gone and they have to finally sit down and calculate where they are and if they can just turn around and head straight back or if they’ve taken enough random off and on ramps that they need to actually pay attention to how they get home. 

If they’re particularly lucky, they can find a proper truck stop with all the amenities, a restaurant and gas station with a huge lot where trucks and cars are parked full of sleeping truckers and even some families in their campers that they never really know how to park decently. 

But Snafu can forgive those people that, because it hardly matters those nights, because those are the nights they don’t drive home that early morning. Instead they put up the sun covers on the front windshield, make sure the doors are locked, and take the other extra blanket with them in the backseat that they’ve pushed down so there’s room to lay out and cuddle. The waking is always an extra rough sort of groggy, but it’s never a grumpy one, just the moment of remembering that they’re somewhere that’s nowhere to them, just another place to stop and rest, the name of which they’ll forget until they drive out another night and find it again. 

If they can, they call in sick for the day after that. They don’t need the time to drive back, that they can do in the night, but it gives them just a little bit more time to extend the feeling of Free and Happy and Unconcerned With Everything and Anything, even once they’re back in their apartment and the Usual Bullshit starts to creep back into their minds, on claws that clack and keep them up at night.

But the extra day can keep it away for just a little longer, and he can hang onto that feeling when they’re back at their jobs, in the depths of the routine and boring and stable but unsatisfying. 

It gets him by until the next drive, the next set of sweets (his turn this time, he wants to make beignets, though he’ll have to go careful on the powdered sugar, or bring them extra napkins and a change of clothes just in case), the next rush of cool night air and stars that in his mind he’s bought for Eugene already, and they shine just to make his boy smile, though that smile outshines them by miles. 

And maybe this time they’ll remember the extra big water thermoses and bottles, bring a couple even. 

Maybe this time they’ll be driving away for good, with all their shit packed up and the cat in her carrier in the backseat, on to somewhere new and beautiful that only knows them as a bunch of nobodies, that doesn’t care who they are or what they do, just lets them live. 

They can only hope for that, someday.

Until then, he can work and bake and prepare for the next drive and buy a black velvet blanket as another extra for the backseat, so they can keep the night sky with them even while they sleep. 

[wolf-555-writer]

Heating Up Part 1

So... something else for you guys. I took a little pause from writing the Alex Danvers story and came up with this as I also love Caitlin Snow from The Flash :). 

I assumed some stuff about how to control Caitlin’s powers. Hope you don’t mind... 

Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost x Meta Reader

Summary: Reader is a metahuman and can control heat. Team Flash is in need of your help as Caitlin can't control her powers anymore and is on the loose as Killer Frost.

Word Count: 2,187

“Have you found her?” Barry asks while nervously pacing around in the cortex.

“Can you please stop”, Cisco answers, rather annoyed by Barry. “You asked the same question, like, seconds ago. Nothing has changed since.”

“I just want to know where she is, okay?”

“We all want to know where she is”, Cisco reacts, gaze fixed on the screen. The blue light shining on his face.

“Wait… what do we do when we’ve found her?”, Iris asks perceptively, watching over Cisco’s shoulder, following his every move. “What do you mean?”, Barry replies, looking at Iris confused.

“Well… she’s not Caitlin anymore as she-”. Iris is interrupted by Cisco who quickly lifted his head up and is now staring at Barry. “No, she’s Killer Frost”, as he vividly remembers the vibe he had about Caitlin. Fighting in the dark, misty woods, not being able to reach her anymore, only left with Killer Frost.

“Maybe we need to find a solution beforehand, you know, to turn her back to our Caitlin Snow”, Cisco presents because he definitely doesn’t want his vibe to come true.

“So, what do you suggest, Cisco?” Barry asks, placing himself next to Cisco and finally standing still.  

“Well, what do we need to defrost Frost…”, Cisco teases with a slight grin, one eyebrow lifted, and adding an intentional pause. Because he already knows the answer to his own question.

Seeing his eyes widen, now locked with Cisco’s Barry answers, “Heat!”, as if an imaginary lightbulb suddenly turned on above his head. 

“Indeed, we need heat. Cotrolled heat.”

///

Busy with cleaning the fire truck spotless, you see two guys, kinda nerdy looking, walk into the fire station, gazing around as if they’re lost. One of your colleagues walks up to them. You can’t hear what they’re discussing but suddenly you notice your fellow firefighter point in your direction. Wait a minute- He’s pointing at you.

What would they need from me? They don’t look like law enforcement or something… While you’re occupied thinking about what the reason could be, the two guys are already calling you by name.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”, the one with the long, black hair asks.

“Yes, that’s me”, you respond. Ceasing the cleaning task, you smoothly jump down from the large fire truck. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you a metahuman that can control the vibration velocity of molecules, or better said: control heat?”, he demands out of the blue. Then the other guy quickly swoops in because your face starts to radiate confusion and plain anger. 

I mean, that’s kind of a personal question...

“My name is Barry Allen and this is Cisco Ramon. I apologize for his inappropriate question”, the other guy eases, now frowning at his partner, apparently named Cisco. “I work as a CSI at the CCPD and we’ve come to a conclusion that you are indeed a metahuman”. You stare silently at the two guys while Cisco whispers something at Barry like -that's exactly what I said-, scowling at him and making a hand gesture.

How the hell do they know this and why do they even want to know? you think, simultaneously trying to come up with a proper response.

“What gave you the indication that, as you just so subtly said, I am a metahuman who can influence temperature?”, you ask them, staring into their eyes stone-cold. Kinda proud of your smart counter question, you casually lean against the glistening fire truck with one arm.

“You were in Central City when the STAR labs explosion happened, right?”

