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Anywhere But Oz
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Anywhere But Oz |
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Alain DeLaCendres Member
since 1999-07-02
Posts 119Ohio |
He was lost. Utterly lost. No road signs were in sight, he had no maps, and he was lost. The few trees glided past him, unimportant. A storm was brewing just over the mountains, which didn't exactly help matters any. The clouds looked like they would yield a good bit of rain, as well as a fair share of lightning and thunder. He could already see flashes of dim light in the distance that only helped reassure him that the storm was coming his way. Johnny Cash was telling him how he had been everywhere, man. Static was distorting Johnny’s old fashioned country voice was distorted a bit, but it was clearly audible all the same. But he supposed he should enjoy that while it last, because the storm would almost definitely rip apart the radio signals and he would hear nothing more than ominous cracks and pops. His white van was rolling along at a steady fifty miles per hour. He had had no engine trouble this time around, unlike the last outing when he had been stranded along the road for three hours until someone had finally came along and given him a ride to the nearest town. The wind was howling quite loudly, so he turned Johnny up to drown out the creepy sound. The low beam headlights spilled across the empty road, illuminating it like an old unused iron skillet with faded yellow and white lines. There were no other vehicles around, so he could have turned on his high beams, but he saw no point in it. It was still a good hour until sunset and he could see just fine for now. The first rain drop splattered against his windshield with a wet smack. At first he though it might have been a bug, but upon a closer look, there was no denying it, it was rain. It really was going to be a bad storm by the size of the rain drop. It was terribly large for only a single rain drop, but what difference did it make? If it stormed, light or heavy, he knew he would pull over and wait it out. He was paranoid of storms. He hated them. Some people chose to hate each other, some people chose to hate certain material things, but he hated nothing worse than a storm. They frightened him immensely. Every time it so much as rained he always had a premonition of a funnel cloud sneaking it's way down from the coal black clouds to take him away. He was well aware that this was a foolish fear, but he feared storms all the same. And he always would, always had since his father had been killed when a tornado had done just as he always feared it would do to him. A southern summer night had turned horrific when a funnel cloud has dashed out of the clouds and his father has sent him and his mother to the storm cellar while he locked up the animals. His father had not made it to the storm cellar in time and had been swept away along with two of their cows and three horses, never to be seen again. His body was never found, only his tattered hat had been found five miles south of their farm. He had to fight his paranoia back to a dull roar so he could concentrate on his driving. It would do him no good to worry about the storm if he wrecked his van before the storm even fully hit. More rain drops slapped on the windshield, asking if they could take him away. The wind was picking up and he could feel it tugging at his van, caressing it towards the ditch on the that awaited him off the right side on the road like an old friend that wanted to stab you in the back. Without warning, the downpour began. It hit hard and fast, cutting his visibility down to perhaps five feet, no more but maybe a bit less. He began to get scared, but he didn't stop yet. He decided he would continue to drive for a little while longer, but that didn't mean he wouldn't change his mind if the storm got any worse. The wind was getting even worse, not tugging anymore, but pushing the van. He had to concentrate harder to keep his van on the road. He turned the radio up even louder, hoping it would help him take his mind off of the storm. Now Travis Tritt was telling him about where the corn don't grow. He liked the song, but he preferred Johnny Cash. He let the song finish playing, then turned the tuner knob a little to the left, searching for the first station that came in decent enough to be able to tell what was playing. He know he probably shouldn't be fiddling with the radio while he was attempting to concentrate on keeping his van on the road, but he knew that without the radio, he would quickly lose his tolerance of the storm and pull over to wait it out. He didn't know why he did that, because he was just as likely to be swept away by a tornado while he was sitting still as he was while he was driving. He more likely had a better chance of avoiding a tornado if he continued to drive because then he would be more aware of the sky and he would see the tornado coming and maybe be able to turn away from it and flee; but he still preferred to simply park along the road and sleep through the storm. He finally found and audible radio station and took his hand from the turner and turned his attention back to the road. It was an old rock station playing one of his favorites, "Turn the Page" by Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band. The song eased his tension a bit, but did not eliminate it. His eyes drifted up to the dark sky and he felt the dread rising in his throat. The rain was coming down as hard as even and the wind was blowing away everything that wasn't tied down. There had been no louder thunder as of yet, and he had the radio playing at near full blast now, so he might not hear some of the quieter blast of thunder. And that was the way he liked it. He has already has to replace the speakers in his van twice already after storms such as this one, but what was a few measly speaker compared to his sanity? He would gladly blow a few speakers any day rather than go crazy with worry because of a storm. The first flash of lightning lit the sky. It filled his van and all the air around him for a split second. After about two seconds, the thunder rocked his brain. His nerves gave up trying to cope with the stress. He felt crowded and alone all at once. He remembered that this was how he had felt the last time he had began to freak out. He slowed his van to a crawl and began to look for a suitable place to pull over. Almost immediately he found what he wanted. He saw a little gravel road that led back into the sparsely wooded country side, and decided that this spot was as good as any other. He pulled into the road and carefully maneuvered his van as far off of the road as he could and flipped on his hazard lights and killed the engine. Then as an afterthought, he turned the key forward until he felt it stop, enabling him to still listen to the radio. Bob Seger was now somberly singing about being on the road the again and being up on the stage. He wished he wasn't on the road again. He wished that he was at home in his apartment with all the blinds closed and the television showing some rerun, or maybe his home stereo playing on of his favorite songs, maybe Lynard Sykynrd singing about Sweet Home Alabama or The Rolling Stones singing the devil some sympathy. But, that wasn't going to happen and he knew it. He unbelted himself and got up to get a blanket from the back of the van. He kept a few blankets in the back for just such an occasion. He came back to the front and sat back into his seat. His fingers found the small lever at the side of his seat, and he pulled it, slowly leaning his seat back all the way. He sat up and turned the radio the rest of the way up, Kenny Wayne Shepherd claiming that blue on black, tears on a river and a push on a shove made no difference at all. He settled himself back into his seat and drew his blanket all the way up to his chin much like a little child hiding his head under the covers when it was storming outside. Much like that. even with the radio at full blast, sleep took him quickly. He never knew what happened. The news claimed it to have been the worst tornado the United States had seen in this century, a high class F-5 tornado. A white van was found smashed nearly to pieces amid a mass of several large trees and a tangle of power lines. No driver or passengers were ever found, but a baseball hat was found caught in the front driver's side fender well. 5:31pm / 8-3-99 ------------------ Tout s'en va, tout passe, l'eau coule, et le couer oublie. |
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| © Copyright 1999 Alain DeLaCendres - All Rights Reserved | |||
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leelew Member
since 1999-07-10
Posts 89highmount,ny,usa |
Fantastic story! I couldn't stop reading! ------------------ "There are none so blind as those who see only with the mind and not the heart" |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
Oh wow...my stomach is churning! I know the feeling all too well, when I was 5 a tornado took out half of the playground at my school while we were at recess. This piece is excellent! Thank you very much for posting it. |
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