Utah's Scenic by DragonSkulls ~ Family Story ~ writing prompt entry |
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence. It was my own fault. I insisted we take the scenic route through Utah. Who knew the brand new car was a lemon? That's where this story begins, broken down on the side of the road with my wife and fourteen- year-old son in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, the first car that passed, in nearly two hours, stopped. It was a pick-up truck with a man that looked around thirty. He got out and while walking to our car said, "Looks like you folks are in a predicament." The hood was already open. He smiled and bent over the engine and told me, "Get in and try cranking 'er." I did and the same thing happened that happened uncountable times before...nothing. "Well, here's your problem." I came around and he pointed deep into the back. "See?" When I leaned in to look, he knocked the support out and slammed the hood down on my back. The moment I pulled myself out, he blasted me in the forehead with the butt end of his .38. Blood was pouring down my face as I turned over in the dirt and looked up at him. When I went to speak, he leapt down on one knee, viciously cramming the barrel of that massive gun in my mouth. "You need to listen close. Here's what's going to happen." I can't even explain how sinister this look was upon his face. "I'm going to leave you and your boy out here, and by morning your bones will have been picked clean by vultures from whatever the coyotes leave behind. As far as your pretty lady here, she's comin' home with me. And I'll guarantee you one thing, she'll wish she was dead long, long before she ever will be. Think about that, mister city boy, while the coyotes feast on your innards." He yanked the gun from my mouth as he stood, then turned and shot out the windows of the sedan. I could see my son wanted to pounce on this guy but thankfully he didn't. He came over by me as instructed, with the gun in his face. My wife screamed when he grabbed her. I jumped up and, instantly, he shot me in the right leg. I fell to the ground again. I watched as he brutally threw my wife in his truck and went to leave. We were on our way to a hunting expedition in Colorado. Without hesitation, my son opened the trunk, unsheathed his loaded, scoped Remington rifle, used the car roof for support and aimed. I watched as that bastard's head exploded all over his windshield with a single shot from nearly a quarter of a mile away. Randall lifted me up and we headed for the truck. My wife met us, sobbing. Once we reached the next town, we went straight for the police station. When we got inside, the only officer there nonchalantly asked, "Exactly what are you folks doing in my little brother's truck?"
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