Chapter IA Chapter by Mounsell A man drives across the desert. Sitting along a lonely stretch of highway, a small
diner offered relief to the few fatigued travelers that frequented it. The dim lights that lined its exterior
struggled to cut through the darkness and presented to those distant only a
feeble aura. Inside this diner, a man sat
patiently. Hunched over
the counter, he cast a haggard figure. The hair on his scalp was tousled by wind and
the clothing he wore was matted with dirt and dust. His clear gray eyes were discernibly
strained. The hands he had folded atop the counter displayed the grime that had
collected as a result of hours of hard labor.
The tag that was pinned to his shirt proclaimed his name to be John. He noticed the tag still attached to his
shirt, unpinned it, and placed it inside his jacket left breast pocket. From his
position by the counter, he was able to see the only other person present in
the diner. She stood across the counter
from him, filling his mug with warm, black coffee. She, too, appeared fatigued by long hours of work
but was able to muster a smile. He lacked
the strength to do this but managed a soft "thanks." "So where
are you gonna try to go from here, John?" John looked up
to see her eagerly awaiting his response and replied, " I'm planning on
heading west, Anna." "You mean
to Los Angeles?" "Yeah. I'm sure I can get work there." Anna grinned
and said, "They do need busboys." "Come on,
Anna," John replied, "you know I can do more than just clean
tables." He returned his
attention to the cup in front of him. He
lifted it from the counter and held it to his lips. The coffee warmed John's throat and offered
some salvation from the frigid night air.
He consumed his coffee in small sips in an effort to savor it. His meal had yet to be placed before him and
he was in no hurry to eat. Outside, the
sun had long since disappeared below the horizon. A cold wind swept through the area, serving
only to add to the weather's wretchedness.
When he came in that morning, the weather was still somewhat warm. Now that night had fallen, his trip back out
would be considerably unpleasant. As his head drooped
closer to closer to the counter, Anna came by and placed his meal atop the
counter. The clang of the ceramic dish against
the counter startled John. He pulled his
head up quickly and glimpsed her. "Thank you."
John said. He reassured Anna
and grabbed the burger on his plate. The
meal was cold, but, at that point in the day, John was content to be eating
anything. He ate the burger slowly in
order to delay his inevitable walk in the cold.
He spread his meal out by taking small sips of his coffee between
bites. Once the coffee in the cup dwindled
to just a few drops, he finished his burger. The waitress
saw that he had finished both the coffee and burger and placed a ticket by his
plate. He took the ticket and studied
it. John pushed his hand in his jeans pocket
and began to sift through its contents.
He managed to find a few crumbled bills after some time and handed them
to the waitress. She accepted them with
a "thank you." John stood up
from his stool and walked towards the door.
Standing at the threshold, he closed his jacket tightly about his body. Stepping out
into the cold air, the jacket offered little relief. Wind bit at his nose and
face. He strode quickly to the truck
outside the diner and pulled a key from his pocket. The cold air rattled his hands and he fumbled
at the door's lock before finally managing to open it. Once inside, he searched for his atlas. After only a few moments, he pulled the book
from the floorboard and flipped to a page stained by coffee and crinkled by
heavy use. Looking at the map on this
page, John was able to determine a route that would take him to a motel that
was not distant. He placed his
key in the ignition and turned it. The
truck came alive. Its bright lights cut
through the darkness and its engine let loose a low growl. He accelerated quickly down the highway. In the rear-view mirror, he was able to see
the lights of the diner grow fainter and fainter and finally disappear. After some
time, he was able spy a dim glow in far ahead.
The distant light flickered and John could scarcely make out its
text. Driving closer, he was able to see
the source of the light: A sign with the words "Motel" and
"vacancy" written across its front in large red lettering. The sight offered him some relief. He parked his
truck in the lot. Walking into the
motel's lobby, suitcase in hand, he was able to tell why the word vacancy was
permanently inscribed on the sign. The
motel appeared in gross disrepair. The
wallpaper peeled off in spots and collected on the floor. The few pieces of furniture, all placed haphazardly
about the room, sat in varying states of decay.
The chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the lobby flickered and
gave off a sickening yellow light. John glanced about
and saw what appeared to be the front desk.
He walked over to this wooden counter and looked down at the area behind
it. Sitting on a metal chair between the
wall and the counter, was an older man, newspaper in hand. He grimaced at the sound of John's boots and
looked up towards him. He appeared
perturbed by the thought of dealing with a customer and muttered a gruff,
"How long?" John replied, with
pleasantness absent in the old man's voice, "Just one night." The man told
him the rate and John gave him a few bills.
He was given both small key and a gesture to indicate the direction of
his room. Moving down a
narrow hall to his room, John was unable to hear any sounds from the nearby rooms. At the end of the hallway, he placed the key
in his door's lock. Turning the key and
pushing the door forward, he was able to see that the condition of his room was
nearly the same as the lobby. The wallpaper
peeled, the furniture rotted. He went to
the lamp and attempted to switch it on.
It flickered and cast a weak glow about the room. John closed the
door behind him and opened his suitcase atop the bed. He replaced his dirty work clothes with
cleaner garb and pulled his boots back on.
Observing more
of his room's abject state, John was dissuaded from staying the night there. He left the room and shut the door behind him. As John neared the counter, the old man
looked up from his paper. John asked for
a return of his cash. The man
reluctantly pulled the bills out and gave them back to John. John placed the key atop the counter and
could discern a grumbled "thanks" from the man. Stepping out
into the night air, John was able to feel the sharp drop in temperature. The wind had grown much sharper. He lifted the collar of his jacket in order
to shield his face and walked to his truck.
Once he had
pulled his chilled body into the cab, John turned his key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. He stepped on the gas pedal and headed
towards the next town on his route. © 2012 MounsellAuthor's Note
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