Butcher Run

                                                                                  Butcher Run





      I had just finished my restaurant deliveries; the hamburgers and chicken wings weren't going to deliver themselves. The Ford Ranger I used drove smoothly over the newly paved back-country roads of Darlington, Pennsylvania. Metallica was playing loudly on the radio.  My head bobbed, I struggled to stay awake, the warm August sun wasn't helping --Nothing Was--. Only another five miles back to my father's butcher shop, I wasn't going to make it.  My chin slowly fell resting on the white meat coat that I wore.

    My eyes opened to a 90 degree bend in the road, I turned the wheel quickly overcompensating for the turn. The large passenger side tires climbed the embankment that was in front of me, which the truck bounced from like a pinball.  I got redirected to the other side of the street at 35 miles an hour.  I thought hitting the telephone pole was better than going down the rocky mountainside that lay beyond.

    The front of the truck crumpled like an accordion on impact.  My barrel chest drove the steering wheel into the engine, opening enough space for my head to crack the windshield like a giant spiderweb streaming from its dark red center.  Metallica continued to blare from the speakers and blood from my head turned my coat crimson.

      I hadn't realized how far apart the houses were until I got out of the car; only two could even be seen from where I was.  I staggered to the front door of the house that stood beyond the bank.  I knocked staining it with my bloody hands; there was no answer. 

      "HELP!"  I screamed stumbling through the lawn to the neighboring house.  My hand pressed firmly against the gash on my head as I walked.  I used my free hand on the oak door hoping to wake the dead to help.  I stopped, my bloody hands were slipping, there were no more houses. It was time to give up.

      I returned to the Ranger, lying down on the grass of the bank.  The stinging from the cut above my eye wasn't stopping and the blood was still flowing. I waited for death, as Metallica played on.





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      I was attempting to drift off to sleep when a red pickup topped with a blue light parked in front of the piece of land I now called my own.

      The owner raced to my side calling for help from his cell-phone.  "My name is Larry," he said folding up the phone.  "What is your name?"

      "Mark,"  I whispered.

      "You shook my power lines pretty good Mark,"  Larry laughed.  "I live a mile down the road."

        "Guess I did a pretty good job then."

        "Yeah--- I don't think your truck will be going anywhere soon."

        "It's my dad's,"

        "Where were you going?"

        My head throbbed as I explained my story.

       



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      The ambulance arrived soon after.  I was in no shape to talk, weak and nauseated  from the loss of blood, I listened as Larry told the paramedics what happened.

      I was placed on the gurney in the ambulance, wearing a neck  brace and oxygen mask, they started me on an I.V., Metallica faded as the doors to the ambulance closed.  They  rushed me to the emergency room. I laughed to myself as we passed my original destination with sirens blaring. 

      I looked like something from an old horror movie with my red coat. I could only imagine what went through the minds of the owners of those houses when they came