The fumes of Nothing and Everything penetrated my nostrils.

The seemingly synthetic air, that lacked any distinctive smell, shoved it's way, forcefully into my eyes, causing them to sting and water.

Fighting my instinct to blink, I instead forced my eyes to stay open, allowing more odourless air to assault them relentlessly with its pristine breath.

It wasn't long.

It wasn't long before tears welled up, caused by the irritation to my eyes, and began to slide down my face in a slow and lazy way.

Nearly three tears has leaked down my pale skin before I gave in to my body's cry of distress...

I blinked, and immediately my blurred vision was cleared.

Being the apathetic and hollow person I am, it felt nice to cry, even if it was forced.

I'd rather force myself to cry, then to voluntarily succumb to the act, it was so much more gentler with the ego.

Heaving a sigh of relief, relieved that I had done my deed to humanity for the day and shed tears, I grasped the handlebars to the roaring and romping machine beneath me, tighter, to the point of feeling the cold metal of them through my thick black leather gloves.

I flicked my wrists forward, revving the engine of the sleek motorcycle I rode on, speeding past everything, going so fast in the dark night, that colours were bleeding through the black.

My body gave an involuntary shudder.

It was cold out, and the wind was fierce.

I forgot to put a jacket on.

But I remembered my gloves.

Goosebumps sprang from their hiding places and began to litter the exposed flesh of my arms, my stomach and the back of my neck, not even my scalp was spared.

The cold wind was blowing so hard it splayed my hair around my head in a crazy array of golden follicles, displaying the tender skin of my scalp, and allowing it to be kissed with Mother Nature's frigid lips.

I shuddered again.

I wasn't wearing my helmet.

What if I crashed?

Would I die?

Maybe.

Hopefully...

Or was I already dead?

I lost track of time on the cracked road leading to Nowhere Town, and the road was deserted, except for me, speeding so fast the colours were bleeding into the blakc of the night sky.

I was tired of driving, and I wanted to stop and rest, but I couldn't.

The road was beguiling my sad thoughts of fatigue into fancier ones of the monotonous sound of tires on pavement.

It was charming me, and I, as the gullible snake, obliged, and continued on my trip to Absolutely Nowhere.

I tried flexing my arms, they were sore, but that didn't help, they still stung, so I brought my gaze down, breaking away from the road and from it's spell.

Like an idiot, I dropped my arm from the handle and brought it to my chest, warming my numb fingers and soothing my sore forearm.

Bad idea.

I crashed.

And I was jolted forward, the motorcycle tilted to the side and was falling, and I with it.

Helpless to stop it's slow fall, I merely widened my eyes and had enough time, in between the crushing sound of the metal scraping against the asphalt, to the skidding of my skin along the tar surface of the road, to scream.

And scream I did.

I screamed so loud I thought I made my own ears bleed.

But I didn't, I wasn't as loud as I thought, in fact, if anyone else were there all they would have seen was my mouth open, no sound ever came from me.

But the fact is, I knew I was going to die, and when I ended up on my back staring up at the Runny-Colour Sky, I was surprised.

Surprised because I wasn't dead, and I could see.

I blinked my eyes slowly, and in an act of confusion I raised my hand and looked at it.

It was whole, and my skin, was unbroken.

Flexing my fingers, I soon discovered they too were unbroken, and moving smoothly.

Puzzled, I sat up, no jolt of pain to my back, no stinging sensation anywhere, I was fine.

Appeased that my body wasn't harmed by the fall, I prepared myself to look at the damage to my beloved vehicle.

A sharp intake of breath.

It was totaled.

The front was a mess of metal.

It was pushed in all the way, and was twisted into itself.

The back of my motorcycle was just as the front was; so destroyed that it seemed molded, like a wadded paper ball.

In awe at the pecularity of the state of my favourite mode of transportation I gawked, and immediately felt a prick of anger.

What happened?

What had I crashed into?

Raising my head quickly, so much so, that a quick pain jolted down my neck and down my spinal cord at the force of the way I jerked it, I looked forward, expecting to find the thing I had ran into, but I saw nothing.

I ran into Nothing.

And I felt sorry.

