#and Omar is taller than Miles

[incognito-duo]

I also think people associate the two cus of their relationships (Miles and Gwen and Jinx and Ekko. I do think Jinx and Ekko were better done tho and like them a whole lot more than the former) and idk it kinda makes me sad 😭 Like yes that is a aspect of their character but they're more than just their potential romances. I do love the fact that both stories center around young Black boys making change though, it's very intriguing like you said :D !!!

I do think that Ekko and Miles have many similarities because of their similar stories (bringing about social change where others have failed and actually actively doing good) but I don't want people to just be like "they're the same character" Cus like. No? (They're not the exact same character is what I'm trying to say, I feel acting like they are takes away from both. Also, sometimes people act like all characters who are not white are the same to other not white characters which 0-0)

Idk Ekko is obviously more jaded and introverted and is definitely more confident and sure of himself than Miles is (which makes sense he's older.) Besides Miles is definitely more relaxed and lighthearted, and won't come into a situation hostile, but Ekko does.

Miles is very much still optimistic and has to be shown other universes to deter him from trying to save his dad (who everyone else sees as a lost cause.) And Miles STILL is trying to save his dad, he's optimistic and determined and idealistic and he will try and save everyone cus he thinks that's genuinely possible.

Ekko literally had the opposite happen to him where he had to go another universe and see the potential in Powder to be convinced to try and reach back out to Jinx in his universe, who he initially brushed off as a lost cause.

I really think if they met (bringing out my inner "Rise of the Brave Tangled Frozen Dragons") Ekko would be more of the serious and realistic older brother and Miles is the idealistic and relaxed younger brother yk?

I know that people are already closely associating Miles and Ekko with each other because they're white fandom's current Acceptable Black Characters of the week but genuinely I'm so intrigued by stories centered around black characters that are associated with a) technology in general and b) manipulating space and/or time, both of which are for the purposes of making adequate social change where everyone else around them has failed

[pennedbyeve]

I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THESE PICTURES.

Note:

Hi you guys. I’ve been toying with this idea for a while, but I did not want to publish it for no apparent reason. But after talking to Zee I ripped the bandaid off and here we are. Johnny is my baby and as I write this, Amira has become my other baby. The reason why I named this sunflower is simple - sunflowers are my favorite flower, and the two of them both go through tremendous growth. Though initially they will frustrate you, but that’s what makes a story good in my opinion.

Also friends to lovers is my favorite trope so writing this makes your girl happy without further ado, I hope you all like this.

One

Johnny

CHANGE WAS NEVER A GOOD THING. Well at least to him it wasn’t. He had a steady routine and was not trying to deviate from the normalcy of this thing called life.  He was a creature of habit for sure, today was not an expectation to that. He had stopped by the local coffee shop, near his apartment and he was getting ready for work. The same old mundane 9-5, he hated but it put the food on the table, at least that was a good thing, right? 

The bustling Chicago commute was never something he was ever used to, even though he had been here his whole life, sitting in the uber drinking his lukewarm coffee he was now ready for yet another, Monday morning.  The hustle and bustle never stopped once it was time for him to get out as he clutched onto his coffee mug, he headed into the office buildings, and it was going to be another day of work. 

For the last three years he had been working as an accountant to a local business, he could recall his excitement when he told his mom when he first got hired, but now that the flashness and everything had died down, it felt like everything was on a constant cycle, though he was acclimated to it and adjusted, if he had to pivot, he could.  

Now that he was in his mid-twenties now and he was ready to settle down, he knew that marriage was one thing he had always wanted and desired, but his contenders were not his match, the ones his mom would attempt to set him up with just felt like a mismatch puzzle piece, and he never wanted to force anything.  

He had his own expectations on his own personal wants and desires, but he knew that there was someone out there for him, or at least that’s what he prayed for.  Of course, the doubts and his own insecurites would tell him otherwise, but he had a good solid group of friends – that reminded him that he was indeed worthy of love.  

He saw how his parents operated in their marriage and he knew that one day he wanted that for himself. 

After being at work – he was beyond ready to go, the evening commute was quieter than the morning, and the breeze was something he often looked forward to.

He found himself in the elevator ready to his floor, when he stepped in the scent of vanilla engulfed his nose, as he looked up at there she was – someone he had not seen in over a decade, the emotions that he thought he had moved on from were circulating his brain.

