| There Is a Sky |
| By Lyndsey L |
| There Is a Sky The green Ferrari peeled across the desert, sending a trail of dust and sand into the air that extended for miles. Disregarding any form of caution of consideration, the driver ripped apart acres of the fragile desert ecosystem. Perched atop a rusty, disregarded stop sign, a crow cried out a scratchy, ominous call. The driver glanced out the window. On the dusty dirt road, dilapidated road signs had scrawls of graffiti of varying ages, along side that was a town all but gone bust. Other decaying structures littered the barren landscape for miles; the place seemed to be completely devoid of any life, human or otherwise. To some people this might be a wasteland. To others it was home. And to one person, it had potential. After all, you should never seek what you want to find. Plunder smiled. ************************************************************************************************************************************* A young boy was studying the large, bald man from across the lobby with intense scrutiny. He had an unfamiliar, almost foreign air about him; that quality emphasized itself even more when he spoke. At first, the child thought the man was a soldier; he dressed and moved about like one. Yet, almost simutaneously, he knew that he couldn't have been--there was something about the man's eyes that... "BEEEEEEEP!" A cell phone went off. Other bleary-eyed residents of the immediate area fumbled around for their respective phones; when the almost-soldier flipped open his, the boys doubts were confirmed. Mercenary. The child sensed more interesting things to come. But not right now. He got up off the couch and walked home in the dust. ************************************************************************************************************************************* Tires squealed and dust motes floated and danced as the emerald machine stopped itself just short of a tall, bald man dressed in military gear. The door opened, reflecting the bright sunlight off of the finely polished metal, temporarily blinding Argos Bleak. Positioning a hand protectively across his eyes, he stated, "I got yore call, Mr. Plunder, an' everything is ready." Plunder stepped out of the vehicle. "Good," he answered. Despite the heat in this sparsely populated region of the southwestern United States, Looten Plunder was dressed as he usually was--a green business suit with endangered species print, minus the jacket, which was draped over his shoulder. He slammed the door shut, lifted his head, and gazed at the rown for the first time. He remembers now. That was the drugstore that the proprietor, Mr. Roswell, used to give him a soda in exchange for an hour or two's labor. The condemned building that looked as though it should have been burned years ago was the old theatre. The school, still in use, had been abandoned until fall arrived again. Even the rusting rail tracks were still there. All the same. Yet, in one way, it was very, very different... Bleak coughed. "Sir?" Plunder jerked his head up. "What is it?" Argos looked slightly uncomfortable. "We need to start as soon as possible and..." Looten inturrupted. "There is something I need to do first. I will be a few hours. You may call our other 'partners' in the meantime." Bleak remained silent as he watched his boss walk off towards the church. ************************************************************************************************************************************* Wasteland Looten stared at the cracked, shoddy gravestone. He addressed it. "So. We meet again." He almost laughed aloud at the ridiculousness and cliche of the line. "And believe me, the pleasure isn't mine." He opened his briefcase, and pulled out a can of spray paint. An older can too, with all sorts of lovely CFC's peppered in. He shook his head several times. Don't think about that either. This time, it's not about profit. Screw him and his damn wasteland... He popped off the lid and shook it up, reveling in the clanging sound inside. And hesitated. Not because defacing a grave was a sophomoric, childish thing to do, but... He was being watched. It was him. Somehow he knew, even from this far away. Why can't you ever stay out of my life? Because everyone needs a scapegoat. Because someone must always be blamed. It was my fault, right? I deserved it, right? Did he truly deservve any of that? Did he deserve the times when his father wouldn't let him lie down to sleep, simply because he received a poor mark on an exam? How pathetic is it for a child to have to learn to sleep standing up, like a damn horse, at such an early age? When you were fearful if you were caught sleeping on your own bed, you had to learn fast, in order to keep your sanity. Eternally punished, he thought ruefully. It only stopped when he left for college, his father picking the track of study and major, of course. When he had reached halfway through his senior year at the university, something both unexpected and wonderful happened; his father had dies. No one know how, or what even caused it; Looten could have cared less. The old man was dead. In the first time of his full twenty years of life, Looten Plunder was truly happy. He completely reversed his major from Environmental Engineering to International Business. I'll give you your money, you bastard. Funny, that. Richard M Plunder died below the poverty line. The state had to bury him. "You are nothing, your very life is forfeit," he remembered his father saying to him on that cold night, "unless you are wealthy in your fellow man's eye." He remembered quailing in fear when his father added, "Are you rich now?" Looten supposed he could understand this theory, at least now, if he could only understand why his father said these things and then Stop Was it because of his mother? Stop The way she died, so close to help and Stop it In order to live you needed to STOP IT ...be rich? Oh, please...stop it... I don't want to remember Was the reason his first twelve years were a living hell because his mother died at childbirth? Yes. It was all your fault. You deserved it all. You made her die. No, I didn't. Your father says so. He's dead. I'm glad. I hated him. You killed him too. I only wish I had. Murderer. Plunderer. Yes stop it Looten snapped out of his dream. He had fallen asleep standing up. **** Gaia was disturbed. Part 2 |
| Part 1 |