Tabula Rasa

We’d been waiting for hours, an uncomfortable silence filling the space between us. I was becoming impatient, that restless itch of anxiety clawing at my chest. Johnny, the tall, skeletal creature I’d seen maybe once or twice before, lit a cigarette. His emaciated face catching and immediately dispelling light from the spark. “This fucking ra-,” he tried to whine, before the first trails of smoke fully escaped his lips. The words caught in his throat with an exasperated, guttural splutter, catching us all off guard. Not bothering to finish his lame rant, he stared out into the distance, the empty silence falling upon us again. We followed his gaze to the lone headlights trailing down the long dirt track. “This’ll be him,” Chief stated grimly as he rose from his chair, breaking the perfect circle we had so painstakingly forged. I clenched my fists in apprehension, my knuckles a ghostly white from the crippling chill. One by one we stood, hovering over the shivering form that writhed on the ground in front of us. The truck pulled up, Johnny slithered away to open the trunk, and we faced one another once more. “All right,” I said, “I’ll get the legs.”