Amira Desiree Bulter, his first best friend from when they first met when they were five, from pinky promises to prom, they did everything together they both had went through ups and downs in their lives and then one summer everything changed. 

He decided to stay in Chicago for college, she went to Atlanta, she had promised they would keep in contact with each other, but that was nothing less than the truth.

The elevator felt like it took forever to reach his floor, he slid past her, being that he was much taller than her it was easier to get off the floor.

Then he saw her step off the elevator along with him and his mind started to go over a mile a minute.

He remembered that Omar, his landlord mention the day prior that someone was moving in, but he did not care to even ask who the person was.

When he made it to his apartment he dug into his pocket, he patted around for his key as he retrieved it out his pocket, he watched as she went across the street to her own apartment, now he wondered how things will play out hopefully, they would just see each other every blue moon and not too often.

“Johnny?”

Her voice was just as he remembered, extremely soft and melodic.  He could tell she was hesitant.

  He turned around to look at her – the last time they saw each other she was a few inches shorter, and her face still had some baby fat.

He couldn’t even form the words to speak to her, and he knew that was going to eat him alive all night.

Amira

SEEING JOHNNY BROUGHT BACK ALL THE FEELINGS. She thought she was over the thoughts she had but they were still fresh in her brain even years later. Leaving Chicago, she made a vow to never come back.   

Atlanta was nice, but she knew she that this was not her forever home, when she got into school her sole focus was bettering herself, but in the back of her mind she could not escape the thoughts of Johnny that circulated in her mind. When she saw him in the elevator the thoughts of seeing him again were never in the cards, so she could not believe her eyes when she saw him.

She knew he had questions, but this was not the time for any of that just yet, now that she noticed they were neighbors there was no escaping him, she prayed that they worked opposite hours because if not it would be so awkward.

As she moved the last box into her house, she was ready for the new beginnings, but the fact that she saw Johnny again, made her question everything to begin with, she put her box braids up into her bonnet, she wanted the night to be over, but her mind kept racing about the what ifs and the endless possibilities, as she laid on the bed, she knew that this was her new reality, and she was ready to face the things that life threw in her way.

[heartlandhq]

❝ the sun will rise, and we will try again. ❞

INFORMATION,

full name ⋯ Blair Valentina Mendez-Aliba age ⋯ 19 years old pronouns ⋯ She/Her/Hers origin ⋯ Cali, Valle del Cauca, Colombia / Omaha, Nebraska affiliation ⋯ Bergan Mercy Hospital position ⋯ Scavenger

SURVIVABILITY,

advantages ⋯ able-bodied & avid disadvantages ⋯ belligerent & reprehensible preferred weapon ⋯ metal baseball bat

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ parental abuse ( negligence, emotional, physical ), violence, blood, injury, death, murder

BEFORE DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

it doesn’t rain much at all in cali, valle del cauca, colombia. ON THE DAY SHE IS BORN IT POURS. a summer baby, a gemini, with a head full of dark hair. she is the last of many in a long line of princesses and politicians and psychiatrists.

they name her blair. “it is not colombian,” her abuela says. “it is beautiful,” her mother says. “it is shameful,” her abuela says. “it means ‘battlefield,’” her mother says. “could you please, hija, listen to me for once in your life?” her abuela asks.

they do not go to a lot of family events after blair is born. still, when she grows old enough to waddle her way around the streamers, old enough to tug at her grandmother’s long skirt, she receives a smile back. her abuela is a kind woman. her mamá might be adopted.

the mendez family wanted a quiet life. two catholic traditionalists with hearts of gold, they had only one child, a daughter they named antonella. the mendez family didn’t get their quiet life. their daughter is an olympian by the time she is eighteen. a gold then and two years later again. her tkachev salto is a beauty.

the other side of blair’s family is not much at all. maite aliba raised her son alone with two harsh hands. she was a coach like her papá before her, and she taught her son soccer as soon as he could walk. she dies when tomas is ten from a heart attack.

antonella and tomas meet and hit it off during her second olympic games. he is for soccer, she for gymnastics. they bicker incessantly and hide their smiles poorly. they elope, move to cali, have five children in quick succession. ivano, omar, cassius, jesse, blair. all after olympian idols.

if they had stopped at just hope, A NAMESAKE, that their children would grow up to be national athletes, all would be well. but that is not what they did. they forced them to be well.

antonella does not know temperance well. she knows hard work and payoff. she knows not the power of her own words. she has a thrumming of power about her, is not one for jokes, is not one for failures. she is a despicable but powerful woman.

tomas is a shadow. he is always there, even when you don’t need him, but he doesn’t really do all that much. he lets antonella take the reins, even if she is the most violent horse in the history of the mendez-aliba war.

