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Sitting, leaning on each other, the boys talked long into the night, watching the stars rotate across the clear sky from their seat on the cliff and sipping the chemical-like liquor from styrofoam cups they stole on the way out.
“What do you think actually happens when we die?” the yellow-haired one asked after a moment of silence, staring ahead.
“I don’t know,” the other replied, thinking it through as much as his drunk brain could. “Hopefully we go to Heaven, but I don’t know.” He took another sip.
“I hope it isn’t like DEMA,” the first responded quietly, almost to himself.
“Don’t say that- that word here,” said the other boy, lifting his head from his friends shoulder to glance at his eyes for a moment, then went back. “We made it out - finally. We can’t think of that place anymore.”
“You can’t just erase it, Ty. Even though we got lucky, it still exists, we still know people there.”
“I know, but I don’t wanna think about it right now.”
"You have to at some point. Definitely not now, you're too wasted," he chuckled softly, peeling his eyes from the distant mountains to look at his friend.
"Yeah," the other sighed, looking at the liquid in the cup, moving as he swirled the cup. He gulped down what remained, then held it in front of the other, silently asking for more. They sat in a comfortable but alert silence, eventually emptying the container of alcohol.
Watching the sun started to peek above the horizon, their minds and futures looked forward towards a hopeful outlook; a final, permanent escape.