sensed that this was the end. They still loved each other, possibly more than ever, but they didn’t need that adrenaline to fuel it. Never had, it was just been a drug they couldn’t resist.
They stopped at a local shop, a quiet little hut of a building parked opposite a residential street. Pandora waited outside, bathing in the sunshine whilst Dexter ducked in to pick up a few supplies. She rested up against the exterior wall, one foot behind her, her arms crossed over her chest.
It was a beautiful day, a beautiful town. She really could get used to a place like this, everything shone with an idyllic glimmer. Everything seemed neat, tidy and clean. The sort of place that seemed devoid of criminals, of the lower side of the human psyche. Pandora knew that wasn’t true, even without the presence of her and Dexter. Society as a whole was rife with perversion, sickness and evil. Whether that spilled out onto poverty stricken streets -- where the youths were jobless, hopeless and desperate and life was extinguished with overdoses, malnutrition, foul play and stupidity -- or whether it was hidden behind closed doors; clandestine evil that polluted perfection with domestic violence and murder. The perils of society were everywhere, but at least in Fairwood they were kept away from the streets.
The sun cast an illuminating beam on the houses over the street, on the emerald green lawns surrounded by a bounty of flowers and bordered by a picket fence that stretched across the terraced houses like pearly veneers.
It was quiet, still, peaceful. The only sound was that of a distant lawnmower chopping up the summer grass, spewing scents of freshly cut turf into the tepid air. There was no noise pollution, no roaring engines firing fumes or bouncing bass-laden tunes into the silence; no birds yapping to each other with high pitched, piercing shrieks; no shouting, talking, yelling or arguing.
A small squeaking noise entered the silence, broke through with a jolt. A rolling, turning sound of mechanical sufferance. Pandora turned to see a young girl approaching on a pushbike, her legs lazily working the pedals which turned a wheel fitted with frilly spokes and a bright pink light that failed to declare its presence in the sunshine.
She was no more than eight or nine, a pretty little thing with an indifferent and distant look on her face. She wore a flowery dress -- hitched up to stop the skirt slipping into the spokes -- cream sandals and pristine white socks up to her knees.
The bike twitched along the road ahead of Pandora. The little girl had flowing red hair that lifted and splayed in the wind. She didn’t lift her head to acknowledge the blonde woman waiting outside the shop.
Pandora pushed herself off the wall. The sound of her shoes grazing against the brick broke the mechanical whirring of the bike and alerted the little girl. She slowed down but still didn’t move her head.
“Hello there,” Pandora said joyfully.
The little girl stopped the bike, the silence returning to the morning air. She rested her feet on the floor to save herself from toppling over, looked at Pandora with the same blank stare that she had previously been offering the empty street.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or acknowledge her.
“What’s your name?”
The girl continued to stare for a moment, then she answered in a soft and ambiguous tone. “Susie.”
“Oh,” Pandora put on a bright smile, “that’s a nice name.” She never really knew how to act around kids, wasn’t sure if the childish tone was appropriate for an eight year old or if she would consider it condescending. The little girl didn’t flinch so she kept it up. “Do you live around here?”
She nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact. Pandora moved forward a couple of steps, saw the child’s blazing blue eyes watch her shuffling feet.
“Do you like it here?”
Susie shrugged
They stopped at a local shop, a quiet little hut of a building parked opposite a residential street. Pandora waited outside, bathing in the sunshine whilst Dexter ducked in to pick up a few supplies. She rested up against the exterior wall, one foot behind her, her arms crossed over her chest.
It was a beautiful day, a beautiful town. She really could get used to a place like this, everything shone with an idyllic glimmer. Everything seemed neat, tidy and clean. The sort of place that seemed devoid of criminals, of the lower side of the human psyche. Pandora knew that wasn’t true, even without the presence of her and Dexter. Society as a whole was rife with perversion, sickness and evil. Whether that spilled out onto poverty stricken streets -- where the youths were jobless, hopeless and desperate and life was extinguished with overdoses, malnutrition, foul play and stupidity -- or whether it was hidden behind closed doors; clandestine evil that polluted perfection with domestic violence and murder. The perils of society were everywhere, but at least in Fairwood they were kept away from the streets.
The sun cast an illuminating beam on the houses over the street, on the emerald green lawns surrounded by a bounty of flowers and bordered by a picket fence that stretched across the terraced houses like pearly veneers.
It was quiet, still, peaceful. The only sound was that of a distant lawnmower chopping up the summer grass, spewing scents of freshly cut turf into the tepid air. There was no noise pollution, no roaring engines firing fumes or bouncing bass-laden tunes into the silence; no birds yapping to each other with high pitched, piercing shrieks; no shouting, talking, yelling or arguing.
A small squeaking noise entered the silence, broke through with a jolt. A rolling, turning sound of mechanical sufferance. Pandora turned to see a young girl approaching on a pushbike, her legs lazily working the pedals which turned a wheel fitted with frilly spokes and a bright pink light that failed to declare its presence in the sunshine.
She was no more than eight or nine, a pretty little thing with an indifferent and distant look on her face. She wore a flowery dress -- hitched up to stop the skirt slipping into the spokes -- cream sandals and pristine white socks up to her knees.
The bike twitched along the road ahead of Pandora. The little girl had flowing red hair that lifted and splayed in the wind. She didn’t lift her head to acknowledge the blonde woman waiting outside the shop.
Pandora pushed herself off the wall. The sound of her shoes grazing against the brick broke the mechanical whirring of the bike and alerted the little girl. She slowed down but still didn’t move her head.
“Hello there,” Pandora said joyfully.
The little girl stopped the bike, the silence returning to the morning air. She rested her feet on the floor to save herself from toppling over, looked at Pandora with the same blank stare that she had previously been offering the empty street.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or acknowledge her.
“What’s your name?”
The girl continued to stare for a moment, then she answered in a soft and ambiguous tone. “Susie.”
“Oh,” Pandora put on a bright smile, “that’s a nice name.” She never really knew how to act around kids, wasn’t sure if the childish tone was appropriate for an eight year old or if she would consider it condescending. The little girl didn’t flinch so she kept it up. “Do you live around here?”
She nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact. Pandora moved forward a couple of steps, saw the child’s blazing blue eyes watch her shuffling feet.
“Do you like it here?”
Susie shrugged
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