The brothers glared at each other, their eyes full of mutual menace and disgust.
“I hate you.”
“So’s yer face.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense, you dingleberry.”
Marcus, the driver, simply gave his brother the finger without looking at him. Matthew, riding shotgun, slugged his bicep. They shared a stare full of knives and unheard death threats. Their friend, Barrett, let out a long sigh in the backseat.
“Guys…for the love god. You’ve been at it for like four hours now…”
Matthew turned around in his seat. “He keeps changing the station!”
“It’s my car, dillhole!” Marcus retorted. “I’ll put it on whatever damn station I want!”
Barrett cupped his face with his hands. “God, kill me now…”
Little did he know that God did, in fact, hear his request and decided to answer his prayer.
Marcus dead-legged Matthew. Matthew spit in his palm and slapped Marcus in the face. Marcus yelled and smacked his brother across the face with a Moutain Dew bottle. And finally, with the assistance of the hand of God, Matthew slammed his fist into his brother’s genitals.
The force of the divine blow instantly destroyed all of Marcus’s basic functions. In fact, he had even forgotten he was driving. The only thought that was racing through his head wasn’t revenge or that they were driving on the side of a very large mountain. He pondered with what few remaining brain cells that weren’t occupied with assessing damage or pain (mostly pain), where his testicles had disappeared to.
Matthew and Barrett on the other hand, were far more occupied with the direction they were going and what Mother Gravity had in store for them.
The car shattered right through an old wooden safety guard and plunged engine first down the side of a nine hundred foot cliff.
Matthew concentrated on not soiling himself. He didn’t want to be that guy.
Marcus continued his desperate search for his boys.
Barrett cursed once, twice, and then punched both the brothers in the back of their heads, causing Matthew to lose his concentration. Marcus didn’t notice; he was already quite occupied.
The car, propelled by its velocity, struck the ground nose first at over one hundred and twenty miles per hour. The force killed all three men instantly and shortened the car by almost half its length. This infuriated Barrett to some degree.
He sat cross-legged on a stone and watched as several buzzards circled the vehicle. The brothers weren’t in sight…well, aside from their bodies in the front seat of the car.
Barrett knew he had died. He didn’t see a light or flash of his life as the car met the earth; he only felt irritation, a brief moment of pain, and black. He then “awoke,” around twenty feet away from the wreckage. Barrett knew he was dead because:
A. It would’ve been impossible for the car to eject him to this particular spot. The angle was all wrong.
B. He didn’t have a scratch on him. One doesn’t fall nine hundred feet without injury.
C. One doesn’t fall nine hundred feet, period.
D. His body in the back seat of the car was quite obvious.
So he sat and fumed and cursed and shook his head. He asked himself why he had decided to ride with the brothers in first place. He answered his own question with the appropriate amount of logic that it required to sound reasonable and cursed himself for doing so. He didn’t notice the eleven foot tall figure approaching him from behind; he was too busy trying to invent new and multi-syllabled curse words.
The figure moved silently and didn’t seem to cast a shadow. It was dressed in a long, inky black robe that covered its head and feet and dragged along the ground. It reached out and settled its hand onto Barrett’s shoulder. It hissed, “Barney Elliot Cunningham…”
“Holy balls!” Barrett yelped. He whipped around and punched blindly. His fist buried into the dark opening of the hood and met flesh with a resounding thump.
The creature stumbled back, its hands clutching its face.
“Ow! Son of a bitch! Crap, it’s bleeding. I think its bleeding…”
“Owwwwww…why in the hell did you do that?! Who friggin’ does that? Crap! I know it’s gotta be broken…”
It tossed back its hood and Barrett nearly swallowed his tongue. He had just punched Bob Barker in the nose. He found this to be far stranger than dying.