I had to get away, I had to make it to the place I had grown up hearing about all the time. Gas Haven, the name was still a prominent fixture in my mind. I remembered all those nights my father was blissfully drunk and was willing to be near me. He would tell me of the man who sheltered him when he did Meth runs through the New Mexican desert. The man, who didn't judge, who only cared about the money he was paid for shelter at night.

My vision blurred for a moment and I rubbed my dirty knuckles against my eyelids, letting out a small yawn, desperately hoping I could stay awake until I got there. Not too soon after that thought, I could see a faint shadow against the wavy ground and gave myself a weak smile. I pressed onto the gas a little more and listened to the engine rev under my foots influence.

I reached one hand out to the leather satchel on my passenger seat, my bleary golden eyes straining to stay on the road. My long fingers searched through the satchel, brushing over an old broken cell phone, spare keys, old receipts, my iPod and a special gag gift from my aunt Jenny. I found my prize and grinned, pulling the Marlboro pack out of the satchel. I snatched a cigarette from the pack with my teeth and used the lighter inside the pack to light it. I tossed the pack and lighter over into the seat and took a deep, relaxing drag. The nicotine swarmed my brain, clouding it with the illusion of pleasure and calm. I chuckled at nothing and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, not even feeling gross about it.

The shorts I was wearing rode up to fit me like panties and I grimaced at the wedgie. I puffed on my cigarette and ashed it out the window.

It had been…3 weeks since I left home. Left that hollow structure of nightmares and regrets. Upstate New York had its suburbs, and within their white picket homes were harsh realities and deadly secrets. It sounded like something from a movie or a good story for a novel, but it was the reality I had lived in for 23 years. I had finally escaped that place, after the fire I decided it was a good time to high tail it out of there before anyone realized I was very much alive.

All I could feel were the burns along my back and the chunk missing in my brain. I wished it would all go away, fly out the window and disappear with the wind.

Well the feelings and memories didn't disappear, but my cigarette sure as hell did. It didn't happen like everyone said it would, it didn't go in slow motion and all that shit, it happened rather quickly. The truck started to float and one tire caught on the ground perfectly, sending the vehicle into an airborne, spiraling missile. My head bounced around the cab, banging against the glass with enough force to break it into pieces. I cried out in pain, my eyes squeezing shut tightly, and felt blood spatter across my entire left side.

The truck finally rolled to a stop and all I could do was groan and roll my head around, my eyes searching aimlessly for anything that could help me. There was nothing that I could see, which gave me little hope. I reached with shaky hands and undid my seatbelt, falling forward onto the top of the cab. I groaned and started to drag myself out, crying out again when I felt the sun sizzle against my skin. I clawed at the sand, trying to pull myself towards the blob that was Gas Haven. I was almost there, so close…

A shadow fell over me, tall and wide. I sighed from the break in the heat and rolled over, trying to look up into the eyes of whomever it was that saved me from the heat. Was it Jeb? No, probably some nice stranger, or a horrible man.

"My satchel…," I croaked, pointing towards the truck.

The figure nodded and left me to fight against the suns torrent again. I cried weakly and rolled over onto my side, wishing for death. The figure was back in minutes, shielding me from the sun again. My satchel dropped into the sand beside my face and I pulled it to me, smiling weakly.

A weak 'ok' was all I could manage before I closed my eyes, succumbing to my nightmares.


Ugh, where am I? I didn't know Death was so…soft. I reached my fingers out, searching for something, proof I was dead or alive. My fingers came up with nothing but more softness and I gave a sigh of defeat and just let death wrap around me.

"When she goin' ta' wake up," a growling voice questioned from the darkness.

"When she get up Lizard, now go help your Papa move 'er truck."

The dead were watching me when I died? I thought the dead didn't have time for our lives?

A grumble came from somewhere and I heard footsteps pound across floorboards, followed by a sound that sounded like a knife being sharpened: metal. A shiver ran up my spine and made pain shoot from my back to my limbs and head. I let a groan slip past my lips and let my eyes peak through my lids. Above me was an obese woman, an obvious wig on her head. Her steel blue eyes ran over my prone form and I watched her hands disappear from my vision. A wet object rubbed across my leg and I jumped, instantly hating the reaction. I groaned again and tried to sit up, but a gentle hand held me down. I stared up at the woman, scared for my life.

"No child, your legs are too bruised to move an ya head is split open. Move your legs and the pain'll neva stop."

I sighed and a lovely idea popped into my head. "Where is my satchel? Give it to me."

The woman sighed like I did and walked out of sight, returning moments later with my bag. I snatched the bag away, pain shooting through my body and started digging. I pulled out a small pill bottle, shaking it to watch the four pills rattle around inside. I pulled the cap off and took two, closing the bottle and waiting for the pills to take effect. Soon enough I gained the results and managed to roll onto my side.

I watched the obese woman work, watched her stitch a few wounds on my leg, bathe my legs and torso. The cool water felt heavenly against my skin and I let my eyes close, let myself get lost for a moment. Was this Jebs place? It wouldn't seem like it, dad said he liked to live alone. I wonder where I am, shouldn't I be freaking out or something? Isn't that supposed to be my reaction to being in a strange place?

My inky hair fell into my face when I opened my eyes to watch the woman work again. She was sewing up a shirt in the corner now. It was old and faded and torn in more places than the one she was sewing up. I looked around the room, at the popcorn ceiling and the faded yellow walls. They were pinstriped and comforting. I could see a pile of dusty toys in the corner and wondered if there were actually kids here.

I looked over at the woman and blinked really slowly. She was humming some old tune; it was familiar and it made chills run up my spine. I looked around the room again and saw a window. Outside were two men walking beside each other towards an old dusty house. One wore a bright orange vest the other wore all black. They look like they were bickering, seeing as the one in the orange vest was waving his arms around and the black coated one was shaking his head constantly.

I looked back to the woman, tucking my hands under my face. "Where am I?"