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Scene: A nearly empty diner; grime on every table, paint peeling on the countertops. The view from the windows would’ve been beautiful if the landscape wasn’t devoid of trees. The road stretched endlessly, curvelessly, to the horizon in both directions, barren of all life. Only one car was parked in front.
A single waitress, heavyset with salt-and-pepper hair drinks coffee behind the cash register, eyeing the only patron with suspicion and distaste. He was interrupting her morning-long lunchbreak, which would soon be followed by a full afternoon nap. She grunted and stood from her stool to arrange the pies under the glass—not even she knew how long they had been there. There were two TVs mounted on the wall, though only one was turned on to the local news.
The man was hunched over his own mug of coffee—barely a sip had been taken from it. He had a red paper placement in front of him, imperfect with the splatter of spilt coffee from when the waitress carelessly poured. His index finger played with these damp spots, shredding the paper robotically. He lifted his head to the window, eyes red and swollen. His face and hands were dirty, smudges heaviest around his cheeks. The man’s hair, if it were any longer, would have been disheveled and matted. The stranger clothes were black, but that couldn’t hide the rips and dirt.
At the waitress’ grunt, he mechanically took a sip of the coffee and shut the menu that had been pushed to the other side of the table. The waitress had watched—he hadn’t looked at it at all, just ordered the coffee with a hoarse voice and commenced his staring. She got a lot of weirdoes ‘round this parts. Since the new interstate opened, the boisterous truck drivers didn’t come this way too often. Sometimes they had hungry families on long roadtrips pass through, but most of the time it was solitary drivers who avoided bringing up their origins or destinations. This man wasn’t the first.
“You ready to order, hun?” She called, and the man startled as if he forgot she was there. She felt a twinge of tender feeling for the too-skinny man who looked as if he was being haunted…or hunted. She’d rather not the latter.
He gave a loud, crackling cough. She made a mental note to wash her hands and stand far back from whatever illness he was carrying.
“I—I want the turkey club,” He asked in a timid voice.
“Chips and a pickle?” She responded promptly.
“Yeah…Please,” He added as an afterthought.
She went back to the kitchen and he was left alone in the dining area. The stranger coughed again, this time it turned into a full, body shaking spasm. He wheezed and choked and sobs escaped him. He dropped his head to the table, arms coming to wrap around it to block out all the light and hide his misery.
He was so broken.
He was so alone with the racing thoughts that were an infestation in my mind’s imagination
Scene: An empty road, a similar flat landscape frozen still though snowless. Nighttime, in a forest, but there was no peace, no silence.
Shattered glass on the pavement reflected the flames that roared above the twisted metal, permeating the air with the smell of burning rubber and spilled gasoline.
A single voice screaming in pain, terrified and desperate. The person danced tentatively closer to the flames and then ran back as small explosions cracked. Panic setting in, the voice ran in circles until the approach red and blues brought sense to the situation.
The figure swept off into the shadows of the trees, and the car continued to burn. I hope they choke on smoke
Scene: a Walmart parking lot on the outskirts of a small town. There are a few cars here despite the late hour; this was a popular spot for those with only wheels—no homes. Windows cracked, sleeping figures strapped into seats with blankets tucked in. The police didn’t bother them, nothing they’d be gone once the daytime came.
One car bounced and rocked, from the crappy suspension and activities of its inhabitants. The windows steamed and occasionally body parts could be seen streaking the condensation on the glass. Their neighbors didn’t care or judge, they would do the same if they were lucky enough to have someone to share a tryst in the backseat. While cramped and far from romantic, the exhilaration and pleasure would at least help them forget their situation.
The two lovers collapsed sweaty and panting in a tangle of limbs. Smiles shared between them, they kissed and fumbled for blankets. They’d sleep in the heat generated from their bodies until the temperature dipped low enough that they were forced to dress in their sweatpants and hoodies.
The car was shit but what they had in the trunk could buy whatever they wanted. They were in love and on the run, and this tumble was just another attempt to make the voices stop.
