You know the deal. You gotta be 18 or older, you gotta be mature enough, and you have to be able to stomach minor violence and the concept of rape and homosexuality to read this story. Consider yourself warned. Any and all feedback welcome. Send to the email address in my profile - click my name above.
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Sunset. I come reaming out of the poorly lit parking lot with my radio cranked and my purple fuzzy dice dancing furiously from the rearview mirror. Crushed beer cans litter the passenger seat and the newly carpeted floor. I had lost my cell phone in the abhorred mess a few weeks ago, which I figure should be in another dimension by now. I drunkenly try to light the cigarette dangling carelessly from my bottom lip, and then holler out slurred obscenities as the wind snatches it and carries it away. For a brief moment, I seriously consider reversing the car to chase after it, until I recall owning an entire pack of them. That, and it was far too cold to get out and search for it. I pass by a corner house with a few teenage girls sitting on it, and slow the souped-up Ford down just enough to get a couple of whistles out at them. Then, I peel away and onto the highway. I'm about to attempt to light another cigarette, when I feel something snap from inside the car.
"Ahhh crap, there goes my muffler." I could almost picture the pipe tearing up the road underneath as I drive by. By the time I get outside the city, it's completely dark. I've never been up this way before, because no one has ever driven me. Now, to hell with them all, I finally learned to drive myself. Granted, I got my license a bit late, but at least I'm still young enough to see where I'm going. Speaking of being able to see, where did all the light posts go? As I drive further and further, my headlights seem to become dimmer and dimmer. I also seem to be losing speed. What gives? Shot mufflers only make your car noisy, not lose power. At least that's what happens in all the Minakee commercials. Pretty soon, the lights die and the entire car follows. Shit. What's a guy to do? I fumble around in the complete darkness, trying to open my glove compartment, thinking there might be a flashlight in there. A while later, I realize I've been trying to pry off the speedometer. When I manage to find the glove compartment, it's locked. Frustrated, I exit the car. The moment the driver's side door opens, I go crashing to the undisturbed mound of snow on the ground. I hope someone; somewhere is getting a kick out of this.
Feeling the intense need to return the beer I've been renting, I stagger off into the woods. I quite literally have to hang onto trees to keep from toppling over. I've never felt so ungainly in my life. While relieving myself, a spotted brown owl glares at me from a few yards away with the biggest, most disturbing eyes I've ever seen. It hoots at me and flies away. Great, now the surrounding wildlife is mocking me.
"Get a life, you stupid bird." I mutter to myself as I struggle to get my belt back on, admiring the smoke trail my breath is forming in the air. I turn around to see where I came from so I could get back to the car, but I had turned around so many times trying to find a decent enough tree that I no longer knew which direction I was facing. I was lost. Utterly and completely lost. And if that wasn't bad enough, it then started to snow again. Heavily. There was nothing left to do then but continue walking. What bewildered me was the fact that I couldn't see any of the stars through the thick layer of leaves that never seemed to thin out, even when I stood in the middle of a clearing, yet all this snow found it's way to the top of my head. This has been the perfect buzz kill, I think to myself. I'm just about to kick a nearby tree with all my strength when I smell something burning. I immediately perk up and start following my nose. The scent trail leads me almost a half a mile, where I peek out of a row of bushes to discover a small, unassuming log cabin with a stream of charcoal-gray smoke pouring upwards from the chimney. It looked like something straight out of a Snow White fairytale. Any moment now, a tribe of squealing midgets are going to come marching out that door with striped leg warmers, pointed elf hats and ice picks. I begin walking closer towards the back of the little house, singing under my breath with a large drunken smile, "We make toys for Santa Claus…"
Through a small, foggy window, the top of someone's head moves quickly across my view. I stop singing immediately, smelling some kind of roast chicken or something emanate forth into my sinuses. Drinking has always made me ravenous as a side effect, and that roast chicken smelled damn good. I toyed with the idea of just going up to the front door and giving the residents some sob story about being a kidnapped and starving millionaire who has been roaming around this unforgiving forest for days looking for a kind soul to pay back loads of cash for taking care of me. Ahh, I'm a crummy liar and I know it. But what I wouldn't give for a piece of that chicken.
I must have been thinking about it more than paying attention to where my clumsy ass was going, because the next thing I knew, I had walked right into a row of aluminum trash cans. Just then, I stood perfectly motionless, begging my clouded mind to come up with a really good excuse for why I was trying to sneak up on this house before it's residents come out and blow my head off with a hunting rifle. All it was able to come up with was a soft meow. Sure enough, I hear the front door open. Maybe I'll luck out and they won't come looking by the side…
"Who's out there?" A loud, commanding male voice booms in no particular direction.
"Meow?" I slowly back away from the garbage cans, my eyes glued to where he would emerge if he chose to check things out further.
"Hey!" He points at me, kitchen knife in hand, coming from the opposite direction. Damn those open driveways. "What the hell do you think you're doing??" He comes closer, waving the knife at me a little.
He was a pretty big guy, maybe just over six feet, shoulder-length dark brown hair and a short beard and mustache. All in all, since he was bigger than me, both in muscle and height, had I been sober, my first instinct would be to run. I, however, was far from it and wouldn't get two feet in the messed up state I was in. So, I had to think up something fast.
"Ah…I…uhh…" I was stuck. Speechless. Clueless. So, I did the only thing a man in my pickle would do. I grabbed my chest, made a loud, pained cry and pretended to pass out.
He just proceeds to stand there, completely baffled. Obviously unsure of what to do with me. Hey, as long as I don't end up dead or crippled, what do I care? After a long pause, he drags me inside the cabin by my legs. Halfway through the door, I hear a soft thud and I realize that it must have been my wallet. To my surprise, though, he didn't go to pick it up. Instead, he carries me onto his warm, plush couch, brings a thick quilt over and tucks me in like I was a little kid, then scurries off into the kitchen, which was clearly visible from where I was laying. I dared not open my eyes for more than a second or two.
This place looked really cozy. The hardwood floors were cleverly hidden by dozens of thick, mismatched area rugs, and the area rugs were likewise hidden by a whole bunch of rustic chairs, pillows, desks and the big, soft couch I was cocooned on. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic potatoes filled the large rooms. I see him filling up a plate with food in the kitchen, and my wallet just lying there near the door. I think that it might be worth it to jump up, grab it and take off, but the nano-second I see him start to turn around, I play dead again. I hear him walking towards me and I try not to panic.
"I was just having some dinner, but there's always room for a guest."
I hear ceramic clank against wood and the smell of that delicious food consumes me. No. You keep playing dead, you idiot, or this guy's going to kick your ass so hard you'll be pissing shoe leather for a week.
"So I guess whenever you wake up, there will be food waiting for you. Of course, it will be cold, but if you turn out to be halfway decent, I just might warm it up for you."
