The isle inside of the parting gave a horizon to the front seats and the driver, the speech was slow and of oblivious subjects. The radio played a beating constant melody; the key over and under such the wheels of the car. I flung my arms to free them, but no resistance came My arm wheeled into the soft tan metal frame and a thousand shadow pains struck my empty wristed hand. The drums of the wheels drove on and on contradicting the length of the prime city scape, The path was straight and uninterrupted as no sirens blared from the noise outside. Springing to my feet would be a poorly chosen idea and the binding of my missing knowledge overcame me, the passenger, not me as I came from an unwilling front, snapped his hand over a motorcycle helmet in the isle of the car as his eyes darted for the first time to the dashboard where strewn were the empty and adjacent checks entrenched within, words of a bank's cursive. I cracked the empty silence with passenger's garish snarl as the bolt of my arms flanked the grey and metal of the seats to their destination, like the head rest's unruly movement I felt the anticipation of his stiffened neck tendons in my grasp, My feet slipped in a grasp but retained my great endeavour, the music in my mind rose and so did the blood from our unmoving legs to the heated expression. With a defiant break of plastic shards came his weapon, the dagger shook from blood loss as its gold came in rush, its leather binging came in a frenzy the partition in the middle: the only scene uncleaned and scarlet. The temple was its bearing as the short death burnt rubber, as did our transport. Him or me while the dagger rose to its task and through the space above my arm splicing the common air, as the evil resides in every person so does the grief of not expecting mercy from an opponent, this mercy seeking was not however from me. The trajectory changed, not from a desired path, but the wrong destination. In the following seconds I took the theatrical fall, and the window took the blow of my head as I swerved out of the way, The arms stayed fixated in the rush of adrenaline bar when the dagger had reached where my head was when my left slammed into the butt of the bevelled hilt and through the vent under the headrest a liminal to an infuriating death. His hand buckled and quivered but what was quicker than the shudder and reverberating pain was the floral red soddening of the parched seat, the parchment for a dismal tale, the worst chapter being the lack for lamenting period in the moving automobile.
The shock came to the driver's hands, and he struck the roof in rage then with his feet, the accelerator. The propelling motion prompted the gashed forearm from the swing of the passenger open the flesh in a searing tundra of all worldly spices and green earth hues. The blood hadn't the time to dry when tears started their flights down onto the already steeping chair as I regained my position that was the previous killing, not the driver's indifferent matter anymore. He wasn't the gunman of the transport but lengthed the isle with a prominent index on a petite firearm and the resounding crunch of a chauffeur stiff back, I swallowed the tears and faced him, his hair was the accomplice to a round face befitting of the helmet in the isle and the chords of his mandible quaked in the water colour features and neat eyebrows, I wasn't to kill him like the glovebox grabbing passenger but he read my intentions like the spewing open fable on what was right and wrong to do in the situation, contrary to the drooping and sink of his indifferent levitating mouth his brows quietened and his breath became more noticeable then, slowly at first came the screech of metal on metal and the clash of red on red paint, this battle was not short lived and the driver moved his head involuntarily and the baseline of the reverberating auto song switched his aim from me to the middle back seat as the tempered glass became a broken and disfigured art both in the front and back skewing the view I had of him from the wing mirror.
A swaying figure adorned with a leather wheel was the only spider web disfigurement I had seen through the tumultuous currents of the arm window that reached to the city, the shards came next of the tendons and the bones of the mirror as a maroon-dressed car came for its business and carted into the defenceless arm. Seemingly from the ether of broken-down glass a sandy cut became an appearance on the skin exposed from the driver's neck and a twin on his short hair at the ending back.
"I had waited a long time for this day to arrive..." The man in driver's seat halted with a sigh and focused his tawny eyes on the milk-coloured sky, ablaze with the grill from below, the inner city glazed his eyes, almost supernaturally for a second before the jolt of his forearm smeared off the Tears. With the passenger seat long deserted and the tempered glass amidst destruction; I felt the remorse course through my hand: alive, growing, glowing, the air travelled through the leaking window, the day seeping weaving to the ether between the digits.
