Venom's 2nd Assignment

[pejanon]

Your next assignment:

Write a short story or a chapter with the following opening line:

“You asked for it.”

It will have a romantic setting/theme. You can use any definition of ‘romantic’ you like.

No word limit but see if you can keep it in the neighborhood of 1200 words.

Happy writing.

[Venom]

THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING AC PETROLS!


You asked for it! Lars thought by himself as the arrogant yuppie-banker, slick with styling gel, paid for the petrol. How he hated those guys! It only had needed the sound of the credit card, the affected move the banker had used to let the plastic snap on the counter, and Lars had known what to do. You are in for it, hotshot!
The yuppie had fuelled his brand-new Jaguar saloon at petrol pump number one; Lars could see its front half through the window wall of the petrol station's shop. The neon lights' reflections smouldered in the black paintwork. While the young cashier gave back the credit card and a sales check he smiled innocently at the customer:

"Sir, our company has Fresh Air Weeks, and therefore I would like to present this small favour to you..."

With a histrionic gesture he handed out a Magic Tree air freshener to the sceptical driver. The snobbish man accepted it, apparently reluctantly, then turned around and left without a farewell.

"Thank you for choosing AC Petrols, sir!" Lars called after him in an exaggeratedly polite tone.

He once had found these particular Magic Trees in a joke article shop downtown and always had some of them in stock for special customers. It was a nice way to liven up the long, boring night shifts at this forsaken place. The ACP station stood at the corner of the northern feeder road and Industrial Lane, diagonally opposite Otto's Diner. Well, many around there still know it as Otto's Diner, but Otto had given it up after the death of his beloved Martha. Now Burger King was about to reside there and would be relied to the nearby motorway just like the petrol station was. The industrial area down the 'Lane was like a ghost town even at day - mostly depots and dubious semi-letterbox companies could be found on the treeless lots.

The dark saloon had left Number One and spurted in a sportive manner towards the exit leading it onto the Industrial Lane. But just before it rolled off the ACP area, the driver slammed on the brakes, opened every window possible and threw out the Magic Tree. The smell of rotten eggs that had fanned out immediately after he had ripped open the packing would last some hours inside the car. The yuppie yelled something out of his passenger's window, but behind the shop's glass front Lars couldn't understand him.

"UP YOURS!" the adolescent shouted back.

With spinning rear wheels the car shot out of the exit and turned left. At the deserted intersection, it turned left again onto the feeder road, not bothering indicating. Lars saw the dark silhouette racing past the station again, then disappearing into the night. Another happy customer!

Once more Lars applied himself to his reading, a porn magazine he had taken from the journal rack. But only seconds later the door opened again. Look who's commin' in! Slim Jim, fat as ever. He must be the laziest guy in the 'hood. Four or five years ago his parents sent him to a fat camp; he bunked during the first night and burgled a sweet shop.

The overweight boy waddled towards the counter, his long, scruffy hair dancing with each step.

"Ey, dude, what's up?"

"WHAT'S UP?!" Lars sneered back.

"WHAATTZZUPPP?!"

"WAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPP?!"

Both fell into pubertal laughter.

"See that Jag a minute ago?" the cashier asked his pal.

"Shit, yeah! Looked like the guy was about to puke into his yuppie mobile!"

Slim Jim supported himself with the elbows on the counter, his XXXL T-shirt clenching around his stout body. Then, with a clumsy but surprisingly fast move, he grabbed Lars' ACP baseball cap. The lanky young man grumbled unnerved.

"Give it back, you prick! I have to wear that..."

"Isn't my colour anyway..." He returned the yellow-black cap while nodding out of the window. "There's another one."

A black '68 Charger R/T had entered the area from the feeder road and was now slowly rolling along the lane through between the two petrol pumps. The ACP was a rather modern filling station, each petrol pump had four nozzles per side; 91/95/98 octane and Diesel. That means that all in all three lanes were running parallel to the feeder; one next to it, a broader one for two cars in the middle and another small next to the shop's window front. Oddly enough the old muscle car drove right in the middle of the double lane, metres away from each pump. Its Hemi engine was humming idly, and having a look at the famous "electric shaver" grille Lars noticed that the headlights were turned off and covered. He stepped to the glass wall, raising his arms in a both asking and provocative manner.

"What do ya want, chief?!"

Though he couldn't see the driver through the car's tinted windows, Lars supposed that he or she was watching him. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit, and with a short roar it turned right, down the Industrial Lane and out of their field of view.

"Psycho!" Slim Jim chuckled and ambled towards the snacks.

"Yeah, must be full moon..."

