#sunstreaker g1

“This is gonna be GREAT. Vegas baby. Fucks sake.”

You spit the words like vitriol as you trudge along. The dry desert air seeming to suck the moisture from your mouth even as you curse.

You’ve always done everything right. You’ve always done what you’re told. Worked as hard as you could. Saved every penny. Hoping maybe to go back to college some day.

But then your world had crumbled around you. You got laid off. Diagnosed with diabetes. God but you miss those abominable soft sugar cookies with the icing you used to hate.

And you’re muttering this as you walk. Complaining simply because it makes you feel better. A bit of noise in the dry wind to keep you company as you trudge along the side of this seemingly endless desert highway.

You had a bit of a mental break. You can admit it. Life falls apart? Why not blow all of your carefully hoarded savings on a motorcycle for a solo trip to Vegas? Make a fortune?

“Blow the rest of my fuckn savings more like.” You mutter this before gagging and coughing up dusty phlegm.

You stop. Flex your shoulders. Reach into the bag slung over your shoulder to pull out your bottle of water and gaze at it longingly. Fiji brand. You remember seeing that big fat stupidly expensive bottle of water at the gas station miles ago. Thinking how stupid it was to pay almost 5 dollars for water. Buying it anyway because isn’t that the point? Throwing everything away? Living a little?

It's still completely sealed. And you’d gotten the big bottle. You watch droplets of condensation on the foggy bottle dribble down to moisten your fingers.

Better not. You’re thirsty but you’re certainly not dying. You tuck the bottle back into your bag and continue to walk. Cursing and continuing to mutter. Your fuckn EYEBALLS feel dry.

“Stupid fuckn Yamaha.” Another annoying dry cough.

The bike in question, Your shiny new, and by new of course you mean “gently” used, motorcycle is sitting on the side of the road miles behind you after refusing to start when you’d turned it off to step off the road to piss. You’d felt so FREE on it too……

“Fucking figures.” Why not? The rest of your life is shit after all.

You just keep trudging. It’s MILES to the next town. And nobody has driven past you. Hopefully if you just keep going, you’ll run into something…… SOMEWHERE…… by nightfall. You hadn’t bothered to study any of the landmarks or anything on g maps. Vegas or die trying you’d thought.

After a time, you just can’t mutter anymore. You’re just OVER it.

And that’s when you hear it……

A car engine. You’re no car person but you can still tell it’s a sports car. That whiny high pitched super horse power sound. The kind you can hear for miles before it actually reaches you. It’s coming from behind you. You’re on the highway shoulder.

You don’t bother to turn. Just keep trudging. Sticking your arm out with your thumb raised. Hitch hiking. Why not? It’s not like getting picked up by a stereotypical psycho is gonna be worse than anything else that’s happened to you in the past month. And you’re tired of walking. And the heat. Mostly the heat.

The car is going so fast that you stumble in the wind around it as it rips past you. It doesn’t  even slow down.  The screaming volume of it’s engine STILL making you jerk even tho you’re prepared for it. And you’re not even mad.

“I’m not a psycho I promise.” You whine. But you can’t blame them. You probably wouldn’t stop either.

The bright shocking yellow ass end of a tricked out Lamborghini grows distant along with the loud sound of it. There’s even a big engine jutting out.

“Famcyyyy.” You rasp. Asshole.

“Oh goddamnit.” You give up the ghost and crack open that Fiji.

Hours pass. The sun blasts down on you as it crosses it’s zenith. It’s windy but it’s almost WORSE because of it. Nobody else passes you.

When the wind dies away in the late afternoon, you audibly and verbally beg for its return. It feels like you’re in an actual oven.

“Fuckn christ….. Vegas or die I guess.” Another swig of the Fiji. You’re trying to conserve it. But half of it is gone. You have no idea if it’s possible to make out with water, but you intend to do just that the second you arrive at any human destination.

Suddenly, you hear it again. The growing unmistakable sound of a sports car. Coming towards you this time. You squint your dry ass eyeballs even as you jut your thumb out again.

It's shimmery and wavy and unreal at first. Like a mirage. But there’s no mistaking it. It’s a yellow Lamborghini.

“You gotta be fuckn kidding me……”

It’s the same Lamborghini too. There’s a big red weird symbol on its hood which you hadn’t seen the first time it’d passed you. But that big spoiler and that insane engine jutting out it’s ass end is unmistakable.

It's showing absolutely no sign of slowing. You know the dick head can see you. In their stupid air conditioned fancy ass interior.

“Hehe.”

You rotate your wrist. Flash the bastard a big fat throbbing bird as it blows past you. Middle finger standing proud.

“Fuk u. Hehe.”

Literally not even long enough for you to finish laughing at how stupid you are…… you hear the screaming of tires.

“Oh fuck…..”

Instinct takes over then. You burst into a run even as you hear the car’s engine roaring and more tire screaming. You know it’s turning around, and FAST, without looking.

