As he walked away from the dirt grave, Theseus felt no somber or sorrow; just emptiness.  His father, the only person he had ever truly known - truly trusted, was gunned down in a war he little understood... Wondering to himself aloud, “what now?”

The street felt colder, lonelier.  The rain was finally setting in - he hadn’t noticed until now.  Digging the grave was the hardest thing he’d ever done and the night was already giving way to dawn.  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he lamented..

New York.  The big apple, once a thriving underworld utopia, was now rotten to its core.  Too much bloodshed had soured the city - it felt lifeless, and empty.  Theseus mumbled to himself, “Never was my kind of town.” 

Stepping into his fathers car, Theseus knew the trip to Chicago was going to be long; cathartic.  He hoped that maybe out there somewhere, someone felt the same way he did.  “Maybe” he thought, “someone needs a friend as much as I do right now at the end of all things.”

Chicago.  A distant memory from his early childhood.  An opportunity for something new.  He hoped that the war had not found his hometown.  But Theseus left himself with little false securities.  On the backseat he had placed several road maps.  

It didn’t actually matter “where” to Theseus.  He wasn’t looking for a place, but purpose.  

The accelerator, he pushed firmer, and without remorse.  Under a blanket and next to the maps on the backseat was a bottle of whiskey and his fathers .45 - now on his mind.

“Two friends to get me by,” as he choked up a consoling laugh.  “Until the end.”

The car started to pull away from the lights of the city as the sun gave chase.