Scene: the same diner, the single customer kept his head in his arms, and the waitress felt trepidation as she approached him with his meal. He was so thin and dirty—what if he had just up and died on the table?
“Sir?” she asked loudly and he jumped about a foot in the air.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “I’ve just walked really far.”
“From whereabouts?” the waitress asked, placing the plate in front of him. He attacked the sandwich as if he hadn’t seen food in days, and maybe he hadn’t. He was dark—dark from the dirt and tanned from the walk. His eyes read hollow, that something had been stolen from him. A jagged cut across his forehead looked close to being infected.
“The city,” he mumbled around a mouth full of turkey, and she grimaced. The waitress hated to sight of partially chewed food, and turned to the TV. Once again the news was covering the spree of bank robberies that’d been happening for months now across three states. They knew it was the same robbers—they wore the same outfits and masks every time, and left messages for the police who could never catch them.
The taunting air of the criminals wouldn’t last forever; the waitress read enough mystery novels to know at some point someone was going to mess up. Their faces would be caught on camera, fingerprints matched, or they wouldn’t run fast enough. It seemed now that was happening—two suspects’ pictures filled the screen. The photograph on the right was unmistakable and too familiar. Viewers were given a hotline to give any tips on capturing these robbers, and she knew there was no way she would make it to the phone in time.
As if she knew it was coming, the heavy blow of a wrench from the customer’s knapsack sent her crashing to the floor. He stood, shaking as he stared at her unconscious form, hoping he didn’t hurt her more than was necessary—he couldn’t live with himself with an innocent’s blood on his hands.
He didn’t have much time—the cops were still looking for him, knowing that he survived the crash. He had no idea when the waitress would wake back up, but by then he’d be long gone; with her car and some extra food.
The solitary robber was an expert; within the hour, the cash register was open, phone lines cut, car keys found in her purse, and bags full of food were placed carefully in her backseat. He munched on the last bites of the sandwich as the engine roared to life. He needed to get far enough away to switch cars—this would soon be reported as stolen, though he was going to get a neat headstart.
He backed out of the parking spot, giving one last sorrowful, apologetic look at the rusty diner; he didn’t want to hurt the people that didn’t have money, but these were desperate times for him. The small car ran smoothly for how many miles it had, and he prayed they got as far as the next city.
The road was long ahead of him, but at least he didn’t have to walk. Either way, it was just Tyler and his thoughts and right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.
Scene: an average bank in an average town. The décor had not been changed since the mid-eighties since it had first opened; linoleum and wood—the modern computers seemed out of place in this blast from the past. The bank was not fully staffed yet, since it was just the beginning of the day; one teller at the counter, a VP in their office, and no security in sight.
Three customers were already waiting in line; an old coupe depositing their pensions, and a middle-aged woman in sweatpants and red eyes with her engagement and wedding rings in a box. The early morning cadence dulled their senses so much that no one noticed the strange pair walk into the bank holding large gym bags.
One was dressed black with a white ski mask, while the other wore all white and a red mask. They didn’t push, didn’t yell, didn’t demand—just walked to the counter and told the teller to stay calm and open the vault. They were non-threatening, but the semi-automatic rifles they hefted from the bags did the convincing on their behalf. Everyone but the teller dropped down, whimpering. Red mask pointed the gun at the people on the floor—silent this whole time. Red mask didn’t say a word throughout the whole robbery- just watched every movement with eyes painted to match his disguise.
“I-I c-can’t open the v-vault. I’m s-sorry,” she shook and cried, and White mask didn’t seem surprised.
He spoke in a deep tone, that seemed to be fake, as if it were fed through a machine that scrambled his true voice, “Where is your manager.”
Red mask returned in seconds with the terrified VP, marching her with the barrel of the gun in her back. White mask directed him to open the vault, and dump as much money as could fit within the bag, meanwhile looking at their hostages.
“Why are you here today?” White mask asked each one in turn. Once the ordeal was over, for weeks and years afterward the thought about how he didn’t take their wallets or valuables. White mask just shook his head and walked back to the vault where the manager was nearly done filling the two bags.
