Destroya

“I’m so glad you got this job, darling, though I’ll miss you very much.” My mother handed me a box, kissing me on the forehead with her large southern belle lips. It made a squidgy sound, not unlike my plain old car being washed after a harsh winter. I wiped my face of the fuchsia lipstick. I closed the trunk of my vehicle, knocking the glasses, which lay perched on the bridge of my nose, off. Cussing quietly, though not using the Lord’s name in vain in front of my pious mother, I picked them up, after fumbling around quickly to find them on the pavement.

The black frames sat heavily upon my brow, but at least now I could see.

“I love you too, Mum, but I’ve got to go if I’m going to miss highway traffic and the tornado!” I was driving to California, from my little town in Georgia. It was a long drive, and I was doing my best to not frequent the ever-active tornado alley, but it was hard considering the route I was forced to take. The shadow of the war still hung on the haggard faces of many, and the long route I had to take was so that I would not be put in unearthly danger. In truth I was most worried about the atmospheric interference, rather than the meager possibility of bandits.

“Tori Willow, I’m more proud of you than ever,” she sighed dramatically, and changed topics speedily, “Send me pictures of the big city and the…” I cut her short, knowing what she was going to say, already sick of hearing it.

“And the statue of Show Pony, I know!” This was when it was annoying to be around her, but she was my big blonde mother, what was I to do? I smiled, thinking of how I was going to miss seeing a humungous keratin beehive every morning; creating breakfast so wholly scrumptious and toothsome that it melted on your tongue.

“Oh, you, going out to the big city, all grown up. Now, don’t get interested in anyone too shiny, you hear? No good can come of men who don’t work to make their top dollar.” I sighed, not thinking that romance or mutual benefactor making were going to be on my schedule.

“Alright, get moving, don’t forget to write!” She digressed, pushing me into the car and handing me my keys, which I always seemed to forget on the cluttered kitchen table.

“Don’t forget me!” I waved as I drove away, my engine kicking up dust in its ancient wake. I was finally leaving home, finally leaving safety and certainty.

Of course, nothing is ever certain, according to every big brain out there.

Three hundred miles later and a few Better Living slurpee stops, and I happened to be on my merry way. All alone in the car with music and an endless playlist, this was life on the road, until the point where my eyelids began to feel as if sixteen tons were dropped on them.

I slept in a motel as cheap as dirt, and I enjoyed myself, strangely enough. I didn’t find myself as uptight now that I was leaving parental care. I didn’t find myself afraid of, well, anything, including showers used by other human beings in previous time periods.

Waking up in the few-thread-count sheeted bed, I smiled at the sunlight peering through my room’s window. I dressed myself, leaving the room to grab toast and coffee from the buffet at the motel. I did a last check of the room for valuables, which were scarce in my life, and finally I walked to my car, in which I left for the next leg of my journey.

A few days, and quite a few coffees later, I had passed the danger of tornado alley, missing the next anomaly by a day, but the diminutive chance of bandits or spare agents of Korse thieving everything I owned was still imminent.

At the next rest stop, I bought a small burger, dripping with ketchup to hide the artificial meat taste. I ate it in the car, thinking I could handle the power of the ketchup, but alas, I could not. I spilled it on my bleach white sweater, and pulled over on the deserted road to clean it. This was my favorite sweater, just my luck!

My trivial thoughts ceased when someone knocked at my door, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a ray gun. I dropped the sanitary wipe, showing my hands, and turned to face the source of the knock.

A relatively handsome man stood there, black hair dripping with sweat. I rolled down the window.

“Could you give me a lift to civilization? My buddies stranded me out here.” The man said arbitrarily, as if strangers gave each other rides all the time.

“When? Why would I give you a ride?” I asked with a hint of snobbery in my voice, for he was truly very sweaty and might’ve damaged my seats, or shot me, or raped me, or any number of things.

“They stranded me here four weeks ago, I’ve been living off of gas stations and the land, but none in the area have phones, because of BL/ind bans. My friends thought I was dead on our last dispatch to find agents, the bastards. Oh, and you’ll give me a ride because I’m a Killjoy. And I saved you.” He flashed his dog tags, which I recognized as legitimate, remembering those of my friend who went off to fight.

“You saved Cali, I was on the other coast, safe as houses.” I said, still not willing to give this gross man a ride.

“Until they came and burnt ‘em down, luckily, we prevented that.” He had a small colloquialism due to his separation from mankind for so long. I sighed and opened my door, foolishly thinking that he was going to be all he said he was.

He threw the gun out the window. “Out of ammo.” He commented nonchalantly, I gulped and began to drive.

“So what’s your name?” I asked, hoping to at least know one thing about the stranger that I was driving to safety.

“Frank. You?” He responded, asking me mine. I winced at my masculine name, but showed no other signs of discomfort.

“Tori.” I sighed.

“What do you have against Killjoys?” He queried, somewhat harshly.

“Nothing, in particular,” I was generally a quiet person, but I just had to voice my opinion on this, “But the violence you created is just as bad as the invaders’ violent techniques.”

“We have the right to resist oppression, and that’s what the Killjoys did. I was in a small band of no more than ten, by the end we were six, and every day was guerrilla warfare.” He was passionate about his country, clearly, and I respected that.

“You have a point, I’m just a pacifist, I suppose.” I stated, becoming silent as I noted that he had another ray gun on his belt, which he put his American Widow crested hand on, and I began feeling very unsafe all of the sudden. I went back to my shy roots and turned on the radio, offering him control of it, which he declined, respectfully.

He fell silent too, after asking me to drop him wherever there was phone service on the way to wherever I was heading. I told him I was heading to California, so I’d drop him off at the highly populated Arizona-Cali border. He was sure to find plenty of ways to get home from there.

My cross country trip to a new life was nearly completed. I dropped Frank where he was sure to find help, giving him some spare cash for food until he was able to get friends over there. The rebellious man thanked me, winking slyly, and I was just glad to have his smell out of my car.

Reaching the apartment that I had already purchased over the internet, I gave the key a quick turn, only for someone else to walk out of the apartment next to mine, 116. It was a youthful young man, with obviously dyed hair, bright red. I saw a dark brown black beginning to set in at the roots, and the contrast between his pale skin and vivid artificial blood red.

“Hi. You must be the new neighbor. I’m Gerard.” He stuck his hand out roughly, I saw the sign of the American Widow engraved into his palm skin, same as Frank. He must’ve been quite an elite Killjoy, back in the day. Of course now, I saw an IHOP apron in his hand, and a grim expression on his haggard brow.

“I’m Tori,” I said softly, trying not to show my accent too badly, since I heard a rough New Jersey brogue in his utterances. I shook his hand; my small one was dwarfed by his own laser scarred hand, though his touch was as soft and shy as mine.

“It was nice to meet you, um, bye.” He awkwardly stalked off, after releasing my hand.

“Bye…” I trailed off, as he nearly ran to the rusted elevator doors. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I supposed he just had to go to work, rather than assuming, and closed the ratty apartment door of living alone.