(To try and prove something to myself, I tried to write a very short story. I wound up with 1000 words in about 30-40 minutes that don’t really go anywhere and I have no idea if/when I’ll ever continue them, but what the hell)

********

This is me, taking a breath of air that bites with frost. I think I should be moving on, as I stare out there towards the road. It’s quite a walk, but the moon is bright enough to see.

I’m having to remind myself that this IS me. It’s too easy to forget on a night like this, that’s why I have to get out of here. I haven’t got much clothing made for this kind of weather, but that won’t really matter past being damn uncomfortable. The car I got this far in will be towed off at some point or other, it won’t get further without that help, and the heater in it was negated by having to keep the windows down to keep the exhaust from killing me, so hey, I’m used to this, right?

The grass is dry and brittle, a soft snap with the crunch of gravel as I slip away from the New Mexico rest stop, there’s not a lot of folks here- but someone spots me, a call from someone, maybe just good-hearted, maybe someone who thinks giving a woman a ride will lead to a fun evening.

“Hey, you need a lift?”

I don’t turn around, just sort of wave my best “Nah, I’m fine” over a shoulder, and keep going.

“Are you fucking nuts, lady? It’s freezing!”

I wave again, and pick up my pace, I don’t hear gravel crunching behind me, and I veer well away from the shoulder of the road. I’m wearing dark clothing, my pack is dark, there’s no snow on the ground right now. I won’t be noticed by many, and that’s fine and dandy because I don’t want to be picked up.

I jog a little ways, the wind is heavy, and cuts through sweatpants, the jeans under them, and all three layers of shirt. There’s warmer ways to travel but I really do not want to take them. Because I’m me, and I’m fucking stubborn like that. After a while, I just walk, letting what traffic there is go past, sticking close to the fencelines, even jumping it now and then to keep it between me and the highway- daring to move farther afield. As long as I can see the headlights and hear the traffic.

The wind dies, it’s cold as fuck, and I’ve know idea how long it’s been since I left that rest area. Times like this, I wish that I’d picked up some damn habit, smoking, or boozing, something that I could’ve gotten used to before all this crap, that’d keep my hands busy with a bottle or a lighter. Something about fiddling with a water bottle just seems wrong, like I’m letting a narrative down.

This, in a nutshell, sucks. It’d be easier if I lost the pack and just said ‘fuck it’ but that leads to all those problems later on. Possibly being shot at, because I’m terrible at sneaking and skulking, the way I start forgetting I’m me if I try to be GOOD at the sneaking and skulking, and of course, having to find some new clothing whenever I am near a town and want something to eat that’s not roadkill or a really stupid rabbit, because a naked girl walking out of the mountains or desert or whatever the hell just causes problems. Mostly for the naked girl, but it can spread around.

“Well I called you officer, because this naked girl all covered in mud and blood came out of my neighbor’s yard and stole my laundry! I never suspected he had a sex dungeon!”

Maybe that’s not how it’d go, but whatever. That’s a bit of a giggle, really.

How the bloody hell this even happened, I have no idea. I mean shit, in movies and things, you get bitten by some big huge wolf monster, or it’s some kind of cursed artifact that you got out of some tomb, and looks spooky- it’s not something you thought was a kitschy bit of junk at an estate sale amidst a collection of antique German costume jewelry and beads. In books and movies, the werewolves are amazing killing machines, and maybe I would be too- that’s why I’m scared of changing around too much, but really, fuck… I’m pretty useless. I don’t even turn into a big half-wolf monster, I just get the four paws and tail and if I’m in the brush a while, fleas and ticks.

I mean I liked hiking, and I like the mountains and parks but I’ve been a ‘follow those trails’ type. I vaguely know that north star stuff, and moss grows on, what, the north side of trees? I used to fish and camp when I was a kid. But I’m really just lost, without a map, and I’m following highways to the west coast, because that’s where that estate sale also had old postcards and things from.

From a just-this-side-of-hoarding collector of kitsch and old books from weekend sales and junk shops, who goes to national parks a couple of times a year, to half-frozen werewolf who is following a bunch of online name searches, Google Maps, and a really stupid bit of hope along the highways of the US from Del Rio to Los Angeles.

God I have absolutely no fucking clue what I am going to do if I MAKE it to Los Angeles. I’ve never been to a bigger city than Houston or Miami before. I don’t even know which of those is bigger. Or maybe Dallas is. And I hated Miami, I never wanted to drive again after that city.

I have online friends, and I have tried to get in touch to let them know I’m ok, I just got bored, and wanted to go on a trip- but most of them knew me too long even online to buy that shit, so they’re all worried. I was hoping I could get crashspace with a few at first, but at this point I don’t know if they’d call police or something.

So, yeah. Here I am. The lone wolf. Who even lost her laptop and phone and wallet that time when she got freaked out and changed to get away from those guys. Fuckers. Another reason to not change. I feel really terrible every time I steal or pull a runner at a diner, so I want to make everything I get last.

At some point I might have to start hitting people over the head to steal things. Maybe at a state park I can terrify some campers away from their gear and drag some off into the night.

batreaux:

you finally sneak into the dragon’s cave and find his treasure chest. you open it and there is just a macaroni drawing by the dragon’s son.

“ITS TREASURE TO MEEEEE” the dragon bellows 

Except I’d have a whole stack of things like fingerpaintings. And glitter would cling to the adventurers for DAYS.

(via persisting)