There are bad days, and then there are days when you wake up in the desert with your girlfriend of 12 hours bleeding to death in the back of your Firebird. I was having one of those second type of days.
I glanced in the rear view and I could tell it was her, and God, was she bloody. It was still sticky but drying ,especially around her eyes. It was completely crusted into her recently done eyelashes. I remembered kissing that 60 bucks goodbye. My own face was just as scary. I guess I hadn’t shaved in a while. My cheeks felt like sandpaper. I saw the keys were still in the ignition. What the hell. I turned them over, to hear that sweet cylinder fire, and by God, it clicked. At least for a few seconds. Then, it died. I tried it again but this time it just tried and tried, like that kids’ train story, except with a different ending. I tried it again, and again, slamming my foot on the accelerator, but same results. I checked the rearview again. I could see her chest moving, so she wasn’t dead yet. There weren’t many things I could recall that would have led to me being here. There were four actually, but that’s not a lot in my book. I looked at the missing digit on my right hand and cursed out loud.
“Damn Rice Krispy Treats!”