If you can't arrange for a solar eclipse to liven up your day there is always Seth Baxter and I sure as hell needed him.

His motorbike stirs beneath me, a predatory low seductive growl as he speeds up. In times like these I used to cling to him like a lifeline but today I let the thrill of the speed pass through me. Faster than the wind and as passionate as sin, a whoop of joy escapes my throat without my permission. I find myself revelling in the sight of Seth cocking his head to one side, surprised by my sudden outburst. It makes me forget everything that happened an hour ago. Almost.

My unexpected joy on the motorbike ends swiftly as Seth veers to the right and stops the bike at the side of the highway. He slides off, the asphalt crunching beneath his leather boots as he takes off his helmet. The solitary headlights illuminate his features, flawless and delicate framed by sleek black hair that falls about his shoulders. Those and his heart of gold were probably the only angelic things about him. Otherwise he was the devil incarnate clad in leather.

"Are you gonna tell me what's up, Rhys?" he asks.

I stay quiet not knowing how to answer him.

"It's nothing," I manage to say after a while.

"I never thought you'd be the one to initiate late night joy-rides," he remarks skeptically. He doesn't pursue it further, instead turning off the ignition. The lights go out. But that's alright there's always the moon, that is if you're not afraid of the wolves. When he lights himself a cigarette and looks up at the sky I figure we'll probably be here for a while. A comfortable silence surrounds us. For lack of nothing better to do I take the cigarette packet from his pocket and light myself one.

"You don't smoke though..." he reminds me, as if it was a thing I needed to be reminded about.

"I'm full of surprises." I answer. The words couldn't have been truer I think turning my face to the heavens.

I find stars; pinpoints of celestial beings studded against the deep velvet of the night sky. Ten years ago, when I was kid, just before man landed on the moon, I used to think God housed his angels up there.

But then I grew up and Neil Armstrong took that one small step that was a giant leap for mankind.

The stars, that could light up the darkest of nights were not diamonds, but suns. Brilliant things of fire and light. If anyone, mortal or angel, came near them they'd be incinerated. The death of Icarus repeated as their ashes are cast across the infinite universe.

With age you learn. You stop believing. Santa, the Easter Bunny, sometimes even God himself, entities that seemed oh-so-real in the mind of a child become mere disciplinary fables. Too bad this disbelief extended towards those who love me.

Loved, I remind myself.

"You know, Rhys," he starts, the telltale flicker of cigarette smoke dancing about his lips. "We all die one day."

"Go figure, Aristotle," I retort dryly. "Or would you prefer Socrates?"

He's a terrible philosopher really. Leaves your ears bleeding if you let him uncover the mysteries of the universe or the meaning of life. God forbid if you give him too much to drink. I learnt that one the hard way.

"Hear me out, mate," he implored. "It's the only thing we're certain of in life. All else is hidden. So shouldn't we cherish our lives while we can?"

See what I mean? Absolutely horrendous. Even his eleven year old brother could have said the same thing, in finer language. Yet...he knows me well...

He opens a door for me but I choose to ignore it.

"In that case you should stop smoking," I tell him. "You'll get cancer. Only one of us is dying before the other and that's sure as hell not gonna be you."

"Hypocrite," he hisses in mock venom, his eyes narrowing on the slow-burning cigarette in my hands, then adds jokingly "You know what? I think I know what's wrong. You have diabetes, don't you? I told you to lay off those damned chocolates!"

"It's not diabetes," I protest, with the first genuine smile of the night. "It's my parents. I'm practically dead to them. I'll probably be dead anyway in a few days after I throw myself off a cliff."

"Cheerful," he mutters. "Though I don't seem to fit in the equation here, pal. Whatever happens you've got me and I'm not letting you jump off any cliffs."

With his words I'm transported to the days, before man landed on the moon and everything seemed possible. The days when we defended our pillow forts with valour against the imaginary dragons. When the world called for two boys with plastic swords bonded by intense brotherhood. I trusted him then - I still do. But I wondered briefly if he'll leave me if he finds out.

"Why'd you of all people get kicked out?" he asks and there is a touch of genuine curiosity there. "I mean look at you. Straight A student, Head Boy, Mr. Goody Two shoes. You're every parent's dream child. If anyone is supposed to be kicked outta home it should be me."

There is certain pride in his last words as if he relishes the trouble maker title that has been placed upon him.

"Yeah, I've always wondered why your rebellious-punk-rock-drama-queen-motorbike-driving ass hasn't been disowned yet."

Apparently the toll of the last few hours hasn't detracted from my usual charm.

Seth rolls his eyes.

"Fine then, hot shot, enlighten me. What's under that goody-two-shoes facade of yours?"

I don't want to tell him. I can still hear the overwhelming silence. A quiet bloodless battle that was somehow ten times as grotesque. When my parents found out...God, how things can can change with the realisation of something so finitely small.

Those final words ring in my ears.

"Get out of my sight." So I did.

"You know a bit about the Bible right?" I ask.

"Really, Rhys? My whole family's Christian!"

Great. Like that's going to make things easier.

"You know how God destroyed that city?"

"He destroyed quite a few. Please be a bit more specific."

"Sodom." I whisper. It's as good as a confession.

"Wait? Are you...?"

"Yeah, I'm apparently going to hell."

There is a silence and I wait for it. Those ugly words that are sure to escape his lips as easily as the smoke does. I steal a glance at him expecting him to fly into disgusted rage. Yet...his features are perfectly still and, somehow, that makes it worse.

"I guess I'll leave then..." I say slowly and deliberately.

"And how are you going to do that?" he asks. "Walk?"

He's grinning now. It's a smile that reaches his eyes, screwing them shut, as if he's made the greatest discovery of his life. Flawless features riveted in joy and kissed by starlight; for a moment he's gloriously imperfect.

"If you've forgotten mate, I own the bike," he reminds me.

"You're not gonna tell me I should go to hell or that I am a fa-"

I don't say the word as soon as catch a sight of him. He looks offended.

"I'm on this highway to hell already." he says, then nervously he adds. "Been on it since I saw you..."

"Did you really just get an AC/DC lyric and turn it into something cheesy and romantic."

But I'm smiling.

"You know you love it, babe."

And here I thought he only ever called his motorbike 'babe'.