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There’s a relief on going on a new adventure. Leaving behind worries and bad thoughts that might haunt one's mind. But Gorgug knows that the roads crawled with bugs regardless, knows once he stops, he’d crawl through the tunnel hoping someone would meet him at the exit.
With each blink they come closer and closer and Gorgug’s skin crawls with bugs, already inside, already in his mind. Crawl over what’s left.
There was a relief on going on a new adventure when you weren’t sure you’d come back. The Red Waste, that stretched into the horizon, with no tell when it would end and leave him alone.
Gorgug drives anyway, bump after bump, legs sore and cramped up. Eyes burning from sand and something else he wasn’t sure he could understand right this moment. Blink after blink the night sky didn’t change, the sun didn’t rise because they were on a new adventure.
“Gorgug,”
Gorgug clutched the wheel, heart racing after the van. Who? What?
He whips to the side, eyes flitting in the darkness and finding Riz. He looks back at the road. Trees and roots grown around the columns and pillars of the Red Waste, and then ushered away when the headlights hit them. What would have happened if he chose to hack them down? Instead of going through the tunnel that still squeezed at his ribcage with each breath that he took, dust filled and burning his lungs more than Fig’s cloves.
“Riz?” His tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth, he was so thirsty.
“Can we stop? I gotta pee,” Riz spoke, clutching his gun in his hand. It was polished clean, turned to Gorgug and then not. Gorgug blinks, training his eyes on the road. The Red Waste, the dust and sand that crawled over Gorgug’s skin, greeting him. Little bugs tangled over his skin, breaking into goosebumps.
“Yeah?” Gorgug mumbles.
“You should sleep,” It's nighttime. Riz doesn’t say it, but Gorgug hears it anyway.
“It’s always night, I can drive,” He tacks on, words tumbling over his lips with a sour taste in his mouth. Why? He could drive.
The van stops, in the shadow of a tree. A pillar. A bug. Crushing them anyway.
“Thanks,” Riz jumps out and disappears, gun glinting in the moonlight. Gorgug doesn’t notice it, doesn’t even look. His hand clutch the wheel, rubbed raw and torn apart. There’s blood on them and then not. Bugs that crawl and chitter in his mind, Gorgug takes a deep breath, but they don’t go away.
“Gorgug?” His hands spasm, the van flips, and they’re dead. The pillar stands. The bugs crush them and they’re dead. Gorgug screams, but he doesn’t because his lips are shut, what if the bugs crawl in? What if the dust settles and his last words never come to?
It’s Fabian, weary looking. Clutching his battle silk. It’s Fabian, whose eyes don’t welcome Gorgug like they used to.
“You shouldn’t sleep,” He says, and Gorgug doesn’t understand. He’s not? He hasn’t slept in a while. But he’s laying down. The wheel out of his hands and there’s a blanket over him.
“We need you,” Fabian says, and Gorgug blinks. His head bumps against the top of the van, and it’s Riz looked over at him, kind eyes. Hands that lack a gun, only hold the blanket in place. Gorgug can’t kick it off, can’t tell the bugs to go away that press over him like roots. Because Riz is holding the blanket and Gorgug sleeps, because that’s the only escape.
He sleeps and he doesn’t. They’re driving over the Red Waste. Gorgug isn’t behind the wheel, no one is, but the van drives. And it can’t be true, because Zaphriel can’t drive. Gorgug can’t either, isn’t allowed to, but no one's behind the wheel.
The van zooms off, it’s going fast over all the bumps and rocks, and it’s gunning away from something. There’s screams and yells, but Gorgug sits, he’s not behind the wheel. His hands shake, legs thumps, and he’s behind the wheel when it stops.
He wants to tumble out and scream. He doesn’t. He sits. There’s bugs in his ears and his friends look worries. They’re outside the van and Gorgug’s not. He drives. He hits his head on the top of the van and Kristen looks at him.
Gorgug is laid down, the blanket over him, holding the bugs in. She looks worried, hair pulled up and away. Her hands tangle in it and Gorgug wants to help but can’t.
“Are you dead?” She asks, because she knows what it feels to be dead. What it’s like. Asks him and only him because he knows too. And he isn’t sure if he’s dead or not. He’s not driving, he’s not alive. But he’s sleeping and he’s breathing. There’s a bad taste in his mouth and he sleeps.
There’s something hard in the hood of his hoodie, his head crushes it, hoping it would go away. But it’s not a bug. It’s solid, it’s there in many ways Gorgug isn’t. There’s pressure against his leg and there’s a hand on his calf, there’s something there. No roots and wines, no trees or bugs. There’s dust and thirst, but he’s there.
Gorgug is there.
His eyes open, and he sees Fig, a small smile on her lips.
“We’re at a town, wanna get breakfast?” She pats his legs, but the touch is different.
Gorgug untangles from the blanket, digs into his hood and pulls out a chapstick. It’s Fabians. He breathes and nods.
There’s bugs on the sand, or the sand is simply thousands and thousands of bugs that crawl and shift with the wind. Night that doesn’t end, but they’re getting breakfast.
“Alright, I’ll wait for you,” Fig crawls out of the van, but she doesn’t leave. Because Gorgug isn’t alone.
Gorgug isn’t allowed to drive. He continues on. The sand sweeps across his skin, bugs crawl, and Gorgug walks the other way.