“Shitshitshitshitshit.” Wheezing curses as you leave the road. You figure fancy pants isn’t gonna get out of their car to beat your ass if you make yourself inaccessible. It’s fuckn hot out here, after all.

You figure they’ve turned their car to just scare the shit out of you for flipping them off. And honestly it worked. You scramble up a hill then flop straight into a bramble of cactuses. Cacti?

“FACK!” It’s actually kinda funny. You’re laughing and gasping. Listening for the sound of the car driving off. Because of course it’s going to. Who’d drive their shiny ass Lambo off road?

This guy apparently……

“Oh….. FUCK…..” You can hear the spinning of sand and dust and the raging scream of a super tuned engine. You scramble out of the cactus blob and start running like the shit you are.

“FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK….”

You can hear the sand. The engine. It sounds like the car is struggling to go on. But it IS getting closer.

“SHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHIT….”

It’s gonna hit you. You know it is. You see another ridge. Jump over it the split second that that car would have hit you.

Right. Into. Another. Cactus blob. You’ve got prickly pears in every fuckn hole.

“God McFUCK JUST RUN OVER ME ALREADY….”

You scramble free, spitting thorns, as you hear the roaring engine of the Lamborghini turning to clear the small ridge you’ve jumped over.

“FUCK THIS. JUST. FUCK IT.”

You turn. Spitting and screaming. Standing your ground. You’re just DONE. I mean it’s not like they’re actually going to KILL you right? Right???

The Lamborghini crests thru the sand towards you, the stuff flowing away from it like the waking waves of a ship. You scream and clench your fists and plant your feet. It’s a good fuckn day to die. You raise both fists and flip the fucker off as it comes.

It halts about 10 feet from you, engine purring like a glorious tigress. You’re just standing there like an idiot. Twin birds raised.

It’s a timeless moment. The Lambo purring as the dust settles around it. You gasping and flipping it off two fisted, suddenly glad it’s too dry for your body to be able to make piss for your pants.

Just that one moment, before it’s engine roars and it jerks forward. Stopping about three feet from you. You scream.

“FACKFACKFACK…”

Another roar. The bumper just slightly taps at your knees.

“FACKYOUFACKYOUFACKYOUFACKYOU…”

You start slapping it’s hood with both hands. Like some kind of idiot.

“FACK YOU!” slap “FACK YOUR MOM!” slap “FACK FACK!” slap slap

It stills then. Completely still. You hear the engine cut. The silence is deafening. You’re frozen too and wheezing. Out of breath.

There’s so much dust in the air. You cough and splutter and wheeze. Think about your stupid expensive Fiji for an innate moment. But the car is off and nothing is happening.

You just stand there. And stand. Breath slowing and calming. And the Lambo just sits in silence. The driver apparently happy to just watch you shit yourself. Dust settling.

You squint your eyes. Wanting to get a good look at the driver before you flip them off again. The windows are tinted so dark. You can’t see shit.

The silence continues for so long. Dust settled. Are they dead or something??

Without warning, the passenger door pops open. Super fancy. Gliding up and over the car. Like a wing.

You just stare. There is nothing but silence coming from that open door. Do they want you to get in??

You’re shaking, hating yourself for it. But you step around the car. Lean over to peer inside. The absolute FUCK if you’re getting into this psycho’s car. But you want to see who the hell just had the balls to scare the shit down your pant legs.

There is….. nothing….. no one…..

Suddenly you’re actually AFRAID.

There is no driver. That seat is absolutely empty. You’re not familiar with the interior layout of Lamborghinis, but that’s it. Two seats. A steering wheel. No keys. No key port. No gear shift.

“What the hell……”

“Fragger……. Get in already…..”

You jerk at the sound. It’s not coming from the speakers. You don’t care HOW good the sound system of a Lambo might be. It’s coming from the CAR.

It's a ghost car. Of course it is. You’re dehydrated and nuts and your life is coming apart at the seams. Why WOULDN’T you run into a ghost car?

“Christine???” Your voice is a pathetic little wheeze. That Stephen King story reverberating in your stupid dumb memory.

“What?? I WILL leave you, human. Get. In.”

You know what? Fuck it. You don’t want to walk anyway right? Your life is over anyway. And this is WAY cooler than a diabetic coma.

You slide in. The car is so low. The plush soft leather of the seats feels cool and inviting.

The door slowly glides down until you’re voluntarily trapped inside this ghost car. You feel around yourself for a seat belt. There is none.

“Stop touching me. Where were you heading?”

“Vegas.” It’s a dry croak from you.

You feel and hear the engine roaring to life. Surprisingly quiet here inside this car.

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to hit me.” Still not from the speakers. You don’t SEE any speakers. The entire CAR is speaking to you.

You don’t answer. Just sit there dumbly. Watching the scenery around you thru the Lambo’s tinted windows as the car trundles back to the highway and the desert becomes a blur around you as the engine roars.