The nowheremen.

1 ~ Death is a cruel mistress.

The street was lined with old cars. The broken down masses just waiting for a long lost owner as if nothing had changed. He placed his hand on the window of a familiar car as corrosion over took the metal, leaving rust residue on his finger tips. The orangish color matched that of the street down below. Pot holes and empty cans littering the the corroded cement. It was always dry. The man continued to walk. The silence soon became stale and eerie as he heard the extra set of foot steps follow close behind. His anxiety felt as though the skin on his chest was tightening it over like a drum. As the hand of his pound midnight heart beat against his clavicle. Placing an indecisive hand in his gun he quickly and quietly turned on his heal... Nothing. No one that is. Nothing but the silence save for the wind that whistled and the only tumble weed that seemed to occupy the ghost town. "Mr. Harrison?" A voice asked. He quickly turned, facing all directions to follow where the voice was coming from. Still... Nothing. He stated up at the barren desert of blue sky above as the sun shined harshly, making his thin frame double over in exhaustion. There was a sudden slosh of water against his face as the voice giggled seeming to mock his loneliness. He continued to shuffle his feet along in reserved silence as he began to wonder if he was going to lose it. A clatter fell over as George quickly turned around. The bizarre nature of this was beginning to crawl into dread in the back of his mind. He continued to walk as the dirt scraped under his boots. George had been dead for some time now. He could still hear the screams... The buzzing of electricity and the hard pressurized sting traveling throughout his body.

"Harrison?" A prison guard asked. His bright orange jumpsuit made him seem to make him stand out from the rest of the inmates. Whispers followed 'is that Harrison?' They ask. John stepped forward with his gang that had beat him to a bloodied pulp the first day he'd gotten there for his alleged committed crime. John placed a hand on his scrawny shoulder. His hazel eyes flowing with a certain pity and sorrow. "I don't need yer pity." George numbed as John winced at the tone of his voice. pulling his hand away but still giving an understanding look. "We're so sorry your appeal didn't go well." Paul said tears brimming his eyes big doe like eyes. George smirked. "It's been fun, aye paulie?" He said slyly. John pushed back the urge to shout, scream, and hit Harrison square in the face. He was on death row. The last thing he needed was for someone to punch him in the face.... Or maybe the last thing he did need was someone to punch him in the face to show that at least someone still cared enough to do that. "Good luck to ye on the other side, son. I'll be there soon to keep ye company." Ringo said sullenly. The guard brutishly pushed him telling him to keep walking, The young man stumbled over his feet, walking towards the back room that would become his tomb in a matter of minutes.
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The chair was rugged and the metallic and the restraints didn't make it anymore comfortable. The room was practically empty without relatives giving pity with statements about how his suffering would end and tearful goodbyes. Looks of disappointment from his father that ran off with another woman when he was only fifteen. The young man clawed at the wood in looming anxiety that tightened the skin over his chest like a drum. The hand of his heart pounding against his clavicle like a drum. "Are there any words you'd like to bestow upon the people in the room prior to your execution?" The warden asked, sadness and concern lacing his eyes. He'd always liked George. Usually he was cold and more than happy to kill the inmates that likely deserved to die in the first place. But he knew of George's story. The innocence and the honesty swam in his eyes as he told it to the warden. "Yes." He stated gently. "Mum?" Her head jolted upwards and saw her son, beaten and starved like a stray dog. She wore a black blouse, a sleek black pencil skirt that outlined the frame of her hips. Blonde hair, tied but her straight and cut-across bangs revealing thin eyebrows that were knitted in concern. Tears began brimming her big brown eyes and welling over. "Yes Georgie?" She smiled sadly. "I don't have the energy left to keep fighting. I love you, you mean the absolute world to me and the fact that you're the only one who cared enough to even show is telling. You're a kind woman and you deserve a much better son. We'll meet again, just... Take care of Dahni, yeah?"
"1 minute left, Harrison." A brutish voice stated. As he rested his hand on the switch that dauntingly awaited to get the job done. He looked horrified towards his mother.
"Listen, mum. I have a friend that's getting out soon.  I Need you to give him a place to stay in the house. He'll help take care of Dahni. I love you so much." George stated finally. A single tear dripping out and mixing with perspiring sweat. They pulled the switch without warning. His mother screamed and sobbed as she watched her son violently convulse in pain. The smell of burning flesh paraded the room as the florescent light twitched violently. His body... His body was burned, boils spread over his gaunt cheek bone as his eye tuned into a white milk bowl of sightless eternity. His top and bottom lips burned away revealing a row of yellowing teeth. The other half stood perfectly fine. Louise sobbed harder. Her son. Her baby boy, my god she was so proud of him. So brave and he held his proper and gentle composure right until the very end.
George still walked alone. Waiting for something... For someone... Anything. It made him wonder what he was waiting for exactly. It was that feeling of something gnawing with its teeth gnashing away at the thought of excitement that something may happen. Butterflies erupting and spewing inside of his stomach; someone was coming to end his abysmal loneliness inside of a ghost town.