Post a Comment On: Coast of Araska

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Stuck at the side of the road, the radiator smoking in the cool night air, a chill fog hung on their shoulders like a shroud of death. A thin layer of water clung to there clothes, weighing them down and chilling there bones. The GPS couldn't get a signal through the dark clouds which forewarned of a frightful storm, the cell was dead as well. Only the shill twang of country banjos could be heard through the taunting of the radio static. As night settled on the lonesome duo, shadows grew from the trees. Shadows were the only fruit that would come to ripen on these trees, if you could call them that, wizened things, all a thorn and spindly. Their twisted forms loomed like wretched curmudgeons, old and filled with malice for vitality.
"Jase, where are we" asked the driver, his voice trembled with uncertainty.
Jase folded the old map, its corners dog eared with age, is creases ripping. "Nowhere Fred, we are in the middle of fucking nowhere!" His voice cracked with panic.
In a voice filled with wisdom beyond its years, and a confidence finding slim purchase on the edge of the unknown, Fred chided his navigator. "Nowhere? Nowhere is a one horse town, with a corner store and retirees, nowhere is bland, and boring, nowhere is not here. We're in Scooby-Doo nowhere now!"