Left Turn

December 28, 2008
By Taylor Nash, Tucson, AZ

If I decided to go left I would drive four miles over bumpy dirt and gravel until I arrived at an old broken down cottage. If I decided to go right, well, who knows where I would end up? I clenched the steering wheel with both hands and flipped through all the possible outcomes that could come from going either direction. If I turned my wheel to the left and eased down the gas pedal, I would be on a one way ticket to hell. If I turned the nose of my car south (Right) I would most likely get lost of drive off a cliff on accident and no one would ever know what the hell happened to me.

Right, so right it was.

I turned my blue Mustang down the slightly straighter dirt road that lead south. Tall grass was growing on either side of the shaky road and bugs were buzzing lazily in the diminishing sun light. I tried to move around the bigger rocks that were strewn across the road but how could you when the entire road was make of those freaking boulders.

This sucked.

After going up on two wheels more times than I care to remember I tried to find a place to turn around. It was getting darker with every passing millisecond and I struggled to keep flashes of horror movie scenarios out of my head. You know where the girl gets lost in the woods and Sr. Slasher comes along and well, slashes her.

Wait. Must not think of that.
Some one was breathing in the back seat of my car, it was heavy moist breath. It was huffing down my neck. I slowly turned to face the-


Seesh. I had to get a hold of myself. I shook my head and tried to keep my mind on happy, sappy things, things that wouldn’t send me shirking into the night.

Bunnies, sunshine, flowers, Candy, babies in stupid cloths, paperclips, nail polish, chain saws…
I screamed as he walked towards me with the bloody chain saw dangling from one tattooed hand-


I actually slapped myself. How did I get from bunnies to… to that word I will not allow myself to say? And what did it matter if the __________ mad man had tattoos? I had a tattoo. It was on my rib cage. I went out on my sixteenth birthday with my sister and got one. It was of a song bird that had little delicate music notes floating around my ribs. Not scary at all. What did it matter if the _______- Mad man had tattoos? La lala la la. Not thinking about freaky ___________ mad men.

A Blue light suddenly illuminated my car. I screamed and would have hit my head on the roof if I hadn’t been wearing my seat belt. I slammed on my breaks and rubbed my poor thighs, which were smarting from seat belt burn. There was a buzzing sound all around me. I slowly turned to see what kind of horrible flesh eating bug was waiting in my back seat when I saw my cell in the passenger seat. The caller ID said “Hell”. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” I said, manually making sure all my doors were locked.

“Sadie? Where are you, baby?” No where John, I thought bitingly. And DON’T call me Baby!

“I’m on my way,” I said through gritted teeth, “Start with out me, I’m almost there,” I listened to the faint, staticy voice on the other end. “What…of COURSE, I went left! I’m not stupid. You only said take a left when you come to the fork a million times!”

“I’m not calling you stupid, just wondering where you were,” John said meekly.

“What ever, start without me, I’ll be there in, like, five minutes,” I snapped the phone shut and tossed it to the back on the seat beside me. I huffed and turned my wheel around, what did it matter if I drove over some weeds and grass? I was tired of trying to find a black to turn, and it was dark now. I bumped over the edge of the crappy road and tried to figure out if I was actually going back the way I had come or if I was just driving in circles.

All the while I was fuming over what John had said. Baby, Baby? Come on, I’m not his cheerleader girlfriend from the 80’s. I’m not a dog. No one can call me baby. John had married my mother two years ago and guess what? Mom up and died on me and left me with the total stranger John. Oh he was all too happy to take care of me, but HELLO!!! I only knew the guy for four years and now I was living with him! I’d never had a pet before and I never want one now thanks to John’s cat, which happens to be the ugliest cat I had ever seen (I call him Butch, even though his real name is Tinkerbelle). It scratches and hisses and has a missing ear. It’s a rescue. And I never want to see another cat as long as I live. I’m still waiting for this one to croak. So I was so…Overjoyed….when John told me I could take care of it from now on. Which really meant: he was tired of cleaning the cat box and her I was, free labor, and he didn’t have to pay me because he was my “guardian” now.

Anyways, I’ve been staying with senile grandma for a month of summer vacation, which is the last thing I wanted to do, but as long as I was away from Butch and John I was fine with that. But two weeks ago I got a call from John that said: I rented a cabin and I want you to come stay with me! It’ll be loads of fun!

Later he told me that his sister, her husband and their two kids would be coming to. John’s sister is fine, but her kids are the anti Christs. I met them once before at the wedding and never wanted to meet them again. Then caught me smoking in the girl’s bathroom (they are both boys I might add) and told me if I didn’t share my Camels with them they would tell everyone. Well I didn’t want mom’s special day ruined, so I tossed them the pack, desperate. Well the buggers didn’t tell me they’d never smoked before so ten minutes later they were barfing all over the floors.

When I went to help them the stood up and called me a B***h and said I made them sick. Then one got behind me and the other pushed and down I went into a pile of seventh grade boy barf. Lovely family really.

See why Pure Hell was the left road?

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