Is fact stranger than fiction? Is JusThis fiction and links from my webpage fabrications? Strange world we live in. When I first encountered my first sexual escapade being perpetrated by a Chief of Police I had concluded that it must have been a strangely isolated and unfortunate event. The sex, the cover ups - yadda yadda yadda. Not so. The show goes on, and on and on!
Ethel Rohan, author of ‘Out of Dublin’ on Curt Rude's writing. "Overall, great writing style. Reminds me of Rushdie: internal, emotionally complicated, and dualistic. Delivered with a sensitivity and awareness that is underrated. In one word his work is Awesome!"
Showing posts with label JusThis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JusThis. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Hope you enjoy.
It was a typically dreary Halloween evening, full of warning
of a winter soon to arrive in all its wind-driven glory. Driving fast, perhaps
too fast in the cold blowing rain, Martin felt things could be made right. A
sickening thud and a shattered windshield brought him back from his obsessive
thoughts.
“Christ!” he thought. “A deer? Not a kid—god, not a
kid or a trick-or-treater.”
Life suddenly downshifted from fast forward to slow
motion. The screeching of tires seemed to last forever.
Martin leaped from the car, unable to deny the reality
of what he was seeing. His eyes pulled him toward the carnage and a gruesome
spectacle, the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A large, bloody mass lay in a twisted, morbid
position. Ribs, blown from the chest cavity and pointing toward the cold,
uncaring sky while holding the torso up in a macabre fashion, met his gaze.
What seemed to be a never-ending pool of gore engulfed the scene. Thick globs
of meaty paste were spattered everywhere.
Martin’s shock-numbed mind told him to check for
vitals, but his police training told him that would be foolish—the reaction of
the sort of untrained, stupid civilians who were the butt of cop jokes. No,
this spectacle that had once been a woman, a daughter, or maybe a mother, was
now a bloody puddle of steaming meat and broken bones. Without even realizing
it, he had stepped on a chunk of waxy yellow fat that clung to the sole of his
shoe. This pile—a former living, breathing person—was giving up its warmth to
the cold, indifferent night. The skull had been split in two from the force of
the impact and the eyes pointed in different directions and seemed to be
observing, but not comprehending.
Martin thought about the size of the impending
lawsuit, but then thought of the meat scattered all over the road. Lawsuits,
meat, blood. He even thought of how the blood always reminded him of gutting a
deer. Thoughts were screaming through his adrenalin-fueled mind without any
real direction or order.
He must have been in shock to be thinking so wildly.
Christ, what next? He was brought back to the present by a woman screaming that
she had called 911.
“Do you need anything else?” she called out.
“Yeah,” he thought, “I need to get away.”
It was like that airline commercial he saw while
watching games on Sundays. He needed to get a long god damned way from that
mess!
Martin couldn't believe fate had put his sorry ass
into such a situation. Such things were supposed to happen to other sorry-ass
bastards. He wasn’t a cop just doing his job and looking for clues at the scene
of a 10-54 fatal traffic accident. He’d been the driver.
Jesus Christ, it was different being the driver and
not just a wise-ass cop on the scene. Oh, for Christ’s sake, he had worked
thousands of accidents, but never thought it would happen to him.
He found himself thinking, “Let this be some kind of
dream.”
But it wasn't, and Martin, locked in a staring contest
with the woman’s dying eyes, suddenly realized that he had looked into those
eyes before.
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Headed to Europe.
Be really interesting to meet up with the good folks of Ukraine. These folks know, first hand, what pain and suffering is all about.
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