" I had, really had, contemplated this for all the past while, this going sour." my voice was the strangers' on the street, in the traffic that was nearly a pile up, but nothing happened still. The console closed its weary eyes and rested and the stranded in our car talked evermore. my eyes darted viewing the gesticulation of the forearm as he spoke
"I leave then what happens? Please find you bearings I tried to stifle from recognition There was, in the winter declining temperature, an exchange of the energies. My eyebrows pricked with the acute death of malicious activity I expressed to the previous passenger and hurried my face to a temperate smile. Caught the wave of the conversation. He was a collateral chauffeur for what I, and Leo set to loosen, free, and decimate, but an aura surrounded the great unfortunacies and shielded him like a creature's last kin-protecting breath, but stayed firm
"Where were your companies and items headed with me..."
we had wandered neither near nor far in the stout city strips, when his swinging arms halted by his side in canon, and he reverberated his speech through the busks and sellers on the street,
"Not long 'fore the new millennia if you count eight years as little." he trailed from a dead and bleeding conversation. I with not the caution formed from the wind a rebuttal, "are all the chauffeurs celebrating ninety-three?"
this sowed a sprout of disappointment through his neck, though the spokes and cartridges of it expressed not a dislike of me but one to be inquired I broke the haiku of speech with a solitary verse, "you will be innocent if I find put about those men you work for, I've spun a ribbon too thin and scrambled to scale it down a rabbit hole. I can't promise my friend will be safe but with the time in this city that haunts him, I can end some thig that has ties to your grief." I stretched out the axel that was the bone in my arm, the hand, and fingers until the last pressured the tendons in my wrist. A harm slow shake greeted me and in spirit, Leo. and if, this was all pretend and he was scared to leave, with possibly no harm which I made sure. The opposite was not true, and I was content Further. Further I fell down the rabbit hole, the adjacent paths to police adorned roads and the core life of my lungs in the dark burst me down the side roads, skyscraper facades and back to the place where I could only find solace, In the presence of a friend.
A presence in the Bakery illuminated the azure and mural on the wall, the world turned and encountered itself, burning. Leo, unlike the driver did not see through me in a talk of any matter, nor did his expression change like the passenger whose universe was snatched from his view as he died. I first noticed the skipping bugs that fluttered on the plain of my vision when Fatigue approached like a maroon and gold spine to the depths of my head.
A panoramic sensation engulfed me as my arms took flight like the free beasts they couldn't be in my episode of the Stag, and the complexities of who I knew becoming furthered from me, Leo's expression hinted at a playful shock, then as my back hit the ground the tension and tessellation of the room broke. Leo outstretched a hand to no avail. It was morning when I awoke and the critters of the sun lit air played, avoiding the tumultuous horizon. The curtains disgusted me with the hue of the backroom of the bakery pinching the opposite to the window. My sneer alerted the room's inhabitants, and they ambled over the short two meters from a wooden console of pills and water to my ghostly bed. I swivelled the sheet with a decisive motion curling them with a righting motion, forming the pastry of the bed into buns and rolls.
"Sure am glad you did awake Harper." there was no trailing off from his voice like I saw my coming response to have, then I further straightened myself and spoke clearly asking for "My coat".
"Please, I ned to show mister Andersone Something I picked up before my faint." I turned my head as a vane pointing to my coat that lay on an old, speckled stand along with Leo's floating tan coat that lay a navy peacoat in the bleak hospital light.
"Witch one is yours Mrs Blackwell?" Asked a male nurse in dark scrubs who looked at Leo for reassurance that I spoke English and he did as well.
I saw the source of the light in the ceiling as my eyes wandered upwards as my head jerked back to the nurse who handed me my brown winter jacket with a bulge of a cross in the breast pocket, to an out sider it may have looked like a spiritual relief in my coat or a source of religious artifact. I looked at Leo then his empty coat on the steel, "we need to talk about what happened when the men came."