The lonely road was gray covered in little to no snow. The pine trees were old and had fewer strength left to hold on the fallen white powdered ice among the branches. Vast mountains can be seen that stretch out for miles and miles It would feel like an eternity to actually make to the steep hills. It was as gray as every other day on the road. The five of them, riding along in a outdated maroon truck, sat vaguely with a face of boredom and contempt while one person was driving.
They haven't considered driving away. The five of them could stay at home and go about their business, and life, and all other non-violent shenanigans. After the political and economic crisis, however, many of them took their liberties and threw them out like at a garage sale. All the hopes, and dreams, and crushed expectations were mystic and only in the psyche would they wash them all out of their dirty ears with music about misery, rejection, and loss. They remember who they were, what they represented, how they dressed, usually with faded colors of a past generation of pop culture, and they had the faces of trembling features of pale and tan spots of a continuous lack of motivation and elation. Once the five creatures step outside the truck they remember to put on heavy wool coats, and caps since they have gotten used to the old heating and air conditioning. They remember this because they enter a new landscape when it reaches their hazy eyesight while every form of life passes them by faster. It was a simple operation: Leave and seek out an expedition where the five of them could live a fair life and millions and millions and millions of people just like them, although less then what they looked like on the outside and more outgoing, can slowly realize they too have been sleeping under the blanket of a promising dream.
These were the outcasts of the once great American Life. Their names are George, John, Thomas, Abby, and Martha.
"How far have we gone so far?" asked John.
"Too long for a short while it feels." replied Thomas, looking in the rear view mirror.
The last exit they took on the road was suppose to bring them further and further into the next town less than eighty miles, but the thought on Thomas' face shown concern. John started to fidget in his seat in the back.
"We should be their by now."
"This is the Midwest." said Abby opposite from John. "Nothing's out here but nature reclaiming itself."
"Nature is also very naked." added Martha.
"In the snow or overall?" asked John.
"All of it."
"And we never seem to care either way"
"Yep" "Even in the dead of Winter?"
"If I could, I can go along and have nature seduce me then."
"While dying out there?" asked Martha ecstatically.
"It beats driving around going nowhere."
"We are going somewhere." said George in the passenger seat. "We're getting 'out' of here."