Death on the Highway

— Two sentence horror stories —

Boys ready to reconcile die. Hit with the hook of cold ice death.

Read more Below …

Pat moved close to the wall. He touched the wall and the brown dust on it rubbed off on him. There was a swirl of dust on the street; it fell on the trees around. Pat could attest that they were the only ones who knew they were there, hidden in that corner. He moved his lips close to Rita and kissed her. Her lips were smooth and wet.

“Your lips are as good as always,” he said, smiling. He placed his right palm on her waist and whispered. “I will miss you.”

She said, “I will miss you more.” She smiled so broadly that one would think her lips would tear at the edges. She stretched out her hand and rubbed his stomach. She felt his abs; he often worked out at the school gym.

The bus honked. “You have to go,” she said. This didn’t come from her mind, because she wanted them to spend every second of that day in that corner. “The bus will be leaving any moment from now.” The bus honked again.

He smiled and smiled. “Keep the left over goodies for me,” he said. He made to leave, but she pulled him back. Now, the honking of the waiting bus was unbecoming. He sighed and complained about the impatient old driver.

“Are you with condom?”

“What!”

“I said are you with condom?” she asked again, this time stressing the word c-o-n-d-o-m. He looked at her face, and she was serious.

“But condom for what?”

She looked away, leaned her hand on the wall. He stared at her for a while. He contemplated leaving her there without saying anything close to goodbye, but he thought it otherwise. But how could Rita not trust him on this matter? She should believe in him, he would never cheat on her. He loved her so much that he would never cheat on her. The bus made a starting sound.

— Two sentence horror stories —

He walked off and felt Rita’s eyes linger on him. He thought of what would be going on in her mind. He waved the thought away. He turned back to her and shouted a goodbye.

When he got to the bus, everyone was ready to go. They had all placed their backpacks on the space provided for it above the seats. Pat wondered why they would give them an old luxury bus even when they paid so much for the excursion. He sighed as he stretched and threw his bag to space above his seat. No one sat beside him. His two other former friends, the close friends he had before they fought sat far away form him; they seemed to avoid him like a plague. Other boys in the bus discussed about the latest el-classico. He wished he had someone to talk to. Damn Rita!

The bus eased out of the campus. Pat glued his forehead on the glass and watched the whistling pine and dongoyaro trees move past the bus in neatly arranged rows. He wondered why the school founders spent much time planting the trees in neat rows. He watched the gardeners water the school lawns and trim the yellow bushes.

The bus went past the giant school gate and went into the town. Academic town it was called. Pat watched the dusty corrugated roof of the houses of the town covered in brown dust. He watched the dirty mad people who stood at almost all roundabouts in the town. Then, he wondered why there were so many mad people in this world anyway. Why were there so many dead people, too, and why do we believe they would rise again? Or is it because … damn them.

“Hello, Pat.” A boy stood on the aisle, smiling at him. Pat looked up and saw the small brown eyes of the boy behind his thick glasses. His name was Chiemerenaekpeziumumadu, or what was that anyway? Pat couldn’t call that name, so he just called him guy.

“Hey, guy, how are you doing?”

“Fine.” The boy’s voice was tiny just like his tiny stature. Pat and the other boys wondered if the boy’s age was up to the required age of college. They argued that he would not be up to sixteen. “Can I sit down with you?”

— Two sentence horror stories —

“Yes, of course.” Pat nodded. He shifted on his seat, and the leather of the seat ruffled.

The boy sat down. He said thank you and he gave a bow. He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out his phone and his earpiece. He carefully put on his music on his phone before he inserted his earpiece into the phone and was excommunicated from his immediate environment. Pat could hear Pitch Perfect singing into the boy’s ears. Slowly, the boy went off to sleep, the music still blasting his ears.

The other boys argued in the bus. Messi is the god of football. No, said another, C Ronaldo is the god of football. I don’t agree said another. In that match, if Puyol was not there, there would be no Barcelona. No, you know the referee was partial; he supported Barcelona, that’s why they won. Pat would have joined them if he had interest in football, but he had no interest in it. He liked basketball, and he would be ready to talk about LeBron James, Hakeem Olajuwon and the Los Angeles Lakers if they had interest in them. Then, he wondered why most of his countrymen liked only football, ignoring other more entertaining sports.