“Yes I was. I was working”, you confirm, still in the dark about the purpose of their visit, now in an intimidating pose with your arms crossed and shoulders squared. When you discovered your powers you surely made some mistakes in the beginning, but those were minor accidents, nothing serious. You quickly had them under control and only used them occasionally at your job. I mean, it does come in handy sometimes. However, you stay careful as of course not the whole world needs to know.

“Well, we have noticed-”. Barry cannot finish his sentence because he is being interrupted by Cisco. They clearly do not see eye to eye on what questions to ask.

What do they even want from me? From my powers?

Watching them fight like a married couple, you hear an alarm go off. A loud noise echoing through the entire station and red lights flashing brightly. You quickly react out of instinct as you need to move out, responding to the call. You hop into the fire truck while putting on all the gear and declare relieved: “Sorry guys, duty calls!”. They silently stare at you with their mouths wide open watching you drive away with the rest of your team, leaving them behind, unable to ask what they really came for.

///

Finally… the long-lasting shift is over. Walking away from the station towards your car, truly exhausted, you bite down in a crunchy red apple. You taste the sweet, juicy flavour, lastly able to eat after the busy day you had. It’s already dark, seeing the moon shine bright. Arriving at the car, keys in hand, you notice a piece of paper on the windshield. Picking it up, now holding the note as suddenly The Flash appears in front of the car. You can’t see his face clearly because the street light he’s standing underneath is broken. He starts to speak with a distorted voice. “I need your help, (Y/N)”.

How does he know my name? you think, staring at him in silence, frowning and still holding the paper in your right hand. He continues while you chew and swallow the remaining apple chunks left in your mouth. 

So it appears The Flash needs your help. He actually needs your powers to be exact. A friend of his is in serious danger. If you want to help him you need to come to the address described on the note. You tilt your head down and read what’s on the piece of paper. By the time you look up again The Flash is gone, feeling a mild breeze as he vanished. Because helping people is in your blood, you don’t hesitate. The Flash asked for my help, that’s not some opportunity I get everyday. Unlocking the door, you hop into the car and start the engine. “Let’s go to STAR Labs”, you announce as you hit the gas pedal forcefully with your right foot while gradually releasing the clutch with your left, driving off with screeching tires.

///

Arriving at the STAR Labs building, you gaze at the damaged structures. It doesn’t nearly resemble the shiny, new, high-tech building it was before the explosion. Not knowing where to go, you just casually walk inside, no security or whatever. After wandering around in the hallways, you eventually hear faint voices in the distance and start to follow the noise. Suddenly all eyes promptly turn to you, shocked expressions on their faces as you were standing there a couple of seconds in silence. The Flash is not wearing his mask, probably didn’t expect you so soon. You can see who it is. It’s the guy that visited you at work today. 

It’s Barry Allen.

“Wait- What the hell... it’s you”, you exclaim, completely startled. “Okay, I’m out”, you continue since you’re still furious about their inappropriate questions and unsolicited visit at the fire station today. They crossed a line there. You’ve had enough of this weirdness and start to walk away as suddenly The Flash, aka Barry Allen, abruptly appears in front of you. “Wait, just hear me out”, he expresses with credible remorse in his eyes. Apparently they’re in desperate need of your help?

The guy with the long black hair, Cisco, starts to explain how their friend Caitlin Snow cannot control her powers anymore and is on the loose. With the help of your ‘heat’ powers you can counteract Killer Frost’s ‘cold’ powers and turn her back into Caitlin again. Or at least... they think you can. You definitely want to help them, compelled by their story, but you don’t know if this will work. “I mean… I ‘ve never used my powers on a real person before...”  

///

It’s dark outside. The little light that is shining is coming from the bright, white full moon as it’s a clear night. You’re currently in the cold, foggy woods, panting because you’re running, fast. Cisco had found the location of Killer Frost, you don’t exactly know how, probably something to do with his powers that you do not completely understand yet. In the distance you see them, Barry and Cisco, as all of a sudden a shockwave of cold air hits you right in the face. Or call them by their superhero names, Flash and Vibe, who are currently getting their asses kicked by Killer Frost. You’re scared and feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest. Adrenaline rushing through your veins. You notice Cisco taking cover behind a broad tree, seeing the woman with hair as white as snow shooting ice shards at him, piercing the thick bark in the end. They’re talking- no, screaming at each other.

“Caitlin! This isn’t you! Stop!”

“Caitlin is no more, my name is Killer Frost!” she furiously answers while rapidly throwing icy fragments his way.

What if I hurt her? They’ll never forgive me for that, because Caitlin means so much to them. Can I do this?

The help you received from Cisco during your training at STAR Labs did give you some confidence. But it’s not the same, now that you actually have to do this in a real-life, and death, situation.

It cannot wait any longer as the circumstances are escalating quickly. The fight between them is rapidly heating up. No- wait- cooling down? The Flash has now reached Caitlin’s alter-ego, Killer Frost. But he harshly collides with the dirty, forest soil due to the layer of slippery ice that appeared underneath his feet, induced by KF’s cold powers. She aggressively stabs him with a sharp icicle in the leg, making him scream in agony while reaching for his shin. He can’t get away. Cisco is still pinned down behind the tree. You have to act, like right now, preventing a fatal outcome.

Sprinting towards her, you covertly roll over, making an evasive maneuver. You grab her. Arms wrapped around her tight. Closing your eyes and highly concentrating on your powers. You feel heat radiating through your body. You feel it all around you, completely under your control. Contracting your arm muscles extensively since it takes some strength to restrain Killer Frost, who’s now brutally screaming to release her. But you’ve completely blocked out every single sound that is hearable. You block yourself from everything. Clear minded, only focusing on the temperature around you. Controlling it. At a given moment you don’t feel her resisting anymore. 

