M a r c h   2 0 0 6

Guest Writer

part three: the end

guns, ammo, bait and pizza
by Troy Eggleston

[Here are parts one and two.]

ddie was in a daze to say the very least.

"Eddie!" I screamed as I untied him from the chair. "Let's get the fuck outta here!"

He didn't move, nor was there any facial expression suggesting that he had the desire to move. "Eddie, let's go!" I screamed again. I looked down and the midget had a hoof mark indented in the side of his face.

"That old fuck Zan is sure to come back with ..." Just then I noticed a trio of flashlights coming toward us from off in the distance. "Eddie, now!"

I smacked him in the face, which didn't seem to phase him. With the flashlights nearing I decided to pick him up and slump him over my shoulder, not willing to abandon my friend. It was then, while attempting to lift him, that a bit of consciousness arrived.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Eddie, we're in a fucked up situation and I need you to run with me."

"Why? Run from who?"

Faint voices were now decipherable.

"Eddie, we need to run." I grabbed him and began to drag him until finally he discovered that he could move his legs on his own. We ran for what seemed an hour. Eventually we came to an old country road. It was thin, eerie and desolate. Eddie was still confused as to why we were running and I was confused as to if I even wanted to run anymore. To die in Ohio at the hand of some backwood snuff-film hillbillies seemed no worse than any other death.

"What's going on?" Eddie asked again.

"I don't know," I vaguely responded. I did know that when his memory felt like sharing, that he'd be in for years of psychological counseling.

"Where is your car?"

"I don't know Eddie. We lost it."

"How did we lose it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Let's just focus on getting home."

The cold was beginning to cut into our bones. The adrenaline had kept us relatively warm, but now, if we didn’t find warm shelter soon, we might as well have just died back in the barn. We began walking up the side of the road willing to take our chances on a pair of headlights. There were no night sounds. Not even an occasional gust of wind. Eddie's teeth began to chatter and I knew that it would not be long before the elements took over.

We decided to sit, tired of walking, at the side of the road, huddled up together and both in our own way praying that this was not the end. In theory, death had always seemed like not such a bad thing. But now we confronted it face to face. When you are in its grasp there is no time to feel guilty for all the missteps in the past. You are immersed in a resigned type of fear, feeling sorry for the few you might leave behind.

Eddie seemed to fall back into a distant stare, looking directly into the granite moon as I myself began to withdraw. We both eventually fell asleep on the side of the road.

I awoke to a pair of headlights shining directly in our faces. A familiar face emerged.

"Son? Son, is that you?"

I looked up thinking that perhaps this was some ritual being performed at the gates of heaven. I could not respond, for my mouth was dulled by the cold. The man reached down. Eddie was curled up in a ball beside me.

"I went looking for you hours ago, knowing that you were driving in this storm."

I still could not speak.

My father picked me up and it seemed as if I was home.

– the end –

E-mail Troy at tolstilts@earthlink.net, and find his previous efforts in our archives.

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