He looked out of the window, he saw a tree struck and killed by thunder. He knew a tree struck and killed by thunder when he saw one. He had seen many of them before, so he could tell. But this one was different; it had been split into two and even more pieces which seemed to be dead and still hanging to the dead tree. His grandmother had often told him that a dead tree or person killed by thunderstorm foretells a bad omen. Pat shook his head. May there not be evil ahead, he said to himself. May we go in peace, he prayed. The bus sped on the tarred road to its destination.

— Two sentence horror stories —

He felt water pour on his face. This made him jerk up, he was shocked and wide-eyed. He looked like a rat that had suddenly been immersed in water and pulled up immediately. He turned, there was no one was with him, except the boy who sat beside him. The boy was sleeping quite alright, but he had a stainless cup in his hands. Pat looked around, up and down. He couldn’t comprehend things. If there would be anyone who must have poured the water on him, then it had to be Chiemerenaekpeziumumadu. He sighed.

He slapped the boy. A heavy slap right across the boy’s face; it came with a shout from the boy. The boy jumped up. The other boys in the bus laughed. Pat was confused.

“What is it?” the boy said. He rubbed the affected part of his face.

“What are you doing with that cup?”

The boy threw the cup and looked surprised. The cup lay on the floor of the bus. Then, the heavy moment descended on the bus then. Pat felt that he had taken the wrong step. He wondered why the other boys were laughing at him. He looked around the bus and every single eye stared at him. Some of them who couldn’t even control their laughter laughed while they still stared at him. He looked at the boy and noticed that tears had started to form behind the boy’s thick glasses.

Pat went confused. “Did you pour water on me?” he asked.

The boy sniffled, tears running down his cheeks. Pat could not understand. How did the cup get into the bus? How did the boy get the cup? Had the boy not been sleeping all this while? Pat realized his mistake, if truly it was a mistake.

The boy shot at Pat, crying. “You didn’t even ask me any question. You concluded that I poured water on you. You are inconsiderate. You don’t have feelings. No wonder your friends deserted you.” The boy hissed. His last statement made the boys in the bus laugh.

“Watch your tongue, guy,” Pat warned. He would have apologized and explained to the boy that it was a mistake, but he thought it otherwise. He felt insulted and disgraced. Although he was sorry, the boy was making him look like a fool.

The boy didn’t say any other thing. However, he left the seat and took another seat. Pat stood there still confused. He had not known the person who poured him the water. With the boy’s tears, a teenager’s tears, he knew the boy was saying the truth. He looked around for a while. Looking for the person who poured him the water would be futile. He sat down.

— Two sentence horror stories —

He picked a book from his bag and opened the first page. He was about to read when he heard an outburst in the bus. He stood up. A guy at the extreme end of the bus was shouting, pointing at him. He was the most muscular guy on campus. He was pointing at Pat and was referring to him as a useless boy who took advantage of children. Pat stared. The guy said he would beat Pat so mercilessly that Pat would not remember his name. He called Pat a bastard, a moron and a child molester.

The people in the bus sensed the danger that was coming in the bus. Two boys went over to the muscular guy and tried to calm him down. “Leave me!” the guy yelled. “I will beat that good-for-nothing boy called Pat today, and then next time, he would not take advantage of children.”  He started to make a move toward Pat. There were two boys who tried to hold him, but the guy went on.

“See, I’m sorry,” Pat apologized. He thought it wise to apologize; it would be the best way to avoid the coming fracas. “I said I am sorry!” Pat apologized more loudly.

The guy went on. The boys who held him told him that Pat had apologized, so he should be forgiven and the case should be forgotten. “Forget what?” the guy asked them. “If I was the one that sat down with him, would he slap me the way he slapped that boy?”

“No, he would not,” the people in the bus chorused. Their echoed response made Pat get weak at the knees. Everyone was against him. He had taken one of the stupidest decisions in his life.

“Please, I am sorry. This kind of situation would not repeat itself again. I promise,” Pat said, bowing. He truly felt sorry, and even if he didn’t, he’d better do for his own good.