Did- did I… kill her?

When you cautiously open your eyes you see someone with gorgeous brown hair, very very close to you. Her eye colour not silver-white anymore, but beautiful, hazel brown and sparkling. So... this is Caitlin Snow? You’ve become speechless while you’re still holding her tight. She looks into your lost, dreamy eyes, confused, because she doesn’t know who you are and especially why your arms are wrapped around her so strongly.

“Hi- can you maybe please let me go?”, she asks with a soft whispering voice. With her question she snapped you out of your distracted state and you awkwardly answer: “Yeah… eh… sorry, I-I …”. Relaxing your arms and freeing Caitlin, you stop in the middle of the sentence while you watch her staring at her friends in utter guilt. She did this. She hurt them badly. The smirk that had appeared on your face quickly disappears. Cisco swiftly jumps up from behind the damaged tree and rushes towards you two as he noticed the situation is safe. Barry, who’s still in excruciating pain, has removed the sharp object from his leg and the wound is already healing as we speak, perks of having speed-healing powers. Standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do since you have done your part, you watch Cisco hug Caitlin.

“You’re back again”, he relaxes his breath. Caitlin stutters. “I-I’m… so sorry guys…”, her eyes becoming watery and looking at Barry, who’s still lying on the muddy ground in pain. He sits up. 

“It’s okay, Caitlin. We’re just glad that you’re okay, thanks to (Y/N)”, he mentions while they all turn their heads in your direction, making you slightly blush. Gratitude overflowing as this feeling is new to you. Honestly, saving people is kind of an everyday business for you. But this, this feels different. Hoping you can pursue these kinds of ‘superhero matters’ more often in the future, you stand there. A warmth rippling through your body, not because of your meta powers. It’s caused by the charming woman you saved today, curious what will happen between you two, as it slightly feels like you’ve found your counterpart. Literally. ‘Heat’ and ‘Cold’, opposites belonging together. 

Continue with part 2

[ahumanexperiencemoment]

“Sometimes the Road Calls (or It’s A Midlife Crisis)” Part 3 Of 3.

I slept pretty soundly and woke up around nine in the morning. The bed was firm but honestly, I don’t think it would have mattered how soft or firm the bed was… I was so worn out, I probably would have slept soundly on the floor.  After a quick shower, I got dressed and pushed my bike outside and loaded it up. I walked over to turn the keys in where a young lady sat behind the counter. She was 8 months pregnant and was about to pop. She said she had to check the room, so I walked with her and learned more about her. I asked her if it was her first child and she told me that it was going to be her fourth which was surprising to me because she didn’t look old enough to have that many kids. As I get older, I am really getting bad at gauging age. I think that happens to all of us. After she cleared the room, I got my safe deposit money back because since I paid in cash, I had to leave money the night before. I started my bike and rode across the street to a gas station to fill up before I set out on the second day of my adventure.

(Terre Haute, Indiana before I started)

I pulled into the gas station across the street from the motel and one of the pumps didn’t work, so I had to roll around to another one. Frustratingly, the gas came out rather quickly and splashed all over my hand and the fuel tank. I went to grab towels from the dispenser where they kept the windshield wiper squeegee and it was empty, as was the cleaning solution. I went inside to the bathroom, which only had an air blower to dry hands with. Thankfully though, near the drink machines, there was another sink with napkins, so I washed my hands as best as I could, wet down a few napkins and walked back out to clean my fuel tank. I then returned and washed my hands and arm again but I couldn’t seem to get rid of that gas smell… ugh….  A great start to a long day…. I was hoping that wasn’t an omen about the course of the remainder of the day.

I decided to go inside and grab a bottled water and a breakfast bar and I ended up talking to the manager of the store. I told him conversationally that once you get gas on you, it is so tough to get off. He agreed and said it happens to him all the time. The conversation went forward, as some conversations do, and he asked about my trip and where I was heading. We talked for a bit longer and I learned he had been a manager for several plus years and he commiserated on a tough life of working at that location, dealing with ungrateful and entitled people. He shared a couple of stories and finally, I had to back out of the conversation by being polite but telling him that I had to get going, because I had many miles to go that day. He understood but to be honest, he looked rather sad standing behind that counter. An older gentleman with a droopy mustache and eyes behind dusty glasses.  Sometimes, we make choices in life and we don’t know the full ramifications of those choices until many years later. And sometimes, we don’t like those choices. I got that feeling listening to him that day. As I got on my bike and started away, I waved at the guy through the window and he waved back.

Now, I was on the road again. I was having trouble with my duffle bag because it kept on wanting to tilt and lean to one side. No matter what I did to cinch it down, it just didn’t want to work. So, I ended up riding for a little bit, stopping, readjusting and then continuing on. It wasn’t long before my hand started cramping up and hurting again but thankfully, there was a lot of straight shots and small towns to get through.

A couple hours later I rolled through Vincennes and onto Princeton, Indiana where I turned right and headed into Illinois. First stop was rolling through Mount Carmel. I am glad that I came this way. Twenty years ago, when I was a young marine, I came this way in the dead of the night. I just finished my Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) school and I had the option to drive all the way home to the panhandle of Florida from Maryland, which would have taken sixteen plus hours, or I could drive to Southern Illinois where I have a ton of extended family and it would only have been eleven or so hours. This would have been around 1998 and that was the first time I drove through Mount Carmel and Carmi, Illinois. So, it was interesting to me to drive that same route twenty years later. Of course, I didn’t recognize it, as it was in the middle of the night and so many years ago the first time. But for whatever reason, those two town names have stuck in my mind ever since then.

