I'm sitting here, just thinking, you know.  I'm thinking and i still
can't think of a reason.  I still don't know why I did it, maybe i never
will. I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself, let me start over.
   It was like six or seven months ago, I'd been starting to feel a little
depressed, lost I guess.  So I did what I do when I get into one of those
moods, I went driving.  Now, it may not be much, you know, nothing to brag
about, but my 84 Olds is a good car to go driving in.  Lots of room, and
not too bad on gas.  The car had just had a little work done to her, so i
felt good about going for a long drive.  Anyway, I felt around in my
pockets, made sure I had the essentials, like my keys, smokes, wallet,
that shit.  Everything was there so I jumped in the car, started her up,
and took off.
   After a quick stop for gas and a little food, it was just me and the
road.  No girlfriend fussing around or trying to talk to me, no friend in
the passenger seat trying to think of some inspiring conversation.  Just
me and the pavement.  Sure there were other cars, but what do they matter?
You know how it is, when you're driving, it's just your car, that's your
world, nothing else.  It's the one place where you can be alone with your
thoughts.  There are no phones ringing, no dogs barking, and no assholes
bitching, the only noise is the noise you want, and right then i wanted a
little "My Life...".  All I had was one tape, of "My Life..." that is, 
but it would do.
   I didn't notice when the tape stopped, hell, I wasn't even there.  I
was someplace in the back of my skull, kinda working things out.  That's
why i was driving you know, to kinda work things out.  Anyway, I popped
back into it after like an hour, noticed it was time for a new tape, and
deffinately time to piss.  So i pushed in my copy of Broken, Trent
Resinheads voice came blaring out of the speakers, and I started looking
for the next exit.
   Now, I'm not one of those people who will jump out of car and piss on
the side of the road, so it was my luck that I took some fucked up exit.
By the time I found a gas station Reznor was screaming "Just some flesh
caught in this big broken machine" for the second time through that song,
and my bladder was about to pop.  I walked into the run down Citgo, and
grabbed the key for the bathroom.
  When I brought the key back I saw this display case behind the counter.
It had these beautiful knives in it.  I just stood there and stared for a
while.  I'm what you might call an impulse buyer, if I see something I
like, and I got the cash, I buy it.  I liked that knife in the lower left
corner.  It was just a little push job, meant to be used kinda like you
were punching someone.  It had this dull black finish, with some wicked
little serrations running down about half of both blades.  I had the cash.
The redneck behind the counter gave me this kinda stoned look, I had to
tell the hick three times that i wanted the knife before it penetrated the
haze of pot smoke floating between his ears.  God how I hate rednecks. 
   The car started back up with a kinda dull growl, you know, like that
noise your dad used to make when he'd lock himself in the bathroom.  It
didn't bug me, that's how it always sounded.  My new knife tucked between
the seat cushions, I tore off down the road, back towards the highway.  I
popped Broken out of the radio and replaced it with more NIN, Pretty Hate
Machine.  It was a lot more mellow, but what it lacked in aggression was
made up for in a kinda bitter obsession.  By the time I got to 94 I was
lost again.  Thinking about high school, all the stuff I should have done
and said but was too chicken shit to do or say.  That was old shit though,
I'd been over it a million times.  And that was a million times more than
I should.  Yeah, high school was old news.  I think I kinda wandered away
from there after that, started thinking about weirder shit, darker shit.
   The next time I came around the clock radio said 4:30, which meant I'd
been driving for four and a half hours, so it was like 2:30 in the
morning.  It didn't matter, really, that it was 2:30, I always drove until
I was ready to turn around.  Of course, I was ready to turn around about
an hour later, so I stopped at a gas station, filled up, and pointed
towards home.  It was maybe 50 miles down the road when I noticed some
hazard lights.  I saw them blink once, blink twice, blink a third time,
then I was past the abandoned car.  Then I forgot about it.  Forgot until
like 10 miles down the road when I see this big, and I mean big guy
walking with his thumb out.
   Another thing I don't know is why I stopped.  I mean hell, it was
almost 4:30 in the morning, I was tired.  Oh well, I guess there are just
some instincts you just can't suppress, not even for the sake of sleep.
Anyway, I pulled over, and this guy, like 6'4", 240lbs of muscle walks up
to my window.  Turns out that was his RX-7 that I'd passed a while back.
I vaugely recalled the hazard lights.  The short of it is that this guy
lived like 2 hours away, in my direction, and he was looking to get home.
Well, I figured he wouldn't be any harm, and I'd cheered up a little, so i
decided to give the guy a lift home.
   Things were cool for like the first half-hour or so, I mean the guy was
a little conceited kinda arogant you know, but I could handle that.  Then
he just started talking, just rambling on.  Turns out his name is Chuck,
what a fucking name huh, he was 26 years old, and he was so pissed at his
folks.  They'd just bought him that car, the should have looked it over
better, ohh and how he talked about beating the shit out of his dad
because it broke down.  I was thinking you know, I wasn't even 20 and I
was planning on moving out of my folks house, Chuck still lived with his,
and mine wouldn't buy me a toothbrush, much less a new car.  The guy was
such a fucking prick.
  After a while he started staring out his window, just rambling on,
talking about his good old days of high school football, beating up nerds
and scums.  God how I hated him.  Then it happened, he didn't even see it
coming, I don't think I did either.  But there it was, my cute little
knife sticking out from hi adams apple.  I just kept on driving, I think I
was in shock.  So was he, I think.  After a few minutes he stopped
gurgling and I pushed Pantera into the tapedeck and cranked it.
   I pulled over maybe 30 miles down the road, rolled him out of the car
and into the ditch.  I chucked the knife out the window about 10 miles
later.  When I got home I stopped by the Spot-Not and turned the power
washer to the inside of my car.  It took a couple of days to dry out, but
there are no stains or smells.
   Now it's like six or seven months later and I'm sitting here just
thinking, you know.  I'm thinking and i still can't think of a reason.  I
still don't know why I did it, maybe I never will.


<transcribed by Kristi Dall>

fictional story by Joe Parish

4 responses total.

Chilling-- that's all I have to say.  I can see why your friends give you
scary looks.  It's so realistically presented, that one would wonder how you
could know such detail.  But then few know the minds of people harboring
murderous thoughts that are never carried out, and the media almost already
gives us a play-by-play presentation of murder (and I'm not talking about the
press).

interesting toking.. very intersting... :P

thank ya <no one ever responds to this damn post!> :)

anyone else?

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