Indeed Lars had seen odd people around the station at some shifts, but rather infrequently. Mostly it was just boring, so he was happy having Slim Jim to accompany him. With his pal around it was more bearable to watch how the night would be hacked up in customers' visits and the times between.

Lars watched at the ugly digital clock on the wall behind him; 22:49. Ouh, it's time again... The cashier got a packet of Gauloises from the cigarette shelf below the clock and put it onto the counter. And indeed: not a minute later the door opened again and in came a tall elderly man, completely dressed in black.


"Hi, Mr. G!" Slim Jim shouted from behind a pile of potato chips.

"'Evening, Mr. G!" Lars greeted.

"What's up, sons?" the grey-haired man answered.

That's Mr. Gerlin! He's the fuckin' coolest guy around here - looks a little bit like that villain from the "Saw" movies. Mr. G is REALLY old, sixty or so! Every day at ten to eleven he steps in for a packet of Gauloises. Once he has been in hospital, suspected of having lung cancer. Luckily he's okay now - they have sent him home. He still coughs sometimes, but the Doc even permitted him to smoke again.

Mr. Gerlin strode to the counter and picked up his cigarettes with a measured move of his hand. He was buying on credit and paid at the end of each month, so the whole transaction was already finished by now.

"Busy night, Lars?"

His husky voice still owned a sonorous swing.

"Hell no, Mr. G! Same as ever...It's not the most exciting job in the world, you know - and the girls don't flip out hearing about it, too."

Gerlin slowly turned away to leave while he answered.

"Well, I consider you as smart enough not to be stuck at this place forever. And you better keep looking for a girl who won't judge you by your job or money or mobile phone..."

"Hope so. Good night!"

While stepping to the door, he nodded to the boy with the bag of chips.

"Jimmy."

"Have a good one, Mr. G!"

The tall man went out into the darkness, and the only sound left in the station shop came from Slim Jim crunching his late-evening snack.



He seemed to be dozed off; when Lars looked up it was past eleven, and Slim Jim was devouring his second bag of potato chips.

"Cmsstmmh..."

"Huh?"

Jimmy swallowed his chips and pointed out of the glass front:

"Customer."

A Volkswagen New Beetle Convertible had just stopped at Number One. The night was mild enough for having the soft top down, and Lars had a clear view of the girl behind the steering wheel. Damn, she's hot! Never seen her before...licence plate from another city...Woah! Great arse! The girl had got out of her car, showing how tight-fitting her Apple Bottom Jeans were. She surrounded her pastel blue VW and headed towards the pump. Her shoulder-length hair bouncing in a cute manner as she grabbed one of the fuel nozzles and pushed it into the filler neck.

"Eh, dude...?" Slim Jim was stretching his neck to get a better view, "did she just catch the Diesel?"

"OH, FUCK!"

Lars literally flew around the counter, along the window and out of the door. With wildly waving arms he ran towards Number One.

"STOP!" he yelled, "Stop, that's DIESEL!"

The girl bent back to look past the pump's display, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Stop!" Lars groaned as he bumped into the passenger’s door, "you have the wrong nozzle, Miss...!"

She welcomed him with the cutest smile he ever saw.

"It's all right! That's one of these TDI's." Her smile became even cuter. "I'm so sorry that I have troubled you!"

"No, no! I have to apologise for startling you! I didn't..."

The Beetle seesawed when next to him Slim Jim bumped into the windscreen frame. The corpulent boy pressed his palms onto his knees and gasped heavily.Almost in the need an oxygen tent.

"Ey...Lars...everything...okay here?"

"Everything alright," he answered.

The girl was still smiling; a natural and authentic smile.

"It happens from time to time. But mostly the men around aren't as nice as you two. 'Look, blonde babe is killing her engine - how funny!' and so on..."

She rolled her eyes, and the cashier smiled back shyly, feeling his ears starting to glow.Don't mess it up, man!

"Oh, you're Lars, right? I'm Liza - with Z."

With a snappy move she offered her hand, and Lars took it.

"Hello, Liza with Z..."

She giggled heartwarmingly.

"...yes, I'm Lars. And that's Jimmy."

Still panting, Slim Jim raised a hand from his knee for a short salute.
Lars gripped the fuel nozzle and strove for a professional voice.

"Fill her up?"

Liza couldn't help but smile again. He was so sweet!

"Just a few litres more, please."



The dreamily expression on his face seemed to be carved into it. Standing behind his counter, Lars was gazing towards the abandoned exit.She waved to me before she turned into the 'Lane...!

"Ey, dude. That chick really had a cute arse!" Slim Jim declared between two gulps of Pepsi.

"Shut up, you sucker! I've just met the woman of my dreams!"

