Dabbling in Writing…

I used to write a decent amount of the time.  Was it any good?  No, not really.  At least I never thought that it was.  Some people liked it, but I think my wife is just biased.

At any rate, I figured that I’d throw a couple of shorts that I wrote who knows how long ago on here.  Mostly for shits and giggles.  And maybe even to try to get myself into writing more.  Maybe.  There’s a small tiny infinitesimal speck of something there.  Possibly. 

Brown Eyed Girl
     She stood there and stared at me with those big brown eyes. Humongous round eyes. You could almost see a spark of some kind of intelligence lurking behind them as if she knew what was going to happen. Almost. They rarely figured it out until the very last second and even that was a very rare occasion. Stupidity. Well, I would definitely make it quick. She didn’t need to suffer.
     The ropes that held her were pulled taut. One on each side and tied to her neck. The other ends of the ropes were tied to nearby trees. It wouldn’t do to have her moving around too much. I might miss my mark and she would then suffer horribly. I did not want that to happen. I am not a cruel man.
     She fidgets and slips a little bit. That couldn’t really be helped. The ground was slick with blood because she was not the first one to go today. There is no point in making a mess all over the place when you could just do it all in one area. No, I didn’t think so. Might as well have it all here than scattered everywhere. It makes for easier cleanup as well.
     There is no point in waiting.
     I reached behind me and picked up my rifle. It was a trustworthy weapon. It had never given me any problems whatsoever but that’s normally the case when you take care of your weapon. Proper care leads to proper functioning. They can’t very well clean and oil themselves you know. It always felt perfectly balanced in my hands. It always felt right and the aim was never off. That was a very good thing.
      It’s time to start.
     She was still staring at me when I raised my rifle and aimed for that spot between those huge brown eyes. She never took those eyes off of me. I pulled the trigger. The shot rang in my ears and echoed throughout the valley around me. She collapsed halfway with her head still help up by the ropes tied to her neck. She only gave one small kick so I knew that my aim was true. Good. She didn’t need to suffer.
     I waited a couple of minutes and then untied the ropes around her neck, letting her fall completely to the ground. One huge brown eye stared up at me accusingly. It was almost as if it was staring right at me.
     “Never mind all that. What’s done is done and you were bred for this,” I whispered to the breeze that was starting up.
     Time to get to work.
     There would be plenty of steak and hamburger for months after all was said and done. She wouldn’t be the last kill, but she’d be the last for today.

On the Road Again
     Yellow lines flashed by as if they were in a hurry to get somewhere as he sped down the road. Reflectors embedded in the asphalt winked as his halogen headlamps bathed them in their blue-white light. The tail lights ahead weaved left and right as the vehicle entered and exited curves.
     It was pitch black tonight. Weather forecasters were expecting rain later on and, according to them, it would be heavy at times. Of course they said this about four hours ago on the 11 o’clock news. He’d see just how much later it was going to be. Clouds, however, had already gathered and consumed what little light was available by obscuring the moon and stars. There wasn’t even any oncoming traffic with their low or high beams on. Just his own headlamps and the tail lights of the car ahead of him.
     It must’ve been a custom job. He couldn’t tell exactly what kind of vehicle it was. He had even tied speeding up to try to catch it but it always seemed to speed up with him. All he could make out were the tail lights. They were perfect circles like you would find on a Corvette, but they were set too high on the rear end of the car. They were way too high to be a Corvette. It had to be something that was heavily customized.
     The radio started playing On the Road Again. That had to be the twentieth time that he had heard it tonight. It certainly seemed that way.
     “Damn you, Willie, and your little song, too!” he said in his best evil witch’s voice. He always needed a little comedy on his night time drives. The sad part was that he always had to provide that comedy himself and that could make these drives extremely boring. Oh well.
     A set of headlamps approached in the other lane. At least there was another soul out here tonight and not just him and the custom job ahead of him. They were moving at a pretty good clip, too. As the other car came closer he could barely make out the rack of lights on its roof. When the car passed him he let out a heavy sigh of relief. Public safety and not Police. He looked down and saw his speedometer reading eighty-four. This was a sixty-five zone. He allowed his car to drift slower down to seventy-four before reapplying his foot to the accelerator. The vehicle in front of him slowed down as well.
     “Yeah, you and me both. We don’t need to be pulled over tonight by any police.”
     Here it came. The drops of rain started falling. He let them build up slightly before turning on his windshield wipers. It always worked better that way for some reason. It was only a drizzle so far anyway so it wasn’t too bad. He could still see through the drops splattered on his windshield. It was definitely better to be safe than sorry.
He let his speed drop down further to sixty. It was a good thing, too. Right about the moment he hit sixty was when the flood gates were released and the rain truly started to pour down. It was so thick on his windshield and it was coming down so fast that the highest speed on his wipers could not keep up with it. His speed dropped to forty. The car ahead of him was hard to see but it was apparently slowing down as well.
     Curiosity was digging its claws deep into his brain at this point. He had a very strong desire to know what type of car it was that was ahead of him. He HAD to know what it was. Cars had never really been a big interest to him but he still thought that some of them were pretty cool. In the end, though, they were just a method to get from A to B. Of course, that was all thrown out the window at this point so to speak.
     The Devil Went Down to Georgia started playing on the radio and the rain actually lessened up a bit. “If the devil went down to Georgia, then God must’ve come to Texas to take a piss,” he laughed. It was still coming down pretty heavily but that didn’t stop him from speeding up. Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five. There. Was that a little bit of slip? Sixty. Yes. Hydroplaning. He let off of the gas and felt the tires grip road again. Fifty. He swore that that car in front of him actually looked closer.
     He allowed his nerves to settle just a little bit. Losing control of your car at any speed on any road was not fun in any sense. He would have calmed down even more but curiosity had its best hold on him, now.
     The rain was letting up more, now. It was almost back down to a drizzle so he decided to catch those elusive tail lights ahead of him. Fifty-five to sixty. Things felt okay and it did look like he was catching up. Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five. Handling still felt fine and he almost make out a shape for the rear end. “Yeah, baby, I’m gonna catch ya!” he yelled. Eighty. The rain started falling heavier again, but the rear end of that car was even closer. It looked weird now. Eighty-five, ninety. The handling was getting a little more slippery.
The rear end of the car ahead didn’t resemble a car as much as it did a face. It almost looked feline. Cheshire-like. Ninety-five, one hundred. Horror flashed into his mind as his head lamps shone on the rear end of the car ahead. A cheshire grin flashed savagely pointed teeth at him while cat’s eyes glowed a fierce red. The handling of his car slipped entirely.
     His last thought as he slammed into the guard rail at one hundred and three miles per hour was that maybe he should not have had all of those beers before he had left.

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