Matches to Ashes (standard:horror, 2845 words)
Author: Seth	Added: Apr 13 2009	Views/Reads: 2745/1830	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A suicidal man meets death in every way he wished he hadn't. I ran out of time at the end so it's a little rushed. Sorry about that.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


I looked back at the clock, 9:51.  The day was just a dim remembrance,
and it was already starting to cool off again. 

The barrel in my mouth, the heartbeat, almost fast enough to be a single
drone, the sweat, the tears.  I had expected all this, but not so 
intense. 

I turned the radio back on to Johnny Cash singing a song I've never herd
before. 

Cocked. 

My finger found its way to the trigger. 

I, Elliot Sullivan, am going to kill myself via shotgun in front of my
former business at 9:52, April 10, 2009. 

I pressed down on the trigger. 

The safety was on. 

I cursed loudly -- not loud at all compared to Johnny -- and threw the
shotgun in the passenger seat, tears escaped my eyes.  I was shaking 
too bad to even turn down the volume on the radio.  I needed to relax a 
little bit. 

I took Main Street south of town, where it would eventually merge with
1-20 and take you to Reno.  My plan was just to drive a little to calm 
my nerves, although I don't think you can, given the circumstances. 

The sandstorm was growing worse, I couldn't see how it was going to end
at midnight.  No way, Jose.  You could hear it through the fuzzy 
country station, which was now on commercial break. 

Main Street was unoccupied since everyone was taking shelter from the
storm.  I had the whole road to myself.  My little Mustang went from 
the recommended 35, to 40.  It felt good to whisper along the street, 
at my own rate. 

Slowly, my fingers began to loose their death grip on the steering
wheel, and I fell into my seat a little more easily.  The wires that 
were so high strung when I left the parking lot, were now barley 
holding me together.  I sped up to 45. 

My hands were now steady enough, that I could actually turn down the
volume on the country, now.  But why?  It was good driving music, and I 
was in a driving mood.  I forgot all about my little murderer in the 
passenger seat.  I forgot about losing my business, and my fiance.  I 
forgot about wanting to die.  Only me, and the empty, empty road. 

55. 

I was well past Ely now.  I was in the desert, now.  The wind was
pushing my car around like a kid and his new little Hot Wheels might 
do, but I didn't take much notice.  I was watching the way the sand 
danced in front of my headlights, listening to the music; feeling it. 

The body came out of nowhere. 

I saw it a second before it hit the car.  It was standing in the middle
of the road, dumbly looking at the car, like a deer caught in the 
headlights.  I slammed on the breaks, but it was too late, and I was 
going too fast.  The person hit the hood, and slid to the windshield, 
where it hit with enough force to crack it.  It flew over the car, and 
landed in a ditch to the side of the road. 

"Shit.  Shit!" I screamed, scrambling out of the car, leaving the door
open, with Brad Paisley preaching to the sandstorm. 

Sand flew into my eyes and mouth, and the wind blew my hair askew.  I
was disoriented and fell to the asphalt.  The only thing I could see, 
was. . . nothing.  The sand blocked out what little light the moon 
would have given.  I crawled on my hands and knees over to the ditch, 
where the body was.  For a second, the wind tapered off, and the dust 
settled a little, letting in a bit of moonlight.  It didn't look good 
for the person I hit.  The entire right side of his face was caved in, 
and there was blood everywhere.  His chest was still. 

"This can't be happening!  I KILLED a man.  I. . . This can't happen!". 

Without thinking, I began to heave sand over his body.  It felt like
giving in, though.  Giving in, to the fact that I actually killed a 
man.  It would be hidden well enough, as long as the storm didn't start 
up again, I'd be okay. 

Right before I stepped back into my car, a gust of wind threw me into
the car.  The storm wasn't even close to being over.  I just sat there 
for about thirty minutes, just thinking about what I'd done.  The sand 
tore at my skin. 

I hopped back in my car, and started to drive back to Ely, the fun
sucked out of the drive, the volume on my radio was barley audible.  I 
didn't even feel like blowing my brains out anymore, what if it hurt?  
Or worse. . . what if it doesn't kill me right away?  Yeah, no thanks. 

I was almost back in town, when I saw red and blue lights in my mirrors.


THEY KNOW!!  JUST GET OUT OF HERE!  My mind told me.  But instead, I
waited for the cop to come arrest me like I deserved. 

I could dimly see Jerry standing outside, wincing as sand was pelting
him.  I rolled down the window.  I expecting something close to Tell 
Tale Heart to happen, but no heartbeats came. . . 

"Hey, what're you doing out here, Elliot?  I thought you were going back
to your place."  He was in his cop voice. 

"Just driving around, that's all."  I was nervous again.  He knew. 
Yeah, he did. 

"Well, could ya go a little slower?  You were going ten miles over the
speed limit."  I did my best to act surprised, and put my best 'Gee, I 
had no idea' face.  "Cut the crap, I'm not going to write you a 
ticket,"  Jeremy said, and laughed. "Be more careful, though.  Okay?"  
He was gone again.  I was so relieved, that I started crying.  He 
didn't catch me!  I got away! 

I drove another five miles until I saw a hitch-hiker standing to the
side, thumb up.  The storm must of been ending, because I could 
actually see him before he was right there.  He looked like he really 
needed a ride, and no one deserved to wait out in weather like this. 

