A Bad Man

The criminal was a bad man.

He ran into the small town with the Law hot on his tail. Sightings of him were bigger than Elvis. Especially due to the fact that Elvis sightings had died down of recent...

He had the clothes on his back, the watch on his wrist, the knife in his pocket, and the street smarts to know that he needed to get out of town quickly. Small towns were easy places to get caught in.

He also knew that he couldn’t leave empty handed; twenty dollars wouldn’t keep a wanted man alive for very long. Money just didn’t go as far as it used to.

At the end of the main road there was a diner. It stood in bright contrast against the empty road, the darkened store fronts, and the cold steel of the parked cars.

The wanted man set off for the diner. He waded into pools of light cast by streetlamps. Between him and the dinner there were ten or so pools. It seemed a very long space. Too long.

Up ahead he saw a few cars leave the diner. He knew he would have to take one; it was the only way out. But in a brightly lit place like that did he dare? As long as he had his knife nothing could go wrong, if only he’d had it that night when the shit hit the fan…

He never noticed when his watch stopped ticking. One moment it was ticking hard and strong. It ran a little fast. Then it stopped. Had he noticed, he would have put it down to the fact that he had stolen it from a hobo back in the old life he once had.

When the light above him went out he noticed. When every light in a five mile radius blew, with the peculiar exception of the dinner and the cars around him, he noticed.

He stopped. He stood frozen, rooted, static.

The world was silent, the warm night was cold, and only light he could see was the dinner. The only sound he could hear was his suddenly ragged breath, the only feeling he had was the push of blood through his veins.

He stood for no more than a moment, but for him it was an eternity. He was in a state of Zen, calm before motion.

“Welcome.”

The word was whispered. The owner had placed a hand upon his shoulder to utter it; the hand was cold yet burning. Hot but frozen.

The criminal was a bad man but the owner of the voice was more, the owner of the voice had whispered lies, he had spoke of deceit, and murder, and death. The voice had told him the secrets of the universe then whisked them away, and it had done it all with a word.

The bad man dashed madly. He ran from the sound of fate.

He regretted his choices.

He should have never come to this town.

His regret lived only as long as he did.

The world came back to him in a rush.

The roar of a beast was the first thing to greet him. Only this beast was metal & cold and came at him with the power of a hundred horses.

He hit the bumper and rolled up and over the top of car.

He was dead on impact.

The owner of the voice looked on.

Cool eyes surveyed the scene.

A smile split the lips.