I'm in the back of a seven seater mom van. Polo is neck to me digging through a bag full of snacks and juices. There's a look on his thin face that holds a little secret. Something he doesn't know how to speak out loud. The air is cool enough and aside from his rumaging, Luceria's acrylic's clacking across her screen, and the soft hum of the voyage the ride is eerily quiet.

My paranoid mind tells it's self my brother and I are the only one's here. I made them all up and I'm crazy enough to sit in the very back of the car and my brother is kind enough to go along with my fantasy. Still, none of them hold that distortion I'm so used to. Guzman is in the passenger seat and Nadia is sitting in front of me on the same side. On the other side of Polo is Samu.

The march princess got her own ride to where ever Tyson is taking us. She's riding stylish on the back of Christian's brand new neon red bike. It's crisp, clean, and cries the way a panther does before a kill. He's in a clean dark suit and she's all bright pink like bubble gum flavored wine but it's slick leather. They look hot, I can't lie about that.

Polo is probably in a lot of pain from the loss of that girl. They were of one mind and sound as long as I've known them. Most likely before that too given the context of their relationship. Where the fuck are we going?

I'm looking at the car behind them driven by Ander's more than enthusiastic parents, him and his boyfriend in the back seat of that pretty red mercedes and I start asking my self why? Why do I seem to be getting sucked into this insane journey where I'm forced to be right in the middle of all their chaos. Why does it feel like I'm leading right for the mouth of a lion starved to a feral state?

When I was younger I watched the final destination series. An over shot effort at scary and snagged on the tooth of philosophy in the mouth of a gory, God-persona writer. The main concept was death and the character's having to escape it as it had been given human like properties in that it would stalk, plan, and execute. Each film was a slightly different interpretation of someone who could see it and avoid it but their friends and those other's involved were all unaware of it until it was too late.

In one of the films the character's even began killing each other to deter it away from themselves taking the place of their line in death's row. They'd rescue a person from a moment in time and then death would skip them until the next round. I can't help but to think that maybe something like that is happening here. I'm seeing death, everywhere, and this all started after I prevented Polo from hitting Marina with that statue.

Let's say he did hit her and I waited till he was gone and took her to an ambulance. Would she have survived? Would that too be considered cheating death. Stop it William, you're digging yourself a hole. Change. The. Genera.

"Will." Says Polo as he's found a box of chicken in a biskit.

I look at him and smile.

He says, "Esta es un Pollo?"

I can't help but to laugh. Luceria looks back at me in confusion, "Si, no? Pollo?"

That only makes me laugh harder. I still my self, get a serious face, and say, "No. Fue hecho por pollo es un esfuerzo por evitar que los comieramos." It was made by chickens in an effort to get us to stop eating them.

Guzman is the first person to laugh at my joke but I catch Tyson staring at me in the rear view mirror with a smile and then they're all laughing and Tyson says to me, "Shut the fuck up Will."

Polo is still sitting there in confusion so I kindly explain, "aromatizantes artificials."

I hear a plane go over the car and look out the window to the fenced in area around the massive airport's facility. We've arrived and when Tyson has pulled into the parking lot he pulls out his cell phone. Both mine and his are shaped like pears and we're the only people who have phones like that down here in spain so they're all looking at it like it's about to blow up. Then it does. Everyone else has a notification go off at the same time. He's set us all out tickets.

"Han Pagado todos los alojamientos; El hotel, todos y cada uno del los alimentos y el alcohol. Estamos complimente atenditos." He says, which essentially means full accomodations.

Lu is worried so she asks, "What about our clothes? Surely they won't have all the outfits required for a weekend."

To which Nadia adds sarcastically, "In the jungle?"

...

Flash, pose, chimes as they go. These people are a ripple in time full of bright colors, fun smiles, and the scent of hysteria. I can practically hear the synth behind a base line beat as they move their feet through the airport. It's almost as though the rest of the world hears it too for they step out of the way and it's for me too. I pass the tall glass windows of the designer shops and see my own animated reflection just before the sparkle of a spinning silver hubcap in a shimmering black and red tire store. In the center, spinning on a platform, is a purple 2006 GMC Envoy that vaguely resembles the splat of the cosmic universe.

