>>ORIGINS - Garrett Vogel

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

(Suyoi, post here as you will, let me know if you'd like a prompt to start!)

[Suyoi]

Garrett sped on by over the rolling hills of some eternally sunny landscape, the empty fields of grain and tilled dirt surrounding the landscape. The hills hardly the size of mountains caped the distant edge of the sky. The motor of the car seemed to growl, and for some reason, he couldn’t turn his blinker off. It continued to click as he drove, engine sputtering and hissing, growling and grunting. Tick…tick…tick…tick…tick…grrrrrl…tick…gurhrgglh…tick…tick The picturesque drive screeched to a halt, the sun setting in the blink of an eye. His dashboard was illuminated back on his throbbing head. His eyes were not able to focus on which console was the real one and which was from his splitting headache.

Copper washed through his mouth as he swallowed, and he grunted, feeling the weight of gravity pressing on his head. The ticking noise continued, though he felt the car’s engine was dead. Something happened, he was upside-down, strapped into his seat. Thoughts spun like snowflakes in a blizzard, so numerous and yet individually insubstantial. The engine sputtered as the car seemed to lurch. His hand was painfully swollen, but he knew the keys were clutched within. He killed the engine before he went on that pleasant drive back through the great fantasy plains.

Where was the ambulance? It wasn’t late, or did it pass into night all ready? The engine growled and the cabin lurched, the sound of glass tinkling off of the plastic consoles and cup holders. Jorge was in the back seat, wasn’t he? Did he make it home okay? Yes, the construction site had finished early, and Jorge had asked for a ride back to the other side of town to visit his… sister. Or, so he had thought. Jorge hadn’t exactly explained it, but was rather upset with the conversation from the other guys that day. Maybe he feared immigration would come back after the job-site visit? It would be in his best interest to try and calm him so Jorge could realize it was not the time to worry about such matters.

Garrett tried to turn his head, and after a few seconds, saw Jorge; he was covered in blood, sputtering and snarling, probably unable to breath. His neck dangled at the oddest angle, the car door warped inward, almost severing the immigrant’s torso, and yet, he still struggled to be free. It was in that moment, the words of a book he was reading echoed through his mind. Preoccupied with the world, who thinks of death, until it arrives like thunder? Jorge was dead, and yet not. His vision must be worse than even Garrett could rationalize.

Jorge lurched, the fiberglass paneling splintering. His arms were extended, or what was left of them. Snapped sinew and bone lashed angrily out towards Garrett, who fumbled for his seatbelt. Fear, panic, numbed hands and disorientation prevented much in lieu of an escape. Only on option remained. Garrett tried to scream, something he had never really attempted before. It was like the voice in nightmares, husky, dry and non-existent. He tried again, managing to spit out some vile, near black, that flipped against his own forehead. He began to screech, a heaving sob as his voice cracked and reached an ungodly tone.