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Awaiting Death: No More
By Parteepants

His headlights barely cut through the darkness and light rain, which makes the potholes his car bounces over nearly invisible. He thinks about the road department while he motors down the small avenue that their detour has forced him to use. Then he curses the workers who have taken a month to repave a five-mile highway primarily, he believes, because they do more talking and smoking than tamping and tarring.

“Fuck, does anyone care?” he questions.

While squinting to navigate the foreign road, he thinks about his boss’s secretary. The one who is always correcting him in that snooty way as if she was the big cheese in the office, which, he guesses, she is. He knows, and regrets, that secretaries have power by proxy and that most wield it savagely.

“A world without roadwork and mother-humping secretaries that’s all I ask for,” he says feeling the tension ache forming on the back of his neck. He’d rub it, but he’s having trouble controlling the car with two hands. One, he feels, would be fatal.

Instead, he thinks about Mary who is probably home whipping up her rainy day specialty; a big bubbling pot of tomato and tortellini soup. He breathes in deeply trying to imagine its smell. And as his tension starts to fade, he notices the six-foot stump that seems precariously close to the road.

“Odd,” he says. “You’d think they’d cut that down.” But as he approaches it, his headlights reveal the stump’s true identity. Through his wipers’ beats, he sees a teenage boy, who’s smiling in a strange sort of way, and pointing a shotgun in his direction. The boy’s face is so white it’s as if the rain has washed the color right out of him, and perhaps, it took his sanity with it.

“Mary,” he says as the gun’s barrels erupt, his windshield shatters, and something that feels like hot air strikes him in the face. And suddenly, there is no more rain, no more roads, no more secretaries and most importantly, there is no more “He” to think about.

If you have no questions or fears about your abilities, then you will learn nothing from your mistakes and know nothing about your limitations.

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The following comments are for "Awaiting Death: No More"
by Richard Dani

Haven't seen one of these in awhile man, it was like meeting an old friend.
Or something.
Yeah, that's all.

( Posted by: direb0y [Member] On: March 26, 2002 )

Thanks for the feedback you two. I really enjoy the shorter stuff on the internet, as far as reading goes, and as a result, I prefer to write tiny stories as well. Just my personal tastes.

Thanks again. Feedback is what keeps me going.


( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: March 28, 2002 )

strangers in the night
I suppose this is a bit late, and my apologies, but i DO like this story. Quite a bit, in fact. I remember hearing once that the most potent horror stories are always the ones that possess that sparkle of 'real' to them. That was one of the theories as to why The Exorcist did so well (That crazy mother Friedkin!) and I think it works here, too. There is something so absurdly perfect about the kid- we don't know who, we never will- standing in the road with the shotgun. It gives the impression of there being a real world here, where all the separate entities have stories, instead of merely revolving around the central story.
In short: Me Likee. You ought to bottle this stuff.

( Posted by: Beckett Grey [Member] On: March 28, 2002 )

Hello again
Now I have seen an example of your writing. Pretty good!

I guess we could say that one should be careful what they wish for :-)

( Posted by: kat [Member] On: April 14, 2002 )

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