La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

29. I Don't Believe in Fairytales

La Mort et ses Merveilles

Chapter 29: I Don't Believe in Fairytales

Sitting in his driver's seat, the young man whistled as we made our way down the abandoned road, cutting through fields of golden corn. With most of the population dead, fields of corn, wheat and soy lay abandoned, the crops waiting for the harvest that will never come. It's sad to think about, but at the same time there was some sort of grace to it. Soon the frost will come and the last of them would wither away.

I sat there, taking a look at the pictures I'd taken. The field of blue flowers were in beautiful contrast to the golden light of the sun. I even had one of Leslie, a shot I sneakily took of him sitting at the back of the truck. He was looking far at the horizon, the light of the sun illuminating his scruffy face. I couldn't take my eyes off that photo. He almost seemed like a different man. A man with ambition, a vision, big plans. Not the vulnerable, broken boy that I knew.

"Oh," the young man remarked as he drove. "You took a picture of me."

"Y-yeah," I said, the heat flushing my cheeks. "You didn't realise but you looked really cool."

The young man chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Usually I'm not really a big fan of people taking photographs of me because of the. . ." he said, biting his lip. "You know."

"Oh my gosh," I gasped out loud. "I'm so, so sorry. I-I forgot, that was so stupid of me."

"Hey it's alright blondie," he said, turning to look at me. "Well I don't mind if you do it. Besides, it's just a stupid irrational fear."

"It's not stupid, Leslie," I told him. "If it makes you uncomfortable I won't do it again."

"Just ask next time," he said. "It's just. . . I just thought after all these years things like this shouldn't be affecting me this much."

"He's probably dead," I tried to reassure him. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, his blue eyes fixed on the road. "But don't you think it's unfair? Like what, he did all that to me and he just. . . dies? No pain, no punishment, nothing? After all that he's done?"

His voice was raised now, and I noticed his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.

"Where's the justice in that?" Leslie continued, his tone angry and frustrated.

"There's a special place in hell for the likes of him," I said, reaching out to put a hand on his thigh. "I'm sure of it."

The young man gave a slight shrug, before snickering as he shook his head.

"You're so innocent blondie," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Still believing in that stuff."

"Well," I told him. "It's just how I get by day to day I guess. Believing that there's something better after I die. Believing that things happen for a reason."

"You believe in God don't you?" he remarked.

"Yeah I do," I told him, even though I already did a few times beforehand.