Jeremie Thorpe
Stories (2/0)
All Good Things Must Come to an End
One hundred and thirty miles per hour. Just me, my fiancee, my Model J, and highway for miles. Pure serenity. The gas light blinking in my dashboard is the only deterrent from cruising at full speed. On my left is a haze of greenery. On my right is my beautiful fiancee; the way the sun hits her jade green eyes brings back sweet childhood memories of soccer fields and freshwater. Her long blonde hair flutters in the wind leaving a light flowery scent behind. There isn’t a place or a person I want to be with more. Other than the bloody hotel room--if only it wasn’t so far away. We’ve been eagerly awaiting a vacation like this; even if it’s only for a weekend. Bright hot sun and sandy beaches. I love places like Florida. Everyone always seems to be having fun no matter where you go. At the moment, though, I’m just glad to be on the road. I look over to my future bride with wonder. Everytime I see her face it reminds me of the first time I saw her. So full of life and wonder. Always able to disable a situation with her jokes. She knows what’s up and always has. This time, I gave her a hopeful smile. One that says, I love you and I’m glad you’re next to me. We have that kind of connection. I can just look at her and know what she’s thinking or what she’s about to say. She knows I’m at peace--which is why she fights through all the dramamine. She’s well equipped nonetheless. With her water bottle and paper bag at the ready, she’s a true car-sick trooper.
By Jeremie Thorpe4 years ago in Horror
Merciless
One foot after another, I approached the neon yellow taxi. The exterior stung my eyes in combination with the bright lights of Times Square. I focused my watery eyes on the black and blue stripes of the taxicab to calm my vision. I rubbed my eyes, reverting my sight to a mere blur. I rubbed them again and looked at the cab once more. The tires looked old and like they were deteriorating, ready to burst at any moment. Looking inside the windows, which were filthy from months of winter grime and condensation, I noticed that the seats were made of some kind of fake leather that was coming apart at the seams. I moved my glance over to the front of the car. The passenger seat held his wallet, bag, and papers in a pile. Under his rearview there was a nametag with a name I didn’t bother to read and a face I did not recognize, nor will I remember. Under the nametag there was a meter that was already started the second we made eye-contact. The second I opened the door, a mix between body odor and cherry air freshener blasted my nostrils. To my surprise and good fortune, there was no camera. I crouched down, careful not to hit my head on the roof, and took a step into the car. I begrudgingly sat on his old and torn seats. I sat behind the passenger seat. The car was so old that the fabric tore under me causing a small hole. I put my bag down next to me. His dashboard hula shook back and forth, as though it was mocking me. Settling inside the car my vision was set on the ornament rocking back and forth. I tried to ignore it, but it kept taunting me.
By Jeremie Thorpe4 years ago in Horror