There was a man hanging off her car hood. And while the dust from the fight still settled in the background, he smeared his bloodied hand across Heather’s windshield.
The man gasped, then coughed. “Shit. Am I dead?”
“What? No,” said Heather from the driver’s seat, “Dying feels different, don’t worry. Get off my car”
He didn’t budge a bit. “But… you’re gonna save me, right?”
She sighed. “I just told you, you're not dying. Move.”
And like as if a grand inspiration had just revealed itself to him, he slapped his long fingers over his forehead and chuckled. “Oh! Okay, I get it. You’re dead.”
Heather del Rosario was dying. A year had passed since the unanticipated circumstances of stupid luck, beautiful fantastical creatures and a complicated family history had left her with a devastating curse.
Now, riding her orange Volvo eastwards, she invited hitchhiker after hitchhiker into her car, unaware of how special they really are. With the big resolution hanging over her head at all times, she should be allowed a bit of fun, right?