“because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...” ―Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Lightning flashed all around him and thunder drummed through the forest, followed by the roar of a helicopter. He sat against a tree in the darkness of the forest and held the wound on his side. With every heart beat the blood spilled from the gash, over his fingers, and into the earth below him. He was dying, and he was glad. It was getting harder for him to breath, to focus on the world around him. The sound of the helicopter seemed to grow louder but he knew he needn’t worry about being found. He lifted his face to the pouring rain and waited for the end to come.
A chill ran up Zavier’s spine, awakening him from his sleep. He found himself huddled in the tub of his shower, his right hand clenching his left side. The water that poured down on him in the shower now ran cold and he scrambled to turn it off. Shivering he stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a white fluffy towel.
It had been like this every morning for several months now and the shock of it had worn off. Now he was just annoyed that he could never enjoy a nice warm shower in the morning, and even more bothersome that his body chose to sleep in the shower and not in his bed. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually slept at night.
Zavier looked over at his reflection in the mirror, and sighed at the dark circles that had become a permanent fixture under his emerald eyes. He was thin but toned, however, he was quite pail though healthy aside from his mild insomnia. His hair was black, thick and shaggy and soaking wet made it look like a blob of pitch. He ran a hand though his hair to try and tame the mess. Zavier wasn’t bad looking and he knew it. His therapist, Dr Sepell, said he could have any girl in the city of Janin and a companion would be good for his health. He was never interested in any of the girls he passed on the street, though, and didn’t really like to go hang out at bars and sleep around like some men do. It was almost sad how perfectly content he was alone in his one bedroom apartment.
Zavier left his bathroom and went to his bedroom to fetch some clothes. Sketches of fields and forest plastered his wall, he had never liked art much but recently he took up the hobby of drawing and realized he wasn’t all that bad. Retrieving a gray sweater and some khaki cargo pants from the closet, Zavier turned to glance at the clock on his nightstand and realized that it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
“I’d be at work right now, writing about whatever drama was going on with the Aristocracy, or how the weather was going to be chilly tomorrow.” He sighed to himself. Since his insomnia began, the doctor suggested he take off work. Zavier missed waking up early every day, though, and he missed his desk where he would write and edit articles for the Janin Daily. Even if he wanted to go back they wouldn’t let him, not until Dr. Sepell thought he was over whatever was happening with him and so far, it didn’t seem like he was going to be better any time soon.
/ This is the First Part to a story written by my Significant Other. She wanted me to post it here due to the nature of the story, and how it fits my page more than hers. Honestly, I know she is a better writer than I am. Criticism is appreciated.