Saturday, January 1, 2011

Auld Lang Syne

So I was watching Masters of Horror and the episode entitled Pick Me Up had a really interesting premise. It's about two serial killers, one hitchhiker, one truck driver, who are engaged in this turf battle over victims. It had about three good performances (from Michael Moriarty, Warren Kole and Fairuza Balk) and maybe one believable performance from the bus driver (played by Tom Pickett) at the beginning. The rest was standard horror movie shlock, but Kole aand Moriarty and Fairuza Balk did a serviceable performance by being terrified. The only thing that really bothered me was the ending, which I thought could have been better.

Now, if you haven't seen the series or the episode in particular, be aware that the following is mild spoilers and if you don't want the episode ruined for you, go watch it now.

Go ahead. Scurry along. It's available of Netflix. Go ahead.

Okay, back? Good. Without further adieu, this is Anywhere But Here:

***


He felt the glass crushed under his face, stinging his cheek, but he couldn't move to avail it. He had broken both arms. His legs kicked out like the flippers of a dead fish. He could not open the other eye from where he laid pressed against the ground.

There was a slug in his side and a dull throbbing ache in both shoulders and he was forced to make sense of the night from where he laid on the road. The kid was laying not far from him on the 'top. He hat had flew off somewhere when they were heaved thorough the glass and his sandy blond hair laid naked to the air, flecks of glass shards embedded in his head, catching the gleam of the stars and shimmered like pale balls of cold fire.

He tried to roll over by toeing the ground and swaying his body from side to side but his arms were leaden weights on either side of him and he could get no leverage. Furthermore, every jerk and twitch sent tremors of heart-stopping pain up his back like electric currents, as if his the whole of his body was some conductor of agony, who's pulsated maleficence into the core of him.

He looked at the kid but could look upon his face, for the kid was turned away from him and not moving. He had hope that the kid had not broken his neck, for it would be one final denial too many this night. First his body failed him, and now so would his vengeance. Relief came when he heard the kid utter a groan and begin to lift his head, and then a fear of what that meant, and then relief again as he watch the kid's head fall on the ground unconscious. Good. The kid would snap his neck if he regained his facilities before the paramedics arrive. And he, as defenseless as he was, would have to abide by that. Nature would decree him weaker and therefore his life would be forfeit. Filthy poacher. Would probably start hitching again, killing again, once he got recovered.

The driver let out a sigh into the ground, calm in waiting for the sirens to come. He almost blacked out before he heard it.

Glass crunching on the ground. Of course, the girl. He must have been concussed because he forgot all about her. How could he forget all about her? She was the cause of all this. She was the one that slammed the breaks, made his finger jerk the trigger, made the kid shoot his piece into his side. She was the one that sent them both flying thorough the windows. That little b----. When he got his hands on her....

When he opened his eyes, she was standing over the kid. She had turned him over and the driver realized just how bad the kid had made out. His face was dark and ashen from road burn. The side of his lip had been peeled off into a snear. Glass had cut into his face, slicing off part of his nose and embedding into his cheek and chin. Part of the bone shone thorough the gash above his brow. Blood dripped down the blacken side of his face, little red rivets going all the way into the hole in the side of his face.

She was picking thorough him with a coldness. She eased out his wallet, taking off a tattered swatch of his coat and the whole of his belt. She began off his snakeskin boot, but the foot was jammed in there tight and she soon gave up. As she stood, he began to stir and his eyes began to flutter open as he came to. The kid looked at her and muttered something perplexed. It appeared as if he had regained his senses when she lowered the barrel of the driver's forty-five and blew away what was left of the kid's face.

The bullet entered his cheek and his size exploded like a walnut in a cracker. The kid might had said something like " No " or " You " but the driver didn't quite catch it so he couldn't say for sure. Either way, the kid made no sound as he laid on his back with his brains and his blood slowly pooling out the sides of his head. She turned away from the body and began towards the driver.

He had closed his eyes on her approach but when she turned him over, he let out a whimper and that gave him away. She knelt down and began to rummage thorough his persons, the black metal of the forty-five held loosely in her hand. If only he could reach for it, he'd tuck it in her mouth and pull the trigger.

He found that once on his side he could still not open his right eye. His eye, he had discovered, was pinned close by a sliver of glass that ran parallel to the bridge of his nose. The glass had embedded deep with his eyes and blood had sealed around the wound, allowing him only a bewildered fish-eye stare for which to spy her. She ripped of his adornments, the trophies he had kept from his victims, the various key-chains and buttons and pieces of jewelry he had taken. She must have caught his look, because as she began to undo his belt she said " You forgot one. Predator, I mean. You forgot there's another type of predator out there."

She undid the prong and the buckle and pulled out the leather belt with one long tug and the belt serpentine around his thick waist as she said.

" The ones that use camouflage. Yeah. They're the most efficient. They blend in. Pretend to be something their not and attract other predators. Then, when the time is right..."

She took the belt with one hand and with one ahnd she looped it around her arm. She stood and held the gun to him.

"...Pow..."

The moon filled the sky and he could see the reflection of the stars on the smooth metal finish and for a moment it seemed as if she held the night in the palm of her hands.

" Thanks for the ride. " She said and pulled the trigger.

***


At Dolsville, the rig stopped and she got up to the window.

" Where you going? " said the driver, his beady eyes hungry.

" Anywhere. " Said said, lowering the hoodie and staring up with big, bright blue eyes like rain puddles.

" Anywhere but here. "

The End

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