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    This Highway is Barren and Smells of Regret

    Story written on October 4, 2006 by peglegmeg.
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    Genre(s): N/A
    Rating: N/A
    fanfiction(s):
    Character(s): N/A
    Number of Comments: 14
    Words: 2273
    Story Shortlink: https://lesfan.com/?p=12422
    Author Notes:

    “Don’t touch that dial, daddy-o, WolfMan Jack here, gonna play you some rock ‘n roll, that’ll knock your socks off, so sit back, guys grab your gals, and put the peddle to the meddle…”
    Spash AU One-shot

    I tear my eyes from your figure, staring across the river; a breeze filters through the thick grouping of trees, skidding across the river’s surface, ripples cascading towards me on the opposite shore. I shuffle to the water’s edge, my thin soled Keds crunching against solitary pebbles, my white ankle socks now turning grey. I press my feet down hard, reveling in my strength, wondering if someone is watching me from a distance, or down from above. They see my shoes, that tiny flap of my sole that juts out a bit to the side. This imperfection denotes no weakness, as I revel in filth, my second-hand clothes just the tip of the ice berg, that thin layer of dust that cakes my body, a second skin, like the rings within the trunk of a tree.

    “I want to climb inside her,” they’d say. “See the world from her eyes…I bet she knows things…can show me the way…no squeaky clean, baby-faced beauty here, darlin’…I ain’t no shiny nickel, the world’s not my oyster, no apple-pie a la mode, chicken fried steak with extra gravy…the Big Bopper’s calling baby, and when he does, you best answer…’chantilly lace had a pretty face and a ponytail hanging down…’

    Something flutters and splashes in the water to my right. I glance down and pick up a small rock, running my thumb across its surface. It’s shaped like Lincoln’s head with his tall hat, and I just know you’re there Johnny Oats…dragging your black and bloated body from out of the depths of Lake Nostalgia. I can almost see your face, your eyeballs glassy and sunken deep within your skull, tiny patches of your jet black hair matted to the giant indentation in the right side of your head. It’s shaped just like the chrome bumper of that 1956 Chrysler Imperial that done you in. Your body’s never been found, but I bet anyone ‘dollars to donuts’ some young kids drunk off dad’s whiskey, chose the wrong night to see how fast daddy-o’s car could haul. Poor Johnny Oats, deaf in one ear, fingers thin and slender like a teenage girl, and couldn’t spell for shit.

    You look to me with your mangled face and clear eyes, begging me to help you, knowing I would understand, that I could be your friend. My rock skips across the surface of the glass lake, narrowly missing your head as the water pulls you under.

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    Comments

    5. I feel cheated. Cheated that i’ve only just discovered the beauty that is your writing. peglegmeg where have you been all my life??? that was a wonderful read. what away to look back in time, see things from their eyes in a time where thier lifestyle was very foux pas. beautiful in imagery. symbolisim. just, excellent

    10. I feel cheated. Cheated that i’ve only just discovered the beauty that is your writing. peglegmeg where have you been all my life??? that was a wonderful read. what away to look back in time, see things from their eyes in a time where thier lifestyle was very foux pas. beautiful in imagery. symbolisim. just, excellent

    11. My oh my. I pm’d you awhile ago about the intensity of your writing but i’m not sure you got it. I love the fact that I have to pay close attention to what’s happening or I miss it. And yet you weave the most amazing stories. You are… wow. My oh my.

    12. My oh my. I pm’d you awhile ago about the intensity of your writing but i’m not sure you got it. I love the fact that I have to pay close attention to what’s happening or I miss it. And yet you weave the most amazing stories. You are… wow. My oh my.

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