When You're Strange

On a long winding road lay an old man, not really on the road but by the road, he didn’t wish to be road kill after all…Was he hoping for a ride? The sun was setting, bathing the arid landscape in an orange yellow light. There was a tree by the side of the road, with stark naked branches reaching out to the sky, trying to get over the day? For a long while nothing happened. No one passed by and the man just lay on his back, his arms behind his head, staring at nothing, time stood still. Then a car came along, a red corvette, riding from the far east of the road, riding into the sunset…peering at the visage the man sat up supporting his body weight on his elbows. Realizing something, he sprang up and without sparing a thought he tried to flag down the car waving his arm frantically; apparently he did need a ride! He did have somewhere to go and less time to kill…

                                                  The car slowed down, surprisingly and the man gratefully shuffled to the driver’s seat. The windows were rolled up but they were gradually coming down…the sun had almost set and in the dying rosy glow of the day he saw her and she looked back at him, indifferent and cold…the old weathered man who had a moment before cared little about his state of mind or clothes was suddenly very aware of his shabby attire and general air of poverty. He felt self-conscious and was reluctant to look into her grey eyes. An unusual sense of fear numbed his mind and his throat felt dry.

“Do you need a ride?” she asked before he could say a word, her voice low and sensual. He couldn’t speak a word, just nodded his head in the affirmative and quickly picking up his tattered dusty backpack climbed in beside her. The day was almost done, the last ray of light washed over the horizon, quickly fading to a clear starry evening. The engine hummed and the car took off.

                                                    The man was disconcerted that the two of them had only exchanged few words; he was keen to make an impression on her. She clearly affected him, her beauty excited him yet her silence made him uncomfortable and nervous. She was dressed in all black, black leggings and black silk shirt, with two buttons loose on the top. Her dark hair hung carelessly over her shoulders. She wouldn’t even look at him. He cleared his throat, grunting in vain to catch her attention. After few moments of uncomfortable silence, she spoke, “would you like a cigarette?” and casually fished out a pack from the glove compartment. He squeaked yes, even though he had given up smoking long back and lit one for her and one for him using the cigar lighter socket. She drew in a long breath and let out a billowy cloud of smoke.

                                                    “Where are you heading?” she gave him a quick shrewd look. He gulped and cleared his throat again, “The nearest town would work fine.” She glanced at him again, scrutinizing him from head to toe. They rode in silence, thereafter, the evening deepening into night. The landscape remained the same, featureless and dry. As the miles went by, his nervousness gave way gradually and steadily to an unnamed fear. After a considerable amount of time, they stopped at a gas station, she strolled out of the car, lighting up another cigarette. He filled up the tank for her and she casually handed him her credit card. He still felt uneasy, she seemed sinister in her cold confidence. They went back to riding in complete silence. Suddenly, nodding to herself she turned on her music system, the grave smooth voice of Jim Morrison filled the car, “ Women seem wicked when you're unwanted, streets are uneven when you're down…” She chuckled softly to herself, sharing a secret laugh with herself.  A chill went down his spine, in an attempt at making conversation and to clear the tension between them, the old man spoke, “Where are you from?” She looked at him with surprise, it seemed she had for the time being forgotten his existence.

“Oh far away from this hell!” She laughed nastily. He started fidgeting and his heart was beating faster than usual, something was poking his left side, he squirmed a little and his fingers touched something, something smooth and sharp. She looked at him again her eyes glowing like green embers; he was terrified!  He thought her eyes were grey? He was melting in perspiration. She smiled at him, her teeth even and white, almost glinting like a knife…

                                                    Hot smoke arose with the approaching vehicles, the sun mercilessly glared on the onlookers. The red corvette was all twisted up, the bonnet halfway up the trunk of a tree by the road. Smoke rose from the engine, grey and dank with burnt debris. The police approached the car cautiously.

“Is it an accident? Is that a murder?” whispers were floating all around. The first officer tentatively opened the front door, a woman’s body flopped on the side of the road; a knife had found its mark on the side of her throat. Her black clothes caked with blood.

“Hey, there’s another one here on the passenger side!” His partner hissed as he opened the door. A ragged old man lay on his back, his belly exposed and gutted with a screwdriver.

                                                    She smiled at him, reaching for something in the glove compartment. He didn’t hesitate this time, she wasn’t his first and she wouldn’t be his last, there was no time to think…acting purely on instinct he brought his knife down on her throat, and then he felt something sharp biting at his belly…she had struck her blow…Jim Morrison sang on “No one remembers your name, when you're strange”.