(Mount Carmel, Illinois)

I stopped off and gassed up again in Mount Carmel, Illinois. I spoke with a gentleman while filling up and we talked about the motorcycle.  After I gassed up, I pulled over to a parking area in the shade of the store and decided to take an extended break. I walked into the store to use the restroom and grab something to eat and drink. I should have found a place to sit and eat but for some reason, when I am on the road, I go into this “travel mode” where I just go…I don’t get hungry, I don’t get thirsty, I just fall into this zombie like mode to just get to the next stop. Once I stop though, I am reminded like a distant thought crossing the void, “hey, you might be hungry” and then before I know it, it grows to the point of awareness.   Besides the slight pang of hunger, I was also getting dehydrated.  Although I drank water throughout the day before, it wasn’t near enough and I didn’t put on any sunscreen that first day and surprisingly, you can still get a pretty good sunburn, even in the latter part of the day. I looked for something good to eat but there didn’t seem to be much in the way of options, so I decided to get a Lunchable.  I actually like Lunchables - crackers, cheese, and ham or turkey with a cold Capri sun and a Reese’s Peanut Butter. I also bought a Gatorade. I walked up the counter and the nice young lady and I exchanged pleasantries as she got me my change. I walked back out and plopped right down next to the bike on the curb. I sucked that Capri sun down and then slowly ate the rest of the tray. I was just enjoying the moment, watching the cars drive by. It wasn’t long before I was done. Lunchables aren’t that big so I threw the package away and guzzled down half the Gatorade. Since I was dehydrated, I could feel the headache coming, which wouldn’t be good because with the hard tail, feeling every bump in the road would not be a good thing to experience.   After I was done with the Gatorade, I threw away my trash, stretched and got back on the bike.    

(Where I sat in the shade eating lunch)

A few miles later, I was having issues with my duffel bag again and was getting frustrated… Well, I was always frustrated, I was getting past frustrated. Finally, I just pulled off in a little town named Cowling, Illinois. I pulled into the parking lot of a little country church and tried to re-cinch my gear down.  During the process of adjustment, one of the straps just broke and I finally decided to just wear it like a back pack, which worked out surprisingly well.  Why hadn’t I done it earlier? Oh well, lesson learned.

I got back on the road and headed into Carmi, Illinois which was a bustling town. Like I wrote earlier, the last time I came through was twenty years ago, so I didn’t recognize anything, and the size of the town surprised me. There was road work near where the train tracks crossed the road I was traveling, but thankfully, it didn’t hold me up for very long. There were two very bored-looking guys holding a “Stop” and “Slow” sign, due to there only being one lane open. When I left Carmi, the weather was cloudy but still sunny. It wasn’t long before I saw a storm looming in the distance. That’s one thing about the Midwest and southern Illinois in the summer - storms pop up lightning fast (no pun intended). I thought and hoped that I could make it to my destination before the storm and I crossed paths, but before long it started sprinkling sporadically and I then decided that I would pull off to put on my rain gear in the next town, which happened to be Norris, Illinois.  It’s funny but I made it all day the day before and I was less than an hour away from my destination so naturally, rain would come. I write that in jest, but it did seem Murphy’s law dictated that I couldn’t have a trip without a little rain. But to be honest, we all need a little rain from time to time in life. It helps us to appreciate those times we do have it good. I suited up in the rain gear and continued on.  

(Norris, Illinois where I pulled over to suit up in rain gear)

Finally, I made it to Eldorado Illinois, and thankfully I had the forethought to put on the rain gear because the bottom dropped out and I was riding in the rain. Kind of like those bugs I mentioned earlier… the rain hurts just as bad. But, since I had on the jacket, the pelting wasn’t too bad, however, it was hard to see with my glasses getting wet.  It was slow-going because I just didn’t trust the roadway with it being wet, so I slowed down even more. Cars passed me by, which slung more water on me. It went on this way for quite a while until I hit Harrisburg Illinois. When I hit the outskirts, the rain stopped, and the sun made its appearance again. I rode past many stores and many places in Harrisburg that I had grown up shopping at, during the years when I was visiting every summer. Over here was where the local video rental store was, over there was the new Walmart, which was down the road from where the old Walmart was. There is where my aunt still gets milk that comes in glass bottles. And here, the Dairy Queen…You get the idea. I continued on.  About six miles outside, between Harrisburg and Stonefort is the little town of Carrier Mills.

I decided to stop off in Carrier Mills to gas up again before traveling a few more miles to my destination. I didn’t know what the next day would bring so I figured it was best to fill the gas tank. As I was gassing up, I met and talked with an older gentleman who asked me about my bike and who I was visiting. It turned out that he knew my aunt and uncle – they had grown up together. Small world. The more you travel, the smaller it gets. Since I was coming to the end of my trip, I was eager to get to it so I hopped back on the bike and continued on.

After leaving Carrier Mills, it was just a few miles before I finally made it to the last town and destination of my trip, Stonefort, Illinois. I turned on the road that went past the small country church I attended every summer with my aunt. I have many fond memories there. It looks like it has grown quite a bit since the time I went, but I will never forget the people I knew there when I was a kid. I also passed by the trailer where my cousin’s grandmother lived.  It’s always weird to see people live in a place that you either lived at or spent a lot of time at previously.  You wonder how they decorated it, and does it look or smell the same inside…just general thoughts like these.  I don’t know who lives in that trailer now, nor did I see them when I drove past, but they keep the place up pretty well. My aunt lives about a mile outside of town and it didn’t take long before I arrived at her house. They weren’t home, but they left the door open for me, so I went inside. I was so exhausted and before long, the storm opened up again. I sat on the couch and with the rain hammering on the roof and thunder rolling in the distance and across the sky, I slept… and slept hard.

