This is our second story.

This week, our word/ theme was “past”. If you want to hear the song we created, check out our bandcamp for this weeks song as well: https://lockedcontent.bandcamp.com/

PAST

By s.h.

It’s an autumn evening, Hank sits beside Jeff as they drive to the Pit Stop. Hank decided to join in on the weekly ritual of breakfast for dinner at the local diner.

Main St is empty; the stores are all closed as everyone wants to get to the Pit Stop before there’s a long wait. An old red pickup truck idles loudly at the red light in front of Jeff and Hank. A thick, hairy arm rests out the driver side window holding a cigarette. The light turns green and the truck sits still.

“C’mon buddy, it’s green”, Jeff says to himself frustrated.

A few moments pass and still no movement from the red truck. Jeff lays on the horn for a few seconds; the sound echoes. Still, the truck idles.

“What’s this guy on about eh?” Jeff slowly pushes his door open and steps out.

As he approaches the rear bumper of the truck, it shoots into reverse, smashing into Jeff at the knees. Hank watches in horror as Jeff’s knees snap backwards and a terrible scream erupts from him. The truck moves forward and then reverses again, crushing Jeff and slamming into his truck.

“Oh my god! What the hell!?” Hank screams in terror.

He scrambles out of the car and runs onto the sidewalk. There’s a mailbox in front of a flower shop and Hank decides to hide behind it. Peering out, he surveys the street. The pickup truck hasn’t moved; it idles, smashed against the hood of Jeff’s truck. As Hank squints, he can see Jeff’s body lying motionless just past the front wheels.

“Christ! I hope Jeff’s alright.” Hank mutters to himself.

He quickly crouches further behind the mailbox as he hears the pickup’s door open. A steel toed boot lands heavy on the asphalt as the man emerges from his pickup truck. Hank’s jaw falls open as he sees the size of the man; he’s enormous. The man takes a long drag of his cigarette and flicks it on the ground. He crouches down beside Jeff and mutters something inaudible. Suddenly, the man stands up and raises his trunk like leg. He thrusts it down upon Jeff’s head; a wet crunch is all Hank hears as the boot squashes Jeff’s skull.

Hank freezes.

What the hell is happening?! Did he just kill Jeff in the street!?

The man walks to the bed of his truck and pulls out a red jerry can. He walks to the front of his truck and starts pouring its contents on the hood. He continues to pour as he walks around the two trucks, making sure to splash some on Jerry. When the can is empty, he throws it back into the bed of his truck and lights a cigarette. After taking a long drag, and stepping back from the vehicles, he flicks it at them. Immediately, flames engulf the trucks and Jeff. The man smiles watching the flames grow and cheers as the trucks explode in unison.

At this point the man is about 15 feet from Hank. He is on the verge of hysteria screaming at the fire.

“Still think I’m boring Jeff?! Still too high strung?! I think YOU’RE life is pretty meaningless now!”

He knows Jeff?

Having been crouching for some time, Hank’s legs start to cramp. The burn quickly becomes too much to handle and Hank stands up. The man flinches.

“Who’s there?!”

He turns, facing the mailbox.

“Come out from there now!”

Oh god he’s seen me! I’m screwed!

“I want to talk to you, come here.” The man says with a calm voice.

Hank is frozen.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You were riding with Jeff…I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“W..ww..why did you do that? Hanks struggles to get the words out.

“That’s between Jeff and I. Now, give me your wallet and cell number.”

With shaky hands, Hank throws his wallet to the man and gives him his number.

“Right, here’s how this is gonna work. I’ve got your name, address, and number. I have no interest in causing you harm. You’re going to continue your life as normal and so am I. As insurance, I happen to know your mother and father live in the retirement home over on King St. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no harm will come to them.”

He throws the wallet back at Hank and reaches into his pocket. Three dog tags hang from his hand and a photograph.

“It’s finally over. Rest in peace.” He mutters as he tosses both into the fire and turns, walking away.

A light wind catches the photograph before it lands in the fire and carries it just outside the flames’ reach. The man doesn’t notice, or if he does, doesn’t stop walking. Hank, having somewhat composed himself, walks over and picks up the photograph.

It’s creased through the centre, and the edges are tattered. The image has five men in army slacks cheering. Lush green foliage surrounds the squad and the sweat on them suggests they’re in a humid location. After studying it more, Hank recognizes Jeff as the man in the center. He is much younger, about the age Hank is now. To the right of him, he recognizes the man from the red pickup truck, towering above the others. Hank doesn’t recognize the other men. He flips the photograph over. On the back are a few words written in faded ink. Cam Ranh ’65. Steele Squad.

I never knew Jeff served; I figured he had always worked at the mill.

By now the man had disappeared from Hank’s view. Sirens wailed in the distance as the fire continued to burn.

I shouldn’t be here when the police show up if I’m gonna listen to him. The best thing for me to do is probably continue on with my evening, to keep up a sense or normality.

Hank takes one last look at the burning wreckage.

“I dunno what you did Jeff, but I’ll miss you.” He says to himself.

Hank takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. The Pit Stop will be busy by now but he’s not worried about it; his hunger has subsided for the time being.

I guess I’ll head over to the Pit Stop and grab a bite to eat.

As he walks past the charred remains of his old friend, he flings the photograph into the fire.