Shrills Of Death, Cries Of Gold

AN: This story wasn't my greatest(in my opinion), so feel free to critique it! :)

The window of the Cadillac was rolled down, a breeze coming through, blowing my hair back.

I shouldn’t have looked to my right. There was a man. He was staring at me. How fast I was going.

He was holding up a sign that read:

Can I get a ride? I need to go somewhere. I read the sign, feeling like something was up.

“We should give him a ride.” Suggested my wife, Marriane, who had locks of gold, and her smile lit up the room.

The twenty year old in me thought that I should pick him up. The husband in me said I shouldn’t even think about it.

I thought long and hard about it. I wanted to go, but I didn’t.

“Hey! Go pick the man up. He’s probably really poor and just needs a ride.” She explained, but I didn’t budge.

“Do we have to? He looks suspicious.” I barked, going a little bit faster, just to get away from him.

“Fine. I’ll stop for him. But it’s your fault if he stinks up the car. He looks like he hasn’t had a shower in weeks.” I snapped, pulling into the U-turn lane.

“Hey! Don’t judge a book by its cover. He could be nice.” Marriane explained, adjusting her position in her seat.

“Whatever. You know, the key word in what you just said is the word could. He could be nice. He could be mean. We don’t know.” I stated, pulling up next to him, and it was the worst smell I had ever smelled.

“Hi. Can I please have a ride?” He asked, the smell getting stronger as he walked closer to the car.

“Yes. We have both agreed to take you. Where do you need to go?” My wife chimed in, leaning forward in her seat.

“I need a drive to New York. Can you take me that far?” He asked, leaning up against the car, staining the side of it with his dirty hands.

The Cadillac we were driving was new, and we had just bought it a few months ago and didn’t want to get dirty even in the slightest.

“I guess. But you realize we live in Ohio. There's a long drive ahead of us. We might have to stop at a hotel overnight. So we can get some good rest.” I explained, pulling my seat forward so he could hop into the back.

“I hope you don’t mind the wind. We have the roof down at all times.” Marriane chimed in from her silence in her seat.

“Thank you. I really needed this. Someone like you guys.” The guy thanked, as he crawled into the back, staining the white seats.

“Hey. Try not to stain the white seats. They're new and I don’t want ‘em getting dirty at all.” I explained, stepping on the gas and slowly rolling out of the position I was in.

His face stopped cold, as he lifted up his foot and saw a stain. He just realized he got dirt, mud, and grass all over my seats.

“Ok. I totally didn’t at all.” He lied, sitting down in the seat, and he sat over the stain so I wouldn’t see it, but I already did.

“So. How are you doing lately?” Marriane asked him, as he put his legs down on the soft carpet of the Cadillac floors.

“I’ve been doing fine. My house burnt down in the mountains, and I didn’t have time to save anyone or anything. This is why you guys are taking me to New York. I’m going to stay with my Aunt Shaw.” he explained, as we got on the highway, and stepped a little harder on the gas pedal.

“Wow. I can feel myself in your shoes. That is sad.” I chimed in, as a big roaring truck blocked out what the guy said, and this is what I heard.

“I ill ge u so da. Wi a ma te.” That's what I heard, as the truck was passing by.

I think he said this:

“I’ll get you someday. With a machete.” I corrected, then realized what he had actually said.

“Seriously? A machete? When? How? You’re not even carrying one around. THat would be really weird if you were though.” I thought, pulling over into the left lane, then getting off the highway.

“So...How have you been?” He asked, adjusting the place in his seat because a bit of the stain was showing, and he did NOT wan’t me to see at all.

“We have been good. We just bought this Cadillac and we are really enjoying it. We like how the roof comes down.” I explained, getting off the exit.

I was still very suspicous about the man, and what he had said when the truck had passed by us.

Who in the world wants to kill someone?! And with a machete?! He might have been talking about someone else though. He might want to kill someone else.

Maybe he wanted to kill us because we were rich and he wanted money. You see, there's a difference between wanting, and needing.

In this case, this man was wanting the money that we had. He didn’t need it. He was probably just greedy and wanted it for alcohol.

That's what they all do. Some people just fake being homeless, and use the money they get to buy alcohol.

It shouldn’t be a thing. People can be greedy and just need the alcohol. Or drugs. You wouldn’t believe how many people have died from that. Or got addicted, and gone crazy.

“So? How long is the drive going to be?” He asked as I got off the exit, pulling into a gas station.

“With stops, it will probably be twelve to fifteen hours. Not too long, or too short. We might stay a night at a hotel. So me can all get some rest.” I explained, getting out of the car and putting the gas thing in the side of the car.

I got back in the car to find my wife, laying in the seat, dead, with a machete right through her heart.

I lost my breath. I felt like I just died too. There was painful thing in my back, and I fell to the floorboard, a puddle of blood pooling on the ground.