Prompt: Hate, Village, Tree

The shell rose into view from the ranks of the golden streetlights. Under the flat roof, all the booths were empty except for the one where his greying black Toyota was parked. The sheltered kiosk seemed like an umbrella, night-proofed and the darkness slid around it. The vehicle breathed in the smell of gasoline, sighed, and the little self-contained world was still. He realised that his first step out followed by the sound of the door behind him disappeared into the atmosphere as though the concentration of sound spread itself too thin and it escaped into the naked night all around the petrol kiosk.

Full tank.

His voice sounded flammable, quivering, dangerous enough, apparently, for the stooped creature to watch him from under the blue cap. The listless and shallow lights beaming from above enlarged every possible defect: the dark stains on the floor, the shrivelled speckled talons that drove the nozzle into the side of the Toyota, his state of mind. He was cautious. Suddenly aware of the unearthly hour and the beaded eyes of full of hate.

There wasn’t anything he wanted to buy. Still, the yawning and empty rack where ready-to-eat food was supposed to be called to him. Chilled and helpless, colourful but the same, the rows of canned beverages behind the fridge door demanded his scrutiny. Slowly, deliberately, he paced towards the counter. He unclasped his hands from behind his back.

Cash or card? Card.

Here is a tired and blinking student, gaze downcast, rendered inflexible from the groggy and interrupted nap. A few coins clattered out accidentally. The buzz of the cooling system sounded closer than the coins bleeding across the counter.

“Your family?” The student’s interest seemed piqued, disregarding its insensitivity. Despite that, he extended his wallet. “Five? Must be tough,” the student jammed the card into the card reader, “takes a village to raise a child.”

He replaced everything into his wallet, and then even that, then stepped towards the door. The student sank back into his seat. Two lives disengaged.

The car heaved with the momentum of his entrance, he would like to think. The air shimmered as the engines coughed and the alien lights melted away from him. The soundless, falling darkness took him back.

Tomorrow… the children looked forward to travel across the Straits.

They were planning to, at least, if not for the tree at the side of the road home.