(164 works)

Poetry (Comedy)

Trying to be Stephen King
by scotthogg

Has been a member for 2 years

Nabil and Elena were walking hurriedly toward the cream Cape Cod. It had been raining heavily for most of the afternoon as they slowly made their journey through and over the Green Mountains to Nabil's parent's home. Elena had not been feeling well for most of the time complaining meekly of stomach cramps and sickness. They had stopped on a remote stretch of the long, snaking road that straddled Mount Wilson so that she could throw up. By the time they had reached the first few farmhouses on the edge of Barre neither Nabil nor Elena had spoke for over an hour. They listened as the local radio station blared out heavy rock music as the chalk-voiced deejay wittered inanely between the tunes. Nabil switched the headlights on as dark, grey clouds hovered above and the gradual decline of the day took hold. They exited the freeway onto the small frontage road that delivered them to Brookfield. "It is really beautiful out here, Nab" Elena said. She regarded the vast wetlands shimmering discreetly alongside the road, the Black River visible despite the poor light. She placed her hand softly on Nabil's right thigh, "I love you" she murmered. Nabil cupped and gently stroked Elena's neck, "I love you too, sweetie". Nabil flicked the radio off. Elena watched him for a moment, his round, green eyes unblinking on the road ahead. Variegated shadows shifted along his pale brown skin as she massaged his earlobe with her thumb and index finger. "How much farther is it?" she asked. "Not far, 12 miles or so." replied Nabil. "I'm hungry" whispered Elena. Nabil noticed a frail, white figure walking unsteadily along the dirt trail that ran parallel with the road. "What the hell is she doing?" Nabil muttered. Elena leaned forward and watched the woman as she retrieved several objects that were strewn across the trail. As they passed, the figure bolted upright and turned sharply to face the ancient Datsun. She had cropped, dark hair that meandered wildly across her forehead, in her left hand she carried a pale blue, tall, toque hat. In her other hand was a pocketbook. She was naked with several black bruises running along her left ribcage. Around her neck was a tightly tied white hankerchief. Elena gasped at the woman's sudden, jerky movement and she turned her head abruptly to look into the wing mirror as the car hummed past.

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