(My destination out side Stonefort, Illinois)

It was a great adventure and my body was sore, but I loved every minute of it. In retrospect, I am so glad that my wife met me with the truck. I thought about that a lot during those two days of riding, especially when my hand hurt the worst. If I had to drive the entire way from Southern Illinois to New Orleans on the bike, I just don’t think I would have made it… or it would have taken me a lot longer than I wanted it to.  Who knows though…maybe in the future, I will attempt it, but I am glad that for whatever reason, it didn’t work out this time. I got my little adventure, and my mom, and my wife got to come up and enjoy time with family for the family reunion. All in all, it was a great trip.

From start to finish, I traveled almost 400 miles. I saw places and met people in passing I never had the chance of seeing before and sadly, will probably never see again. This trip really struck home how fast we all are in our endeavors to get somewhere. There were a couple times when I was out there all alone and saw those big nice Harleys or Honda Goldwings pass me like I was standing still, but they didn’t get to see the landscape like I did. Being forced to go slow, I really had time to take it all in. From the kids playing down the side street in a town I passed through, to well-kept and not so well-kept yards, to the roadside flower beds, I was able to see it all. I think life can be like that too. People are zipping here and there, and, in our haste, we miss so much. I think life would be better for us all if we just learned or forced ourselves to slow down.  I know…it’s easier said than done. We all have different motivations for what we do. I think deep down, we all want to leave behind a legacy of some sort, but most of us don’t know why or how. One thing is for sure…we are in pursuit of it.

[countcameron]

The end of The Rolling Stone’s and so they rolled.....

Friday night should’ve been one of the best nights for Cameron. He got to perform at one of his favorite spots in town, Kanaloa Beach Bar. His artist had been performing there every weekend and now it was his turn to spin the tables. The party was bumping, it was their busiest night the bar was crowded, shoulder to shoulder. His set was off the hook, he had been working on it since the beginning of the month when he decided he would perform, getting back to doing the shit he loved. Drinks being poured since the moment he walked in. You’d think that would be good enough for him to take him out of his funk but he was 10 feet under. The last few days he’d been fighting with his wife and had him in the gutters. He messaged his drug dealer, Draven asked for a quarter of his best smack. He’d been doping up for the last three days nonstop as soon as his high was wearing off he shot back up. He didn’t care to be in a sober state anymore. He was letting his mind and body go at this point all he wanted was self destruction.

Fuck it, he repeatedly said to himself holding the needle up to his veins. His eyes rolled back to his head and shortly after began twitching. He spent his days just like that until the show. Getting high in his car before his set, snorting lines and drinking all the booze he could, free drinks made that easy. His body was home to toxic waste at this point killing it from the inside. After the party was over it was about 3-4 in the morning, Cameron and Moon Byul Kim-Stone were going home or anywhere the car would take them now. No words spoken to each other.

It had been raining all day. Storming more like it, loud claps of thunder and lightning filling the air. The pair had already had a particularly rough argument just before getting in the car so the tension between them was already thick. A fight so stupid it shouldn’t have happened in the first place; she knew this but let it happen anyway. If only she had believed him maybe they wouldn’t be so quiet in the car right then. She reached over to turn the blasting radio down just a little bit. In return he just turned it right back up.

“Could you not? I have a headache.”

Moon spit out right as she reached for the knob again to turn it down. Cameron simply rolled his eyes at her and turned it back up.

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

He spat right back at her. She looked at him for a moment before turning in her seat to look away from him mumbling under her breath,

“You’re an asshole.”

Moon kept her eyes looking out the window while he tapped along on the steering wheel to whatever song was playing. The rain was starting to pick up more outside, the drops clashing against the windshield harder and harder at a faster rate. She noticed that he was making no move to slow down from the high speed he was going. 

“Cameron, slow down please. It’s getting harder outside.” 

Her body moved to sit up now, facing forward, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach. He let out a soft huff

“We’re fine. It’s just rain. Chill out.”

Cameron looked over at her direction before leaning back in his seat even more. Moon leaned over the console to look at his speed, gasping softly when she saw he was already well over the speed limit on top of all the rain pouring down.

“Please..just slow down...”

She reached for one of his hands on the steering wheel only for him to snatch it away from her grasp. His jerk of the wheel matched with the accumulating puddle of water as they rounded the curve only sealed their fate. She was screaming as the car began to swerve, her eyes wide as he tried to gain control of the car but there was nothing he could do at this point. It was a lost cause. The vehicle swerved off before hitting the embankment and started to flip.

As fate would have it ‘Last Kiss’ by Pearl Jam played….

“Oh, where oh where can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me. She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good. So I can see my baby when I leave this world.”

The windows started to shatter, glass flying everywhere cutting his face up, blood spilling from almost every inch of his upper body. Cameron made an attempt to grab for her but it was too late. Her seat belt had snapped and she was thrown from the car into a nearby tree. He barely had time to call her before his side was slammed into the side of another large tree, his head hitting at an unsightly angle, causing his brain to bleed killing him within seconds. In her last few moments she saw the car land and tears filled her eyes. Ringing in their ears the last thing they were able to hear. The sustaining injuries to her spinal cord aiding in her last breaths. The pair had gone within a few minutes of each other. The rain started to stop and the car caught in flames, no passerby’s coming to their aid. 🔥

PART TWO

April 26, 2019

Before that date Cameron was just a man. Many talents followed and many vices followed. Those are the things that killed him on that dreadful night. The fire ignited through out his car, he bleed to his death. Wounds and injuries marked his dead body.

