hmm, short story? i think so
alright, here's my short story for creative writing...the background to "Helter Skelter" is creepy, as you'll find out. Read if you so desire, personally, I like it. It's not too long.
“Helter Skelter”
The road shot straight ahead of her, dust and rocks scattering behind her car as she raced along the lonely highway. The desert sun smoldered overhead, glaring back at her angrily from the sparse expanse around her. If she had been looking, she could have seen the land ahead shimmering as heat rose, but she was oblivious to the desert heat, with her sunglasses, bottle of water, and air conditioned car. She sang loudly along with the Beatles, "Helter Skelter," which emanated from the radio.
"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide," she bellowed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, pressing the gas petal and accelerating quickly. "Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride..." She broke off as smoke began to issue from the hood of her car. "Great," she grunted angrily, pulling off to the side.
Pulling her purse from the back seat, she grabbed her cell phone to call for help. She clicked her fingers impatiently, already starting to feel the cool air leaking away from her car. "Come on," she grumbled and looked at her cell phone: Call Failed. She was in the middle of Nevada in the desert, with a broken down car and no phone service.
Worry began to grip her as she looked outside, pulling her sunglasses off and wincing at the bright glare. If she went outside, she might be able to find a gas station, or at least some phone service elsewhere. She opened the door and like an unbaked cake, was thrown into a furnace of heat. She gasped at the difference in temperature, and retreated back into her car, burning her fingers on the hot, black exterior. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she examined her blistering fingers. “Helter Skelter” was still playing on the radio, adding to her tension. What would she do? How long until someone drove by? What if no one came?
Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself. “I just need to look at a map…maybe I’m near something,” she said aloud, the sound of her voice was strangely comforting. Rummaging around for a moment, she procured a map and located herself with some difficulty. She was ten miles from the nearest gas station ahead of her. “Ten miles,” she whispered. “Not too far. It could be worse. I can handle it.” Looking out the windshield, she saw mile marker thirty-two, waving sinuously ahead. “Besides, someone will probably drive by sooner or later,” she said, but her voice held no assurance.
There was no wind; it seemed as if the air hung still. Nearly everything had stopped; time had stopped when she stepped outside. She still found herself squinting through her sunglasses, with her purse, map, and water held tightly in her arms. The road stretched endlessly in front of her, the heat was murder. Not too bad, she thought, only ten miles.
Mile markers passed her, but they never seemed to change, she was walking up on a down escalator. Time slowed with every minute as the heat increased. She found herself checking her watch every five minutes, and finally threw it down in frustration at about eleven in the morning. She didn’t want to know what time it was anymore and for all she cared, it could join her purse and over shirt and burn in the desert hell. She had come here to visit an old high school friend, actually her best friend growing up. So much for that! All she wanted now was a car, or a pool, or even another bottle of water to replace her rapidly emptying one.
Hours had passed and she might have looked at the sun to tell the time, but the burning star above her was the last thing she wanted to see. Her lips were dry and cracked, her skin simmering angrily, a baking crimson. Her mind had begun to wander about three miles back. Was it Tuesday or Thursday? Had she always been there, roaming the desert? Dust covered her skin, hardening as it mixed with perspiration, but even that had seemed to stop. Her empty water bottle was probably melting where she had dropped it. Maybe she was melting.
She squinted, there was a mile marker ahead, or at least she thought there was. She thought she had seen millions of them. She stopped suddenly. Someone was mumbling somewhere.
“…helter skelter, helter skelter. Will you, won't you want me to make you? I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you.” It was only when she tried to call out that she realized the raspy voice was coming from her lips.
She could see the mile marker, bewildered at first when it stood still. Mile forty-one looked beautiful to her. One more mile, so close.
She felt her foot catch on a rock behind her and tumbled forward, the merciless asphalt broke her fall. She felt liquid at her mouth, probably her blood, though it felt like she didn’t have anything fluid left in her. Mile forty-one, so close, she could almost see mile forty-two. Had she been looking, she might have seen a gas station, waving in the heat in front of her, but the heat was murder.
THE END
I don't know if you guys will get the symbolism with the song "Helter Skelter" so I'll explain. "Helter Skelter" is a Beatles song, that is said, when listened to for forty-one times, one goes insane. I doubt this is true, at least for everyone, but Charles Manson said this is the sog he listened to when he went insane. For those of you who don't know Charles Manson was a psychopath, got many people to commit murders, but anyway, i used the insane aspect, so forty-one in my story is sort of the main character's doom/death...Also, in the end of the song, someone says "I have blisters on my fingers!" and i used that, as you read.