THEIR HOUSE IS A WAR-RIDDEN COUNTRY. blood stains the floor of their bathroom from where mamá pushed cassie too hard. a few years ago someone replaced all the family photos with sceneries. some nights it is a deafening arena of noise; screams and yells and screams and cries and screams. some nights it looks empty. there is no movement in sight. rooms become tanks. the living room is no man’s land.

sometimes blair thinks about it, but most of the time it is bleached from her memory. she makes herself a selective remembrance for when it suits her.

she tells herself things with so much confidence that eventually she starts to convince herself they are true.

blair tells herself: no, my mamá did not hit me. yes, papá is always nice. no, i do not know where ivano is. yes, i miss my home.

the last one is always the hardest to get out. cali is a place that is easy to miss. it is breathtaking. colombia may be seen as violent and rough to the outside world, but blair has never been given such a proof. every day she used to walk a mile to the shops from her house. the sun would rise around her. how could such a thing be vitriolic?

but just because the sky melts into yellow easier than anywhere else in the world does not mean it is her home. but neither is their house at the end of the block.

by the time she is eighteen, no one lives there anymore. it does not matter. she could buy it, she knows, but cassius has talked about doing the same and she doesn’t want to remember. blair wants the house to make new memories for itself. cassius wants to burn the house down on his own right.

she would ask her other siblings for their input, but she doesn’t have their numbers.

blair is five when ivano is fifteen. she has yet to learn her time’s tables or how to spell la mochila or what it’s like to have the freedom of choice. but she knows three things to be true before anything:

01. mamá is always right.

02. papá is always right.

03. if you close your eyes real tight, and hum real loud, nothing really matters anymore. screams go silent. tears go dry. pain goes away.

she learns a new thing two months after her birthday when ivano packs a bag and leaves in the middle of the night. she is getting a glass of water in the kitchen, just awaken from another tonya harding-themed nightmare where she, of course, plays the part of nancy kerrigan. that is when she sees him. he is taller than her by a long shot, and his eyes water around the dark imprint of a black eye when she spots him. “iva?” she whispers, and he raises a finger to his lips. ivano writes something on a post-it note that was lying on the counter ( meant for groceries ) and gave it to her. after that, he left and she couldn’t read what he wrote, but she knew it was bad so she kept it on the space between her wall and her bed for many years. sometimes she would just stare at it. SHE NEVER TELLS ANYONE WHAT IT SAYS.

this is how she finds the fourth thing:

04. trust is sacred.

blair grows up.

on the morning of her sixth birthday, her mother gives her a box. in it is a black leotard and two hand grips. “your training,” she says, “begins tomorrow.” blair is overjoyed. her siblings are in mourning.

she has never been more fascinated than she is when she sits in front of her family’s television, gymnastics playing on and on. mary lou retton tumbles and tatiana gutsu flies. she wants nothing more than to be just like them. nothing else matters in the world except for being just like them. she doesn’t remember a time she didn’t feel this way.

( she doesn’t know that her parents conditioned her to feel this way. she will never know that her parents conditioned her to feel this way. she doesn’t want to know that her parents conditioned her to feel this way. )

the most vivid memory she has of her childhood is soaked in blood.

she has just gotten home from gymnastics practice. they did mile running today. her thighs ache and she doesn’t think they will ever feel steady again. it’s a comforting feeling in some way, despite this. IT’S CONSTANT.

her mamá is screaming. cassius is crying. as usual, omar and jesse are at soccer practice. or maybe they’re hiding out on the roof. she doesn’t pretend to keep track of them anymore.

she walks into the room, and the air all drains out. her tan hands fidget with her limp ponytail as her mamá’s eyes scan over her. “and you,” she says, in español, “blair valentina. you are all i have left to be proud of.”

it’s a common scene.

blair knows what it’s like to bleed. she is six years old: she tells her papá she doesn’t want to go to practice that day. he tips her into the gravel on their patio. her hands slip until they find purchase beneath her. blair knows what it’s like to bruise. she is seven years old: she doesn’t think she will ever land this flip correctly. aerials are hard, is all. she makes it halfway through each time, only to land with her shoulder smacking against the cold hard mat. again, her coach says, again, again, again, again. blair knows what it’s like to burn. she is eight years old: “mamá, she is better than me,” is an innocent phrase, or so blair had thought. for saying it her mother puts her hand above a candle for a minute. the scar still exists today.