May 26, 2019

A month later he woke in shivers, his body tied down to a wooden bed in a place he’d never been before. Candles lit up the room he was in and he heard chanting happening around him. His body in cold sweats. Cameron’s body drenched in his blood and sweat. He had a burning fire inside him, his own blood making him burn from the inside out. He looked around in the dark room his pupils were dilated, everything was intensified. His body had no harm done for what he could tell. He had one mark on his body right on his face. A bruise covering his entire cheek from where his face slammed onto the windshield of the car and the fire burns. He was healed but not complete reminding him of his previous life, one mark left of humanity.

He had a thirst he couldn’t explain, a thirst he never felt before. It was driving him and controlling him. He tried to get untied but the chains kept him down, he felt weak yet strong. He was going mad until he heard a voice coming from the shadows.

“Now, now, relax”

The female said as she approached him with a glass in her hand.

“Take this, you’ll need it to survive”

Cameron looked at her, he had fear in his eyes. Not knowing what was happening to him. He leaned forward taking a sip of the beverage she offered to him. Spitting it out from his human instinct but he wanted more.

“This is only the begging.”

PART THREE

“We hadn't driven very far

There in the road, up straight ahead

A car was stalled, the engine was dead

I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right

I'll never forget the sound that night

The screamin' tires, the bustin' glass

The painful scream that I heard last.

Oh, where oh where can my baby be?”

That darn and damned song kept playing in Cameron’s mind even after he told himself to forget. It played the moment he started to remember. Remembering her was the best and worse thing that had happened to him. He could finally feel pain since his transition. Aching for the moment he could see her again. He left everything else behind they were suppose to go together and he would spend eternity until he found her again, he would find her again.

June 4, 2019 

He chased high and low went to every place he knew. Every place he took her and every place she took him to. Slowly remembering the little things that they had done together. Slowly the memories of them came and went maybe not all of them but most. He stayed in New York for a few days and headed to upstate New York to see if she was there. The trail went cold and he wasn’t getting any more memories after a day of finding nothing but his old family estate; Stone Manor intact and it made him to start to reminisce about his childhood. Only to remember why he left and headed to California.

June 6, 2019 

San Diego, California it was 9 pm, Cameron was confused forgetting about the time change between the East and West coast he had to adjust. He was also feeling hungry and food was not cutting it anymore. Once it was night he headed to the beach a couple of lonely passerby’s were his victims that gave him the fix he needed. Every time he took a life, he felt more alive.

“Darling this will hurt but for a second.”

He said to the female that was screaming and attempting to run away. He covered her mouth and dug his fangs in her neck sucking every last drop of her blood. She was young and he could tell by the taste of her blood she took care of herself, she was healthy and now she was dead. Soon her boyfriend would be too, they both ended up together after all. He threw them in the middle of the ocean for the sharks and the natural elements to erase them from this earth.

The following morning, he continued his search leaving a trail of bodies with their heads cut off behind him as he traveled around the West coast and finally ended up in Las Vegas. The place he and the woman he was looking for had gotten married. He was happy he remembered. He wanted to see her smile and those eyes shining one more time. Between feedings and beheadings, she kept popping up like a ghost.

“Cameron you shouldn’t kill them to feed.”

Even when she wasn’t around she was telling him to be better than what he was. To be good even if he was bad. He figured that was something she did often. He stopped by a gas station and cleaned himself up, stole some clothes from a man that was pumping gas before killing him and draining him dry. He had arrived at the Graveyard, it looked familiar but not at all. He walked inside and immediately felt relief as he walked in. He was amongst friendly’s and immortals as himself. He walked to the bar and ordered a drink. Bourbon on the rocks the first drink was his last the liquor burned down his throat, a feeling he had missed.

[...]

June 10, 2019

After spending sometime with Lucy and indulging himself in distractions but also getting to know himself in his new form with her help. He headed on his search it kept pulling him as much as he didn’t want to be anymore. He headed to place he didn’t know would really existed. He was there unsure of how he had got there but he made it there. The help of the gods led him there, there was no other way he could’ve made it to Olympus. There she was standing in the roof top with a long beautiful dress. She was more beautiful then he had imagined. Every thing about them starting to come in flashes in his mind.

The first time he’d ever laid eyes on her in Las Vegas in that crowded club as she danced eating her chicken wings. That evil, I’m going to kill you look for stepping on her chicken wing. The long nights in the studio creating a song not knowing he would fall in love with her shortly after that. The first night they’d ever spent alone. The day they got married now understanding completely why he headed to Las Vegas in the first place. They had eloped and he had the time of his life with her.

“It’s you!”

Cameron approached behind her.

“I’ve found you”

He was finally able to speak again after gathering all of his thoughts at once. Taking a step closer to her waiting to put his arms around her. He got an unexpected response from her.

“You’re not real..”

She wiped at her eyes while the tears began to fall.

“You aren’t real; this is just in my head... This is in my head...”

Moon ran her hands through her hair, grabbing at her head while she shut her eyes real tight.

“When I open them he’ll be gone... he’s not real, get it together he’s not fucking real.”

Her voice was breaking the more she tried to talk to herself but the break down was already building up and the dam was soon to break. She was breaking his heart how could she not see he was standing right in front of her. To take her back and for them to continue their lives together. They weren’t done just yet.

“I thought this might go a little bit different when I found you again, babe.”

He spoke softly, standing back as he watched her, curious about what the hell was her problem.

