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.