Chapter One
1
Samael Caver loathed red soil; he loathed cacti; he loathed cats, and he most certainly loathed his uncle. Arizona was quite desolate compared to the floods that'd spurt forth from Washington clouds; in fact, the very ground seemed to stir miserably at the mere lick of water. He may have been ten, but he knew better than to thank his parents for trading him off to stay at his uncle's place for all of July. The heat could melt tires, and maybe it bothered his head until it throbbed, but it certainly bothered his sleep.
Samael laid amongst thick dusty fabrics. How anybody could lounge under wool at these temperatures was beyond him, as the desert nights often hovered between seventy and eighty degrees which was much too warm for him to be comfortable. He rolled and twisted himself against his sweaty sheets, before sitting up with an exasperated grunt. Ultimately deciding that laying on the floor would be best, as the floor tended to be smothered by much colder, sweeter air. Apparently, Mo, uncle Chevrolet's cat, had the same idea; thus, there was a nasty growl which emanated from behind the bed's curtains, though it was blatantly ignored.
The night dragged on slowly. The air so stagnant that Samuel wondered if sound could even stretch through his lips. Yet he had a fear, one that he didn't quite understand, so he stayed relatively silent throughout the midnight hours. He only fell asleep when the clock struck 1:02, all the while the cat watched the clock in a solemn wake.
2
Uncle Chevrolet didn't own a television, no not at all. His reasonings were always ones that pertained to distrust towards the government's privacy policy. Of course, Samuel never cared to question his uncle's logic. He rarely watched cartoons anyways, he much preferred his phone.
"It's so hot."
"Hot? If you need water, it's in the faucet." There was an exhale of disapproval, Chevrolet missing the point completely.
"How can I sleep when it's a million degrees?" Now, there was always a solution to a problem, but sometimes those preferred the grittier option; after all, it was easier to respond back tawdrily towards trivial complaints.
"Easy, close your eyes and dream of cold places." And the only response Chevrolet received was a cup load of disappointment, as Samuel slid on his sandals and testily walked out the back door.
"That's a load of bUll!"
3
The streets were stretched long like a giraffe's tongue, and the town itself was divided into odd sectors. The closest store being a half a mile away, but Samuel didn't pay too much heed. Time corresponds well with his bike's speed, and even if he had to cough to expel the desert's dryness, it was still better than listening to his uncle's lame wit. His wheels bobbed over oily granite, the Saguaros tall and distant over yonder, and for a second Samuel thought they were a line of distorted animals. Their limbs' unfolding ever so slowly to the sun, but as the sun rose higher, it became clear that they had spines and hues far from human skin.
Creepy, Samuel thought faintly. All succulents seemed to worship the very thing that kept life going as if every day were a Sunday. His family was by no means religious, but nonetheless, Samuel couldn't help but wonder if God lived in the sun.
He would've snorted at his ludicrousy, and he knew that if the wind truly did carry thoughts than the Hawks would be laughing too. But yet again, he didn't make a noise. He felt as if the thick air would trap his laughter like a chain. Thus, he rode in silence, and he didn't see a single person drive by.