The Man I Killed

From my cramped prison in the mammoth trunk of the 1970-something Cadillac, I could tell that we were then traveling on one of the narrow, dusty, unpaved paths leading up to the mountains. Two things were obvious. The pavement changed abruptly from smooth paved road, tires singing as we sped along, to jostling, rocky terrain. Every so often a rock would pop up from the unforgiving trail and hit the exhaust system or gas tank beneath me, startling me from drifting around in my only semi-conscious thoughts. The crunch of small rocks and pebbles beneath the tires was constant. Another obvious fact, I knew my captor wanted to finish the job.
Often during the car ride I would try and reassess my situation, but not come up with anything substantial as to explain how I could possibly have come to where I was. How could this possibly happen to me? I’m just some ordinary 18 year old who does ordinary things and has an ordinary, uninteresting life like other 18 year olds. Who was this masked man ( Woman? ) who came into my house and hit me in the back of my head and carry me out into the trunk of his car, only to drive me away into the mountains so he can finish the job? Finish the job. Every time I thought of that I cringed and held my legs together, lying on the vast floor of the trunk on my side like a young child would. “Okay.” I mumbled to myself. Get back on track. Don’t think about it. There were a few things that I did know, and that’s what I held on to. For one, I must have blacked out from the time I was in my room to when I awoke in the back of the trunk. It didn’t take long to figure that one out, care of the gigantic, blood-encrusted bump on the back of my head. Secondly, my assailant was careless. He must have thought I’d remained blacked out through the entire ride and he left various objects in the trunk for my disposal.

Fumbling out through the dark I closed my fingers around several items. Plastic cup.. no use there. Spare tire.. nope. Coil of some type of cord.. Electrical perhaps? Could be of some use. Screwdriver. Definitely need that. Of course, if my attacker had any sort of weapon at the ready when he opens the trunk I’d be finished. But I held on to the hope that my mystery attacker continued his streak of carelessness and expected me to remain unconscious throughout the entire ride. Terrified, shaking, I lay on the jostling floor and clutched the screwdriver close to my breast, waiting for the inevitable moment to come.
I didn’t have to wait long.
I could hear the brakes protest gently against the wheels, as if not wanting to stop the car and allow the grisly events to ensue. Eventually, however, the car did stop and I heard the engine kick off. The silence was deafening, akin to putting your ear up to a megaphone and having someone yell into it, then hearing that really eerie ringing sound. I could hear nothing after all the clatter and noise of the rocks and engine. Suddenly, a car door slammed. Squirming around, I got on my stomach with my fingers curled around the handle of the screwdriver and I tried to make it look like I was in the same position I was thrown there in. I leaned my head to the side facing the front of there car and closed my eyes. Footsteps. I hear a key drive into the lock of the trunk and I curl my hand tight around the shaft of the screwdriver. I’m trembling and breathing fast. What if he sees through my act? What if he rapes me? But I didn’t have time to think about all the what-ifs. All too soon I could hear the trunk swing upward and cool currents of air drive into my cramped, stuffy prison. I could hear the slow breathing of my captor. Suddenly, strong hands clamp around my ribs right under my armpits and dig into my skin, starting to lift me upwards. Now’s the time.

Gritting my teeth together, I shake myself free of his hands and turn around, going to my knees to face him, holding my weapon out in front of me like the spear of some ancient Amazon warrior. Our eyes meet as he realizes his underestimation of me. I’ll never forget those eyes; they were like staring into twin black pools. They seemed to suck me into his dark soul in that brief second that our gaze met. I shuddered. Not taking the chance to glance around or at his hands for a weapon, I launch out of the trunk, legs springing out and I catch my legs around his chest, straddling him. We both go down with me on top of him and the force of the blow when we hit the ground knocks the air out of his lungs in one big “WHOOF”. He offers no resistance when I bring my crude weapon up and slam it down into his neck. A soft squish is heard as the head of the screwdriver jams through the supple flesh and severs the carotid artery, just as I’d hoped. A shower of blood sprays across my face and a loud gurgling emits from his mouth as my attacker struggles to breathe his last breath through his ruined throat. Anyway, you get the picture. Minutes later when the horrible deed was done my hands were soaked crimson and shaking, I lifted myself off his chest and stumbled off.. only to fall flat on my face after a few steps. A single thought passed through my mind as I drifted off to unconsciousness … I am alive. What a wonderful feeling. Something we all don’t appreciate as much as we should, maybe. But I didn’t ponder that at that moment. I blacked out the moment my head hit the ground.