A/N. test drivee. first thing on fp &experimentation

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The sun was bleeding.

It started as a stain of pink-red, with the slightest streaks of rebellion orange and innocent yellow, that sliced thinly through the horizon. But with every slow gasping, dying second, it just grew and grew and grew, until the whole sky canvas was smudged a faint red color. A few shades darker, and then it could've been swathed crimson... kind of like the color of fresh blood, I mused.

Still, it was kind of... pretty.

I shifted in my seat to watch the sun set. Trees were silhouetted black, branches twisted trouble.

"Audrey."

Stoplights blinked green; glimmered, everyday and boring. They contrasted with the disc pool sun.

I rolled down the passenger seat window. The evening wind cut, harsh and relentless. But that was alright; it was hot and stuffy inside the car, and we'd been driving for quite a while now. It was a refreshing breather after the long drive. And it still wasn't over yet. I sighed and glanced at the clock. 7:13pm.

Cars bulleted past us the highway, a constant blur of red tail lights.

My mother's voice became sharper. Insistent, even. "Audrey."

I shifted my gaze and studied the landscape again. If I was an artist, a photographer — a writer, even — I would've want to capture the moment. Flatten and compress it in a medium of some sort. Keep it embedded for memory's sake, or something poetic like that.

After all, blood skies were rare. They didn't come easy.

But I wasn't an artist.

I didn't create.

My mother sighed beside me. I could just imagine her lips pursing, her grip on the steering wheel tightening a tenfold. The make-up on her face would still be perfect, I bet. "Don't be so difficult, Audrey Nicole. This is for the best."

The words were out of my mouth before I even really noticed. I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Do you even know what's 'for the best'?"

Pause. I ran my tongue over my teeth. It wasn't supposed to come out that... bitter — I was supposed to have control, but what's done was done...

I glanced over.

Lips tightened. Fingers clenched. Shoulders tensed.

She drew a sharp breath, but she didn't say anything.

I felt satisfied.

With that, we let the silence drown and choke us like we deserved it until we pulled out of the highway and metered into the town like we were royalty and the procession. My eyes shifted from the red sky to the sign. Welcome to Centerville stared back at me in a boring, standard black script that flowed prettily and pettily over the wall.

It was so lame.

I peered out the window, completely dissatisfied. My voice was flat. "This is it?"

"Yes."

I was unimpressed. We were giving up everything — everything we had left — for this dump of a town? It wasn't even any place big or exciting like Chicago or New York or San Francisco. It didn't look like it could even qualify for little suburban bangs. Or, well, it looked like it could only qualify for the little suburban bangs, like county fairs or something. My mouth curled. Hell, it didn't even matter. It was the same thing either way.

It was boring.

We pulled into the small parking lot of a diner. I stared skeptically at the tacky neon bulb glow that advertised Randy's Diner. Neon didn't belong in a town like this.

A girl was at the door, ready to greet us with her spotlight wattage smile. Her voice was overly cheerful. It was annoying. "Hi, welcome to Randy's, I'm Chelsea." She quickly appraised us. "Table for two?"

My mother's tone was politely cool and dismissive, the one she reserved for people she didn't like. Well, that made two of us.

But her smile was brilliant. "Yes, thank you."

The girl — Chelsea — looked slightly surprised; insulted, even, by my mother's slightly rude tone, but she quickly masked it up nice and professional with quick, painted smile. Faker. "Right. Follow me."

We complied, zigzagging through the tables. I discreetly looked at some of the patrons. Curiosity glanced off their eyes, and they didn't bother to mask it. They just watched. Stared openly. I fisted my hands.

God, I hated this town already.

Chelsea perked up again after she offered us a table smack in the middle of the diner. I took my seat reluctantly. I was never one for the limelight. Or the spotlight. That wasn't my thing.

Chelsea shot a smile. "So are you two new here? 'Cause I haven't seen you around before and, you know, everyone's been to Randy's at least once before."

She was rambling.

I shrugged, bored. "Yeah, we're new."

And I left it at that. She could pry if she wanted to. She could. I would probably just lie. And that was one thing my mother couldn't reprimand me on.

Waitress girl didn't press the subject, even though the interest was spiking painfully obvious in the pupils of her hazel eyes. "Just signal a waiter over when you're ready to order." With that, she smiled classic empty smile again, pivoted, and left.

We picked up the menus she put on the table. It didn't take long to scan the selections. It only took a few more minutes for the distaste the settle. My mouth itched into a small smile. My mother hated greasy, "family-styled" food. Elegance and the pretense were her flairs. And because of that, we made tonight's dinner a quick and clean affair.

After we cleared off the greasy food, paid the due, and forwent the tip, we got back into the car. The heat waved over the leather seats, but I was practically immune to it. I resumed looking out the window.

The blood color dissipated; blue hues cleaved the horizon. They slashed and tore and ripped the pretty red sky apart. The bleeding sun was a fleeting beauty — and it was long gone now. I missed it sorely and wished I had taken a picture of it or something.

It was so pretty.

It was the only thing I liked about this town and it was already gone.

Trees and leaves and houses and stop signs flickered by until the Carolina blue was smoked into a midnight color that washed over the skies. Stars piqued and tour en l'aired lightly above. I leaned back in my seat, dissatisfied. They didn't have the same appeal. Just like this town. Mundane. Everyday. Boring.

I rolled my eyes. We left everything for this dump?

Eventually, the engine purred to a stop.

I gazed at the house in front of us.

It was sort of... big. A three story coated with taupe gray and slate slightly separated from the other houses. Actually, it was more than separated. It was... excluded. Alone. Outcasted.

I appraised it again. It wasn't so bad. I kind of liked it.

