So you all have Carhilwenne to thank for me submitting this story sooner than I had intended. Normally I don't like to have multiple stories going on at once (especially about the same general theme) but she said I should do it and I like to please people. SO, here ya go!

This story is set in modern day Carson City, Nevada. Lovely place. If you ever get the chance to visit, do it! This whole story is told from Roxas' PoV. AND I know a lot of you… if you don't know a lot about Nevada other than it has Las Vegas and a whole-lotta desert, you'll read the line about a beach and go "What Beach?" Ha ha. But you know, Lake Tahoe. BEAUTIFUL! And yes, they have several beaches there. Any other questions you may have about Nevada or Carson City, ask away. Although I tried to be as informative as was necessary. I just figured SOMEBODY would be like "Wait, Nevada isn't by the ocean!" So yeah…

There's a long story behind the original idea of this which is sadly a true one that I won't get into details about other than to say I was very young and went on some strange unannounced road trips for some reason with my mother and her boyfriend at the time. I always wondered if the reasoning was something like this…

Anyhow, enjoy!

Have you ever wondered why people go camping?

I mean, if you really think about it, why would anybody go camping?

No, I'm not talking about loading your dirt bikes and quads up into your toy trailer and hitching it up to a truck so you can drive to the beach or the mountains and stay in a completely safe and civilized campground with running water and electrical hook ups.

I'm talking about in the dirt, in a tent, hiking half the way there in the middle of the woods with no campground and no sign of civilization to speak of for miles around, for weeks on end and only the clothes and food you could carry on your back to tide you over till you went home.

Why? Why would anyone do that?

Sure, there are those douche bags that will tell you it is the only real way to camp. They're kinda like those ass holes on television that purposely put themselves in dangerous situations to prove their survival skills. They'll tell you that only the most manly and robust of wilderness lovers can brave the harsh conditions and live the way our ancestors lived centuries ago. Really?

I can tell you right now, our ancestors did not live in tents and they certainly didn't bring various boxes of Little Debbie snack packs along with them.

So, those people are full of shit.

There's a reason people go camping, and I can tell you why if you'll believe me.

Somehow, somewhere, those idiots got themselves into some really deep shit.

Whether it be getting caught counting cards at a casino in Vegas or being found fraudulent by the IRS, there's always some form of truly deep shit that these people get themselves into. And for some reason, they think the best way to avoid it is by laying low for a few weeks.

And lord knows there isn't a hotel or campground in the whole western U.S. that accepts anything but credit cards. Don't you love modern technology? So what other choice do these idiots have but to uproot their entire families regardless of time of year and drag them out into the damned, entirely unpleasant woods for a three week stay? Well, facing their mistakes is always an option, but they don't see it that way.

For as long as I can remember, my dad would just pull me and my sister out of school, pack up as much non-perishable food as possible, and drag us along with whatever girl he was dating at the time to the most remote location he could find.

It was miserable and I hated it and I never once understood why.

Now…

Now I understand everything.

As I laid there on the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor with blood trickling annoyingly close to the corner of my eye, I listened to the phone conversation of the bastard that did this to me and I began to truly understand for the first time just what kind of man my father was. He was a pathetic, weak and sad excuse for a human being. He put himself first. He put me and my sister in unbelievable danger for his own selfish pleasures. He knew this would happen and yet he agreed to let me stay home by myself anyhow.

The room was spinning and I was so pissed that I could have busted my own teeth out, that's how hard I was trembling in fury. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open with all the angry tears fighting their way to the surface. And then I heard the sound of a phone shut off, then silence. The snaky bastard that had clubbed me in the head had finished his phone conversation. At first there was silence but it was quickly followed by the sound of a board creaking and then footsteps in the kitchen. I tried to turn my head to look in the direction I knew he was approaching from but I couldn't really move. I felt a hand on the scruff of my neck. It grabbed roughly and yanked me into a sitting position and for the first time since I naïvely opened the front door, I could see clearly the face of the man who attacked me.

He was a young man, likely in his mid-late twenties. He had these piercing green eyes and a nest of wild red hair pulled back by a small black band. Not the kind of red you see on those ginger kids, but real vibrant red. For the first time, I noticed the two really ridiculous tattoos he had on his face just under his eyes. At the time, I couldn't help but think he must've been really drunk and young when he got that bullshit permanently slapped onto his face. He had this cocky grin that I wanted to wipe right off, but that would've been stupid and my intelligence outweighs my pride. He opened his mouth to speak, that same sarcastic tone that I'd heard moments earlier now dripping out in my direction.

"Well, kid. I've got some good news for ya." He started with a light snicker. "You're not going to die here today."

Oh good. Oh thank you. Really? Give me a break. How was I supposed to react to that? At that point I don't think I truly realized the severity of the situation. I figured for what my father had done, breaking into his girlfriend's house and roughing up his son might be enough retribution for now. In hindsight, I can't help but laugh at how naïve I really was. I only stared at the man in anger as he continued to droll on.

"Get up." He motioned and took a step back from me. "Pack some clothes because we've got a lot of business ahead of us and I don't feel like dawdling around here."

I stared up at him in confusion, not even really trying to will my limbs into movement. There was no way I was going to do what this bastard said willingly. I opened my mouth to speak to him, my voice barely a whisper thanks to the sore throat I had. "I can't move."

Despite the low volume of my raspy rebuttal, he must've heard me. Either that or he just didn't care to wait any longer because he swooped down and slung me over his shoulder offering only to say, "Oh well. I don't have time to sit here and play games." He carted me out of the house, thankfully not in too bad of condition, I noted. The last thing I wanted was to come back and have to explain to my dad's new girlfriend why we had only lived with her a week and already her home was trashed. Of course, that thought occurred to me when I still believed I'd be returning back there.

He stepped with a speed almost unnatural for a man carrying a dead weight teenager over one shoulder, to an old black Cadillac parked in front of the house. I was shocked to say the least when I got slung into the trunk of the boat like luxury car during broad daylight with a few neighbors out, even watering their lawns but paying us no mind. I tried to scream, but that damned sore throat that had caused me to skip the camping trip of an undetermined length was preventing any real sound other than a strange curdling. He slammed the trunk shut. It was black. A door opened. A door shut. Voices conversed. The engine started. We started to move…

As I laid in the dark of the trunk of the car I still didn't quite grasp just what exactly was happening to me. All I knew was that every time the car came to a stop I would roll to the front of the trunk and slam my head against the spare tire. After a few episodes of that, I relented to just pass out.