“Helter Skelter”
The road shot straight ahead of her, dust and rocks scattering behind her car as she raced along the lonely highway. The desert sun smoldered overhead, glaring back at her angrily from the sparse expanse around her. If she had been looking, she could have seen the land ahead shimmering as heat rose, but she was oblivious to the desert heat, with her sunglasses, bottle of water, and air conditioned car. She sang loudly along with the Beatles, "Helter Skelter," which emanated from the radio.
"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide," she bellowed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, pressing the gas petal and accelerating quickly. "Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride..." She broke off as smoke began to issue from the hood of her car. "Great," she grunted angrily, pulling off to the side.
Pulling her purse from the back seat, she grabbed her cell phone to call for help. She clicked her fingers impatiently, already starting to feel the cool air leaking away from her car. "Come on," she grumbled and looked at her cell phone: Call Failed. She was in the middle of Nevada in the desert, with a broken down car and no phone service.
Worry began to grip her as she looked outside, pulling her sunglasses off and wincing at the bright glare. If she went outside, she might be able to find a gas station, or at least some phone service elsewhere. She opened the door and like an unbaked cake, was thrown into a furnace of heat. She gasped at the difference in temperature, and retreated back into her car, burning her fingers on the hot, black exterior. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she examined her blistering fingers. “Helter Skelter” was still playing on the radio, adding to her tension. What would she do? How long until someone drove by? What if no one came?
Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself. “I just need to look at a map…maybe I’m near something,” she said aloud, the sound of her voice was strangely comforting. Rummaging around for a moment, she procured a map and located herself with some difficulty. She was ten miles from the nearest gas station ahead of her. “Ten miles,” she whispered. “Not too far. It could be worse. I can handle it.” Looking out the windshield, she saw mile marker thirty-two, waving sinuously ahead. “Besides, someone will probably drive by sooner or later,” she said, but her voice held no assurance.
There was no wind; it seemed as if the air hung still. Nearly everything had stopped; time had stopped when she stepped outside. She still found herself squinting through her sunglasses, with her purse, map, and water held tightly in her arms. The road stretched endlessly in front of her, the heat was murder. Not too bad, she thought, only ten miles.
Mile markers passed her, but they never seemed to change, she was walking up on a down escalator. Time slowed with every minute as the heat increased. She found herself checking her watch every five minutes, and finally threw it down in frustration at about eleven in the morning. She didn’t want to know what time it was anymore and for all she cared, it could join her purse and over shirt and burn in the desert hell. She had come here to visit an old high school friend, actually her best friend growing up. So much for that! All she wanted now was a car, or a pool, or even another bottle of water to replace her rapidly emptying one.
Hours had passed and she might have looked at the sun to tell the time, but the burning star above her was the last thing she wanted to see. Her lips were dry and cracked, her skin simmering angrily, a baking crimson. Her mind had begun to wander about three miles back. Was it Tuesday or Thursday? Had she always been there, roaming the desert? Dust covered her skin, hardening as it mixed with perspiration, but even that had seemed to stop. Her empty water bottle was probably melting where she had dropped it. Maybe she was melting.
She squinted, there was a mile marker ahead, or at least she thought there was. She thought she had seen millions of them. She stopped suddenly. Someone was mumbling somewhere.
“…helter skelter, helter skelter. Will you, won't you want me to make you? I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you.” It was only when she tried to call out that she realized the raspy voice was coming from her lips.
She could see the mile marker, bewildered at first when it stood still. Mile forty-one looked beautiful to her. One more mile, so close.
She felt her foot catch on a rock behind her and tumbled forward, the merciless asphalt broke her fall. She felt liquid at her mouth, probably her blood, though it felt like she didn’t have anything fluid left in her. Mile forty-one, so close, she could almost see mile forty-two. Had she been looking, she might have seen a gas station, waving in the heat in front of her, but the heat was murder.
THE END
I don't know if you guys will get the symbolism with the song "Helter Skelter" so I'll explain. "Helter Skelter" is a Beatles song, that is said, when listened to for forty-one times, one goes insane. I doubt this is true, at least for everyone, but Charles Manson said this is the sog he listened to when he went insane. For those of you who don't know Charles Manson was a psychopath, got many people to commit murders, but anyway, i used the insane aspect, so forty-one in my story is sort of the main character's doom/death...Also, in the end of the song, someone says "I have blisters on my fingers!" and i used that, as you read.