“Stop talking, You’re not real…”

He could see her crying and he didn’t know what to do. He took one step closer trying to reach for her but before he knew it she had stepping off the ledge falling and falling. His dead heart dropped. He wasn’t quick enough to catch her his hand graced her dress but it slipped through his fingers. He found her to have lost her all over again. She was gone now that he remembered every little thing about her. So it did that fatal night came flashing back.

“You’re an asshole!”

He could hear her yelling as if it were yesterday. The car drifting and the rain hitting harder, the fog making it that much harder to see. That tree that ended everything as he knew it. The fire and the reason why there was a scar on his face. His head slamming straight on the windshield cracking his head and cutting up his face the fire burning half of his face.

Cameron fell down to his knees. Holding his chest up, it became harder to breath. He killed his wife all over again. He couldn’t save her, he killed her.

“Oh, where oh where can my baby be?

The Lord took her away from me

She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good

So I can see my baby when I leave this world.”

...What A Fatal End

[johnbutlersbuzz]

BUGS, COFFEE TALK & GALLBLADDERS

Continuing my road trip north on Highway 83 — America’s Heartland Highway, from Texas to North Dakota.

Mile after mile of mostly flat to gently rolling farmland. Acres of corn, soybean, wheat and sunflowers.

And bugs.

As I drive between the endless fields on this less traveled two-laner sitting on my soft leather bucket seat, gently gripping the ergonomically shaped steering wheel, there is a constant splatting sound on my front windshield. Thousands-upon-thousands of bugs, from flies to grasshoppers are ending their short little lives on ARGO’s front bumper, grill and windshield. So many that it obscures my vision of the road ahead.

I’ve used up the window washer fluid attempting to reduce the bug-buildup. A yellow warning message is now flashing on the instrument panel in-between the speedometer and tachometer, letting me know the washer fluid tank is near empty.

Ahead is a “town,” which consists of a single gas station. Like many stations in rural areas, it also includes a tiny version of a grocery, hardware, entertainment-center and auto supply store. This one even has a soft-serve ice-cream machine. And guess what, they have cases of window washer fluid stacked up on the right side of the door. Only a dollar for a gallon. Perfect.

As ARGO’s tank is being topped off with diesel, I scrub the windows clean with the station’s long-handle squeegee. Then I pull the black hood release lever under the dash, pop the safety catch under the hood, raise it to locking position, and happily fill the plastic washer fluid tank with the gallon of dollar cleaner.

If this were a movie, it’s the kind of moment when I would be whistling a tune watching the fluid fill the tank. Except, I can’t whistle worth a darn.

Anyway, feeling so good about the whole thing, I close the hood and go back inside the station to buy an ice-cream cone to celebrate my accomplishment. A roady cone.

All is good … till I walk back outside. Underneath ARGO’s engine something is dripping in a steady flow onto the concrete drive, forming a pool of liquid. Oil? Diesel? I touch the liquid with my index finger; smell it. Dang, it’s the vinegar smell of washer fluid.

As I hold the cone in my left hand while licking the cold sweet vanilla cream, I raise the hood with my right hand enough to see the plastic washer fluid tank I just filled is nearly empty; depleting rapidly as I watch. Poking around underneath I discover a hose clamp came loose … apparently when I filled the tank to capacity with the gallon of dollar-cleaner. It’s now, a dollar on the ground.

Maybe, revenge of the bugs? One of them lived long enough to pull this stunt. I wouldn’t put it past ‘em. Like in one of those suspense thrillers where you think the bad guy is dead, but he’s not.

So, I spend the next twenty-minutes with my tools reattaching the hose and fastening the clamp. No easy feat due to the location of the hose under the tank, with only a small space where I can reach my hands down to do the work by feel. Finally, success. The hose is attached good enough for now.

I go back in the store, buy another gallon of window washer fluid for a dollar, fill up the tank and shut the hood. Nothing is leaking as I study the underside.

Now I am back in the captain’s chair, with a clean window in front of me, on the road again in a perkier ARGO, brimming with diesel and washer fluid … and me filled with a hastily eaten vanilla ice-cream cone.

I drive to the next small town in Nebraska. Forgive me, but I’m leaving the name of the town out at this point, since I’m going to share some gossip about a few of the locals; a guy named, Walter. And Walter’s wife.

Like nearly all small towns, there are too many empty store front plate-glass-windows, behind which, once were enterprising retail stores run by moms and pops. The backbone of the community. That back was broken by the big box stores, the internet and younger folks moving away.

This town seems to have a bit more life than most. I’m just basing that on the fact a few people were walking on the sidewalk along main street. They were talking to each other. More activity than the other rural towns I’ve passed through.

One store front catches my eye; a bakery. It’s mid-morning and I haven’t had breakfast yet. Driving in front, the sign says they’ve added a coffee shop. Bakery plus coffee works for me.

I park ARGO on the next side street. Walking up to the front door with my schnozzola on alert.

Let me pause here, and apologize, I just like to say schnozzola, a.k.a. “proboscis.” Reminds me of the old comedian, Jimmy Durante, a TV favorite of my grandmother. I have fond memories of my grandmother and me laughing at his jokes together. Who doesn’t like a funny guy with a big schnozzola.

So … my schnozzola leads me through the front door of the bakery, filled with the aromas of dark coffee brewing, combined with another come-hither-whiff: apples and cinnamon in the latter stages of baking.

Inside the bakery, I feel a bit of disappointment as I look through the glass of the wood framed display case. There is little remaining in the way of baked items. Most of whatever was on the shelves is gone. Little spots remain indicating the shelves had probably been filled earlier that morning with real goodies. A danish-type thing with cinnamon remains, so I point to it.

The sign on the back wall lists a selection of coffees, patterned after you-know-who. The conglomerate with the round green logo on every other street corner in bigger cities providing a supply-line to poor pathetic caffeine addicts, like me.

