Survival logic leads you to the country roads. Taking the direct route would be foolish.
Walking the back roads at night is a complete change from the city streets. For one, there are no street lights. The other major difference is the absolute silence that dominates the entire area. The fall of your feet seems to be a rude disturbance of the quiet serenity, and you almost cringe with each step. You can't help but feel that you are not welcome walking these streets at this hour.
It never seemed like that when you were walking with Claudia. There was never a time when you felt like you didn't belong, and the duet of your steps made a comforting rhythem that surely no one would object to.
Thinking of Claudia is inevitable. As inevitable as the grief that soon follows.
You think back on one of your midnight walks through the country with her. The two of you ended up on a haystack in a random barn, your passions interrupted by the barrel of a shotgun and a tired and angry farmer. He sent the two of you on your way quickly enough.
The hours pass by and your legs begin to ache. Eventually you start seeking out barns for a suitable place to stay the night. You spot one that seems secluded enough but not abandoned and approach it with caution.
You sneak in and climb up the ladder to the hayloft. You fall asleep almost as soon as you lay down.
The dreams come the same as they always do. Claudia is with you and everything is wonderful. The two of you are dancing, an activity you have always loathed but find yourself enjoying with her in your arms.
She is laughing and spinning around and the smile on your face spreads ever wider.
The two of you go home and lye down in bed, undressing as you ease her on to the matress. She is on her back looking at the ceiling, her eyes closed and peaceful.
You kiss her on the lips, but she does not kiss back. Her mouth is oddly cold.
You whisper her name and kiss her more fiercely. She does not respond.
Suddenly, you start to remember.
Claudia is dead.
You sit upright with a scream, startled from the nightmare. Another nightmare stares you in the face, a double barrel shotgun in the hands of a stern faced man. The farmer, you assume.
"Get the hell out of here, you damn vagrant," he says.
You mutter an apology and gather your things.
"Unless you want to work off your lodging tomorrow," he says. "I can always use an extra set of hands."
You consider his offer...
Walking the back roads at night is a complete change from the city streets. For one, there are no street lights. The other major difference is the absolute silence that dominates the entire area. The fall of your feet seems to be a rude disturbance of the quiet serenity, and you almost cringe with each step. You can't help but feel that you are not welcome walking these streets at this hour.
It never seemed like that when you were walking with Claudia. There was never a time when you felt like you didn't belong, and the duet of your steps made a comforting rhythem that surely no one would object to.
Thinking of Claudia is inevitable. As inevitable as the grief that soon follows.
You think back on one of your midnight walks through the country with her. The two of you ended up on a haystack in a random barn, your passions interrupted by the barrel of a shotgun and a tired and angry farmer. He sent the two of you on your way quickly enough.
The hours pass by and your legs begin to ache. Eventually you start seeking out barns for a suitable place to stay the night. You spot one that seems secluded enough but not abandoned and approach it with caution.
You sneak in and climb up the ladder to the hayloft. You fall asleep almost as soon as you lay down.
The dreams come the same as they always do. Claudia is with you and everything is wonderful. The two of you are dancing, an activity you have always loathed but find yourself enjoying with her in your arms.
She is laughing and spinning around and the smile on your face spreads ever wider.
The two of you go home and lye down in bed, undressing as you ease her on to the matress. She is on her back looking at the ceiling, her eyes closed and peaceful.
You kiss her on the lips, but she does not kiss back. Her mouth is oddly cold.
You whisper her name and kiss her more fiercely. She does not respond.
Suddenly, you start to remember.
Claudia is dead.
You sit upright with a scream, startled from the nightmare. Another nightmare stares you in the face, a double barrel shotgun in the hands of a stern faced man. The farmer, you assume.
"Get the hell out of here, you damn vagrant," he says.
You mutter an apology and gather your things.
"Unless you want to work off your lodging tomorrow," he says. "I can always use an extra set of hands."
You consider his offer...
- ID: 50262
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