My mother propped open the driver seat door and heaved out the luggage from the trunk. "Audrey," she called. "Help me bring in your things, and then you can go explore the house."

The luggage wasn't that much, because my mother already had all the furniture and such moved in the week before. I decided to stay back at home when she first appraised the house in all its our glory. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do, and I did everything in my power to make sure it was literally the last thing I did do.

I lifted my luggage out of the trunk. Adjusted my backpack strap. I really, really didn't want to go inside, so I wheeled my suitcases just inside the front door and slipped my backpack onto the wooden floors. My mother was already unpacking, systematically placing so-and-so in their respective locations. It was sickening to watch.

I gazed around the first room — a living room, I supposed. It was already tastefully adorned. Home sweet home.

My hands itched for the doorknob. "I'm going to go... explore the neighborhood, alright? I have my phone with me."

My mother consented absentmindedly and I slipped out into the cool night air. I crumbled over the front lawn glass, tired.

Like hell I was going to go explore.

I stared up at the stars. They danced and commixed and laughed. The bright magnitude seared my eyes, but I stared up anyways. Nothing else was worth looking at. I stared and stared and stared until they managed to mesh together. My eyes burned and black tinted at the corners of my eyes. The wind swept.

I just didn't want to think.

My eyes started to hurt.

"They break, you know."

I stiffened and sat up, startled. "What?"

His voice was low and amused. Hoarse. "Stars. Don't stare at them too hard; they crash and burn."

The last word was drawn out, like it was supposed to mean something. Burn. Burn. I looked around until I caught a silhouette. A boy leaned against the gate that hedged our house. I could only make out a few vague features in the dim lights. His left ear piercing, I could see, glimmered under the stars.

The stars he said that broke.

I decided I didn't like him. I clipped my words out coldly. "You're on private property. Get out."

The corners of his lips twitched up. "So you're the one who moved into this house? Huh. Interesting."

I didn't respond.

He moved closer. The tree only a few feet away from me. "What's your name?"

I reluctantly gave it to him. If we both lived in this hell of a town, then he was bound to find out anyways. "Audrey. Audrey Drennen."

The cosmos danced on his piercing. His smirk was slow and pronounced.

I didn't like it.

"Drennen..." He drew out the syllables. "...Is an uncommon surname."

I shrugged him off. "Whatever." It didn't matter to me. More power to me, if anything.

Silence and crickets lingered for a minute or two. I took the opportunity to ignore him. I hoped he would take the hint.

I wasn't in the mood.

He stepped even closer, sat down on the grass next to me. The blades were prickly. I ran my fingers over them.

"So, Audrey..." He adjusted himself so that he was in front of me. Just inches of inches away. His breath wisped in the air, curling slow like cigarette smoke. "Aren't you going to ask who I am?"

I played marionette and subconsciously leaned back. "What's your name?" I repeated dully. I didn't really care for it. Or him.

Satisfied, he leaned back. "Yeah, well. I don't really like my real name."

I gave him a flat stare. "Then what was the point of telling me to ask for your name?"

His lips tipped up in humor. "It's what you're supposed to do."

I rolled my eyes and hugged my knees to my chest. "Well, that sucks for you, I guess."

The stars exploded above us. I was ready to go back in when he spoke up again.

"Judas."

I tore my gaze away from the clockwork spin stars. I was never good at things like identifying constellations. I forgot what we were talking about. "What?"

"You can call me..." a pause. Glance. The green in his eyes glimmered, and his mouth tipped up again, "Judas."

He said it like it was a joke I was supposed to get. My mind drew blanks. "I don't get it."

His smirk only grew. "That's alright," he said.

I shifted uncomfortably. "What's your real name?"

He leaned back on his forearms. "For me to know, for you to find out," he drawled out lazily.

I pulled out some of the blades of grass and let it free fall from my fingers. He watched. The stars shook and giggled overhead: we know your secret. I thought about it for a while. The silence swallowed us whole.

"I'm not calling you Judas," I decided and clipped out my words. "I don't even know who — what — that is." I made to stand up and attempted to arrange my features into condescension lines and folds. It was a mechanic I picked up from my mother. For once, I hoped I got it down to a science. "Besides, it doesn't even matter, really. I probably won't ever see you again, anyways."

The boy got up, too. He leaned in close, too personal, and his breath hit my ear: warm. Slow. Despite that — because of that — a chill knifed through my body. I shivered involuntarily. He leaned down, so that his gel-spiked hair touched my forehead. It prickled. I made to move back, but he expertly moved forward, maintaining the same distance away from me. I could feel my pulse underneath.

Privacy, much?

He was too close.

His mouth curved slow and I watched it slope into something devastating. "Don't count on it," he said. His eyes were intense; a bottle green, I realized. It was uncomfortable. Then his voice turned light again, "I'll see you around then, Audrey."

I didn't like the way he said my name. It was... unsettling. It bothered me. Goosebumps tumbled over my arms.

But with that, he turned and left before I even really realized it.

I blinked. Drew in a sharp breath. I was so confused — disoriented. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath, like... I didn't even know. The stars winked down at me.

They break, he'd said. They crash and burn.

And what he didn't say — until there's nothing left.

The chill knifed.

I shook my head.

I shoved the thoughts aside and headed back inside the house — it was colder than I originally thought. My mother had said I could pick whatever room I wanted, so I just shakily, systematically, reached for my pajamas that my mom unpacked for me and headed for the first room I came to. My mind was on auto-pilot... I just didn't want to think. The wind iced, so I went to the window to draw the sheer curtains shut. My fingers lingered on the fabric — shadows flitted.

Giggles ripped through the streets. Sleep didn't come until long after my pulse lagged back to normal.