He took a little bundle out of his pocket, and tossed red confetti around the open fault. He laughed, chillingly distorted through the machine.
“Sorry for all this,” White mask apologized, and each robber grabbed a bag stuffed with cash. They backed out of the bank, still pointing the guns carefully at the hostages till they were through the doors. They leapt into the black car that had been idling this whole time, and took off within seconds.
Several minutes passed, the people in the bank still shocked at the nightmare, overwhelmed that guns had been pointed at them, and a crime was committed in front of their eyes. Relief shook their bodies as the adrenaline continued to course through their veins. The teller came to her wits first and finally, trembling, called the police.
The confetti blew and scattered further, the names ‘Mr. & Mr. Misty Eye’ stamped on each piece, therefore, therefore I’m
Scene: the same black car only a few minutes later—not speeding, to avoid suspicion. The robbers kept their masks on in case of traffic cameras, until they reached the outskirts of town. When the houses dwindled and the road turned into a double lane highway, White mask removed his disguise.
“I hate when you drive with that on,” Red mask said as he pulled his off as well. He apparently hadn’t received the memo about keeping a low profile, having an appearance that went unnoticed and unremarkable. Josh mussed his bright yellow hair, tangled and dampened from being trapped under the mask.
Tyler said nothing, both hands on the wheel as his eyes kept darting to check the mirrors. He was undoubtedly waiting for the flash of blue and red lights that signaled the start of a high-speed pursuit. It wouldn’t have been the first time—on their second robbery, before they knew the tricks of avoiding detection, they came very close to being captured. Only several quick turns, and the fastest parallel parking job kept them from being thrown immediately into jail.
Josh fiddled with the radio, mostly finding static or Christian radio where the preachers raved about the end of days—he chose silence in the end. Hours passed and the highway turned into county roads. The tires crunched over gravel as Tyler pulled them over onto the shoulder. There were no houses in sight, just empty fields that were harvested weeks ago before the snow and permafrost hardened the ground.
Both hopped out of the car, and Tyler unlocked the trunk revealing camping supplies; backpacks, sleeping bags, and a tent. It was packed the brim, and they sifted through the luggage to place the duffel bags at the bottom. Money was stashed in nearly every bag, but to the naked eye they were just two men on a roadtrip. Tyler grabbed a couple stacks of cash and stuffed them into their smaller backpacks, along with some food.
Josh grasped Tyler’s face, holding so they could look into each other’s eyes. “We did it,” he said with a breath of relief and met him in a passionate kiss. All the energy from the thrill of the theft was boiling over and Josh pressed Tyler over the opened trunk.
Breaking apart for air, Tyler said grimly, “We’re not free yet. We’re not free ‘til we disappear.”
“Yeah, but this is it. That was the last one,” Josh reminded, but Tyler’s worry creasing his face could not be erased. He just had to be strong and smart enough—all he needed, all he wanted—can you save my
Scene: the car is now in the woods, the only light from the twin headbeams illuminating the road in front of them. The maps Josh looked at said there were still miles away from a diner rest stop where they could sleep. Tyler drove on, the tension from the robbery would be enough to keep him awake and keen for the rest of the night.
There was nothing as thrilling and petrifying as the sudden flash of police lights behind them. They hadn’t seen the approaching car around a bend in the road, and there was a split-second decision of run or ‘fake it and pray’. The hesitation, and then Tyler was pulling to the side once more. Both held their breaths, hoping that the cop would continue past them in pursuit of something else, but to no avail. The cop kept the lights on as he pulled behind them.
He was ages in getting out, likely running their plates—that should be no issue. The car was registered to Tyler’s name, not stolen. He cursed to himself, realizing this would be a record of him in the area—what if the FBI connected the dots? Josh reached and squeezed his hand.
“Breathe, Tyler. Breathe. Remember our story,” he tried to sooth, and then popped a stick of gum in his mouth.
“Is there a problem, Officer?” Tyler asked coolly as the state trooper approached the window.
