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     The red Chevy Cavalier came to a pathetic halt.
     "Ahraeo raeo raeo raeo, chick chick pop," the car muttered.
     "Great," said the man just above his breath, "She's dead!"
     He reached into the passenger's seat and collected his backpack and cellphone. Then, leaning into the split of the bucket style seats he strained to reach the Bears ball cap that had fallen onto the back seat.

     "Just Great!" he sighed angrily.
     After rolling the windows up and locking the doors, he began his journey. The road ahead was strewn, haphazardly, with trees and weeds along it's sides. There were no buildings in sight.
     "If I just walk towards the sunset I can make it to the next town before dark, I hope," the man uttered.
     The evening passed slowly as he stumbled down the warm gray pavement. Not a single car passed in the several hours since his vehicle stalled. The man thought it odd that the road he was told to take was a very untraveled thoroughfare.
     He felt a small blister on his heel and stopped to rest for a moment. While he sat on the shoulder of the highway, he noticed three small birds pecking at an object across the road. The smell was horrible. He covered his mouth and nose with a paper napkin, and stood up to cross the road in hopes to gain a better view.
     The object, covered in crimson liquid, had only been deceased for a short time. He discerned this by the feeding style of the birds. They were still pecking the eyes.
     "what is that smell?" he wondered.
     Upon careful consideration, he decided to trek into the small wooded area adjacent to the road. The magnitude of the odor intensified. The man stopped and vomitted. The scent of death was overwhelming. Darkness closed in around him as he fashioned a small lean-to from twigs and branches. He laid his jacket on the moist ground and sat upon it.
     Night fell upon him swiftly. He reached into his right pants pocket for a lighter. He has never smoked, but thought a lighter to be a necessary accessory when traveling.
     He kicked a small hole into the moist ground to stack twigs and bits of weeds. Then, he ignited the creation. The flames danced and licked at the night as if entangled in a some type of ritual.
     His stomach began to rumble. "That twinkie," he shouted and with a great sigh of relief, reached into the backpack to retrieve the confection. He opened the package and devoured the contents in one mouthful.
     The fire began to die down. His eyelids followed suit. Morning smashed onto the roadway like ceramic plates. It began to get hot very early here. He rose to his feet unzipped his trousers and urinated on the smoldering ashes. After resetting his zipper, he stepped out onto the highway and was run over by an eighteen wheel tractor trailer bearing the photo of a Twinkie.
     He had not been down long, but could not move. The birds landed and began their handiwork on his eyes. It got very dark. His face was wet and warm. He knew he was not long for this world. The road became very busy with the sound of vehicles.

Learn more about this author, Jeremy Robertsen.
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