Beware...some bad words in this story.


by Rainywhether

Four plus one in the post meridian and the toil for spoils had retired for the day. Beyond the smoke stacks, sol was spewing dusk – and the breezy, wheezy half past October portended a cold evening. Mary whooshed to the old Grand Am, and valiant warmth rescued her. Chez Mary was just three heavy metal ballads away on the lonely of stretch asphalt.

As AC/DC shrieked an amorous algorithm, her headlights illuminated an ominous vision. Mary's Firestones screeched to a ceasefire. An invisible clock ticked upon her breast as seconds goosestepped into a decision. She wearily stepped out of her safety, and compelled the frigid air in. Terror in epidermal configuration slammed her against the fender and bounced her head off the hatchback's hatchway. He jolted her back into the Pontiac, and pushed her aside. Gripping the steering wheel and haunched for a ride, the driver sucked O2 from the universe.

“Shut up!” he barked before a word was spoken. He slammed his fist into Mary's face, spots of daybreak swirled around her head.

“You're gonna have a bad night.” he promised. It had been fulfilled. The motor's disharmonic hum incited his vocalization.

“I've had a hard life,” he spoke eyeing the rear view. His creepy silhouette was dark and anonymous, his hair, a mass of delinquent tangles. The tires spun on the gravel and the grueling unknown accelerated, dragging her along.

“My moms was a drunk and a whore, and my daddy was just a stain on her cooch.” He coughed a gooey cackle. The moon had escaped the sky, now only dread lit the way.

“After she died when I was seven, they sent me to live with my aunt and uncle. Moms had named me Jack after that asshole...Whew, it's hot in here.” The windows slid down and the biting cold woke her up. Mary had been dwelling in the safety of oblivion before the chill slapped her cheeks and launched her back into the forest primeval.

“It's the damn system, they're all against me!”

Each word he spoke strangled a neuron. Back inside her brain, she dreamed she could scream.

“Don't say nothing!”

He caught Mary's silent horror and handed her a fruity thirst quencher to the mandible.

“When I got out, I was robbing little old ladies. Man, did I have a ball! Them old, wrinkled white faces, smeared with rouge. Begging, 'Please, Mister!' Now they was calling me Mister! I laughed 'til I pissed myself!”

Mary contemplated her past misdeeds and those undone. She prayed she believed in God, but her pleas could not lift a Bible in a windstorm. It was over with an ellipsis. Her mother's tears would dilute the mean ink in Mary's diary. What stupid things she wrote! Eventually, her end would freeze in place and dissipate, until she was just a drop in a bloody puddle. A sliced and diced Jane Doe would be her quarter of an hour.

“It won't be long.” He leered into his intentions and bathed in her open wounds. “I got razor blades, rope and no reason.”

Pine trees stood helplessly along the lightless roadway. The vigilant wind roused her from resignation. And then she beheld...

“Watch out!” she cried. His arm struck her head postmarking her out the window and onto the Sealy Posture pavement.

Booming down the black stretch of tar loomed a semi bound for impact. Jack Splat.

The End
Brilliant, rainy!

Bravo :) 
I love your creative writing! Don't stop.