Next Gas 190 Miles

Genevieve stepped down from her jeep at the lonely fueling station, according to the sign the last chance for services for 200 miles, and smoked a cigarette under the half-dead oak tree. A litany of lizards scurried away as she approached.

She wondered how many drivers stopped here in a day. She had passed maybe half a dozen vehicles the entire morning. She couldn't imagine how the people out here survived so far from civilization.

The old man working the pump had skin as weathered as the geckos' from too much sun. She decided to tip him an extra twenty.

The Bronze And Beige

Autumn had descended over the valley with all its bronze and beige. Solomon found clinging to the days required more vitality than his chronic fatigue would allow. He sat his jeep with the same listlessness he sat his arm chair. Neither the work nor his TV could keep his attention.

His life was fading. Even patriarchs come to an end. His family would live on without him, but Solomon wished, in a secret part of his soul, he could take all this land with him. He was ready to die, ready to leave his family, but not ready for nothing.