Seven Car Pile-Up

In the midst of a seven car pile up those involved contemplate their deaths, review their lives, and attempt to embrace whatever after-life they've come to accept in the last five seconds. An onlooker sees none of this, save for the facial expressions of one man. Having witnessed such horror, another onlooker is moved to take his own life and thus he throws himself off of the largest bridge in the vicinity. This takes place the following morning, shortly after midnight. Few other stories regarding the various witnesses are as shocking or interesting. They merely act according to some societal norm, recounting what their eyes captured to local authorities. Following this they take one last look at the heap of metal, glass, and flesh before continuing on their indifferent ways.


On this very morning, an elderly woman has been given what could possibly be the best news of her long-lived life: her grandson, whom she has not heard from in over a decade, is coming to visit her on this day.

He needs picked up from the airport because in all honesty he is a wretched, unethical, shameless man that is hoping to con some much-needed cash from his dear grandmother knowing full well that she won't turn him away. The elderly lady, who will henceforth be referred to as Grandmother, suspects something of this sort deep in the recesses of her aged and wised heart. However, being somewhat naive even to this day she chooses not to heed this feelings, thinking instead how wonderful it will be to see her beloved grandson.. Typical of the man, he did not let her know of this trip until the last minute and she has but a few hours to prepare not only herself, but the house as well. Tables must be dusted and cleared off, curtains tied back to allow the sunlight to permeate the vintage windows, shoes stacked neatly in the closet, dishes cleaned and put away at the top of the cabinets, beds must be made so that the guest knows he will be welcomed.

There is so much to do in two hours, not to mention making herself presentable and decent. She wouldn't dream of going outside in any other fashion. For Grandmother's position within a faux-status-quo keeps her from wearing anything remotely comfortable outside of the confines of her uptown apartment. So while there is much work to be done around the house, she neglects to start with any of these chores. Instead, Grandmother focuses her two hours on cleaning, primping, adjusting, and styling herself. This becomes, of course, a lengthy process and thus before Grandmother knows it her allotted two hours have passed her by. No longer ahead of schedule, the elderly woman is running late and in a jittery blur of excessive amounts of hairspray, polka dots, and grey she exits the apartment and descends the stairs.

Grandmother proceeds out of the door and into her '92 Mercury Sable. A dependable vehicle that smells of old pine needles, yet the brakes lights are out from neglect. The spark plugs are past their prime, the timing belt is stretched to its limits, the tires are wearing down in an irregular manner. Hairspray residue lines the seats that possess a few old cigarette burns. Grim covers the corners and nooks of the dashboard. It is time to give the vehicle some love, some attention. It mirrors Grandmother as she turns the engine over; crying, screaming in agony after waking from its long slumber, praying for someone to love it, anyone to give it the attention it knows it deserves. Grandmother, in her nocturnal loneliness, expresses the very same sentiments. Yet, today none of it matters. Her needs will be satiated for a day, a night, a week, a month; however long her grandson needs to stay.

Her thoughts of such a happy time are cut short when the Mercury defies Grandmother's command and doesn't start the first time. Not phased by this, she attempts again and is delighted when the hum of the engine is heard. Within minutes she has begun the journey to the airport, a smile upon her face, day-dreams lining every chamber of her mind, but within perhaps the same amount of time she is thrust from the driver's seat, catapulted through the windshield with such force so as to break the glass, coming to a thumping halt on the pavement 5 feet in front of the Mercury. She's no idea what is going on and for all Grandmother knows, the drive to the airport is still taking place. A smile painted on her face accompanies the breaking of her hips and a femur, the crack in her skull on the left side, blood pouring into her eye makes it hard to see.

Grandmother lies there not moving and the witnesses at first assume she is dead, until the see her twitch in an attempt to get up. They take a split second to realize the old woman thrown from the driver's seat of blue Mercury is alive, perhaps broken, but surely she is alive and there is hope for her.

Until the yellow Mustang, screeching across the pavement, runs Grandmother over, crushing the fragile bones, organs, and tissue that was once her torso.

Seven Car Pile-Up

What started as a late-night party, quickly escalated into an all-night booze fest. Complete with naked party-goers, sex, and drugs the party was the talk of the University just mere hours after it had started. And at the top of the list of those receiving attention was the host, Ryan "Maniac" Houghswell. Maniac was the typical fraternity members, sexual deviant, and popular upperclassman at the latest 'Who-gives-two-fucks University'. Hardly ever was Maniac seen in public sober. There was always a girl or two around his arm(s). His reputation for throwing parties was perhaps the most talked about thing across campus aside from the size of the all-star football player's member. That also happened to be Maniac, in case you hadn't caught on. So as I was saying, Maniac threw killer parties. The best weed, large amounts of booze, the best locales, the hottest girls, the hottest guys. Every weekend was one big drunken, drugged-up, fuck fest. Maniac couldn't think of a better way to spend his Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.

Scratch that. Maniac did think of something better: one big drunken, drugged-up, fuck fest that takes place at his father's private estate in the Hills. No one around for miles, a large number of friends and strangers from campuses across town. The ultimate party. Something he might not be able to top again, so he would have to make it an annual thing. Maniac's father was once a well admired actor, turned porn star in his late career, who was often away in Europe somewhere. Something about new film-work. Maniac didn't pay much attention, but he knew that Daddy went away like this for months at a time every year. Three weekends worth of time to be exact. Three weekends of being shit-faced and laced with more coke than anyone could believe. Girls, music, girls, booze, girls, sex, girls, repeat.

It was going to take a significant amount of planning to get the place ready though. There was also the ordeal of securing all the drugs and booze. Maniac would have to hit all his regular dealers and then some to get all the coke and dope for three weekends. It would take a few days but eventually he would come up with the goods, though what he wouldn't tell anyone was that he had to do some dirty favors in order to secure them. Maniac had a piss-poor record with one of the bigger dealers in town and this would come to bite him in the ass as he approached the elderly man for the hook up. The old dealer was a closet homosexual and it is safe to assume that Maniac was not a stranger to the man's dick. Maniac hated every second of it, but you don't earn the title of "Best Host of Awesome Parties" without giving part of your soul away. Fuck it, take one for the team.

He took the yellow Mustang out today and pulling out of the parking lot of the dealer's place, Maniac decided to forgo the freeway. He loved that fucking car. Kept it clean, maintained. Aftermarket body parts, turbo and sound system. Not a scratch, not a dent. No imperfections. The freeway was the usual route though, and it was easy to push 90 to 120 miles per hour up there. It got boring. Maniac, with the taste of unwashed penis in his mouth, decided downtown would be more thrilling. Running lights, swerving around slower cars, and altogether scarring the shit out of pedestrians It didn't matter.

Maniac was far from an attentive driver so it wasn't until after he ran over the thing in the middle of the intersection that he decided to stop the car. He freaked out, because some where over the roar of his engine and the blaring music he heard the crunching of bones, the splattering of blood. Maniac knew that wasn't an animal and he panicked. He panicked hard. Jerking the emergency brake. Whipping the steering wheel around to pull a complete 180 degree turn at 50 miles per hour. This threw the pristine Mustang into the blue Hummer on the other side of the intersection.

Maniac never wore a seat belt. Too cool/obsessed with himself/inebriated/cocky for that safety device.

Maniac was laying on the hood of the Hummer, still shaking from the thought of running that 'thing' over; most likely he thought it was a human.