snake road twists between a dense forest and a wheatfield.
it dips and swells as it falls
from the north to south,
like a python traipsing down
through tree branches.
it’s home to recklessness and caution alike.
on a winter evening,
i walked towards the southern end of snake road,
to watch the sun fade behind the murky purple sky.
i passed the first bend traveling north -
last bend traveling south.
the western roadside was perched on a
natural embankment overlooking a field which
housed the sunset each night.
i stood at the edge,
watching lurid orange and pink
press against the thick clouds,
and dwindle to a pathetic blue...
sunset led to dusk,
and now dusk waned,
layering shadows upon
birches and oaks and jack pines
and the field’s shallow snow coated trenches.
although clouds float overhead,
the sky was not overcast;
as a chilled wind carried the sky,
fragments of a waxing crescent peeked through,
to illuminate briefly the small patches of
ice and snow packed into the concrete.
not a single car had passed me by,
but now a set of spotlights pierced the dim eastern air,
and i heard an engine buzz.
i paid it no mind.
on the edge of the road i still stood,
and though trees peppered the land behind me,
one oak stood at the rounded bend,
sticking out of a steep hill.
having seen the sun die,
i fixated on this slender, sturdy tree
reaching into the night.
though it was some distance away,
it towered so daringly that my peripherals
could not possibly contain it,
and the dark swallowed its uppermost branches.
it was a solitary titan,
exiled from its kingdom by winding stone...
the bark began to glow,
an engine roared in my ear.
hot tires screamed against the cold.
beams of light strobed my eyes
as a mass of steel and plastic and flesh
spun in the air,
rubber flailing as
shrapnel fluttered to earth and pavement,
and a figure flew helplessly over the rugged incline.
the top of the car slammed into the oak,
one headlight burst forth a mist of plastic.
it wedged itself between wood and dirt,
and came to rest against the bark.
it may have been dark gray or navy blue,
but it was black underneath the clouds.
rust plagued the wheel wells,
the front driver’s tire spun aimlessly,
trapped by its own momentum.
the figure lay slumped in the field.
i slid down the hill.
a man, middle-aged.
mangled, like he had been caught up in the harvest.
over him i stood and knew he would die.
pierced from inside out by stained bones,
he gasped at the bracing air,
only to gag on the blood flooding his lungs.
the oak was a distant memory now.
the man faced up, still conscious.
bleary eyes gazed into mine,
and i flicked my sight away.
but there,
in my peripherals,
lay a stone,
drifted over by a thin skimming of snow.
i lifted it up,
it felt heavy and rough and muddy and icy in my hand.
it felt so good.
i smashed his skull.
all my force, all my weight
lowered a rock into flesh and bone.
he lived through the first impact.
a swallow of cold wind swirled
down his throat and blended
with blood steamed breath like a hurricane.
i smashed his skull again.
drops of hot blood sprayed forth
and dove deep into the shallow snow.
his eyes glazed over.
i had taken a dying man’s life.
red ribbons of blood ran down my arm
and trickled into the pores of my stone...
i ran west, down snake road,
laughing madly as a goat, while
the breeze tossed dusts of snow
across the scuffed gray pavement.
oh, who am I to blame?
Trenton Bebermeier is a third year student majoring in Music Performance and minoring in Japanese. He enjoys reading literature by Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski, Leonard Cohen, Aldous Huxley, Natsume Soseki, and Hemingway. When he is not reading or writing, he is making music and sound with whatever means currently at his disposal, as well as trying his hand in every creative medium available.
