A Very Bad Thing
It was a split second decision. He didn't stop once to think about it as his foot slipped down harder on the accelerator. Not one single thought went through his head as the car sped up. His surroundings took on a surreal look. Everything around him seemed to slow down, while the car moved faster. Dirt swirled around the car in wild torrents, sweeping into the car and bluring his vision. He cursed lightly, the words suddenly cut off by a loud thump.
Slamming on the brakes, he threw his door open and jumped out, his feet sinking into the mud. He slowly walked toward the front of his car, and stared blankly at the red substance that dripped slowly from his bumper.
He'd done it. He'd actually gone through with his plan. His mind was in a state of complete insanity, and when he regained normal consciousness he would probably be horrified. But, right then, the only thing his brain registered was, Finally! I'm rid of him!
He'd just killed his "best friend". Ran him down on a cold night on a dark, dirt road. But, in his mind, he was convinced that what he'd done was what needed to be done. Chris got what he deserved. He wouldn't push Griffin around anymore.
Chris had never acted like a best friend. Quite the contrary. He'd always made fun of Griffin, looked and talked down to him, frequently told him what a loser he was. Griffin had never had the guts to stand up for himself. But, now he'd finally done it.
But, had he meant for it to be fatal?
He convinced himself that, yes, he had meant to kill Chris. And, now, all he had to do was dispose of the mangled body.
Griffin leaned forward, to stare down at the body silently. Maybe he should hop back in his car, and run Chris over a few more times, just to make sure he really was dead. Or, maybe the urge just stemmed from the fact that he "wanted" to fullfill his plan of revenge. Wanted to hurt Chris so bad.
Chris laid soundlessly on the ground, his body already beginning to sink into the cold mud. His hands looked like they were curled up, as if he was in great pain, and his fingers were imbedded into the dirt. His right arm was twisted at an odd angle, and obviously, it was broken in several placed. His shirt was curled up around his shoulders, and his stomach was bruised a deep black.
Griffin reached forward, and took hold of the mangled body. He began to drag it along the dirt, toward the edge of the road, where the ground dropped off so suddenly it caught many people off guard. As it decended downward, the ground was lined with trees and weeds. The cliff dropped for almost six hundred feet, before it became a raging river, torrents splashing along the dirt madly.
Suddenly, Griffin jerked backwards, almost falling on the corpse, which refused to budge. He turned around to survey the situation, and blinked, caught totally off guard. Chris, with his nearly destroyed body and broken arm, was still alive. And he looked angry. Which was probably reasonable for a man who'd just been ruthlessly run down.
Chris sat up and smiled satanically at Griffin, whose eyes were bulging. He looked utterly stunned, and he began to back up. That seemed to please his near dead friend, which caused Griffin to look backwards quickly. In his terror, he had began to back up toward the edge of the cliff.
When he looked back, Chris was standing precariously on his two injured legs. He suddenly launched himself at Griffin, clawing out angrily with two dirt covered hands. His fingernails were incrusted with dirt, and they were sharp. Griffin discovered this when they sank into the flesh of his throat.
Griffin fell backwards, landing hard of his back. He was trapped under an extremely angry man, who was attempting to cut his throat. He knew that fingernails usually broke under pressure, but Chris's didn't even splinter.
Griffin felt blood trickle down his throat, and suddenly kicked into defense mode. He bucked upward, kneeing Chris in the stomach. He brought his fist around, smashing it into the already bruised and bleeding face of his ex-best friend. Chris fell backwards, no longer pinning Griffin to the ground. Griffin took this chance to jump upwards, regaining his footing quickly.
Chris stumbled toward Griffin, swinging his fist madly. Griffin reached out and grabbed the already broken arm, twisting it around with all his strength. He felt a strange since of euphoria as he heard the bones in Chris's arms crack.
Chris fell to his knees, his vision blured by the pain that shot throughout his ridged body. He tried to squirm away, but Griffin still held his arm merciously. "Bastard!" he hissed, punching out with his free, uninjured arm. He hit Griffin in the groin, who winced and dropped his arm, stumbling backwards.
Chris crawled to his feet, and shot toward Griffin, who jumped out of the way quickly. Chris slammed headlong into the car door, his head almost wripped to sheads as it burst through the window. Glass splintered everywhere, shards of it sprinkling the seat and dashboard.
Griffin sneaked up behind Chris, and rammed him further through the broken window. Chris kicked his foot backwards, again hitting Griffin in the groin. Free of Griffin's grasp, he pulled himself out of the window, and turned around.
Griffin was gone.
Chris stumbled around blindly, not sure where his enemy had hidden. He heard a car door open and shut, and spun around as Griffin gunned his engine. He hit the accelerator, and jerked forward, hitting Chris with a loud bang. Chris flew backwards out of Griffin's vision, and tumbled headlong down the cliff, his screams reverberating off the side.
Griffin hit the brakes, but his tires only spun madly in the slippery mud. His car headed straight toward the cliff. Throwing the door opened, he jumped out, hitting the mud and rolling.
But, he was rolling toward the edge of the cliff. His fingers sank into the soft mud, but he couldn't find anything to hold onto. And then he was over the side, slipping down quickly.
He bumped over something hard, and suddenly, his hards were tightly wound around a branch, splinters poking into his fingers painfully. He opened his eyes, which had been clenched shut, and stared around. He had slipped around twenty feet.
He hung there a while, before he got the motivation to reach upward, grabbing precariously onto another branch. He pulled with all the strength in his arms, and slowly but surely, began to make his way upwards. Some branches broke beneath his weight, but he always managed to stablize himself one way or another. Finally, he was able to reach up over the side, and pull himself back up to level ground.
Rolling over in the mud, Griffin laid there for an eternity before he forced himself upward. That's when he finally realized he was stranded in the middle of nowhere. His car had perished with Chris.
Griffin cursed. That car had cost him seventeen-thousand dollars, money he probably wouldn't have for another several years.
Griffin started walking slowly, not very eager to get home. He'd have to make up some excuse for his muddy clothes, and the absense of his car. He walked for a while, before headlights suddenly appeared. He stepped to the side, and waved his hands, hoping for a ride.
And, he realized with horror as the car sped up toward him dangerously, that this would be the ride of his life.