Curiosity ~ Lucidity ~ Humanity
Through the darkened distance, he could see light—not natural, but neon radiance, a bright beacon of promise hastening them toward salvation. He sat in back with his brother, made uneasy by the endless hours and miles they had traveled, the sky shifting from blue to purple, then deepening toward black. Unfastening seatbelts, the boys pressed eager faces forward, rapid breath fogging the windows. Distracted, they missed the chance to drag dirty fingers through the misted glass, leaving designs that would long linger.
Their father steered wordlessly into the drive-through, cranking down the driver’s window so the three passengers could study the sign. The sudden rush of fresh air into the vehicle was exhilarating – cool enough to be refreshing, crisp enough to ease the slow strangle of closeted smoke. The menu glowed like a marquee of limitless possibility.
Closer, with fluorescent tubes buzzing, and incandescent bulbs too bright, the sign made the moment feel eerie, like a roadside church proselyting “Jesus Saves.” The brothers began rattling off food selections from one column to the next, as though expurgating sins, desperate for rebirth, for redemption, and this litany was their psalm.
The interior light clicked on, casting a pale wash over the console. By that wan glow, their father’s profile was revealed, half bleached by the luminous sign, half swallowed by shadow. A scarred hand clutched the bills that would serve as their budget. With his other, he explored cup holders and cushions, jamming thick fingers into the tight space between his seat and gearshift, swearing as he scraped his knuckles, then jubilant as he fished up a quarter.
Minutes later they pulled into a parking space, engine idling, the lot empty but for them and insects humming around a vapor lamp. Three bodies huddled close as the top fold was unfurled, loosening the heady, greasy smell only a fast-food chain could manufacture. Inside, an oily wrapper revealed a solitary cheeseburger, more bun than beef.
Had he moisture left in his eyes, he would have wept at the waiting, the lone soda in his hand as his father ate from the wrapper and his brother took a few fries. Each component passed in succession; he managed to choke down a bite of burger, suddenly wishing he had the soda back. They continued that rotation through the too-brief time it took to finish their paltry banquet. This one combo meal represented the extent of their petty cash. When it was done, he sat back, contemplating the three bites of burger he had gotten, the briny taste around his lips, the syrup coating his throat.
His stomach growled. He wondered if he would always be hungry.
Their father pulled onto the highway, accelerating as the brothers buckled in. As the neon sign faded behind them, he eyed the diminishing words with suspicion, a growing sense of betrayal. They had paid the tithe, all they had. He didn’t feel saved.
The interior light switched off, and the dark outside the windows grew darker still.
Bio-Fragment: Phil Donchevich views life as a hero’s journey, where word counts, pages read, and road miles are daily quest lines, and overcoming challenges earns XP for real-life leveling up. Proudly maintains a hoard-level inventory of literature and tabletop games, only some of which are considered high-value items to “definitely get to soon.” Considers "just one more chapter" or "just one more level" to be a binding contract that guarantees little sleep. Follows a personal maxim that “stories only happen to people who can tell them,” ensuring every day is filled with adventure.