Character Sketch: Some Guy

So, like, writing - you know? - it’s really messed up. Because what is it? It’s fucking lying, is what it is. Look at me, I’m writing these words, presenting this - what do you call it - voice, this narration, this character, to you and what is it, really? Fiction. And what is ‘fiction’? It’s fucking lies, man. It’s just stuff I’m making up and what are you supposed to do? You’re supposed to take it. You’re supposed to take it and devote your time to it and then commend me for creating a bunch of fake stuff that was somehow elaborate enough to inspire you or entertain you or whatever.

I’ve been trying to write this story. It’s nothing elaborate or anything. It’s not like I want to be goddamned Tolstoy or anything. I’m not trying to be all literary and Russian or anything. Anna Karenina, what the fuck, I don’t even know who that bitch is. I just want to tell this simple story, because, honestly, I think it could be good.

I have this recurring dream, you see, where I’m driving too fast. And I can’t stop. And every time I have this dream I think, hey, this would make for a pretty good story. Because maybe it could mean something.

But writing, man, it’s just all these lies. What am I supposed to do? I’ve been thinking maybe there’s this guy. He could be a detective or something. A real hard-ass, like you see on TV. Maybe it starts with him chasing down a guy and just pounding the shit out of him. Just beating him and beating him and, you know, yelling at the fucking asshole for all the shit he’s done.

But there could be like a twist in the, well, I guess they’d call it a second act, though I don’t want this to be some sort of pussy play or anything. Anyway, the twist is that the guy isn’t just some junkie or perp but is actually connected to, I dunno, those mob guys. You know, mobsters - the Kingpin or something. And they need their revenge! So they mess with this guy’s car and he’s driving this one time, going home to his pregnant wife, maybe, and he finds himself going faster and faster and faster. And he can’t stop.

The dream is fucking scary. That’s why I wanted to write it into something. In the dream, you know, it’s me. And I’m just flying down the road in the early evening. And no one’s around. It’s just me and the road, and, you know, I’m pretty happy. I keep thinking about how quickly I’m going to get home. And I’m cruising through the industrial part of town - with all the factories and whatever - and I see up ahead that the light is going to turn red. I always check the Pedestrian signs - on the side, you know? - if it’s turned to that red hand you know the light is going to go yellow soon; my father taught me that.

So I go to slow down. I mean, that’s my thought process. I clearly remember thinking “It’s time to slow down” but my foot won’t even move. It’s just stuck on the gas pedal and instead of letting up, I’m pressing down harder. I’m accelerating as the light goes yellow. I’m speeding the fuck up! And I’m already going pretty damn fast, so this is just, I don’t know. It’s fucked, is what it is.

I barely make the first light, but I know there’s another up ahead. My mind is screaming now, but my foot still won’t move. I’m going faster and faster as I see the next light has gone red. I need to stop. I really need to stop. But I’m going now; I’m going too fast now. And nothing in the world can stop me.

I blast through the red light and, for some reason, I hear a loud beep come from somewhere. My eyes are stuck on the rear view mirror, as I wait for the sirens. My foot won’t let up, and all I feel is complete and utter panic as I try one last time to slow myself down.

It’s fucked, I know. That’s why I want to use it. But, really, why would the mobsters make his car so that he couldn’t slow down? Don’t they usually just cut the brakes or use one of those goddamn car bombs or something? That would make more sense to me. But then, it’s all just fucking lies anyway, so what does it matter? The guy can’t stop; that’s what’s important.

My ex-wife is a cunt and I’m glad she left me.