Away

So there it was. Death. Floating about in front of him like an obese fairy. Some random kid, murdered in public by some psychopath. The cops had already caught him, and he just stared the cameras in the face, saying he didn’t know why he did it, while blood coated his eyes and made him cry tears of blood. Yet, despite the great “tragedy” that had befallen the general area of Castle Apartments, it didn’t even register to Ol’ Johnny. He had seen so much of it already, a stabbing didn’t faze him, merely bringing a flash of blue eyes to his memories. He’d grabbed the suitcase. The gas station was closed, probably forever. It was on the news, it was in the newspapers. God, he thought, look at the magazines, already looking for something symbolic and idiot to blame. Video games, religion, politics, how the murderer had been raised, and what could have happened instead, every time that human insanity reared its head, more “rational” minds quashed the images of it, refusing to acknowledge that human’s and acts of evil didn’t go side by side, they were practically screwing each other on the sidewalk these days. So he left, got on a bus, and took it over the edge of the known universe, and when he looked back, he say a young man with blues eyes looking back. Johnny looked, then turned around, and fell through the cracks.

Numbers.

Life for Johnny was extremely mechanical and numbered. Everything had a number, and a place, and a time. His mornings began with his medicine, 2 pills for pain, 3 for the kidneys, 5 for a random assortment of other things. Afterwards he would have 2 eggs, and over the course of the morning would have 3 glasses of water. Depending on the day, the weather, the general feel of the air, he could have anywhere between zero customers and 41 on a Monday. On Saturdays where the people of the area tried desperately to leave for some better area with hygienic bathrooms and clean streets, they came to him. He could have over 101 customers some days. Then as the afternoon rolled around he ate and drank various things, rarely healthy for him. It was a point of pride, somewhere deep in that puttering heart, that he could down 5 whole bottles of whiskey in 3 minutes if he wanted too. He didn’t, but he could. Then again, he could have taken the suitcase and left to see the world one last time before he finally stopped creaking around, but hadn't. By the time the evening rolled around, which for Johnny was about 5, he closed up shop. He set his own hours, and the government hadn't decided he had to go away just yet. He could sleep for 11 hours straight, and often did. The suitcase had been sitting for over 997 days, more than 10 sets of 997 days in fact. So would he. Mechanical, but with a heart inside indeed, because as no one else knew. There was a worn and weathered picture of an enormous greyhound being held by an equally as enormous man. There, in faded marker at the bottom, were the words, John and Chuck. This photo of course was back in Johnny's room, where no one had ever seen it, but it was there, and it warmed his heart every time he saw it.

Vacations that never happen are the worst

Inside of Ol’ Johnny’s room, there was a suitcase. It was old, about as old as him. It was made of some unknown material, but if you looked at it you might say it was leather, if that leather had been calcified be the heat of the meteors that destroyed the dinosaurs. Inside that suitcase was over $100,000 dollars in cash, a set of clothes, a pencil, and two extra sets of underwear. It had been sitting in Ol’ Johnny’s room since he had got back from the war, and the moment he had heard that Mari had left him for another man it had stayed there. They had been going to get married, travel the world for a while. Instead he had inherited his father’s horrendously badly maintained gas station, and hadn’t left since. Now, he couldn’t leave. Though he didn’t really have to anything anymore besides sign papers and ensure that the gas pumps worked, and that there actually was gas in them, he didn’t do anything but the most basic of human functions, yet he was still there. A rusty old cog that only barely needed to be left in the machine so it could function.

He stared at the T.V. as it pumped out its daily slobber of overly biased information. He’d never been for any specific party; it never seemed to make much difference to him. He glanced upwards though, as a loud sputtering accompanied quite possibly the pinkest…anything that he’d seen in his life. It had wheels and someone inside at another, so it was likely a car. The sheer brightness of the car nearly blinded him though. God, she was so young. Youth, something Johnny had always ignored, staring him in the face. “Life passed you by! You’re nothing but a relic that hasn’t fallen over yet!” Life seemed to chortle at him as she paid, and left.