Coming home

On Ferm Avenue, a car slowly edged forward with the radio playing, the sun hiding behind the thick moody louds.

Radio: "WELCOME LISTENERS TO MDRN!" It is a lovely new depressing day here where we keep the news modern! Today we have a doozy; two police officers and one student were viciously attacked last night on "RELE DRIVE." Yes, yes, the sleepy shopping district had a rude awakening. Sources are still spotty on the condition of the three, but could we have a mad man on the loose? Who knows? I say its the people of the Dykan being allowed to come into our lovely...

*Static.*

The radio fell into silence, and an annoyed growl came from the driver. To his right, people were coming into sight.

The bustle of families getting ready disrupted the chilly deposition of the dreary weather from the previous night; the rain, no longer pouring, now graced all below in a grey depression. Wandering bodies shuffled to the lifeless husks of steel that sat upon rubber on the immaculate driveways. Cars of all shapes and sizes beeped to life as the fumbling of key fobs clicked up and down the row of houses, signalling the beginning of the city's life and the blood of its people moving.

As the jet-black slab of steel and aluminium sheeting slowly rolled forward, causing the warped reflections of the residents of the Mykan housing site to blur on its multitude of curves. Cars that were lined up on the left side veered off down the side streets to avoid the morning rush.

Inside the luxury vehicle, a pitch-black glass divider separated the driver and the lone passenger sitting in the back. Deep in the frame under the glass, a small motor whirred quietly, and the glass slid down.

A polite voice called from around the glass, partially out of sight, only the slick black hair in view, greying at the edges. In the rear, a man sat alone, his silk-red jacket folded on his lap, looking at the people going about their daily lives, lost in thought. He folded his legs, and someone began to speak to him from the driver's seat.

Ingle: I just wanted to give you an update, sir; we will be arriving at the estate in approximately fifteen minutes. 'Coughing.' For the young lady's sake, the mark upon your neck might be difficult to explain, would it not? 'Polite.' I have made arrangements to have a change of clothes ready for you.

The man sitting in the back of the car listened to the words of the invisible chauffeur. Captivated by the people outside, he spoke in a calm, philosophical tone.

Yammkora: I take it that the radio wasn't to your liking. Tell me, Ingle. (Looking at the glass divider.) Do you believe these people are content with their lives? 'Questioning.' Are you content with yours?

A silence hung in the air before the driver spoke.

Ingle: The radio isn't the issue, just the drivel on it... 'Broken chuckle.'

Two firm hands interlocked their fingers, and he was still waiting for the answer to his question from the back of the car.

Ingle: Is this about the young lady and what happened last night? 'Direct.'

The silence hung in the air, and only the hum of motors in front and behind broke the atmosphere until an answer came.

Ingle: Very well... your answer to your question. 'Sighing.' I believe that people carve out their worth in life by setting their own goals and striving for the end before they meet their actual end. I believe that while they enjoy the small pleasures in life, they also experience discontent, as everyone should. 'Happy.' We are only human after all. (Turning the wheel.) Life is the rolling of a coin; just be happy that it rolls and worry at the end on what side it lands.

The chauffer's face broke into an unseen smile upon hearing the upcoming words, and the moving of hands caught the corners of the rear view mirror, the car jerked as it moved into the right lane.

Yammakora: Veonna has some part in my thoughts, but you didn't fully answer my question. 'Serious.' Are you content with this? (Waving his hand.) Your answer was all "We" and "They", but no "I".

The smile naturally faded into neutrality as the large vehicle came to a stop. The brakes screeched, and the red traffic light above clicked down from thirty.

Ingle: I did, and I didn't. (Tapping the steering wheel.) My job is to serve you and Lady Veonna. The exchange of money for my services mutes my feelings, forcing me to view you both with bias. But... 'Pausing.' I cannot say I haven't grown attached to you both, and you two are my content and happiness, and the money is also nice. We all must find something to keep us going, or we all end at the dead end, wouldn't you say, sir?

A gruff laughter erupted upon hearing the finality of those words. 

Yammakora: Your answers always amuse me, Ingle, ever since I was a child. Ever since... 'Brooding.'

The man sitting alone was washed with sadness. The red light was no longer stopping the car, so it moved forward, dragging him back to his previous thoughts.

Ingle: 'Comforting.' I miss her also, sir... Let us both find our little bits of happiness. I believe Veonna will be pleased to see you—that is, as soon as you clean up.

Smears of pink lipstick sat upon the smooth, sun-tanned skin.

Yammakora: Please forgive me, Veronnica... 'Sad.'

At the Yammakora estate, a little girl was waking up from her slumber.