Author: Gussie ML PM
Based on the song Stolen Car by Sting - He is an insane man. He is a car thief, and a master of the trade. Most importantly, he is an observer; watching life through the blurred windshield of his chosen families' red Mercedes.Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery/Drama - Words: 614 - Published: 05-31-12 - id: 3027928
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It is July. Though the night air is warm, there's a chill. Excitement, perhaps. There's always something about the cover of darkness that brings a chill to my core.
I wipe the sweat off my brow – I'm not entirely sure whether it's the summer air or the heat of the moment itself. I do know that there's a sinking feeling in my gut. Guilt. A unique pulsing in my front teeth accompanies it. I've never quite gotten used to the guilt.
In this moment, my mind registers for an absolute fact; I am insane. I smirk, taking minor pride in my confession to insanity.
There is a wire in my pocket. I'm relieved it's still there. Without it, my trade is nothing. I stare at the suburban house in front of me before I proceed. It looks like it belongs on Whisteria Lane; two stories, light blue, white picket fence around a big front yard. All the lights are out. I make conscious effort to exclude a dimly lit pink lamp on the second floor, figuring it a night light.
But before I exclude anything; I stop. My insane mind registers that the little girl in that room will be affected by my actions. I feel sympathy for her. Just another job, I chant. Just another stolen car. My need to understand her parents lives overpowers my will to spare hers of heartache.
At this, my eyes travel down the driveway, following the white picket fence. Usually I would see two cars; a red Mercedes, and a white SUV. Today, I only see the Mercedes. I try not to think about the missing SUV too much, but my imagination goes wild, and instantly my vision blurs before me. I calm my thoughts instantly.
Damn. Side effects.
So, nonchalantly, I walk down the driveway, brushing my hands against their white picket fence. I was taught to hide, but never too well. I'm wearing a bright red shirt with khakis. I gaze upward, pretending to appreciate the night sky I know all too well. No one who see's this man will think him a theif. No sir. He is far too inconspicuous.
I waltz up to rich man's car, appreciating the beautiful red polish. I've watched them all day today; this Whisteria Lane Family. So, hesitantly, taking into consideration all I've seen, I pull at the handle of the car.
Unsurprisingly, I find the driver's door unlocked.
I take a whiff of the car, loving the familiarity of the leather seats. "It'll only take a moment," I mumble to the engine, "don't be afraid."
Perhaps it was meant for myself.
I calmly, cooly, hotwire the ignition and flick on the lights. Without a forethought, I pull out of their driveway, and into the night air. Easy; though the smell of the leather only grows stronger as the engine purrs below me. The erotic sensation is breathtaking, exciting my imagination to no ends. Vision blurs again. I ease onto the break.
I must keep my thoughts clear, half aware that it will be to no avail. I try my best to navigate out of the suburbs.
And so the spell begins – lucid memories and startling images flood into my mind… I am an observer. I peer into the windshield of a red mercedes; I see a company director, with daughter and a beautiful woman at his side.
In my final moment as myself, I spot a note on the passenger seat.
Please… Give me another chance… I love you.
I get the feeling that there's more to this ones life.