A long walk for a warm beer. (Open)

[raths]

As she watched the houses in the small suburb burn, Orane Kingifeld hiked her small backpack up on to her shoulder and continued walking down the gauntlet of flaming havens, putting one bare foot in front of the other. Over 25 homes in the small suburb were on fire, including the rundown shack she had claimed as her own. The demontica, had finally grown a pair and told her to get the hell out. She could hear their cackles as she walked away from the inferno; like hyenas circling a lion kill with bloodshot eyes and lolling tongues ready in their heightened state to even take on the lion itself. Everything around her, from the wood of the telephone poles to the wind was working for the fire. Giving it strength, where it would have faltered and endurance where it would have collapsed. It was as if the flames were licking on the doors of her last hopes. Even the ground on which her bare feet trod upon was beginning to warm to the flames allure.

She would once again have to begin anew, and this time the road was one not paved with gold but with iron, corroded and weathered with age and time. And let’s not forget insanity, the cruelest of the fates. So she walked, often looking back, out of the burning subdivision around the next, and on to the highway that led to her final destination, to Tamaya. And she walked…and she walked. Until her feet were sore and the lick of flame behind her became little more than smoke and falling ash. Until the morning dawn swept across the sky; like an ocean sweeps across the sand. Until she remembered what it looked like from there. And then she walked some more, just for the hell of it.

She attempted to keep her thoughts basic, but failed miserably. Thinking always, of different things, people, and places…she ran when she could. She could always outrun them. Until she ran into the side of a building while mumbling every explanative imaginable as well as, “That would be a wall.”

Picking herself up, and hoping with all her might that no one inside had heard that. Orane shook of the completely out of character absentminded blindness and walked around to the front of the structure. “Welcome to Sams Bar” she said in her best waitress voice with a comical roll of her eyes “can I get you some ice water to go with that bleeding nose? Or would you prefer some steak for that shiner? Oh geeeze. Fuck me now.” After scratching the top of her foot and laughing, she walked into the building with the care of a horse in a chime shop, which is absolutely none at all.

The place still smelled a little funny, like age old beer and sweaty fat men. She crinkled her nose as she opened the door, and closed it behind her. The bar had an old wooden floor, a classic redneck bar, and a whole lot of trashy bar stools and tables. A few doors in the back were closed, but she figured they led to the kitchen. So after shoving a trio of tables together, placing a stool at the front door, and grabbing a bottle of stale beer-Orane flopped on to the tables tossed her hat over her eyes and was gone from this plane of being in moments.

Word Count:100+
Character Mood: unknown
Muse: Miscombubulated
Inspiration: None
Clothing: A dirty shirt, and old pants.
Status: {Open}