Escapee (complete!)

Upside Down

I'm bleeding from, like, 4 places on my body now. 3 are a result of my God-awful clumsiness, and 1 is a gift from mother nature herself, if you know what I mean.

This morning, I bent over to get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch out of a cabinet and smacked my head on the corner of the cabinet above me. I leave the cabinet doors open sometimes. Okay, all of the time. My head was bleeding, but hey, at least the cereal tasted good.

Then, I was writing down my homework during 2nd period, scribbling a note to remind myself to finish the last study guide for my last final of senior year. I was walking as I wrote, another bad habit, and using my hand as a surface for the paper. Yet another bad habit. My dagger-like pencil jabbed through the paper and into my hand. I guess I'm technically .00001% pencil lead now.

Of course, by the end of the day, I had hurt myself again. I fell up the stairs on my way to 8th period. No, not down. Up. It takes talent to fall up the stairs. I have a knack for doing that.

By the time the end of the day rolls around I am battered and cramping up. I hop in my trusty pick up truck, named Otis, of course, and turn the key. The CD's pick up where we left off and I belt out the lyrics. I feel as if I'm flying. There's nothing but me and the open, empty roads. For a minute, not even the upcoming final exams are looming above my head.

Another minute later and a car is speeding straight at me. I panic and swerve but the other car swerves too. It slams into the side of my truck. My poor truck screeches and careens off of the side of the road and into a ditch, doing a barrel roll. I'm left upside down, dazed, and dumbfounded, trying to process what had just happened. I swear that car looked as if it was trying to push me off of the road on purpose. No one sane would do that. That's impossible. It must have been an accident. Damn drunk drivers these days.

I lazily unbuckle my seatbelt, fall out of my seat and onto what was the roof of my car, crawl out of the door and stumble around, inspecting the damage and regaining my ability to walk.

"Sorry about that," a gruff voice apologizes, appearing to come from nowhere. I look up, startled, and meet two striking green eyes. They're unsettling to look at. They're all I see and focus on and as I look into them, I feel as if they take me somewhere else. Into a trance, maybe.

"Are you okay?" He asks with a smirk, and my eyes are released from the draw of his eyes, left to wander and stare back at my poor truck.

"I-I think so? Who are you?" I ask. This doesn't feel right. This is not your average fender bender, I'll-call-my-insurance-and-you-call-yours type of accident. It does not feel accidental and his lack of sincerity, injury, and stress is confusing and slightly off-putting.

He stares back.

"Who are you?" I asked seriously.

"Why don't you come with me?" he suggests.

"Come with you? Are you crazy?" I ask angrily. "That's it. I'm calling the police. Don't you dare move," I demand.

I barely have my phone in my hand before he appears in front of me in an instant and throws my phone through my car window, sending shards of glass into the air.

"Why don't you calm down and come with me?" He asks rigidly. I feel as if I should protest, but somehow I can't. I feel the need to follow him.

"Fine," I say reluctantly, following him to the side of the road.

He begins waving at an upcoming car, and when it comes near and pulls over, he walks to the drivers side. The driver is a round, cheerful, middle aged woman. Just as she rolls her window down to greet us, he plunges his hand inside the car and snaps her neck in an instant. He opens the car door and throws her onto the side of the road, an awful sight to see.

"What the fuck did you do?" I scream. "What the fuck was that! Get away from me! Please! Just leave me alone!" I beg.

"Get in," he orders. I turn the other way and start running.

He halts me, appearing in front of me and grabbing a chunk of my hair. He stares into my eyes and forces me to look at him. My knees feel gelatinous and my stomach drops. I can feel his piercing, cold, dead stare penetrate deep into my soul, making me shiver.

"Get in," he demands coldly. I unwillingly walk towards the stolen car and climb inside, buckling my seat belt.

When I realize what I have just done, getting into the car with a murderous stranger, I am not only terrified but humiliated. It is so unlike me to take orders from anyone, but especially strangers.

He gets into the car and slams the door shut, changing the radio to classical music and driving away from the site of the crash.

"No asking questions for this entire car ride. Or else," he says seriously.

Thursday, 3:12 PM, the screen on the dashboard of the car reads. I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to process what the hell just happened during this car ride. Why did I ever get into this cursed vehicle with this frightful man?