|After The Fire Comes Salvation (standard:mystery, 1093 words)|
|Author: JKin||Added: Mar 23 2001||Views/Reads: 2758/1510||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|In this story, we meet a young man who reapes the ultimate revenge on his dead-beat father. Then a mysterious hitchiker claims he is his savior. What happens next will leave you astonished|
Running through the forboding woods, I made up my mind to toss the orange fuel over in some bushes where it wouldnít be found. Suddenly, I reached for the lighter in my coat pocket and rid myself of it. My body smelled of thick, profuse gasoline and it kept getting worse it seemed--so strong and nauseating that I almost passed out right there in the midst of a these fiery woods. But what mattered was that I had done it. Finished. I breathed heavy exasperating gasps, feeling lucky to even make it back to my car. I looked back and peered back into the dark woods and began to feel the night gripping my insides with its hot, sharp darkness. Everything--the house, the surrounding trees--lit the sky and kept it ablaze, and in the beginning of my long journey back to Kansas, I passed an enormous sign reading "Gasoline, itís what keeps you going." At twenty-three, this had been the most dangerous, scary, yet significant night of my life. But I could relax now I hoped and forget about it. People might think Iím a criminal, but I have reason for my actions. After all, I possess clear impeccable standards of justice and not every one in this world is this lucky or brave, I believed. Always stand up for your beliefs my brother once told me because the world needs more honesty and courage. Tonight I truly lived up to this belief like never before. I felt my muscles tense in my arms and I smiled to myself. I had always been such a quiet, soft-spoken person, like my mother, who taught me a lot about life, working hard and the importance of forgiveness. I turned on the radio, and while trying to listen to some lonely talk-radio host, I noticed a person hunkered over along side the road wearing a thick wool coat. Getting closer to wear he stood, he glanced up at me with strange sad eyes, the same melancholy eyes my brother had when he told me that the man we called our father was not really our father. My real father, my brother said, lived in another part of the states. Even my mom hadnít told me about this, or where he lived... Apparently, he wasnít a nice man at all and I grew to hate him even though I had never laid my eyes upon him. But after years of hunting and searching, I found out that he lived here among the mountains and foliage known as Fleen mountain. And hereís what I did: I burned him down inside his cabin tonight. I lit the match, poured some gas and that was all it took. I didnít even go inside and see him, just burned the bastard down. Iím not crazy, just mad at him and all the damn absentee fathers of the world. I made a difference to the world. After all this malevolence, I decided I might as well help this desperate person out alone side the road. Maybe I could pass the car onto him and catch a bus back to Kansas. If anything ever went down, this man would take the fall. Just like clockwork, I thought. "Are you okay" I asked, after bearing my door open and walking up to him slowly. He turned and looked up at me. "No one would stop at all," he uttered first. He paused for a pensive second. "The worldís too scared nowadays. . . with all these damn maniacs, murderess and arsonists, itís a wonder you even stopped" In this moment, I didnít quite grasp the manís quirky, almost sarcastic tone. . The word arson made me shiver a bit as I stood there quietly, hearing my engine hum into the cold night from behind me. I said nothing. He seemed too old to have any wit or humor left inside him. Then, he extended his hand out to shake my hand. It looked rotten, tough, and scaly--I didnít want to touch him at all. "Thanks for stopping," he said smiling, and he put his hand down, looking very ashamed, very lonely and very nervous. "Well, sir," I said, using a colloquial tone I rarely employed, "I sure hope I can help you tonight--you look mighty worn down." Truth was though, I wanted to hurry things up a bit, and frankly, I now wanted to leave the more I stood near him. Forget about my plan to frame him, I thought. He did look so unusual, yet familiar in a way. I quickly asked, "Whatís the--the--" "Problem," he answered sharply, as if he anticipated this question right now at this exact moment. I waiting anxiously for him to answer or continue. I waited for him to utter something, some stupid reason, like his car broke down, or he ran out of gas. But instead, he started Click here to read the rest of this story (29 more lines)
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