One stop at a small shopping center about four miles ago and they all manage to zip into the most ecclectic of summer sun outfits. They shined their teeth, poofed their hair, dotted their eyes crossed their Ts and did all of that to me. I thought I looked fine before but now I resemble Justin Taylor from QAF if he was a hippie stoner. Standing beside these hispanic greek gods and Goddesses I feel like Pan, the goat-man musician, who plays in the forest doing things I probably wouldn't, if that guy ever got invited to family trip to the beach. I... don't hate it...

The escalator is a bright neon blue and it illuminates them all like we're surrounded by fish swirling in a wall made of aquariums. They chat about nonsensicle thins pertaining who designed what for which shop and where this or that idea came from in this year for those things and why the food is so the way it wasn't that day all those years ago because it's how it was destined to be today and they involve me in the questions and I answer so plainly.

"Peek of maddness." For something so outlandish and they agree, "A wish in the thread of time." for another and they're bouncing the conversation on a similar chime of fun whimsical terms, "I'd find a way to occupy my time." when the questions get dangerous and they catch the hint but don't lean on it for too long except Polo.

Polo who looks at me so dangerously every time I have something to say. He only likes me for my voice, I think. Then his hand is on my hips and we're waiting in line for the flight. I'm curious as to which one we're waiting for and I'm reading it as the intercom comes on in this wide open space of a granite and white waiting area overlooking the city out of big translucent and tinted windows.

"Now boarding flight 180 to peru." and my heart sinks.

I can't escape the fear. What if it goes up in flames? What if we crash on a jungle and I die in the explosion? Where's the music? Why has it left me all alone?

Then Polo has taken my hand and we're walking through the tunnel together. He's so cute I let myself forget about my fear. I fly in a plane, I look out a window at a daytime sky getting darker, I drink some scotch, I write an entire song, and I talk about bras for an entire hour with Polo for some reason and then we're arriving in the sparkle of the night. The plane is landing, we've made it without the world falling apart and I'm seeing fountains that pour colored water, glass shining as it spins slowly in big high cavities of the ceiling, glowing lights from every direction and crystal used in all the decor.

We've made it to Lima Peru.

This isn't real, I think. I'm in a coma. That has to be it. There's no way these nine extremely intense kids I've been going to school with for a single semester are here with my brother and I, eating flaming balls of colored ice in a massive green and black cafeteria while we get stared at by other people who just seem awstruck as we wait on some people my brother agreed to meet here.

Samu pulls me to the side, "I do not like owing people money."

He's trying really hard with his English so I choose to talk to him in Spanish but he basically explains to me that all of this feels a little intense and that I mentioned not bringing Carla and the fact that she's here. I ask him how he knows about the conversation I had with my brother about the March Princess and he basically reveals to me that he's been snooping only he keeps coming up short. Then he's letting his eyes fall to the floor.

He's thinking just like I do, 'What if I'm wrong.', 'What if what I've convinced myself is crazy and everyone knows.', 'What if something really big is happening and there's no way I can stop it.'

I assure him with a hand on his shoulder, "You lost your girl to your brother. That's got to suck ass. You went through a lot of shit last semester and on top of it had to keep a level head. That would mess with anyone. Still, dude, look around. If you pay close enough attention you'll know pretty much everyone is faking it as they go along. Just keep pushing through. If I notice things start to go wrong you'll be the first person I tell."

It seems to work. He's been put at ease. His furrowed bushy brow eases up. He'll be alright. We're dressed very similarly except his shorts are black and this kids wearing socks. I hate socks. He's got some nice pecks though.

Thunder rolls in as it always does when I let my guard down. The steady rhythm of the rain crashing on the roof and the drain of it down the windows that reveal their ominous city with it's neon flickering lights, electricity kisses on it's towers, and that holographic dragon that keeps circling the three towers closest to ours. Interesting. Peru doesn't strike me for a dragon place.

But then I'm smelling a kind of smoke that's not in the fire ice and I turn to see this man approaching us with a pose of short people all of them wearing green and yellow but he's wearing red and his eyes are red and his hair is big and black and greased up. His chest his broad, his nose is prominent as it releases the orange fumes and he's holding to something frighteningly beautiful.

It's a sculpture of an angel missing a head but it's made entire out of Amethyst. What in white hot hell?