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Only perfect girls die in ditches. And there were none of those around. (Perfect girls, that is, not ditches; there were plenty of ditches.) Between the open road and nowhere, life was less than cheap; they paid you to get rid of it.

Claudia was no exception. She knew what it meant to be lost. Her inward gaze was privileged in its solitude, but that didnt stop the world from happening, slow though it was.

An eighteen-wheeler approached from the horizon. It stopped. Claudia climbed in and then it began.

My folks done beat me, tried Claudia.

The trucker drove on, staring ahead and chewing on his beard.

Im gonna be a spokes model, tried Claudia.

The trucker drove on, staring ahead and chewing on his beard.

I escaped from the organ farm, tried Claudia.

The trucker stomped on the brake and nearly jack knifed as he screeched to a stop. He locked the doors to the cabin with the flick of a switch. He pulled over to the side of the road and flicked another switch. A hatch opened connecting the cabin through an accordioned coupling to the trucking container.

Before she could scream, he grabbed her by the neck -- his hands were so big they wrapped around her skinny neck twice and dragged her in the back.

The Minister of Sinister was ready with the gurney, leather straps and the scalpel.

Date Written: May 19, 2002
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.42857

Comments:
05/19/2002 anonymous (5):
05/19/2002 anonymous (5):
05/19/2002 anonymous (1):
04/7/2004 qualcomm (5):
04/7/2004 scoop (5): yeah for the first paragraph alone.
04/7/2004 mr.coffee (5): wow..good shit!
06/9/2004 TheBuyer (5): Hell yes. I love the random shorts feature.
06/10/2004 scoop: Yeah, this thing kicks ass.
08/18/2010 Marvin_Bernstein (5): good