Note: Sadly I'm a bitch about starting stories, getting writers block, and only writing a few chapters. So this story will be short and sweet, with only a couple of chapters, if you like it! Please read; review (even if it's bad, I appreciate the criticism!) and enjoy!

Thanks!

Disclaimer: Quite obviously none of the supernatural character you recognize belong to me blah-di-blah-di-blah. I still wish… ;)

Dust

Sun rises in the east
in that simple fact we trust
light that gives us all we see
and makes a dancer of the dust.

We will rise up in the sun
we will join it as we must
light that holds us in its glow
even after we are dust.

Snow shines in the winter glare
ice melts in its rays
trees grow, unfold their leaves
birds glide in haze.

Sun shines on all who are
warms the sinner and the just
light that colours in the days
and makes a dancer of the dust.

(9 o'clock 1st May 1990)

by banana

By Banana

It was less than likely that Dean would have ever met Sparrow had it not been for the hacky sack. As he watched her now, tearing down the dusty highway at least 30 miles over the limit and blowing a kiss at him in the rear view mirror he smiled wistfully. He doubted he would be forgetting her anytime soon.

5 DAYS EARLIER:

Dean sat outside on the patio of the town's bar, drinking a beer and enjoying the midday sun on his face. A sour-looking woman in her mid-forties sat near him, trying to put up her table's umbrella to no avail. God forbid she got a freckle, Dean sighed and put it up for her. She didn't thank him. He surveyed the patio carefully looking for a better place to sit. A small gypsy-like boy stood juggling a hacky sack on his foot, and delicate red flowers spilled out of straw hanging baskets. An elderly man sat on a nearby bench clapping at the small boy and making requests for tricks. The boy was more than happy to oblige, perhaps due to the fact that he had lifted the old man's wallet. "Man this town is weird" Dean thought bemused.

Suddenly the boy messed up a trick and the hacky sack went flying toward the parking lot. He looked around for his prized possession, not seeing where it had gone. Frustration coloured his face and he kicked the ground in anger. Taking pity in the child Dean got up and turned the corner behind the bar to the parking lot. He picked up the hacky sack and tossed it back to the child. The gypsy continued his strange dance without a word. Dean turned, smiling to himself in bewilderment. What was it with this town and their apparent inability to say thank you? It was then that he saw her; the woman whose name he would learn was Sparrow. She had dark burgundy, crudely cut hair, short and gelled in to spikes. She was very tan and wiry with light freckles dusting her face. Thin, obviously not athletic, she didn't seem to strike Dean as the kind of girl who would loose a fight. Her wife beater tank top was smeared with car oil, which didn't seem to match with her tan, velvet miniskirt. She also donned thigh high black lace up boots with ridiculously high platform heels. Dean imagined her eyes to be quick and mischievous but he couldn't tell, as dusty aviator sunglasses covered them. A large silver corkscrew twisted through 6 piercings in one ear, while the other fashioned a fat gold paperclip, threaded though a hole near the base of her ear. Barely secured in her beautiful sun-chapped lips was a thin cigarillo that she lit with a lighter shaped as a revolver, giving her the appearance of shooting a gun every time she lit up. Leaning against the hood of a dusty classic muscle car the model and make of which he would remember once his brain was functioning again, her legs seemed endless. Dean couldn't remember ever seeing anyone like her. Everything about this woman was dusty and smoky in a thrilling dangerous kind of way. Dean loved danger.

More???