“One of your taillights is out,” the cop said, directing a flashlight at both of the inhabitants, and then the backseat. It was a bullshit excuse—they checked the taillights for that reason, making sure there was no reason for them to be pulled over. The state troopers were looking for them, there must be an APB on their car or something.
“Where you two coming from?”
Tyler named a city, a different one from the robbery. He kept his voice steady, explaining how they had a few days’ vacation and were headed to a state park to go camping.
“Seems pretty cold to go camping,” the cop looked still suspicious.
“We camp in all weather, and this time of year it’s less crowded. Easier to get a campsite for a cheaper price,” Tyler told this story so often it didn’t even feel like lying anymore.
“Why are you driving ‘round so late? You’re still pretty far.”
“Yeah we were just saying that we needed to find a motel for the night. Is there anything up the road for us to stay at?” Tyler was so calm, Josh was silent.
“I’d be glad to help you. First, I’m just going to need you both to step out of the car…we’re doing a search in the area for…contraband. I hope you understand…just procedure.”
“Under what circumstances are we being searched?” Tyler couldn’t hold back his tongue, and the trooper looked suspicious again.
“I think I smell some marijuana from your car,” he touched the gun on his belt, and Tyler knew they were screwed.
“I promise you, there’s no marijuana here. I’ll show you,” Tyler moved slowly, stepping out. The cop inspected the backseat, opening their bags and seeing the cash, but not a word was said—Tyler didn’t speak either. The trunk was opened and he looked at the supplies in the back. Tyler didn’t understand—he was only sifting around, not opening.
He wasn’t searching, he was stalling. Tyler gave Josh a look and the yellow haired man moved quickly from where the cop had directed them to stand. Pulling a mini nightstick from his pocket, Josh hit the trooper on the back of the head. He fell hard to the ground, unconscious. Tyler was already running back to the police car. He yanked out the dashcam all while the radio crackled “425-Charlie, what is your status. Back up 5 minutes away.”
“Go-go-go!” Tyler screamed at Josh, and they leapt back into the car, “They’re coming, they’re coming. We gotta ditch the car. Shit—how the hell are we getting out of this we gotta go into the woods. Is there a road we can drive down?” He babbled, speeding as fast as the car could go, knowing they’d only have a few minutes headstart before the whole police force was racing behind them just as fast.
They were cornered, Josh scrambled to find an alternate route, a lonely road to go down and then disappear into the woods. But even then, they’d have the dogs after them. They didn’t have time. This was it. They were cornered.
Their hearts raced like nothing ever had before—they were either going to jail or dying together and it was the worst feeling. Doom made Tyler’s vision cloud, the cogs in his mind failing to connect. Control slipped out of his fingers, and that’s when everything went from hopeless to lost.
There was no way he could’ve seen the black ice, and at the speed he was going, it only meant crunching metal, and breaking glass. The car rolled several times, and the two passengers were left to their fate. Skidding across the pavement, they were only aware of the pain and blackness as death surely approached.
It was only seconds but unknowing and confusion lasted a millennia as they were tossed and their bodies broke. In the darkness, a flame flickered and grew as the car came to a rest upside down. The metal was twisted and the passengers were trapped. Tyler came to and tried to make sense of his world the wrong-side up. It was dark and he saw a body on the ground—the ceiling—below him—but then he went back to darkness. He awoke again and there was light now. Brilliant dancing light that burned and made him cough as smoke filled his veins.
Instinct made him act, tearing his body from the seat and landing on broken glass but then scrambling through an open window.
They had crashed. The car was on fire. He ran without thinking until a single terrible thought came through his frenzy. Josh. He’d left Josh behind
Tyler ran all the way back, not feeling the pain of the lacerations or burns. He had to save him, he had to save my heavydirtysoul.
Scene: a small, tan car on the same road, miles and days ahead. Tyler had been frozen, driving robotically to get ahead. He was to the hills and mountains that they’d been driving toward, and Tyler’s breath caught in a sob. It only took a few gasps for him to begin crying. He’d lost everything—their plan, their money, and the love of his life.
