Three:
Two in the front seat.
One in the back.
None of them pay mind
to the Scars that crisscross his wrist,
to the Discoloration and the Puncture Mark on her arm,
to the faint smell of Toast and ***** about him.
Because they’re all here for the same reason.
You get used to things.
You’d be surprised what you can get used to.
She wants to escape.
Who the hell wants to be stuck in a place where you can’t even smile?
He seeks his dead princess.
Unaware that the true love of his Afterlife
sits only a seat away
While the other is simply along for the ride.
Sleeping under a night with no stars.
Driving with no headlights.
To a camp.
Which is not quite.
He tells them:
Miracles only happen when they don’t matter.
For him: a speechless northern bride
For her: a second chance
For him: a gift.
He awakes.
A glance to the next bed.
He smiles.
She quivers.
She smiles.