|| Bit of Character introduction, Anyone is welcome to Join! ||
Flecks of ash flitted through the air, falling to the ground in lazy swirls. The fleet flickered in strobes, alternating grey and black as drafts batted them across a backdrop of smoldering ember. Predawn pushed colours into the filtered air, lavenders burgeoning into a crest of orange as light strained to stretch over a scene of wreckage and ruin. Few house frames stood as blacked wood; their paint, polish, and luster peeled off by a prior blaze to leave skeletal remnants in wake.
The scent of smolder and crackle sizzled in the atmosphere, creating distorted waves that clung to the ground as they rose. He stood amidst the ruin. The fire that was put to his fields and estate caught too late. The perpetrators nowhere to be found. Here, he knew he would turn to the forest. Here, he knew he would march in a daze to his wife’s freshly dug grave. He knew because he had this dream before, and he knew he would have it again --many more times as he had already throughout the centuries of his survival.
As the thought of survival skimmed the consciousness of his mind, the world around him melted and melded into a heightened awareness. The mattress he slept on proved cool beneath him. His naked body drenched in sweat and tangled in clingy sheets. Seconds passed as narrowed eyes stared into the silence. He could taste the staleness of the motel room; inhaled with the bitterness of last night’s coffee.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on the road. Or, how many hours spanned before he pulled his ‘84 Chevy into the parking lot. His family and prized possessions sealed and stowed in it’s camper shell. But he knew when his head hit the pillow, it had felt like an eternity since he’d slept.
A low grumble permeated the room, rising up from the back of his throat as he pulled his palm down his face. His body rocked to the side; and his legs swung off the bed to help his feet find the floor. Once upright, he pawed around for the jeans he’d discarded last night; fishing from them a lighter and a half-squished pack of cigarettes.
Meditative movements tapped one free, drab olive eyes focused on the filter as it loosed from its fellows. He tipped forward when the full length surfaced, pinching the end between wan lips to pull it. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of flame joined the light filtered in through the venietans. The latter provided by the glowing neon tubes glaring Detour’s name. Cigarette lit behind a cupped palm, he stood to wander into the bathroom.
His hand passed blind over the wall, fingers in search of the switch. His index caught it once found, flicking up to spill halogen white over a porcelain basin. An ash grey face greeted him in the mirror, hard eyes framed by a peppered crew cut. Tags rattled in tandem to his movements as hitched lumbering pulled him to the sink. Palms braced on either side of the cool surface, he sucked on his cigarette and stared into his unforgiving reflection. He didn’t look half bad, if he considered the night before. With a leer-like grin, he abruptly turned about to take a leak.
As the contents of his bladder hissed into the toilet, he turned his mind to the day ahead. If his internal clock hadn’t been too terribly thrown off, he gauged he was up and moving in the 0400; and, he would lend time to five or --ten after, by now. Somewhere to snag coffee and breakfast was the first order of business, the second --touring the city, perhaps finding a local paper or magazine to look over the classifieds. He didn’t know, exactly, how early the citizens started their day, or what would be available, but a bit of exploration would do him good.
Shaking his bits to lose the last of his urine, he made to zip up his pants --before realizing he was still naked. He could’ve sworn he had --ah, wait, no that’s right he’d not got that far yet. Drawing his hand up to scissor his cigarette, he inhaled to pull the stick’s cherry into the tobacco. Smoke escaped the part in his lips, as his hand turned the stick aside. He supposed dressing would be a good idea
Within the next few minutes, the motel’s occupant stepped out the door dressed in rumpled jeans, and a striped collared long-sleeved shirt. The latter, snapped a few times in the air to get the wrinkles out. Dog tags rested upon a tone-fiting crew-cut, the tee a dull blue matched to better blend with the palette of stripes. He flicked his keys around his finger as he worked his way to the truck. The middle stuck through the loop of his key chain, while the outer two caught and released the fob in tandem to a ticking wrist.