I look over the listings of macchiato, espresso, cappuccino, mocha-blend and such. Standing there waiting for the lady in front of me to order, I’m thinking how, not that long ago, you only asked if the coffee was fresh or not. You were happy if had been made in the last few hours and was reasonable warm. And, of course, it was only a fraction of the cost.

“I’ll have a latte with a half-shot of caramel,” I say.

The shop is small, but there’s a wide opening cut in the left side wall, opposite the counter, opening into a dinning room in the adjoining building. Tables, chairs and a few booths are set up for about thirty to forty people. A sign says they have live music on weekends from time to time.

I put my backpack down in one of the rear booths. A quiet space. I’ll be able to write. Maybe read.

A man and woman are at one table on the far side talking.

At a table toward the center, six men are having coffee and jawing. They stopped talking when I walked by, now they are talking again. The acoustics of the room carry the men’s voices my way.

Four of them are slim men with disappearing butts. One is on the heavy side; another one has a beach ball tummy hanging well over his belt buckle. I am assuming, of course, he had a belt buckle.

A new guy walks in, joining the group.

“Where you been?” one of the guys says to the new arrival, “we missed-ya last few days.”

“Had to get my medicines adjusted,” he answers.

“Oh,” says another man who is sporting a camouflage ball cap with the logo of a bridge on it, “you okay now?

“Yep, but had to go to the hospital for a day … just to do it.”

“You go here?” Another asks, “or the new one down the road?”

“Here.”

“Not sure I’d go to the new one,” another guy says, “with what I’ve heard.”

“Yep, think they’re understaffed; still working the bugs outta the new one.”

I’m trying to tune out the exchange. Starting to settle in over my hot latte. Stream rises up as I take in the caramel overtones coming from the thick ceramic cup. Smells woody-sweet.

I like my coffee dark roasted. Like to joke that it “needs to be strong enough to walk across.”

That line gets an understanding smile and a nod from a fancy coffee shop barista. From a truck stop waitress, well, she’ll just look at me expressionless. Either way, I enjoy these tiny human interactions prior to receiving my morning java fix.

The door opens in the middle of the store-front of the dinning room. A group of six ladies walk-in off the sidewalk. They appear to be in their fifties and sixties, wearing muted casual dresses with matching hairdos.

All seem to be talking at the same time, over each other, as they make their way past the table of men, continue towards me, look around, then select a table near my booth.

No more silence.

I attempt to focus on my coffee. Still a bit of steam rising. I take a small sip. That’s always an “ahhhh-moment” for me; the first taste of freshly brewed coffee. Especially in the morning.

The ladies are chatting away. I don’t normally listen to other people’s conversations, but this one I can’t avoid. They’re talking loudly.

“I wish I could have seen my gallbladder after they took it out,: one of them says.

“You’d want to see it?” A puzzled friend questions in surprise.

“They said it’s full of stones. I’d love to see what that looks like.”

“What I wonder is,” another said, “after they take out your gallbladder how do you digest?”

The question goes unanswered.

Another woman asks, “But what about the new stones? Where do the new stones go? You know if you don’t have your gallbladder anymore….”

That question also goes unanswered. The conversation switches to one of them buying a vacation home in Colorado.

“So Mary, how was your trip to Colorado. You get situated?”

“As you know, we bought a smaller home, like I told you about,” Mary shares. “Really cute, just perfect for Ralph and me. And they told us it would be empty of the other people’s furniture as soon as we closed on it. But when we took our first load, we couldn’t believe it, their furniture was still there.”

“Oh, my God, you got all the way there,” a friend asks, “and the people hadn’t moved out yet?”

“Full house! What were we to do. We didn’t know. Called the Real estate lady, and she didn’t know either. So there we were with our furniture and nowhere to put it. Real estate lady called us back latter, saying they needed another week.”

They continue on about the furniture and how to handle such a calamity.

Now the conversation is back on health issues, and with a twist. Someone named Walter is in the hospital.

“He was all blowed up,” says a lady who visited Walter yesterday at the new hospital. “They had to get the swelling down.”

“Is Walter going to be okay?”

“As long as he gets four hours of sleep, he’s okay.”

A lady who hasn’t spoken yet says, “This is just between us, but I thought you’d want to know….”

They lean in closer to each other. Whispering. I pick up enough to know they are not talking about Walter now, but Walter’s wife. It’s some heavy gossip. In order to protect the innocent I won’t repeat it here.

I’ve observed, that the more important the gossipy news is between friends, the softer the volume of the voice relaying it.

Hushed tones continue as they share stories about Walter’s wife, and poor Walter in the hospital.

Of course, these ladies might as well be shouting into a radio station microphone, printing it in the newspaper, or putting it out on social media. In a town this size it’ll be general public knowledge before noon, passed person-to-person, each time with the warning: “This is just between us, but I thought you’d want to know.”

Gossip, from the mouth of a skilled tittle-tattler, can gut someone they don’t like, clean the meat off their bones, and serve ‘em up stone cold dead before the victim finishes their morning coffee.

Time to move on down the road for me. I leave a tip on the table; sling my backpack over my left shoulder. As I turn opening the door to leave, I see both the group of men and the women stop talking, look at me and watch me walk away.

These morning coffee talk conversations are not peculiar to small towns. They go on every morning all across America. Probably the world. Mostly retired types solving world problems, along with bitching and griping about their phone bill or car repair or whatever wrong they want to be righted.

To them, I’m just another stranger passing through town. Not from around here.

And it’s on down the road I go. Discovering America one story at a time.

JohnButlersBuzz.com