“See, he said he is sorry, so forget it,” one of the boys who held back the muscular guy said. The other boy nodded in support. The muscular guy looked at them and shrugged. He hissed and walked back to his seat.

The two boys who had held down the muscular guy also made way to their seats when the people in the bus started clapping. Pat was aghast. He looked around and every single person in the bus was clapping, except the two boys standing, the muscular guy had sat down. He was sure they were surprised as he was. They clapped in unison and seemed to never stop clapping.

He became frightened when the small statured boy who he had slapped stood up and smiled at him. He wondered while the boy was smiling. He looked at the other two boys who were also amazed. It dawned on him that those two boys were his former friends and now enemies, James and Eke.

“You see,” the small boy said. “No matter how hard you claim to hate people, who you have long been drawn to, inside you, you still like that person and you would work for his interest.”

Pat stared. The bus was calm and all the eyes watched the boy. The aged man who drove the bus had been startled by the rousing clap that came from the bus. This made him ponder on what was wrong in the bus. There was a camera in the bus which the driver watched to make sure all was fine in the bus; it was with this camera that the driver saw what happened in the bus. He had not been watching the camera, but now he watched with intent.

“You know when you fought as friends and the story went around campus. There was also the rumor that you had become sworn enemies, but we knew they were lies spread by people to keep you separate.” The people in the bus nodded to the boy’s words. The boy commanded respect. “But today, what do we have? Sworn enemies fighting for their worst enemy.” The people in the bus laughed.

— Two sentence horror stories —

“Pat,” the small boy called. “You are the one who caused the quarrel among you, and you did it because of a girl who you know would not end up as your wife.” There was a murmur in the bus. “I know you love that girl so much, and you can do anything for her, but to give up an all life friendship for her when she is not even your wife, is it not a shame?” Pat never expected this, he least expected it from this small boy who rarely talked in school.

He could remember the day they fought. It had been caused by Rita. He had gone to Rita’s room and had come back smiling. He was so excited that he told them he had tasted the honey he had never tasted before and he knew that they had never tasted it before. When they asked him what, he told them he slept with Rita. Was she a virgin, they asked. He didn’t even know why he had to tell them, and he regretted doing so. He told them he didn’t find her a virgin. They called her a whore and told him to break up with her, because, she would sleep with every boy and must have slept with them. Pat punched them and almost stabbed them. He warned them to stay away from him, he called them devils’ incarnate and evil creatures. He wished he wasn’t hot tempered; he would have talked in a calm way and he wouldn’t have acted rashly.

“You know,” he told the people in the bus. “I have regretted my actions. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have let that break our friendship. I admit I was blind and foolish.” He stopped, looking at his former friends.

“Continue,” the people in the bus urged him on.

“Thank you.” Pat bowed and walked to the aisle. “I have long been looking for a chance to make up for this. I am so sorry, James and Eke.” The people in the bus clapped. Some of them stood up, cheering. The gladness it gave them was grave.

James and Eke were bewildered, but they managed to speak. They said they were also sorry and were also foolish to have called the girl he loved a whore. Besides, it was a double sided affair. They agreed that they were selfish and didn’t think of his feeling. They also asked for forgiveness.

— Two sentence horror stories —

“Hug, shake hands, do anything to prove to us you have reconciled,” the small boy said. The people in the bus chorused “yes” in agreement.

Pat walked towards his friends when the tires of the bus gave a loud screech. The bus skidded. The people in the bus screamed. Pat ran down the aisle to his friends hurriedly. The scream was loud now, so loud.

“Go to your seats and put on your seatbelts!” the driver’s voice bellowed from the speaker in the bus. “I repeat, go to your seats and put on your seatbelts!”

The bus honked a lot of times. Pat’s heart pounded as he held his friends tight. He wasn’t going to sit down; if they would die, he would hold his friends for the last time. People told them to listen to the driver and go their seats, but they chose not to listen. Let’s disobey in union and for friendship, they said. The bus ran off the tarmac and ran into the valley beside the road.

The bus rolled and rolled. Some of the occupants of the bus shouted “Jesus Christ!”, “Blood of Jesus!”, “Holy Mary!” as the bus rolled and its metals disbanded. When the bus finally stopped rolling, the bus was lifeless like a grave yard.

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