December 8th, 1991 part one
starlessnightly
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Warning: Character Death, sadness, swearing.
Summery: On December 8, 1991 John Winchester kills his two sons in the backseat of the Impala. Their spirits never leave the car.
October 27, 2005
It was a beautiful Thursday in the middle of fall when she bought the car. The sun had been shining through the orange leaves of the trees overhead, leaving poka-dots of shadow and light on the ground and over the inky black of the '67 Impala's paint. The price of it had been ridiculously cheep, about two thousand dollars cheeper then any other sale she had found. She should have been suspicious, but it was a nice car in good condition. The miles were low and the car ran well. The engine purred with life.
The salesman- a small, nervous man- handed her the keys right after she signed the papers and she was able to drive it off the lot. She rolled her window down and turned up the radio, and sang as she flew down the road.
If she had really been listening, she would have heard the tiny voice singing along in the back seat.
November 5, 2005
She had the trunk completely packed. Backpacks with clothes, a bag with her laptop and phone and ipod. Then a cooler packed with a fridge worth of food. There was a little cardboard shoe box in the foot well of the passenger side, filled with mix-tapes she had made for this road trip. Johnny Cash, and AC/DC and Metallica ready to go.
The California air was ready to whip her hair around her face, and the sun was ready to bake her skin. She was ready to make her foot a little heavy, to go ten miles over the speed limit. She was ready to feel the power of her beautiful car.
Her best friend was waiting, four hours up the road. And now she was ready for her new life.
So was the little boy of eight years, invisible in the back seat.
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Warning: Character Death, sadness, swearing.
Summery: On December 8, 1991 John Winchester kills his two sons in the backseat of the Impala. Their spirits never leave the car.
October 27, 2005
It was a beautiful Thursday in the middle of fall when she bought the car. The sun had been shining through the orange leaves of the trees overhead, leaving poka-dots of shadow and light on the ground and over the inky black of the '67 Impala's paint. The price of it had been ridiculously cheep, about two thousand dollars cheeper then any other sale she had found. She should have been suspicious, but it was a nice car in good condition. The miles were low and the car ran well. The engine purred with life.
The salesman- a small, nervous man- handed her the keys right after she signed the papers and she was able to drive it off the lot. She rolled her window down and turned up the radio, and sang as she flew down the road.
If she had really been listening, she would have heard the tiny voice singing along in the back seat.
November 5, 2005
She had the trunk completely packed. Backpacks with clothes, a bag with her laptop and phone and ipod. Then a cooler packed with a fridge worth of food. There was a little cardboard shoe box in the foot well of the passenger side, filled with mix-tapes she had made for this road trip. Johnny Cash, and AC/DC and Metallica ready to go.
The California air was ready to whip her hair around her face, and the sun was ready to bake her skin. She was ready to make her foot a little heavy, to go ten miles over the speed limit. She was ready to feel the power of her beautiful car.
Her best friend was waiting, four hours up the road. And now she was ready for her new life.
So was the little boy of eight years, invisible in the back seat.