I pulled over, and unlocked the doors.  I noticed that the shotgun was
still in the passenger seat -- God!  How did Jerry not see?! I quickly 
tossed it to the back. The guy was wearing a green plaid shirt, and 
some light blue jeans.  I reached out to shake his hand, but he didn't 
seam to notice it.  I took it back. 

"So, where you goin', buddy?"  I asked the guy.  He looked at me, and,
to my horror.  Half of his face was caved in -- the half I didn't see 
-- and there was globs of sand sticking to his blood.  He smiled, which 
revealed broken teeth and a swollen tongue. 

"Hell"  He replied to my question.  The man I killed lunged at me, and
wrapped his cold hands around my neck.  He crushed down on my windpipe, 
and my hands went helplessly to my neck, trying to pry it off.  It was 
like trying to pry two welded pieces of metal apart.  Finally he let go 
with a huff, and slapped me in the face. 

"What the hell?!  I killed you!  I KILLED YOU!"  I screamed at him,
hitting him weakly in the chest. 

"You weren't paying attention.  You could've prevented it.  Your fault. 
All yours"  He replied in his sand-caked voice. 

I screamed and reached in the back for my shotgun.  He didn't realize
what I was doing, until I had it aimed at him.  "Get out of my car."  I 
felt empowered now.  I could take the world if I wanted.  The guy just 
stared at me.  "You have ten seconds."  He didn't move, just stared me 
directly in the eyes with his cold, dead ones.  It was already twenty 
seconds.  I switched off the safety, to give the carcass one more 
chance to book it. 

He just stared at me. 

I screamed something inarticulate and shot off my buckshot gun.  The
sound was deafening, and the kick dislocated my shoulder.  The hitch 
hiker's face imploded and painted itself across the window, which 
remained intact somehow. 

His throat made a gurgling sound, and lunged at me.  "NO!"  I screamed
again, and jumped out the door.  The thing that was a man was trapped, 
trying to find the door, which was hard to do without a brain. . . 

I herd footsteps behind me, and I whirled around, expecting to see
Jerry.  He'd think that I just killed a hitch hiker for no reason at 
all.  He'd never believe me.  He'd think I was crazy.  I'm NOT crazy. 

Behind me was another walking corpse, his skin was rotted in the hot
sun.  You could see the dent in his head where he probably hit a car 
with his head.  Behind him was another five or six walking corpses. 

"What the hell is going on here?"  I screamed at them.  But I knew. 
Yes, yes I did.  They were all the people who were hit by cars, wanting 
to drag me to hell with them.  They wanted to kill me!  One of them was 
basically a skeleton, held together by revenge.  Her hair was oily and 
long, it hung in her face.  She lunged at me, and held me while 
everyone else encircled me.  I was screaming, but I didn't know it. 

The one that was in my car, found it's way out, and shuffled over to the
rest of us.  "It's time, Elliot, time to go."  There was no logical 
sense of him talking, but I herd it.  The wind was starting to taper 
off for good now.  Sand was hitting my wind-burned cheeks, but it 
wasn't as fierce as it was. 

They were gonna kill me.  Gonna pull me apart, that's what they're gonna
do.  They held onto me with a death grip (I suppose that's the only 
kind of grip they had. . .).  I saw headlights in front of me.  I tried 
to pull away, but they held fast.  They were all smiling.  Even the 
woman with no skin.  Her eye sockets were looking at me with hate.  I 
represented all the careless drivers who commit hit and runs without a 
second thought.  I put them all in their graves prematurely. 

The car was about to hit me.  That's the last thing I can remember. 

___ 

Jerry was driving out to the highway again.  Someone called in reporting
some gunshots.  He was worried that Elliot killed himself, but he had 
no idea why.  He seemed weird all night. . .  Who knows. 

He was almost to where the shots were reported when he saw Elliot
standing in the middle of the road, looking dumbly at him.  They met 
eyes right before Jerry hit him.  Elliot cartwheeled into the darkness. 


"Shit. Shit. SHIT!"  He screamed getting out of his cruiser.  Elliot was
dead that was for sure.  Jeremy knew they were just waiting to fire 
him, since he rarely gave out tickets.  Killing someone wasn't going to 
help him out. . . Jerry tugged the body of Elliot out 100 feet from the 
road.  He made a makeshift grave for him. 

"Rest in peace, buddy."  He said, and carefully laid Elliot down into
the grave.  "Rest in peace."  He repeated.  His mind was spinning, but 
he kept it under control. 

About five minutes later, when Jerry was driving back to town, he saw a
hitch hiker holding his thumb out.  He was wearing clothes that looked 
a little like Elliot's.  That sent shivers up his spine.  Oh, what the 
hell, I'll take him to town, thought Jerry.  He pulled over so his 
temporary passenger could climb in. 

"Hey man, where you heading?"  He asked the guy. 

"Hell. . ." 

___ 

Matches to ashes, rust to dust, life goes on, and people forget.  The
day that a police officer and a business owner were both killed in the 
same night as one of the worst dust storms they've had in decades was 
tragic.  But people forgot, too busy running their lives.  Too many 
Reality shows to even THINK about keeping up with all the cruelty in 
this world. 

___ 

Jeremy saw Elliot smile -- a smile by very loose standards, of course;
it was smashed in, and every front tooth was broken -- right before he 
tore him apart.  Jerry's last thought was 'I wonder if this'll count as 
dying in the line of duty. . ." 

The End


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