Status: very, very much incomplete
Throwing Shadows
a thief at my door
Your feet hurt. The skin has warn off leaving a long trail of blood. Fates thread that leads right to you and all the places you’ve been. You don’t know how long you’ve been walking or when you started. Only your destination. Dean Winchester. Stanwick Illinois. Turn left. The wind burns your eyes. Dances with your hair. Sends chills deep into your skin. Turn left. Your heart thuds in your chest. So hard it nearly throws you to the ground. Keep straight. Into a parking lot, a lone car like an open wound in the desolate scenery. Up the rotting wooden stairs.
Your open palm slaps the crooked number hanging from a motel door.
Voices inside the room. A gun being loaded and cocked. The sound of a door chain being lifted.
“Hello?” A blonde haired man answers.
Everything will be alright.
“Dean Winchester?”
The blonde haired man just looks at you. His mossy green eyes are cold as they travel over you. Your mussed hair and tired eyes, your torn clothes and bleeding feet.
Whatever has been keeping you upright abandons you and you collapse.
Your open palm slaps the crooked number hanging from a motel door.
Voices inside the room. A gun being loaded and cocked. The sound of a door chain being lifted.
“Hello?” A blonde haired man answers.
Everything will be alright.
“Dean Winchester?”
The blonde haired man just looks at you. His mossy green eyes are cold as they travel over you. Your mussed hair and tired eyes, your torn clothes and bleeding feet.
Whatever has been keeping you upright abandons you and you collapse.