ioncow00 (ioncow00) wrote in xxangelxbloodxx,
ioncow00
ioncow00
xxangelxbloodxx

The Storyteller

Yes, well, it happens sometimes, doesn't it? I mean, it could happen to anybody. It just happened that it was ME who lay bloody still clutching an almost empty bottle of alchohol in a deathgrip. This has been the worst night ever. Stolen cars, stolen dope, and stolen lives. Well, it happens.
It started out, as most of these stupid anecdotes do, in a bar. There was a large woman with a pig under her arm. Someone inquired where she got the hog and the little curlytailed, fork-tongued beast said he won her at the fair. What the hell, its a bar. Interesting fact about bars, at a certain point drunkenness becomes just as hazardous for those "staying sober". Like smoking. At least, that was my excuse. It's not like i was doing anything illegal. Why, who've you been talking to?
I asked the 'tender for a vodka, straight. She winked and threw me the bottle. Taking a long swig, I spotted a mischevious looking elf-man walk in. He was wearing a silvery-white suit and a white top hat. What the hell? No one wears top hats! His request was a Holy Bartender. He seemed amused at the woman's confusion. To demonstrate the making of Holy Bartender he tossed up his hat, did a spin and when he faced front several bloody spots appeared on the buxom bartender's white smock. After another spin the demon-man's gun was gone and his hat fell softly on his head. He whistled some showtune I could barely recognize as he skipped out the door. All of us drunken men were too dumbstruck and intoxicated to do anything in response. I downed another gulp from the fiery bottle and made my way out. In my state, I didn't need a nosy cop asking me all sorts of questions, even if their motives were the murder at hand and not my own... fallacies.
So, carrying my half empty bottle and my coat I made my way out of the bar and into the parking lot. I sat down in the driver's seat when I realized I had a problem. I searched in all of my pockets and shook my coat. But it was true. I'd lost my keys. With no time left to go back inside and retrieve them, I pulled the plastic sheild blocking the wires under the steering wheel. Shorting a couple wires and sticking them together with a wad of gum, I was on my way. And not a moment too soon, because just as I got down the street the cops came rolling in. Some timing, I thought. Always there when I'm doing something wrong, never there when something serious is going on. I had no complaints, though, they didn't even notice I was driving thirty clicks over the limit. And blood-alchohol content aside, I was speeding, too.
When I got on the highway I heard something strange in the back seat. All of a sudden I found myself in a car that was not my own. I tell ya, reality sure played some funny tricks on me that night. Instead of my sporty Honda Civic hybrid (tricked out, no doubt) I was in some SUV. I heard a squeal and a laugh from the seats behind me and two tiny hands wrapped around my head and covered my eyes. I yelled, the child yelled, and the vehicle spun and crashed into the concrete median. Apparently the child thought I was his mother. Apparently SUVs don't steer very well at high speeds when you kick the wheel out of surprise. Apparently highway cops are a lot faster then inner-city cops at the scene of public disturbances.
I don't know how the next part of my adventure happened, but the next thing I remember I was behind the steering wheel of an empty squad car. The radio blared unintelligible garble, occasionally concerned comments about a missing officer. I knew two things, that I needed to shut that damn radio up, and that I needed to lose the car before someone recognized it. My first problem was easily remedied, one smack with my bottle sent a crackle and then a silence. It was the eeriest silence I've ever felt, but also the most powerful. Never before had I seen a cop car from this perspective. There was a switch right next to the gear shifter, which I took for the siren and blinking lights. Naturally, I flipped it. Traffic law immunity, who wouldn't?
In a few minutes I found myself back at the bar. I guess my sense of direction went before my driving ability when I got drunk. Not that my driving ability wasn't gone by this point. I parked the car around in the alley so no one would see me get out of it. I stumbled out of the dark clutching my bottle, and I guess no one knew that I had just gone for a joyride in a state vehicle, but I wasn't about to take any chances.
There were three more of the cop vehicles parked in front of the bar, but the ambulance was already gone. Too bad, I thought. That blonde bartender was quite a looker. Then I remembered she was dead and suddenly my attraction to her dwindled to mere sympathy. There was still a whole lot of investigating going on inside, so I made my way to the parking lot. I was going to make sure I hotwired the right car this time. Just as I grabbed the handle I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Officer, I said when I turned around. She smiled at me, so I didn't figure I was in trouble. Her sharp red lips assured me that she stopped me for someone else's mistakes. That maybe I could help her solve this thing. I knew I could help her, those curves, that tight uniform, that curly black hair, those handcuffs...
She asked me a few routine questions, who was the man with the gun? what did he look like? did I know his name? After I gave her what she wanted and assured her that no, I wasn't driving home drunk, I was going to my car to cell phone my wife to come pick me up, she let me go. Finally, I got the car started up. I turned on my neon blue dash lights, just to make extra sure I had the right one.
Somehow I made it home. I almost spun out pulling into the driveway, but a kick on the gas gave me control back, as well as sent me through the garage door like it was tinfoil. And pressed between a bent hood and a workbench cluttered with a surprising number of sharp and irritating knick-knacks, I lay bleeding until the paramedics came to my rescue, assumingly hours later. I passed out in minutes. I dont know if it was from blood loss, from pain, or from alchohol content, or maybe a combination of the three, but the only thing I remembered was waking up in this bed on top of this bed pan, in this horrid hospital gown, clipped down with these handcuffs.
I wonder what they got me on. Posession of illegal substance, reckless driving, maybe they even found out about the stolen cars. While I contemplate it, though, I still have a last bit of vodka left. I pour it into my mouth and it slides out the screwdriver holes in my lips and gums, burning every open wound on my body. God, this life sucks.
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