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IB Isthavalon

This gets bloody so don't be offended if you continue reading

The semi truck bounded down the desert like a cartoon jalopy throwing its live cargo up and down due to the lack of safety restraints. Restraints yes, safe no. The drivers took no notice of this and continued to argue about which radio station to listen to.
Danté woke up in a daze as the drugs let go of their fierce hold. He found himself on top of one of his best friends and tried to pull himself up without disturbing them and a particularly large bump set Danté loose from his hold. There were groans and Danté realized that the semi was packed with people. The light from a small window crudely cut into the slider door let him count 29 others beside himself and he could barely make out that they were all from the same house that he spent the last three years hiding out in.
One was missing and it didn’t take much to clue in Danté that one of them had turned them in.
Danté made his way back slowly and still ended up slamming face first into the bed of the trailer when he lost his footing over a chain. Being handcuffed there really wasn’t a shot at catching himself. The chain was linking ankle restraints to his fellow comrades but not his. Someone wanted him to see out of the back.
Despite the instability of the footing, Danté finally made it back to the makeshift window and looked into the windshield of a black Jaguar. He immediately recognized Simon and the driver as one labeled “Men and Women to Avoid.” The driver was one that likes to round up resistors and throw them into camps. Rehabilitation for what? Refusing to be branded and tracked by a global government. Danté didn’t share the other’s beliefs as to why this was happening, he just didn’t want to be branded.
Needless to say food was shortcoming and Simon/Judas with his thirty silver handcuffs was eating a fresh picked off the tree apple. Danté could have killed him.
As if reading his mind, the driver winked at Danté and there was a flash of red and grey and green and Simon’s head was no more.

Fine Print

Posted by masokist on May 12, 2008 in Blab | 9 comments