As I slam on the gas, the squealing gets louder. I furiously reach for the heater knob and turn off the fan I desperately need. The windows fog in an instant. The radio is off already--though I wish I could listen. I keep pressing on the gas, then letting off; hoping to God it'll work this time.  No such luck. Last chance: turn off the headlights. They're the only thing left. I turn them to the runners, hoping it's enough. Nothing. I'm powerless to end the noise. I flip the lights off just quick enough to cycle the accelerator--still no sign of stopping. Heading up the hill now--the truck behind me gets impatient. I punch it and try to bear the sound a little longer. SNAP! Silence. Now there's just darkness and the pouring rain.

Ice

3/14/2009

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" Write a character sketch using objects, landscape, weather, etc., to intensify the readers' sense of what the character is like. Use no similes ("She was like...) Purpose: to create convincing character by using more than intellect, engaging both the conscious and unconscious mind."

The ice on the windows was beginning to get so thick you couldn't see much light. Though out here, what is there to see? Miles and miles of bare nothing--hardly even a plant or rock.  Jack stands at the snow blanketed window and stares blankly. "What do I do?" he murmured to his lonesome self. He knew it would be impossible to clear a path before the store closed. He goes to sit by the near-to-death fire, thinking he should get some more wood, but never doing it.  "Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll freeze to death," he thought. The cabin was so empty. No decorations on the walls, most of the cookware gone.  And the bright, colorful blankets and sheets were replaced by drab grey.  He thinks about grabbing the bottle of whiskey, but doesn't even feel like getting up.  As he drifts asleep, the light of the fire fades away and Jack dreams of a time when his sweet Isabelle still snuggles warmly by his side.

 

Written Wednesday, March 11, 2009

He looks  at me with a burning fury. He desires my flesh. He hungers for it-- needs it. I won't let him get me. 

He lunges at me, and I run the opposing direction. A deep grunt escapes his breath. 

He would never have been like this before (he was bitten) (the bite).  I don't think that's him in there anymore. My best friend . . . No more snuggling, only this thing remains. 

I run into the bathroom, slamming the door just before he reaches it. I hear him desperately scraping the wood-- all logic is gone. 

I know what I need to do.  But can I bring myself to do it?  I remind myself he's already gone--that there's no saving him. Courage, you need courage. You can do it. I look around for a tool . . . I've never done this before; I'm not sure what to use. 

Hands shaking--I search through the drawers and cabinets. This might work

Soul-less because of the bite, and now lifeless by my hand. I drag the heavy body into the backyard to bury it. 

I didn't kill him--he was already gone. All I did was get rid of the monster that stayed behind.

I better get to the doctor's soon. This bite could be bad. I just need the hydrophobia vaccine. 7 shots in the stomach.

I say one last goodbye to Happy as I shovel dirt onto his blood-soaked fur.