JOY RIDE: A Short Story

[Author's note: The Following Story is for mature readers. It contains foul language, drug usage, violence, and supernatural events. Reader Discretion is Advised. This story does not contain events related to the End Times Universe. The following events are not related to any particular literary universe, other than the one in the author's mind]

Brian Jason, 370 lbs., or Santa Clause as some referred to him as, sat down at the coffee table with a silver, metallic suitcase handcuffed to his left wrist. He punched the numeric lock combination, opening the case, revealing a large pile of narcotics sealed, hidden, within.

Brian tossed a small bag of cocaine onto the table, took the shaving blade out of his pocket, and cut the cocaine into neat little lines, then promptly snorted it, covering his face with white cocaine dust. He stood up. "Those fucks won't stand a chance against me!" he barked at himself, the small house being empty and poorly maintained, dirty all over. "No one stands up to Brian Jason! Not this time! I win this time! Fuck yeah!"

Brian had already left his house and was making his way to the pickup truck in his driveway, when he realized he had forgot to clean the cocaine dust off of his face when a young girl walking with her mother on the sidewalk, looked over and pointed to the man. "Why does that man have so much sugar on his ugly fat face Mommy?" she attempted to whisper and ask. "Fuck you too, bitches!" Brian shouted back at the little girl and her mother, causing them to walk quite a bit faster. He was impatient, indignant, continuing to attempt to enter his truck by jamming the key at the lock on the drivers side. Realizing what the girl had said, he tried to wipe the cocaine off his face with a dirty towel he had stowed away in his truck as he put the key in the ignition. He had a less flowery looking face now, much less pure white from the cocaine anyway. He backed out of his driveway with a honk, so fast he almost ran over the 6 year old girl and her mother as they barely managed to avoid him and got out of his way just in time to save their lives. Then the pickup truck sped away down the street, tires screeching loudly, as smoke from the burning tires left a trail up in the air.

As it exited the suburbs, Brian's truck increased in speed. "No nigger music for me, thanks," he said condescendingly as possible, turning up the classic rock, quiet at first, but shortly afterwards, as loud as it could go. Brian liked, Really liked watching people in traffic look uncomfortable. He liked making them look uncomfortable. He considered that his Gift From God. Any method of annoyance he could use to torture his fellow drivers with discomfort, he did use. The more suffering and disruption other's had to experience on his behalf, the better. This is America, he thought. And annoyance and agitation is Pure White America, which is why he considered himself to be, and if you DON'T think that, I've got a present under my driver's seat for you, he thought. This was Brian's Life Philosophy. Screw Others Over as often as possible. Be annoying and the Lord will provide, in America anyway. "No one fucks with Brian Jason!" He thought with copious amounts of aggression and cocaine rage. Hallucinations began appearing everywhere in his perception surrounding him in his truck. Suddenly he forgot how fast he was going, or what direction he was headed in. A small white line appeared through his windshield in his line of sight. He swurved left, cutting off two other cars, then swerved right, cutting off another three, making some of them crash into other cars. But he himself found he couldn't avoid a crash. His car crashed first into the car in the opposite lane beside him, and then ultimately was taken out by the telephone pole at the busy intersection, which he drove right through bypassing oncoming traffic and a light that had been red, as tires screeched, horrible crunching sounds filled the air, blood splattered all over numerous cars, and resulted in a 20 car pile up.

Brian Jason's vision then faded to white.

Brian's body felt weird, primarily because he was dead. He didn't have a body. Brian was now a formless Witness, unseen by anyone around him. Now that he was cognizant as a spirit, Brian's spirit floated upward to get a look at the local devastation he had caused. There was smoke, fire, flesh, and blood everywhere (including his), mangled cars, mangled and mutilated corpses, police cars, ambulances, firetrucks, helicopters, and people yelling, screaming, fighting, and generally panicking. Sirens, horns. It looked like a traffic Apocalypse. There was no real life, positivity, or hope to be sensed anywhere. Black crows swarmed over head in a flock. What a good job I did! the disembodied spirit thought. Surely for hurting others so much, God wants to reward me in some way. Brian's Spirit hovered around the morbid scene of the pileup for another 20 to 30 minutes, watching the events he caused unfold. He came to his own terrifying realization. "Hey wait a second! Even when I take that many people out with me in the big finale, no one cares about ME?? Why does no one care about Brian Jason! It's like they're TRYING to piss me off! I'll learn them a Real Lesson, the Spirit said to Itself, diving into the helmet of one of the police officers nearest to him

Officer Rick Marx had been having an off day. He had attended to some speeding violations, but other than that, it was a peaceful day, not too many clouds out. Until now. Marx didn't know what to make of this 11 or so car pile-up. It saddened him a bit. Then Marx felt a chill go down his spine. And suddenly, he passed out onto the cement of the street. He regained consciousness as a different person.

Brian suddenly found himself breathing and feeling again. He then realized he wasn't in his own body but the body of an officer dressed in a police uniform. He began walking in the opposite direction of the accident nonchalantly, when another officer, Randal James grabbed his shoulder, stopping him from walking.

"And just where the hell are you going?" asked Randal.
"Uh, I'm going...to file a police report," said the cop who now had one set of creepily vacant eyes.
"Oh. Well okay then. Best of luck," said Randal, as a chill went down his spine, not sure what to make of the blank and emotionless expression on Marx's face, even for a police officer.

Fucker, Brian thought. How Dare he try to stop me. How Dare any of them not weep for my death, even when I killed all those people. Brian got into Marx's police car and drove away. "No one CARES that I'm dead?!! Brian thought in furious rage. They Will ALL Pay.