WINCHESTERS AFTER DARK

his back popped as he straightened back up, each one of the links in his spine slotting back into proper position, reminding him for not the first time that he wasn’t as young as he once was.

the neon lights of his city glowed behind him, offering a sense of false salvation in the land of brown and red. right behind those neon lights, the traces of the early morning sun started to peek over the horizon. he had been out here for hours, breaking the nevada clay while the bundle wrapped in canvas offered no company. it was just him and his thoughts and the back breaking work of digging a shallow grave.

his hands had long grown calluses that had hardened to the point that the skin no longer broken when he picked up a shovel.

he couldn’t remember how long he’s been out in this desert. ever since he was a kid. he knew that. back when he was innocent and oblivious to the corruption and what it took to keep his city alive.

sin city. the irony wasn’t lost on him. the city that offered money, or temporary fame, or sex to those who were stupid enough to seek for it.

it was the city where lives were built and it was the desert where those lives ultimately ended.

he sighed, as he threw the shovel towards the ground and pushed the bundle into the small hole. another grave to add to the millions that were already there. they were easy to spot if only one knew where to look.

he took out a flask of whiskey from his inside pocket, raised it to the sky like a salutation before he spilled a sip or two on the bundle.

“good riddance.” he said to no one, finally taking a sip himself, the sealing of a deal. one that was paid in blood as opposed to the cash that he was owed. he prefered the cash but this…

it was just the cost of doing business.