Make it stand out.

A Man Cut Into Slices

“Noo, YOUUUU come back inside,” Knight said, slurring his words. “I need to get her chocolate — I forgot to on Valentine’s Day. That’s why she’s leaving, I know it. I bet if I go bring her those good chocolates, she’ll stay here. She’s just testing me.”

“Okay, well, we’re drunk as hell, and we wouldn’t even make it halfway to Cali before passing out. Let’s head out tomorrow and get them when we’re sobered up,” John replied.

“No, no, no, we don’t have time, man — she’s leaving next week, so we have to go now!”

“I know you’ve told me 7,000 times, but you’re not leaving right now, so give me your damn keys,” John said as he tried to snatch the fob from Knight’s hand.

“Get the fuck away from me! I can take care of myself!” Knight yelled.

“Come on, dude, don’t be an idiot,” John insisted, going in for the keys again.

“I said, get away!” Knight shouted, and he threw a looping overhand that connected squarely with John’s nose.

John stumbled back, blood starting to leak. “Okay, motherfucker, I see how it is,” he growled. “This is the thanks I get after everything I’ve done for you? Go on then — get out of here, you selfish little prick. Have fun getting a DUI!” He turned and stormed back into the house.

Knight stood alone in silence for a few moments before heading to his car.

Why does nobody listen to me? he thought as he almost tripped over himself opening the door.

“Okay, first things first, music. Let’s seeeeee.”

He found the playlist called Heavy Mood, hit shuffle, and a Tool song started blasting.

Singing loudly to the song, he knew his favorite part was coming up. “I’m praying for rain, I’m praying for tidal waves. I wanna see the ground give way, wanna watch it all go down.”

“Seeee, there’s a sign about going to the ocean right there. It’s clear I’m righttt where I need to be,” he said, slurring to his car. “How can she leave a man who’s willing to drive 1,000 miles to get her chocolate?”

The freeway heading west was just ahead, and without another thought, he swerved into the right lane.

It was a cool autumn night, so Knight turned up the heat and rolled the windows down. The cool breeze hit him like a pillow of feathers. His body began to immediately relax, and the tension started to fade away. He closed his eyes and imagined he was standing at the beach feeling the cool ocean breeze. He took a deep breath through his nose and started talking to his car again.

“This is just what I need right now...”

THUNK.

Knight’s eyes shot open. He saw a cement barrier a few feet ahead and instinctively turned the wheel. Unfortunately, instincts made him slam on the brakes, too, throwing life into a spinning cycle. When the car finally came to a stop, his vision told him everything was still moving.

After a few deep breaths, he started to see normally again, but Cillian Knight’s heart was ready to explode.

His car ended up facing the direction he had come from, and he could see the marks on the street that his tires left behind. His eyes followed the path of the tire marks, and all of a sudden, his blood went cold. There, at the start of the skid, was a shadowy figure lying silent in the street.

Then he remembered the thunk, and his heart fell deep into his stomach. He turned off the blasting music, and thoughts came rushing in his mind like a dam breaking loose.

All of a sudden he could not breathe. Air! He needed air! He frantically opened the car door, and right when he exited, the rum decided it was time to make its escape.

On his hands and knees, Knight’s stupid decisions from the evening were putting on a violent display. Trying to breathe between the dry heaves felt impossible as he was stuck thinking the same four words in his head: This can’t be happening.

After what felt like an eternity, he was able to stagger to his feet. Wiping the bile from the corner of his mouth, he stood on shaky legs staring at the figure lying fifty feet away. He started walking slowly over while chanting under his breath, “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

As he reached the body, he observed an older man dressed in ragged clothes. One of his sneakers had come off and revealed a big toe poking through his sock. The man seemed homeless, likely living under a bridge. As he bent down to check the man’s pulse, Knight’s nose filled with unpleasant smells. “Yeah, you’re homeless, alright,” he mumbled after confirming a pulse. The awkward way the man’s body was contorted suggested a broken leg and maybe a rib or two. Knight pulled out his phone and spoke to the unmoving man, “Well, better get you to a hospital.”

Then a realization hit him: I’m drunk. This is a damn DUI. “John, you bastard — of course you would be right,” he said, venom on his tongue. He attempted to seal the curse with a wad of spit to splat on the ground, but his mouth was so dry that all he could muster was a small mix of saliva and bile, which ended up more as a spray than a glob. Yet another failure, he thought before turning his attention back to what the hell was going on.

Looking all around, he saw no cameras, no witnesses — nothing to pin him to the scene. “Nah, that’s messed up,” he muttered as he unlocked his phone. He saw his News app next to the Phone app and remembered reading an article a few days ago about the ongoing homeless crisis. He also remembered being pretty annoyed after reading it.

“You’re a freaking bum,” he said suddenly to the unconscious man. “You rely on working people like me! I pay my taxes, I give back to my community. What do you do? Sit in your stupid makeshift tent and get drunk and high all day. I should leave you here, and if the universe wants you to survive, it will provide a way. If not, that’s one less problem for society.”

Those last words echoed through Knight’s mind, and his shoulders slumped. “This is so stupid. Who knows why you became a bum anyway? Maybe your wife died in a house fire while you were working. I don’t know your story, and would it even matter if I did? You’re still a human.”

The unconscious man did not respond.

Knight dialed 911 but hesitated before pressing the call button. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just think about this for a second.” Trembling, his thumb hovered over the green call button.

“If I press this button, I’m screwed. I’ll lose everything. I’ll be a criminal. I’ll ruin my perfect record! What if you end up suing me? You’ve got nothing to lose, and I’ve got everything to lose! I’m young with my whole life ahead of me, and you’re old — you had yours already. This is not fair!”

Standing there panting, Cillian Knight glimpsed a future filled with paranoia, guilt, and shame if he abandoned the man. Could he really live with himself if he chose that path?

The question would never be answered, as he sealed his fate and pressed call.

End of Prologue

It seems the first letter is what controls the word. A vowel must be present to keep the word honest.

© Shane Wright, 2024. All rights reserved.