|Route 1367 | ©LiteraryJunkie|
Di was the kind of girl who'd choose to stay in versus a night out on the town. She'd been that way since she was the ripe age of twenty-two. It was the drunken crowds of people who turned her away from it. They all screamed over kind of loud music that would leave you deaf for days.
Yet, on this night, Di allowed her two best friends talk her into checking out an old bar on route 1367. It was a long dark drive without streetlights that led them far away from the city into the desert. They raved about how you could party until sun up without the police ruining your night.
"Stop being a prude and come with us for once," Sunny and Rose said while they danced in Di's living room. To shut them up, she agreed already wishing the night was over.
Di sat in a dark booth in the corner where there weren't many people conjuring. She clutched her purse to her chest.
Sunny was the wild one. She'd have a new man every day of the week. So, her absence didn't exactly raise red flags enough for them to want to contact channel eight news.
Di noticed Rose stumbling away from the hairy muscle-bound man. She'd been dancing with him for the past hour with her hand stuck to her neck and a look of anguish. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"Get the hell out of here, now," Rose whispered before her body went limp.
And in that moment, total chaos erupted. Panicked people trampled throughout the bar to get away from the bloody men feeding off them. Bodies began to stack on top of each other. Some were hanging out of the windows from failed attempts to escape. The smell of burning cigarettes and booze filled the air. Painful screams filled the air from torn skin and broken bones.
"Get the hell off me," Di screamed as she pushed the men away. A piercing pain shot up her arm from the bite they'd left. She dug inside her as she ran into the office. News clippings of the cannibal people who refused to stay dead covered the walls. Di read the words with tears in her eyes. She looked down at her mangled arm and pushed the chrome barrel of the gun under her chin. She wanted to beat those things to her death.
Eleven years of home-bound solidarity and this was the end of her story. It was a conundrum.