Charles' Fatality

Charles was wandering about the lonely stretch of highway where only a passerby, big rig, or the occasional Greyhound showed up once every few hours. The entire surrounding was quite off-putting, as there wasn't a single highway patrolman in the vicinity, nor was there a nearby truck stop, gas station, or diner as well as the nearest town was over eighty miles away, and it was so sleepy and quaint that the Amish would call it home. Therefore, if the shit were to hit the fan-whether it be a crash, a medical emergency, car trouble, or any number of possible fates, you were far passed screwed.

As Charles approached the side of the road, sporting blue jeans and a matching denim jacket, a faded t-shirt of insert-name-here university, and a Steelers cap which frankly, has seen better days. His attire was virtually stereotypical of the average person that nobody would even share a pack of Mentos with; much less a car seat, and with good reason. Charles was a runaway and divorced deadbeat dad who has had a plethora of run-ins with the law. Despite his barely readable shirt promoting higher education and normally worn by future doctors, lawyers, nurses, teachers, engineers and the like, Charles merely slid by in high school. What made Charles especially ominous... was the fact that he made a career out of mugging and robbing unsuspecting travelers. He was a pirate of the highway rather than the high seas, and he was on the F.B.I.'s top ten most wanted list. He only killed one victim who herself, was on the run after she stole over twenty thousand dollars along with a bag of diamonds that would easily be traded in for big bucks from the jewelry store she worked at. She tried to attack him with a concealed pocket knife, but his 38. revolver won the battle. Her body is yet to be discovered by a fisher as her corpse was immersed under a ten foot lake. His piece was fully loaded and so well hidden in his right jean pocket with twelve spare rounds in his backpack.

A vehicle pulls up. Driven by a humble and blissfully ignorant looking elderly man who seemingly had no concept of the changes of time. Charles thumbs a ride. As the retiree pulls over and gradually comes to a stop, Charles casually walks up. "Good afternoon, sir," the elderly man greeted, "are you in need of help?" "Yes please," Charles begins, "my truck conked out, and I'm on my way back home to my wife and two kids for vacation, you think you could give me a lift to the nearest mechanic?" "It'd be a pleasure," the gentleman at the wheel replied charitably, "I actually live in that town, so you're in good hands!" "Oh, thank you so much sir, may God bless your soul," Charles said with gratitude that was so believable and yet he choreographed every syllable and every octave of that tone. "Well, hop in and I'll have you and your truck home with your family by sundown, and the name's Eddie."

In Eddie's car, Charles rode shotgun. Eddie drove happily with the satisfaction of benevolence on his face. "This old fart is going to be so easy it's almost insulting," Charles confidently thought to himself. "So Charles," Eddie broke the monotony with, "tell me about yourself." Charles' phony account went as follows: "Well, I'm a sales representative for Dell computers, so I'm constantly on the road promoting the line up of products that my boss wants to make sure wind up in every classroom, office, and Best Buy in America. In this past month, I've been to Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Illinois, California, Florida, and Rhode Island. I know I look rather drab right now, but sometimes, I fly to swanky conferences and business trips to Las Vegas, Seattle, New York City, Miami, and five years ago, I even spent an entire week in Auckland, New Zealand." "Wow, you're quite a busy man," Eddie replied with amazement in his voice. Eddie's account: "I'm a retired firefighter, a U.S. Navy veteran, and for about five years, I was a security guard. I hardly travel anymore, and the only foreign soil I ever walked on during my four years in the service was Japan. I prefer a quaint life in my town."

Feeling that Eddie was distracted enough, Charles reached for his gun to rob the vulnerable man of any cash and his wedding ring which glimmered temptingly on his right finger. As soon as Charles wrapped his clutches around the firearm's grip, he got the most shocking and ultimate surprise of his last few minutes on this Earth. Eddie pulled from a holster hidden behind his own jacket, a Taurus Raging Bull 44. Magnum! This was a weapon so ominously powerful, that even other firearms bow down to it! This wasn't merely a "gun," it was a fire powered guillotine equipped with rounds capable of liquifying a watermelon as well as a human head, and even rendering a grizzly bear lifeless! "Alright asshole," Eddie began, no longer with the friendly disposition he had at first. "Your days of stalking the highways and robbing your poor victims blind are up, I may be old, but I'm not weak, and for you, the game is up!" Eddie abruptly halted. "Give me your firearm," Eddie demanded while maintaining the barrel and his undistracted focus on Charles, "and if you try anything funny, then it'll be a reenactment of the splattered head clean up scene from Pulp Fiction, except only one man, and I'm Samuel L. Jackson!" Charles, with a trembling hand and as frightened as a child, slowly pulls out the .38 revolver, and hands it to Eddie. Eddie snatches the gun and stashes it under his seat while keeping the hapless would be robber at gunpoint.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie has driven off the road and into a secluded clearing within the trees where a large shed was located. Inside the old and mildly rusted but still durable storage, were thirty-one bodies... dead and bloodied bodies of other allegedly malicious and predatory hitchhikers from several other vigilante runs, preserved and stored in large transparent body bags.

Eddie explains: "all these fine gentlemen I have had the pleasure of meeting as well as offing, cleaning the highway, one scumbag at a time. Some of them were fugitives, others were sick and messed up pedophiles and/or kidnappers; the latter had no hope so I guess you could say that I have done every child and their families a service, you Charles and the former, had every opportunity in the book to change your life around... and you blew it, just like what I'm going to do with your head!"

Charles got on his knees with his hands behind his head, a position so familiar with executioners. A tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered to his ex-wife and child, both of whom have washed their hands of him for obvious and understandable reasons, "I'm sorry Jenny... I'm sorry Mary... I'm sorry to all my victims and those I have left hopeless and traumatized...my judgement day has come." Then, Eddie pulled back the hammer, steadily aimed the magnum at the back of Charles' head, and what followed was the last sound he would ever hear as Eddie squeezed the cold trigger..."WHOMP!!!"

"Well, that makes thirty-two, and more lowlifes yet to come."