BLAIR KNOWS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BURN.

she is five years old: “i can’t play right now.”

she is six years old: “i don’t want baby toys.”

she is seven years old: “watch me! watch me, watch me, watch me!”

she is eight years old: “i miss my family so much.”

her siblings all turn out a bit bitter, as it reveals over time. ivano hasn’t been seen in years. omar has five erased speeding tickets, his first shot at college was a failure, his second a pass. it took cassius years to give himself a purpose. he was the best out of all of them at his sport, but he held no passion or love for it in his heart－he went into boxing, has learned to smile with blood in his teeth. jesse is a pawn of his parents, a vapid boy with a dissolute mouth. he is a product of his situation.

AND THEN THERE IS BLAIR.

the only one of all of them to make it to the olympics. the only one of all of them to process it so cleanly.

blair turns out bitter, but she succeeds. she is reprehensible in the simplest way. not even soap would help her mouth anymore, and she says what she thinks the moment she thinks it, and a lifetime of rage has been bottled under her tongue ( sometimes she can’t hold it there as well as she likes ).

she hasn’t really lived beside in her competitions. she doesn’t know much of anything. her level of education is just what is legal before she was taken out of her classes to train full-time. she’s never really dated, only had sex a handful of times.

but she knows what she has to do: WIN GOLD. she has two more years until the summer olympics, after that it’s four more, then four again, then four again, then four again.

her first shot at the olympics had been a success, but she been first. silver is beautiful but gold is priceless. beijing had been a failure, and she was going to be ready next time. she knows she shouldn’t be so disappointed. silver at seventeen is fantastic, especially on your first try. she is still disappointed.

she doesn’t know what’s coming after that but it’s never really bothered her. it’s easier when you know what you have to do. she eats vegan, runs five miles a day, trains eight hours a day, travels all over the world.

that’s when blair takes her plane ride to north carolina. SHE DOESN’T COME BACK.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

she is sitting in her hotel room when the news of it spreads. blair hears the words “epidemic” and switches the channel. she’s thinking maybe f.r.i.e.n.d.s is on instead, checks her phone idly. it is then she becomes aware of the mass surge of notifications she has: warnings and psas and rumors.

the outside world is a mystery to her in some ways. she doesn’t listen to the media, keeps her silver spoon in her mouth at all times, and doesn’t keep up with any celebrities.

but there are millions of people on twitter talking about these videos of the dead come alive: it’s really zombies, they say. y’all i can’t die without having fucked harry styles, they say. finally, death’s sweet embrace, they say. ( she doesn’t understand any of it. )

but she’s a curious girl. and curious girl’s fingers often slip, so when they tap the play button on one of the videos, well she just can’t help herself, can she?

she watches it. it looks like a highway, cars parked all around with their headlights on and their horns are blaring. in the middle of everything is a man. he’s unnaturally pale with blood smeared at his mouth. when he stands, it is revealed only half of his head is still intact. he limps towards the person holding the camera. limps. limps. limps. a shot rings out and the video goes dead.

blair tries to catch her breath, scrolls down more. twitter crashes. when she opens it again, it crashes again. she gives up and closes her phone. her back hits the hotel bed with a thump, eyes searching the ceiling.

her mind roams over what she has to do tomorrow. morning run, meet up with coach salzar, practice leaps－ “qué hora es?” she mumbles to no one in particular. she opens her phone. 12:05, it reads. she glances a bit down. the date: december twenty-fifth, 2017. it’s christmas. SHE HADN’T REALIZED.

as the world is ending, blair goes to sleep.

when she wakes up everything is so loud. it’s five am, her daily awakening. nothing should be different because she is in a new place. mornings are always the same.

but the sounds of people running down the corridors are noisy. there are screams and shouts outside her door. she doesn’t know why, and the video from last night doesn’t come to mind. she shuffles across the room quietly. when she reaches her door she doesn’t try to open it, doesn’t dare, doesn’t want to face what’s outside. she hates noisy neighbors.

