The truck was an ancient thing, putting down the road at a steady speed of
15 miles-per-hour. It passed shops and houses and the bakery at the corner
of Fifth and Westing, but no one noticed it. No one really cared anyways.
The boy driving took one last drag off his cigarette before tossing the still-lit stub out the window and letting out a deep, sad sigh. It had been the worst day of his life. . Both parents gone, along with his older brother, and his pet turtle. It had been close to four when he had returned home the night before to find that his house was no longer a house, but a pile of burning debris, burying his family and his pet turtle. Ah. Kiwi. He'd miss her the most.
He had left before the firemen or policemen could spot him; he didn't want to stick around to see the bodies being pulled out of the wreckage. He wiped his eyes and punched the steering wheel. Why? What did he do to deserve this? Nothing, he knew. If he ever found out it was arson. He didn't know what he'd do. Probably nothing.
He sighed again and pulled into a fast-food restaurant. He ordered quickly and sat far in the back, hunching over his food, not really wanting to eat. The local news caught his attention, however, as images of a burning house were displayed for all eyes to see.
".three bodies were uncovered and police suspect that it was an act of arson."
The boy cringed. They showed a policeman being interviewed with the house burning behind him.
".we've current issued a warrant for the arrest of."
The boy ducked lower in his seat as his name was read for all of the world to know. It hadn't been him. It was a left-over candle. A gas leak. He shook his head and walked out to his car, keeping his head down until he was safely inside, with the doors locked and the windows rolled tight. He didn't bother to buckle his seatbelt as he peeled out and sped onto the highway.
What was he going to do? He wiped the sweat already forming at his brow and pounded the steering wheel with his fists. This isn't happening, he tried to tell himself. This isn't real. But, it didn't work. It was very much real. He started crying then, a steady low sob, but crying, nonetheless. It was all over for him.
"I WISH I WAS DEAD!" he heard a voice scream, soon realizing it was his own.
And that's when the semi-truck hit him. He had run a red light. Hadn't seen it in his present state of delirium. His truck was plowed and he was thrown through the glass window, shredding his face, to add insult to injury. A horrible sight to all the passing pedestrians. A horrible, horrible sight. The police called it a suicide. Surely, he had heard the news of his warrant for arrest and immediately jumped into his car to end his life.
Some knew they were wrong of course, but it didn't really matter any way. His body lay on the sidewalk until midday, the police still trying to piece together the pieces of this puzzle. No one had touched him. No one dare. If they had forever, they would have seen a peaceful boy, smiling for the last time in his life.
The boy driving took one last drag off his cigarette before tossing the still-lit stub out the window and letting out a deep, sad sigh. It had been the worst day of his life. . Both parents gone, along with his older brother, and his pet turtle. It had been close to four when he had returned home the night before to find that his house was no longer a house, but a pile of burning debris, burying his family and his pet turtle. Ah. Kiwi. He'd miss her the most.
He had left before the firemen or policemen could spot him; he didn't want to stick around to see the bodies being pulled out of the wreckage. He wiped his eyes and punched the steering wheel. Why? What did he do to deserve this? Nothing, he knew. If he ever found out it was arson. He didn't know what he'd do. Probably nothing.
He sighed again and pulled into a fast-food restaurant. He ordered quickly and sat far in the back, hunching over his food, not really wanting to eat. The local news caught his attention, however, as images of a burning house were displayed for all eyes to see.
".three bodies were uncovered and police suspect that it was an act of arson."
The boy cringed. They showed a policeman being interviewed with the house burning behind him.
".we've current issued a warrant for the arrest of."
The boy ducked lower in his seat as his name was read for all of the world to know. It hadn't been him. It was a left-over candle. A gas leak. He shook his head and walked out to his car, keeping his head down until he was safely inside, with the doors locked and the windows rolled tight. He didn't bother to buckle his seatbelt as he peeled out and sped onto the highway.
What was he going to do? He wiped the sweat already forming at his brow and pounded the steering wheel with his fists. This isn't happening, he tried to tell himself. This isn't real. But, it didn't work. It was very much real. He started crying then, a steady low sob, but crying, nonetheless. It was all over for him.
"I WISH I WAS DEAD!" he heard a voice scream, soon realizing it was his own.
And that's when the semi-truck hit him. He had run a red light. Hadn't seen it in his present state of delirium. His truck was plowed and he was thrown through the glass window, shredding his face, to add insult to injury. A horrible sight to all the passing pedestrians. A horrible, horrible sight. The police called it a suicide. Surely, he had heard the news of his warrant for arrest and immediately jumped into his car to end his life.
Some knew they were wrong of course, but it didn't really matter any way. His body lay on the sidewalk until midday, the police still trying to piece together the pieces of this puzzle. No one had touched him. No one dare. If they had forever, they would have seen a peaceful boy, smiling for the last time in his life.