posted on Feb, 26 2013 @ 02:37 AM
Seeds of Desolation in the Desert
He glanced nervously at the rear view mirror, then sideways at the open bag full of cash in the front seat next to him. “Damn!” he barked through
gritted teeth, pounding the steering wheel with his fist as he pinned the accelerator to the floor. The engine grumbled in objection. Of all the times
to blow a head gasket, why now?
The headlights in the mirror were gradually getting closer as the roaring machines pummeled the desert highway like wild boars in a rampage. He
figured he had about 3 minutes, give or take a few ticks, until the thundering V8 beast in pursuit was upon him. He knew this because he built that
car with his own hands, drove it like it was an extension of himself, until he retired it to the storage shed. How ironic, being chased down by his
old getaway car. He sneered at the limping speedometer and the reek of burning motor oil in his now-crippled replacement.
Preparing for the impending midnight dance, he grabbed the .44 magnum off the dash and checked to see how many rounds were left. For a moment he
thought that maybe this was going to be the end, that it would serve him right for all the money he’d stolen over the years. It wasn’t like he had
been driven to a life of crime, he had chosen it. He preferred it to the other “normal” 9 to 5 livelihoods of modern society, the shallow
graves of the debt slaves.
His parents had always taught him that stealing was wrong, a reprehensible sin of selfishness. But thievery came so naturally to him that he often
wondered if he was adopted, or maybe just a bad seed. He clenched the stock of the revolver tightly, remembering back to the first time his father
caught him stealing. The pile of comic books and candy had cost him dearly, the precedent for many beatings. In the wake of the punishments, as he
whimpered in agony, his mother would gently dab at the lacerations on his back, often saying “Son, the only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a
A gunshot snapped him back to reality, followed by another that shattered the rear window. He began swerving back and forth evasively like a madman
trying to shirk the devil. The headlights and familiar growl of that engine were nearly upon him. Bang! Bang! More shots, this time at the tires. The
revving demon slammed his rear bumper in vengeance; he knew the next shot would not miss. Gripping the wheel with one hand, he abruptly jammed on the
brakes and swung the revolver out the window just as they came along side one another.
Boom! The magnum found its mark as the front tire shredded, spitting hot rubber into the cool night air. His desert stalker careened off the highway,
rolling several times before coming to a fuming halt in the darkness.
He spun the wheel around and cautiously approached. As he crept up to the wreckage, he flipped on the high beams to see the tattered driver crawling
from the twisted mass of metal and glass. He shut off the engine and grabbed the gun. As the dust swirled in the glare of the headlights, he advanced
until he loomed over his wounded opponent, hair matted with blood, crooked legs dragging in the rocky soil. As the middle-aged woman looked up at him,
he slowly raised the barrel and pulled back the hammer.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I needed the money.” Yeah, he was a bad seed. “Here’s one last kiss.”
A single shot rang out in the desolation of the desert night.