she checks the peephole instead. at first, all she sees is a grey expanse. then it comes into clearing as the person standing outside backs up. it was their forehead. she thinks the person is just some oddity but then she looks down. it’s a woman, no older than her, wearing a nightgown. she’s white with bright blonde hair. it takes a moment to register that she is covered in blood. all down the front of her nightgown, her legs, her bare feet. she growls as she stares at the peephole. ( THAT THING IS NOT A WOMAN. )

adrenaline rushes into blair, knocking the air out of her. she grapples with her phone, tries call her coach. no answer. cassius next. no answer. her mother. no answer. someone is banging on her door, shouting something frantic.

she does not listen. blair grabs her bags, throws them all onto her bed. she shoves everything she has that is important into her duffel bag. clothes, her laptop, travel size containers of cereal. then she opens her window. good thing her room is on the second floor. outside is mayhem, but she ignores it as she climbs.

being able to jump and flip has suddenly found a way to be handy. HER FEET HIT THE GROUND, and she starts running and does not stop for a very long time.

a month has passed, but she hasn’t realized it yet. her phone is lying in the bottom of a river from when she was passing and got very, very angry. her laptop had the date too, but she threw that when she got tired of the weight. it could very well by march and she wouldn’t be able to tell except by the seasons.

she still doesn’t understand what’s happening, just knows she’s missed way too much training.

she thinks she’s in illinois. the air is stale here, but everything is so far apart that the biters ( that is what she has been calling them in her head; doesn’t think she’s spoken in weeks. last time she saw people, she hid behind a parked car until they were gone. ) aren’t overpowering.

her throat burns, and there’s no more spit left in her body. she’s dehydrated but doesn’t stop walking. training has been a blessing. competition is not the only thing it turned out to be good for. and it is a help, but in her training, she never learned how to shoot a gun or properly load one either. that’s why when she finds a metal baseball bat in the back of some poor sucker’s car, she takes it.

the weight is easy in her hands. if she closes her eyes it feels like a beam ( in this fever dream she wraps her fingers around it, twirls in perfect symmetrical circles. her landing is marvelous, without any flaw. the crowd cheers. )

but especially she is good with it, her arms are strong, and when they swing it comes with a punch. she can send a biter down in one shot if she does it right.

it’s not a skill she ever needed, but it makes blair happy in a way she probably shouldn’t be. killing things is pretty easy, a bit fun too. she tries not to enjoy it at first but it doesn’t work. THE POWER IS FINALLY IN HER HANDS.

she’s finally the one throwing the punch, or swinging the knife, or scoring the competitors.

blair has been trekking herself across the country. she had no destination in mind, just knew that if you sat in one place too long a biter would be there waiting. maybe she’s just too afraid to make something that matters if it’s likely going to be torn down.

she doesn’t trust people that much anyway. never has. she trusted omar, but he left. he’s probably dead now. she trusted cassius, but he’s at washington state university. he’s probably dead now too.

this is when she stumbles upon another person. she doesn’t notice him until it’s too late, she has no time to run in the opposite direction. they’re both raiding the same supermarket. when a biter has her cornered she’s just about to swing when an arrow goes straight through it.

his name is marcus, he tells her. he is very nice, but not very funny. or maybe she’s just being mean, that’s always a possibility because even before the world came to an end she was not regarded by media and by others as a nice person.

THE NICKNAMED HER THE COLOMBIAN GASLIGHTER.

( she is not proud, she promises. )

and she promised herself she wouldn’t be a friend to strangers in these circumstances. but marcus doesn’t let her shut him out. and together they make their way across the prairie state. scavenging is a lot easier when you have a partner, but marcus doesn’t share her brand of diligence.

marcus doesn’t like checking to make sure there’s always an exit, or double checking at all, or patrol. he’s a careless person, and blair doesn’t like careless people but she does like marcus so she tries to not notice and not get angry.

“blair,” he says to her one day, “are you ever going to stop looking for something that isn’t there?” she can’t answer him. if she could she doesn’t have anything to say, she isn’t even sure what he means. she can’t answer as to what she’s looking for. a purpose? a person? a home?

when blair is unsure or anxious she rubs the burn on the inside of her left palm. it’s her mamá’a work. now that the world is truly coming to a close she’s started to realize something: she didn’t deserve what happened to her.

but she doesn’t understand it either. one day, a week in as she has known him, she is getting changed when he comes back in from replacing their water supply. “oh my god,” he says, and she turns around. “don’t be a baby, you’ve seen a naked girl before,” she says, putting on her shirt a leisurely pace. she is not going to let anyone make her feel ashamed.

