Dead End

"Alright then." Zach stands up from the table, taking the lead with a smile. "Then how about we head on over to the mall and see what's playing and if we don't like anything, we'll figure something else out..."

..."Mmm." Zach licks his ice cream cone with satisfaction. There hadn't been any good movies playing, so he and Beth had wound up walking around the mall for a while and finally getting ice cream to eat at the little park.

"Yep. Good ice cream. Glad we tried it out - now I know where to go when I get a craving for mint chip." He wanders across the grass, passing the picnic table where most would sit and, instead, aims for the swing set.

Easing into one of the swings, he hangs onto his ice cream cone with one hand while holding the swing's chain with the other, lest he lose his balance and his cold treat right along with it. Glancing down and seeing the swing was just a little bit too low for his longer legs, he grins. "I'll pretend I'm short," he muses.


Eric finally lets his laugh come out, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Well, I guess they all gotta have something to talk about - otherwise it might get too boring around here."

Getting to the dining hall, he holds the door open for Stacy then follows her inside. It was going to be a good day.


All alone in a darkened world,
This road leads on forever.
Shackles taunt an aching soul,
Doors stay locked without a key.
Cinderblocks inside the blood,
Weigh down every move.
Nothing left but hollowness,
Nothing left but pain.

Dylan readjusts his backpack on his shoulder, his sneakers crunching on the gravel shoulder of the road. Hearing a car coming up behind him, he turns to show his thumb.

Gotta make this dead end work,
Blindly thrash through crumbling walls.
Gotta make this dead end work,
It’s jump the fence or off the ledge.
Sweating bullets pierce the heart,
Nothing left to live.
Gotta make this dead end work,
Gotta break the mold.

The rumble of truck engines and the smell of fuel invade Dylan's senses. Trudging away from the truck stop, he walks under the lights until they are no more and only the stars guide his steps along the highway.

Up against the raging storm,
Thunder rolls forever.
Sharpened knives cut the soul,
Locked inside the emptiness.
Wounds torn open bleeding still,
Stain each step in vain.
Nothing left but loneliness,
Nothing left but hate.

Gotta make this dead end work,
Blindly thrash through crumbling walls.
Gotta make this dead end work,
It’s jump the fence or off the ledge.
Sweating bullets piece the heart,
Nothing left to live.
Gotta make this dead end work,
Gotta break the mold.

A clap of thunder shakes Dylan from his sleep. Curled up under the bridge, he can hear the rain start to pour and he pulls his hoodie in a little tighter around himself. It would be light soon. He'd try to catch another ride and maybe he'd make the state line this time.

Do or die in a heartless world,
Brutality reigns supreme.
Dead ends live where others stopped,
Just try to stop my flight.
Do or die in a heartless world,
Black and white now crimson red.
Dead ends birthed where cowards stopped,
Just try to break my will.
Just try.

It had been four days since Dylan's last contact with Dan. Standing outside the gas station, he stares at the road. The ranch was so much closer. But no one he'd asked was headed in that direction. And chances were less than slim that he'd be able to thumb a ride anywhere from here on out - there simply wasn't enough traffic out in the middle of nowhere like this.

Gotta make this dead end work,
Blindly thrash through crumbling walls.
Gotta make this dead end work,
It’s jump the fence or off the ledge.
Sweating bullets piece the heart,
Nothing left to live.
Gotta make this dead end work,
Gotta break the mold.

"Dan? I... it's Dylan." He chews on his lip, fidgeting with the payphone as he leaves a message on Dan's voicemail. "I... I'm in Charlesburg and I... um... can you... can you come get me? I'm at the gas station on the edge of town. Um... yeah. It doesn't matter what time. Don't call - I'm on a payphone. So, um... I hope you get this. If not, I'll hitchhike. Thanks."

Hanging up the phone, Dylan wanders around the side of the gas station building and slides down against the brick to sit on the curb and wait. This was the only gas station in this tiny town so he wasn't worried about Dan finding him. The question was when. Even if Dan got the message and left immediately, it was a two hour drive from the ranch.

Dylan glances at his watch. It was only noon. He might have a long wait. But his legs were too tired to try and walk any further. If Dan didn't show up by dark, he'd find somewhere to sleep and set out in the morning.