I didn't hit anything, so I couldn't even rest my starved eyes on the forlorn form of what I crashed into, instead they had to survive on the dull scenery of the grey lands, black road and Bleeding-Colour Sky.

I felt my lip curling upwards into a snarl.

My hands too, had formed tight fists, and albeit being thickly gloved, I could feel my nails pressing down into the fleshy part of my palm.

I was angry.

I was mad.

I was furious.

In my fit of anger, I had gritted my teeth together, and I was clenching my jaw tightly, my eyebrows were closely knit and I could feel the heat rise in my face.

I was going to explode.

Where was I?

Why am I the only one here?

Those unanswered questions rang shrilly through my head, and my confusion only further provoked me into violence.

I had to release.

Just as I was going to erupt, I smelt something, something different, something with an odour.

His smell.

I remembered that smell, from what seemed to be a long time ago, that smell, it used to comfort me, but now, all it did was irritate me even further.

Because I knew that smell, I knew it well...and it hurt to realize that I wouldn't smell that smell the way I used to ever again, it hurt so much.

I ignored it, the best that I could, that Odour, and continued on my rampage, I felt my chest constrict, and my heart beat faster, the breaths coming out of me like pants from a ragged dog.

I was so close.

It was almost out.

It was near, I could tell, and I was so ready to let it out, I felt my nerves jumping with electricity, my heart beats tripled in pace, the scar on the left side of my face was stinging, burning with the sensation of adrenaline that was coursing through my veins.

I raised a fist, ready to strike out, when a hand, had grasped my wrist, stopping me from hurting myself.

I was surprised, shocked, and it showed, because the smell was so much closer now, and so much more demanding.

It forced it's way into my body, through every orifice and pore, circulating with my blood, into my heart, filling it, again, with it's toxicity.

And I was helpless to it.

I surrendered, quietly, to the Odour and The Hand, not bothering to wrassle free from the vice-like grip.

I knew who it was.

And they knew I knew.

"You could've hurt yourself."

I sighed, it was breathless, and airy, somewhat of a hiss, releasing the energy I had pent up inside.

I hung my head, my hair hanging into my face, and let my hand hang limp in his grasp.

"But I did...and I..."

I choked, I felt a constriction around my neck, I was hanging myself, but I had to say it, I had to, even though it hurt...I had to.

"I..."

I felt my eyes pricking.

Tears, glistening and wet, were building.

"I..."

I didn't want to seem so helpless, I wanted to be strong, but being around him, he made me weak, and what I did to him, made his unspoken authority over me even greater.

But if I valued him so much as to regret what I did, then I should feel even more obliged to put into words, the reason he's here with me, in this lifeless place.

"I hurt you..."

I wasn't finished, but he knew, he listened carefully, and I could feel his breath, warm and smoky, on my neck.

"I killed you."

He dropped his hand from my wrist and stood behind me, silent and still.

I felt bad.

I wanted to die.

But, if he was here, and I was here, wasn't I already?

He interrupted my thoughts, and his Odour seemed to make itself at home on my clothes, sinking into my flesh, and becoming my Smell too.

"I know."

He sounded blank.

He sounded so empty.

It pained me, not to hear emotion.

But I understood, I deserved not to hear anything ever again from him.

I looked up, and down the long and eternal black asphalt road, my hair still shading my eyes from view, which had begun pouring tears so silently and discreetly.

"I understand."

Because I really did.

And I was ready to accept this as punishment for the sin I commited.

"You're wrong though..."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and listened quietly.

"It didn't hurt, it still doesn't..."

I closed my eyes, my ears deceiving me.

Was he?

Was he really?

"What do you mean?"

I felt a slight pressure on my wrist again, it was him.

Except this time, his hand slid down and nestled itself, warmly, around my own shaking hand, stilling it with the comfort of his prescence.

"I mean..."

His chest had pressed up against my back, and his forehead was pressed against the back of my own head, and his breath, warm and smoky, riddled with the noxious aroma of nicotine, like I remembered, was upon my neck.

"To be here with you, it doesn't hurt at all."

And the road ended.

Our colours, red and yellow, blended together, running into each other and becoming another splotch in the Sky.

We were dead.

But our colours, remained.