“BEFORE OR AFTER?” he asks. she has to ask what he means. “before or after the apocalypse, did you get those scars?” she shakes her head, walks away to start getting their things together.

their time together is short-lived. the next supermarket it is marcus who gets cornered. a biter narrowly misses his leg. they don’t talk about, just continue on their way. blair’s new boots that she stripped from some dead girl in peoria are stained with blood.

she offers to do the first patrol. as marcus sleeps, she takes her knife and shoves it into his neck. his eyes fly open, and he looks her into the eyes as she whispers to him, “almost done, baby. it’s okay.” it doesn’t take him long to die.

blair feels immensely relieved afterward. she did it for a reason. so that some biter wouldn’t do it in a few weeks in springfield or in st. louis in kansas city.

it’s easier this way. she drags his body into the river, stabs him in the brain beforehand ( the only way she knows how to kill them ), then she lets the tides consume him.

after that, she packs her bags and continues her journey west.

two weeks pass. blair doesn’t see anyone but the undead. she stops cleaning herself as well as before, starts looking a bit frightening. well, as frightening as a hundred pound colombian girl who is the same height as kevin hart on a good day.

this is when she makes her way into omaha. she wouldn’t have realized if not for the “OMAHA. CITY LIMIT.” sign she passes. it’s been steady going for a few miles now, but blair is dehydrated, has been for a while. she feels like she did two years ago, training for the olympics non-stop.

except for then, there had been a payoff. her silver medal wasn’t the best but it was so, so good. she does not see any pay off in sight. all she sees is buildings.

then a cemetery. she knows it must be a bad place to be at a time like this, but she can’t help herself. she wanders in, looks at the inscriptions but not at the names. her bones are heavy.

after that, she makes her way across the street. there’s a parking lot filled with biters, but she sees an entrance hidden away so she makes her way through, swinging that same bat despite the ache in her arms. she makes the sprint, makes her way through. after that it gets blurry. dehydration catches up with her.

the next thing she knows she is inside the building. she made it in before passing out, they tell her. she was severely dehydrated, they tell her.

blair thinks she might want to leave, might want to continue her journey.

she thinks she might go to the washington state eventually. try to find cassius. but the people are nice and their hands are warm and they didn’t let her die, SO SHE STAYS.

CENSUS,

faceclaim ⋯ Sofia Carson played by ⋯ Olly

[imeugene]

_ _ _ _   _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I wasn’t going to fan out on him. He was a lot smaller than I imagined, slim figure, a real quiet demeanor. Which is funny because his riding is well known to be the opposite; loud and vicious. He had no visible tattoos besides two small but very noticeable ones on the top of his hands. It yelled to me, “I don’t give a fuck” and here he was in front of me. I absolutely was not going to fan out on him. I definitely was a fan though. It’s that quiet demeanor. That I want to be left alone look about him. It’s his weathered face and eye, youth has definitely took a toll on him. I had this image of what he’d be like and somehow he subverted all that but also exceeded it. That phrase, “so punk it hurts” and you look at him and you got that. 

My friend Omar was there, he doesn’t ride so he didn’t know who he was. It was so weird to see Omar oblivious to someone that will truly rest as one the greats in BMX. It was good though. I remind Omar that this guy was in the X-Games at one point and we geek about it. I don’t remember the interaction all too well. Most of it was small talk, the legend wasn’t exactly the friendliest guy. Not mean, just quiet. We were in the living room with the guy who I was staying with, who’s another BMX royalty. Omar knew that though. He did his google research when we were heading over there and I gave him some historical context but for whatever reasons I can’t remember, our middleman was gone and it was just us three. Me trying my best not to say whatever comes into my head. The pro maybe hoping that I don’t make this weird, I don’t know, I don’t know what it’s like to be him but I’m sure that happens and Omar oblivious to it all, just chilling on his phone. Our middleman was gone for too long. I think it was him who initiated the small talk. Our mutual buddy introduced us as riders I think and that we’re with him. Nothing new in this community and I want to say he asked where we were coming from. The next thing I remember was the look on his face when we told him that story.