Josh and him had met through mutual friends only a few years before, and it was practically instantaneous how quickly things progressed. They connected on a level neither had ever felt before, spending nearly every day with each other between shifts at their dead-end jobs. They were poor and there wouldn’t be any hope for the future, but they had each other.
They kissed and made love in squalor; they scrapped by, barely stretching pennies. They were happy as they could, but Tyler would rant at the unfairness of the world, that the rich kept hoarding money while those who worked hard could never get ahead. He’d always been plagued by thoughts that were fantastical and absurd and Josh would either laugh or roll his eyes.
Then they hit a bad time; Tyler got hurt at work, Josh lost his job, and they slowly couldn’t afford the apartment or food. There was nowhere for them to turn; both of their parents didn’t approve of their relationship, so it was either break up or starve. With their last bit of change, they reached a level that had them eschew their morals and what was legal.
They knew the quickest way to jail is acting too quickly out of desperation and making a mistake. They planned, and watched, and the first bank hold-up was laughably easy. The guns were fake that time, but they kept getting better and better at what they did, and the tools got better as they got more money.
Tyler realized, in hindsight that the calling card and costumes were overindulgent. He always had a flare for the dramatic and that lead to their downfall.
He killed Josh in every sense of the phrase. He led him down this path. He drove the car. He left him behind and when he ran back, Tyler couldn’t do anything to save him. The flames were too strong, and Tyler’s hand came to hold his throat. He could feel the rough tongue of smoke suffocating and burning—burning like the flames of hell that he’d surely condemned Josh’s eternal soul to.
He had gained altitude in his misery, and he considered the sharp edges hanging off the hairpin turns that cascaded to valleys and certain death. He only held to the road as a reflex, but the cliff looked so tempting. There was no end to this for Tyler but on the rocks or in a cell, and he knew which he preferred. He’d rather be with Josh in hell, than alive, alone, and imprisoned. The emptiness left by him was worse than the pain of the crash, and in a way, Tyler felt as if he was all already dead.
Scene: the car had picked up speed to as a fleet of police cars wailing their approach followed closely behind. Tyler grit his teeth and fingers curled white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He watched the curve, and prayed for forgiveness. He was only running because he had to, because that was what his coward instincts told him to. To run and hide—to find a hole and escape, rather than face his fate.
After all, death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit.
Scene: the mountain road at a sharp turn—guardrail gone and tire treads marking the exact path of the tan car. The dogs chasing the rabbit were pulling to a stop at the very spot, cops jumping out with guns drawn to inspect the wreckage hundreds of feet below. There was no chance that Mr. Misty Eye survived the plummet. It would take hours for them to descend to the precipice to Tyler’s casket of crushed metal and burning debris. His body disintegrated in the fire, and finally with Josh. There was no way—no way he could’ve survived—can you save
Can you save my?
Scene: Just beyond another bend in the road, Tyler sprinting as if his life depended on it. The rabbit dashed to cover within the trees. He had his backpack, he would hike until he ran out of food. His heart was beating out of his chest from the exertion and cold air. Tyler had done another trick, escaped by his wits, but only made it worse for himself.
He wasn’t brave enough to stop running. He wasn’t bold enough to…to…
The first time he stopped racing away, Tyler grabbed a tree and held on to this anchor. The rough bark scrapped his battered skin and embedded under his fingernails. He wheezed and gasped for air, ripping apart his battered throat. Tyler fell to the ground and beat the dirt with his fists.
Hands grabbed his, and Tyler almost screamed from alarm. He’d been found. It was all over. They were going to clasp metal cuffs to his wrists and drag him to prison.
“Shh, shh, Tyler. You’ve gotta be quiet,” Josh was an angel in the dark, holding him as he shook.
“You can’t—you can’t be here.”
“I am. We’ve got to move,” Josh’s voice was urgent—the dogs would soon realize there was no body in the car. They had to keep running, but they were not alone. Josh took Tyler’s hand and together they disappeared.
Can you save my heavydirtysoul?