ext_76778 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
of-carabas.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2005-09-21 11:36 pm
of-carabas.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-21 11:36 pm
[September 21] [Near Dark] A Thousand Miles (17/26)
Title: A Thousand Miles (17/26)
Day/Theme: September 21st/A secret unlit room
Series: Near Dark
Characters: Homer
Rating: PG
When life is lived constantly on the move, there's no such thing as privacy. They had no territory, or everywhere was their territory; Homer was never sure which. Their days were spent in a single hotel room because they rarely had money to waste on separate rooms; most of the night was spent on the road, crammed together into a car.Their belongings consisted of what would fit into a bag, and most of that was taken up by rolls of tin foil, spray cans, and whatever clothes he'd found that would fit him. There was no room for a private life.
Sometimes Homer would dream of getting a place of his own. He could save up the money from the people he killed, change his focus from children whose clothes might fit him to older women, teenagers, people likely to carry more cash. He'd keep a little money behind instead of giving it to Jesse to pay for their room, he'd never know the difference. He'd stop in a big city, hunt only the homeless, the runaways, people who wouldn't be missed - somewhere on the east coast, he'd never been there. He was sick of the midwestern roads. He'd get an apartment - no, a house. A whole house. One with a secret, unlit room, and he'd never have to bother with tin foil and paint ever again.
But then one night he'd volunteered to go find them a room, and Severen had laughed at him. "Who'd rent to you?" he'd said.
And that was true. No one would sell to someone who looked like a little kid, someone trying to buy a home with a bag full of cash.
It had been a stupid idea, anyway.
Day/Theme: September 21st/A secret unlit room
Series: Near Dark
Characters: Homer
Rating: PG
When life is lived constantly on the move, there's no such thing as privacy. They had no territory, or everywhere was their territory; Homer was never sure which. Their days were spent in a single hotel room because they rarely had money to waste on separate rooms; most of the night was spent on the road, crammed together into a car.Their belongings consisted of what would fit into a bag, and most of that was taken up by rolls of tin foil, spray cans, and whatever clothes he'd found that would fit him. There was no room for a private life.
Sometimes Homer would dream of getting a place of his own. He could save up the money from the people he killed, change his focus from children whose clothes might fit him to older women, teenagers, people likely to carry more cash. He'd keep a little money behind instead of giving it to Jesse to pay for their room, he'd never know the difference. He'd stop in a big city, hunt only the homeless, the runaways, people who wouldn't be missed - somewhere on the east coast, he'd never been there. He was sick of the midwestern roads. He'd get an apartment - no, a house. A whole house. One with a secret, unlit room, and he'd never have to bother with tin foil and paint ever again.
But then one night he'd volunteered to go find them a room, and Severen had laughed at him. "Who'd rent to you?" he'd said.
And that was true. No one would sell to someone who looked like a little kid, someone trying to buy a home with a bag full of cash.
It had been a stupid idea, anyway.