Omar and I was traveling through the southwest coming from Los Angeles and heading to Florida. It’s a lot of desert and a lot of driving. Thoroughly enjoyed cause Omar and I both enjoy that type of slow burn travel, car driving can be. I don’t remember where cause the desert blends the landscape into one but somewhere in New Mexico or Arizona. It was night. The land was flat and barren. Thinking back on it, it was cool to be around that endless sand and pure darkness due to man’s inability to conquer those lands effectively, that’s what I like to think at least. Omar felt a certain resonance with the desert, it’s most definitely cause he’s Egyptian. Sand is in his heritage. Sand people will love the sand but it was the stars that he remembers. He always speaks of it. 

We were in Death Valley the night before that incident, this was just stupidity. We setup camp. Omar says he’s going to take a nap. I wanted to take a hike to the mountains. It seemed easy enough because the land was so flat and easily navigable. No trees to get lost in. You see the mountain and you head there and you head back. I told him a few hours but he might’ve already passed out from trip exhaustion so I just walked. Little by little the mountain grew bigger. At a certain point I remember being at the step so I thought time to climb. I hate when people say I climbed a mountain cause I imagine ropes and nails being involved but it was just a steep hike up. I’d get to a certain point and I’d realize there was a higher mountain to be climbed so I continued. I’d get there and the same thing would happen. So I continued. At some point I got near the top and it was cold and windy. The peak was full of loose rocks and God knows how far I was away from camp. I looked behind and our camp was a speck. I looked in front and there were more mountains across the valley. I felt that it was possible to walk through that valley to get there too. A lot taller mountains. It kind of annoyed me, the "extreme” side of me that got me into this predicament but what are you gonna do? I just knew there was never going to be an end to this pointless pursuit so I sat down to smoke some weed. Which is really hard when you’re on top of a mountain and it’s windy as hell. I remember finding some small rock overhang type thing and laying down and trying to block the wind and smoke. Too bad the wind was seemingly blowing in every direction but it ended up working. 

I’m a loner stoner. I heard that term somewhere and always felt that applied to me. I hate being around people when I’m doing all that. I don’t smoke anymore by the way, not relevant to the story but just a tid bit to throw in there. It was ideal though. Stoned on top of a mountain, away from everything. In a barren landscape, no distraction. Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me but as I get older I just accept myself for who I am. I’m not going to try to fight it anymore. I’m a proud loner stoner (not anymore). I remember praying up there like some Biblical story. I don’t remember what I prayed for but it was probably something very general. I don’t like to pray for specifics cause I feel like I’m being too needy. I do remember I asked for a sign if God was out there cause I do remember those Biblical stories. I waited probably all of 10 minutes and remember thinking how stupid I was to ask for that. Why the fuck does God have to entertain me? It was stupid. It was getting dark, I started to head back. 

Remember that barren lands can’t get lost thing? Well it was dark and I couldn’t see in front of me. No civilization, no light. There was a bit of moonlight and starlight but starlight don’t do nothing. It was all disorientating. I remember thinking, I have to head in a straight line back to make it. If I can do that, I’ll be ok so that’s what I did. It was anxious cause once I got off the mountain there was no camp light speckle left so for a few hours I walked in the what seemed like absolute darkness in pure anxiety hoping I don’t get bitten by rattlesnake or scorpion. “This is why they call it Death Valley”, I was thinking. I stayed straight to my path and I got back but where was I?

The camp was gone. It looked like the spot but I wasn’t sure. Everything was gone. I checked around it definitely seemed like it was the right place. There wasn’t any other campground for like 10 miles or so and I definitely wasn’t that off. Omar was gone, so was my car, and everything I had. I remember there was a new camp sight being built up. I didn’t want to seem like some desert serial killer by heading to them directly cause I came out of seemingly nowhere so I waited until they were outside their tent to say something. I asked about the whereabouts of my camp and mentioned Omar. It’s always weird to use race as a way to describe people to white people. Amongst minorities, it’s whatever but race is very sensitive topic to white people. Normally I’d call him “tall Muslim dude” but I think I called him “tall Egyptian dude”, it seemed more PC. They told me he packed up the camp and took my car to the nearest station to use the phone and report me missing. I was gone for maybe 5 hours most. I politely thanked them for their time and began to curse Omar’s name repeatedly on top of my lungs for the next few minutes. Eventually I wore myself out and laid on top of the picnic table there. I didn’t want to be bitten by rattlesnakes or scorpions. It was cold, it’s very cold in the desert at night. I remember looking up and seeing the stars as clear as I ever saw them. It was quite a sight but the mixture of the temperature and unease of feeling stranded still lingered in my head. I couldn’t enjoy it fully. Eventually I saw a familiar car roll up and Omar got out, “Bruh I thought you were dead”. He reported me missing. We discussed if we should head back and tell them I was found but I think we both settled it was too far and we didn’t care enough. Apparently a group of Norwegian girls came wanting to party but Omar was too busy trying to find me to entertain them. God really is cruel sometimes. “What were you doing up there, trying to talk to God like Moses?”, Omar sarcastically said. 

