Monday, January 10, 2011

Some More "Real Writing"

It has been a stupendously lazy day today. A big winter storm hit last night, dumping 6 inches of snow, and forcing the closure of, well, just about everything. I was up at the butt crack of dawn to drive Penny to work (her place always opens) and have since spent the day playing Spin Bingo on Facebook and thinking about how I have to write two days worth of top 10's so that I can get caught up.
No more mucking about, the writing begins now, but in the meantime, in place of a musical interlude, here is an old, old piece of my short fiction. This was kinda long forgotten in my head, but watching Devil last night brought it back. I had scrapped it as crap a long time ago, but Penny loved it (she never lies when it comes to the stuff I write), so i thought it might be worth sharing. Be back soon with a couple of days worth of top 10 highlights.

Crash & Burn

He twisted in the front seat of the stolen SUV and jammed the barrel of the gun into the screaming child's face..."SHUT THE FUCK UP", he roared.
His actions only seemed to prompt the infant to holler even louder, the sound grating on his already raw nerves. He turned his attention back to the highway, with the occasional glance in the rear view at the cops giving chase. The vehicle shuddered violently as he pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, cars whizzed by on either side, horns blaring in protest.
His whole life had been one big fuck up and his first attempt at crime had gone no differently. He'd jacked the idling car in the parking lot of a 7/11, failing to notice the child in the back seat or the cop car at the gas pump, two major gaffes rolled into one.
Anger turned to frustration,to resignation. He removed his foot from the gas and was just about to hit the brakes when a truck to his right cut in front of him and clipped the front fender.  The SUV lurched to the left and, try as he might, he couldn't take it out of the spin. Letting go of the wheel, he threw up his hands and tried to brace himself for impact.
The vehicle hit the dividing wall and seemed to bounce off back into oncoming traffic, miraculously crossing 4 lanes unhindered, before slamming sideways into a light pole. The collision cut the SUV in half, left to right, the back end shuddering to a halt against the grass verge, the front end hitting the same verge and flipping, rolling once, twice and then bursting into flame.
Battered and bloodied, but still conscious, he tried to free himself from the seat belt. Tears welled in his eyes as he slammed the butt of the gun against the lock, hot flames licking at his face. The leather seat was unbearably hot, the fabric bubbling under the extreme heat, each breath he took burned him to the core, choking fumes filling his lungs. His exposed skin blistered and broke, flesh melded with metal as his hand fused to the gun handle.
The seat belt lock clicked loudly and released him from it's grasp. He rolled off the seat and out the back of the severed  auto. The cops were waiting, guns trained on him. He stood on legs made of jello, the flames engulfing his entire body, tried to scream, but his scorched throat released no sound. One of the cops spotted the gun attached to his hand and yelled "WEAPON". Bullets rained on his blazing form and sent him to the tarmac, gone at last.
Two of the officers ran to the back end of the vehicle to check on the little girl. She giggled when she saw them, none the worse for wear save for a trickle of blood that dripped from her nose onto her bib which read, "Daddy's Little Angel."


Post a Comment