ANTHONY BLACK - MEMORIES CAN KILL
Anthony Black is a game designer and video game script writer and is the head writer and editor at StrideStar LLC where he writes and storyboards all writings that flow to his desk. His works have appeared in such mediums as Youtube, and Vevo. He is a creative writing student in Orlando, FL, and you can follow him on Twitter: @MrTonyBlack436, Youtube: StrideStar Studios, and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Thundaigus
MEMORIES CAN KILL
So, I’m dead. Yeah, so there’s that. The name’s Bartholomew Saavin. I’m going to tell you about the biggest mistake of my life. I had just dropped my son off for his finals. I wished him luck and he lazily waved me off. I watched him walk in and then I drove off. On my way home, I decided to take the highway instead of the street. You see, according to my wife, I’m going through a midlife crisis even though I’m only 34, and I bought myself a shiny new blue Porsche with a sunroof top, and I like to drive it fast whenever I can. As I made my way towards the on ramp, I noticed a woman who looked out of place walking backwards with a gas canister in one hand and her other outstretched with her thumb up. Now father taught me, always help those in need, especially a lady.
I pulled over, let down my passenger window, and said, “Hey there, I’m heading towards exit 13. Is that far enough for you?”
“That’s perfect, if you would be so kind,” she replied.
“Come on, it’s too hot to be out here walking.”
She got in the car, settled in, and we drove off. At this moment, I was feeling good. I just saved this girl from harsh weather. I’m a hero. We had at least a 30-minute ride ahead of us and I not liking silence decided to break it.
“So, let me guess, ran out of gas?” I asked.
“That obvious?” she said, giggling.
“Is your gas meter broke?”
“No. I just kept telling myself that I know my car and thought it could get me further than it actually could.”
“That’s happened to me a few times. I wasn’t as lucky as you though. I had to walk almost 7 miles every time to get gas.”
“Is that why your thighs are so massive?” she said smirking
Now even though I’m a married man, hearing a compliment was still a nice ego stroke. I looked over to her smiling and slightly blushing.
“No, I use to run track,” I replied.
“Oh, so you’re a runner? she asked.
“Yeah, I use to be able to do the 100-meter dash in 12 seconds.” I bragged.
“That’s impressive, almost the world record!”
“That’s what my coaches always said, track is also how I met my wife”
“Really?” she asked.
“I asked her on a date after I a meet. We had just lost and my heart was already racing, so I decided that if this was a night of losses then I might as well get it out the way too. So, I walked up to her, looked her square in the eye and I told her that it was her fault that I didn’t run fast.”
“You said that to her?”
“Yep, told her that she was too gorgeous not to stare at and it was distracting.”
“Mr. Smooth,” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, I swear I could have died that night, as hard as my heart was racing.”
“We are so dramatic as teenagers, aren’t we?” she asked as she rummaged through her purse.
“That’s how I felt,” I said laughing.
I looked up at the oncoming exit sign. Just passed exit 24, so we still had time left.
“When I was a little girl, I had boyfriend who also ran track.”
“Really? What school did he go to?” I asked.
“Lincoln Heights,” she said coldly.
“Small world that’s where I went, what’s his name? I might have known him.”
“Bartholomew,” she said staring me in the eyes.
I looked away and continued to drive. We passed exit 20. I felt uneasy as I stole glances of her. It was uncomfortably quiet.
“I don--” I started.
“Arlene, my name is Arlene” she said over me.
Just like that it all came flooding back. The girl that I took out on a pity date. I took her virginity, lied to her, I even started dating my now wife while I was still in a relationship with this girl and never told her, then the icing on the cake, broke up with her after her dad died, shunned her, and told everyone she was a stalker. I glanced over and admired how the years treated her. No longer the flat, creepy, acne covered weirdo from school. She was gorgeous now.
“Tell me Barty, do you remember all those terrible things you use to tell people about me? After all the things I did for you? All the things I did TO you? The things you begged for? Remember?”
I kept quiet. I was ashamed. I could feel her eyes on me. Then she touched my shoulder.
“Barty, it’s ok,” she said chuckling.
“We were stupid teenagers, we didn’t know what we were doing right?”
“Y-yeah, that’s right, I was pretty fucking stupid, you didn’t deserve the way I treated you, I’m sorry.” I said feeling relieved.
“If you really want to make it up to me, all you have to do is beg for my forgiveness” she said laughing.
I looked at her smiling. I guess that’s something I could do, so I laughed and started:
“Oh, please Arlene, please forgive me for my stupid 17-year-old self, I was an idiot and you didn’t deserve any of what I did.”
She burst into laughter. I saw that as a good sign, I looked over and saw that she was recording the conversation. I figured she needed this and decided to let her have it.
“You know what? That wasn’t half bad Barty,” she said.
“Glad you liked it.” I replied.
“Too bad it wasn’t good enough.”
At that moment, she reached over and yanked the steering wheel towards her, the last thing I saw was the body of a child on the highway in front of me and Arlene crawling towards the medium bloodied and bruised, then it all faded to black.
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