At this point it was me and Omar yelling over each other to trying to tell our viewpoints while simultaneously defending our own actions. Omar defending himself and myself still cursing his name. I must have repeated “it was five fucking hours” quite a few times that night. This BMX legend was throughly intrigued, his eyes were wide from taking it all in. That’s when I told him that story. “So we were driving at night in the desert and there was semi in front of us”. Omar started bursting out laughing uncontrollably right then, he knew exactly where this was going. The legend looks over to Omar still laughing maniacally, eyes still wide, not saying anything, actively listening. 

So we were driving at night in the desert and there was semi in front of us. It was late at night. Must have been like 3AM. Omar was dead, not literally obviously, not asleep either, but in quiet sedation. I was on autopilot. It’s the desert and there’s no cars around ever besides this one semi so it wasn’t tough. At this point no one was talking, not cause of what happened earlier but we probably smoked ourselves stupid and only had minimum brain cells keeping us going. I was about 15 feet behind the semi truck. Some people like more distance but I’ve been driving in Los Angeles, there is no concept of distance there. Bumper to bumper. When you’re on autopilot that’s just what happens. “Hey pull back a little”, those were the first words out of Omar’s mouth in a while. “Why?”. “I don’t know just do it”, I remember thinking Omar gone smoked himself paranoid but out of courtesy I relented. Not because it was hard to do but I was too tired to deal with any type of special requests at this point. Even the most idle chatter felt like work. A few moments later the tire on semi burst. 

The trailer slid around and narrowly missed hitting us by a few feet. My autopilot changed from cruising to life saving immediately and I had to dodge the large tire debris and the truck which came to an abrupt stop. If Omar didn’t tell me to preemptively to move back, we would have most definitely been destroyed by the trailer, maybe even dead I was thinking but we escaped it all without any scratches. We left the truck behind. Terrible thing but it didn’t flip and I was on flight mode. I look over to Omar and he was still awake with the same expressionless face he had before. He definitely witnessed all that happen but didn’t seem at all moved by our near death experience. “Yo.. we could’ve died”, trying to vent out some of the stress from what just happened, trying to figure out what happened. “I’m not afraid of dying man”, he told me. It was like that high school edgelord reply and it annoyed the shit out of me. “Dude! We almost could’ve fucking died, did you not see what just happened!?. “I’m not afraid of dying”, he said to me again in the same monotone voice and expressionless face. I’m pretty sure I ranted for a bit and he sat there unmoved. A day later, we were still driving in the desert, its endless after all and suddenly all at once it hit him and he burst out all crazy crazy. “WE COULD’VE FUCKING DIED WHEN THAT SEMI TIRE BURST AND TRAILER SWINGING!”, not his exact words but with that trademark fast pace, loosely jointed sentences and ideas, yelled at decibels way too high. Something I expected him to be immediately after it actually happened but a day later it seemed to late. At that point personally all the happenings subsided a bit but I was thinking all sorts of crazy around the surrounding details of what happened. Did God speak through Omar... I still don’t know. I like to think that is what happened. I gave him so much shit for playing hardman “I’m not afraid to die” shit and he’s over here having some sort of strange delayed mental breakdown over the incident. That we could’ve been two dead kids in some mortuary, thousands of miles away from home if it wasn’t for some strange sixth sense happening. Maybe enough of Omar’s brain cells finally recovered and it was finally processing what happened. 

The legend didn’t have words. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His eyes focused on us. He had this look where he was taking it all in and Omar and I are still yelling over each other confirming what happened as absolute truth, one of the few moments we actually agreed. He believed us definitely but he was just like us, didn’t know how to really put all that into some type of logical understanding I think. Almost in a catatonic shock. I still don’t know what to think. I do believe though and when I saw him next time at the bar, the legend did say hey.