The Road

The road curved back and forth around the mountains as the snow began to fall. Almost driving off the cliff, Ralph slams on the brakes and stops just before the car goes careening off the cliff. Gravel tumbles down the rock face as he slowly releases his death grip on the steering wheel. He can't believe someone would do such a thing. That kind of brutality requires you to have no sensitivity for any life besides yours. He couldn't get it out of his head. There was no squeal of tires. No swerve of the vehicle. He can still see the mans mirthful face as he drove away from the scene of the crime. Pushing it to the back of his head, he tried to focus on the now.  Getting out of the car he looked around, the smell of crisp air and pine trees filling the air. This was his favorite place in the whole world. A place he could go to envelope himself in his thoughts, yet he often found himself to have none.The power of nature had always amazed him. It always wasn't being here that took care of his problems, but the comfort  he received from the drive up.  The bleating of an elk roused him from his pondering, and he looked around. It was starting to fall more heavily now, and he could barely see the massive mountain range on the other side of the valley. He wished he could spend more time there, but the roads truly got treacherous after the snow fell. He hopped back in the car, and started the drive back down to the small town. Picking up the still warm animal carcass, he thought once again of the malicious intent of the man behind the wheel of that small pickup. He couldn't stand the thought of it any more. He would extract his revenge.

The Story of an Average Man

There once was an average man. He enjoyed his life, plenty of friends, little enough family, and challenging work. He drank his coffee in the morning and paid his taxes on time. He had no complaints  This man didn't bother anyone and no one bothered him. He worked for a company that produced pencils. The man specialized in making sure the grain of the pencils matched up with the saw so that the paint would lay correctly. One day this average man was checking the alignment of the pencils and seeing if the paint was drying correctly, when he dropped his protective eyewear. As he bent over, the average man with the average life with no complaints slipped on a pencil and went crashing through the window of the twelfth story of this pencil factory. He hit the pavement with a loud thud and a sharp snap. There the average man died, His warm blood slowly moving toward the gutter of the sidewalk.