(DONE) Ep.1 - Close Encounters of the Cybertronian Kind [FW]
Jun 6, 2014 21:38:00 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2014 21:38:00 GMT -5
Sleep.
Since when had Sarita been able to experience the bliss of proper, honest-to-god sleep? Not in a while, not in what she could remember. The Craigslist gig hadn't worked out — someone had pulled the job out from under her at the last minute. If she had been in Jasper a day earlier, she would have had money for a motel room and to feed herself. That meant driving around to find a safe place to camp, all while trying to conserve gas — for three days, no less. What little she had left was going to be bled dry by the Sedan, "Sheila".
Alas, on the fourth day, fate relented. While searching around an old, abandoned section of industrial estate — booming in the early 2000s, lost to the financial gutting of the 2008 stock crashes — Sarita came across an unusual sight. Smack dab in the middle of the estate, there was a fenced-off area mostly untouched; even the nightly scrap-pickers avoided it. Their tire tracks and footprints concentrated around the perimeter of the place, with enough traffic that defined the boundaries of where they ventured. Such a fact should have pinged on Sarita's radar, especially as she was sensitive to the movements and patterns of people and places.
When one was sleep-deprived and frustrated, however, logic could be eclipsed by a "fuck-it-all" attitude. It wasn't too far from Jasper — only ten minutes, really — so for the past three nights, Sarita had parked there, navigating Sheila through a car-sized hole in the aforementioned fence. (It looked like someone had either smashed through it, or cut it with metal-cutters and pushed it backwards — someone with the same idea as her, maybe?) Her car tracks were glaringly obvious in the undisturbed sand, so every time she came in at night, she would take an old shirt, and smear the tire marks into oblivion. No one bothered her, no one came for her, and after the second night, Sarita found herself crashing into sleep.
Sleep. Sleep. Blissful, undisturbed REM sleep, the girl curled up in a series of blankets, only a head of black hair poking out from beneath them. Though the back seat made for a narrow mattress, anything was comfy with her current exhaustion, and the girl was used to sleeping on such. In fact, not having that edge of anxiety — always gnawing at the back of her mind about thieves, carjackers and other such things — dulled her to the sensation of scratchy fabric, of dusty blankets and the smell of her own sweat. Anything unclean and uncomfortable was forgotten, lost in the rich tapestry her dreams vibrantly wove.