Dia sat beside his window trying to drown out the screams from the other room. The man’s words were filtered through bottles of whiskey, coming out in horrible profanities. His earphones didn’t block out any of the sound and so he endured every moment of it. The dog beside him whined in barely audible tones. Noises only on spectrum he’s ever be able to hear since he was little. It seemed to push him to leave, push hi to run, push him to find a place where he was normal. Some place where talking to dead people and bringing people back to life was something everyone just did. He waited till the screaming subsided.
The moment the idea hit him he’d grabbed a suitcase shoving it full of unnecessarily important things. He shoved another bag full of clothes and money and toothbrushes. He was done. He was leaving. The keys to the car he’d bought months before, with the money he’d received from his mothers will, were still in his fathers room. Stolen the moment he’d set them down in the house.
The drunk man was passed out on the couch sleeping like death. Dia made sure not to touch him just in case he was dead. That would be so much easier. He opened the door to the drunkards room, it was covered in papers and a dark stain on the floor from where his mother had “fallen” still hadn’t been removed. He swallowed moving past it with a tightness in his throat and grabbing the jar of cash and his keys off of the dark wooded furniture. There was a chip of wood missing from the corner from where his dad had slammed a bottle on it. Shattered glass exploding like shrapnel slicing into Dia’s arm when he was nine.
He made sure to slam the door behind him, knowing he’d never wake a man in that kind of stupor. The bags tossed out of his bedroom window lay on top of the bushes. “Good fucking riddance.” He yelled to the house. He didn’t care who heard him. No one would say anything anyways. His secret dog helped him place his stuff in the back. It carried it’s leash playfully before jumping into backseats so he’s have all the room he wanted to lay down. He slipped into the driver seat of green 1973 Ford Sedan. The dog barked happily as he began to back out of his drive way. This was it. He was getting the fuck out.
It's 1973 but the worlds not right. It's a dark place to live no matter where you go.While its not lawless the world is corrupt. Murder is normal, though never really talked about. Crime happens on a regular basis. Everyone seems to have a secret. Amongst the so called normal people, are the dead, the physics, the fortune tellers, the witches, the necromancers, and the everything in between. All the myths and nightmares are alive but treated as less than human. Even though sometimes their the only ones who seem to have a soul.