"Then I hope you remember her licence plate since she didn't give you her number." Slim Jim glanced out of the window and groaned. "Talking about our dream partners - along comes mine..."

The door flew open, and Hartman entered the shop. The metal plates under his shoes made strange noises as he marched in, stalwart as ever. Although neither big nor heavy, his authoritative appearance made sure that nobody tried taking on him. Shit, not him again! Hartman has been in uniform since the First World War. Now he is retired and spends his time in bullying civilians. Old bastard - sometimes he exchanges a few words with Mr. G, but I doubt that he has any real friends.

"Good evening, Mr. Hartman!" Lars greeted.

Slim Jim took a step away from the counter.

"Good evening, sir!"

The man with the brush cut surveyed the two boys, then made a brief gesture towards Jimmy.

"Hand me one of these."

The boy hastened to grab a six-pack of cheap beer.

"Com'on, fatty, I haven’t got all day!"

Hartman took the beer and put it on the counter, then sized Lars with obvious disdain.

"Still working in that hole?"

"Only for some months, till I have my graduation, sir."

"Bullshit! You told me the same crap exactly one year ago, numbnut! And still I see you two wind eggs lazing and hanging around here. You ladies better quickly pull your heads out of your arses!"

"Of course, sir."

The elder man paid, carried his beverage towards the door and turned around before he left.

"There's nothing romantic about being a looser, remember my words!"

"No, sir! Thank you. Good night, sir."



"Prick!" Slim Jim snorted after making sure that Hartman was gone. Lars nodded. What's business is it of him?! I'll manage my life myself. Yes, sir; no, sir - who does he think he is? Old bastard! He glanced at the clock; half past eleven. Outside the shop the two orphaned yellow petrol pumps were standing under the neon light, waiting just like him for the end of the night. Maybe Hartman is right in one point...I should get the hell out of this hole. Damn night shifts!

The young man was still lost in thought when a wave of blonde hair raced along the window front. Not a second later the door burst open and Liza rushed into the salesroom. The wild, terrified look in her blue eyes and the nasty laceration on her forehead sent cold daggers down Lars' spine.

"Ooohhhfuuuck!" Slim Jim shied away from her, immediately as pale as the trembling girl. He couldn't stand the sight of blood. In no time Lars was next to Liza, ready to support her.

"Wha...?! Are you okay? What happened?" he asked while carefully leading her to the counter.

"I...I don't now. Suddenly something slammed into my car, and I lost control." Her voice was quivering, but Liza bravely told herself to calm down. "They forced me from the road, not a kilometre away from here."

"Who?"

"I don't know. A black car. It rammed me from the left, and the next thing I remember was me parking in the ditch. My head..." She raised her hand towards her wound.

"Wait, I will take care of it!"

He dived behind the counter, looking for the first-aid kit. The laceration has stopped bleeding, but blood had run around her right eye and down her cheek. Marks from the seat belt were visible on her neck's left side.


"Shit, guys! Listen!" Slim Jim hissed from the room's other end.

All three of them fell silent while a deep roaring started to fill the station's shop. It travelled to them through the darkness, menacingly approaching along the Industrial Lane, louder and louder with every second - and then it hushed.

Minutes passed in silence, and Liza, Lars and Jimmy were about to relax when steps became audible. The hard sounds of a person walking quickly were echoing from the driveway at the feeder road. And there was no doubt where the noises were heading for...

"DOWN!" Lars whispered, dragging Liza behind the counter. Slim Jim took cover near the pile of chips. The steps were unnaturally loud, even noticeable through the glass front. Lars felt for the silent-alarm button under the table top, and the sound of steel-studded shoes on tarmac ringed in his ears. This psycho must be directly in front of the door!

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Hartman almost hammered the door out of its frame.

Lars rose from behind the counter with an awkward motion, banging his elbow against the cash register.

"Mr. Hartman! Was it you...I mean: did you see something out there?!"

"You can bet your sorry arse that I saw something. That little fucker driving around here without lights nearly ran me over! Fucking son of a bitch! If this limp-dicked woofter..."

The angry roar drowned out every further word as the pitch black Charger shot up the exit. Its Hemi let the window wall quake, and like a mechanical beast it raced through between the two petrol pumps, just to turn with smoking tyres at the driveway.

"What is your major malfunction, scumbag?!" Hartman yelled and rushed out of the shop like a bull in rage. The black car again accelerated when the fuming man was halfway between door and pump. It took the Dodge only a split second to cover the distance. The dull sound of a body crashing into the car's front was covered by the howl of the V8. Hartman slid across the bonnet and against the windscreen. The Charger swerved and the involuntary passenger was thrown over the left wing. He hit the ground and rolled against the low metal rail that protected the petrol pump against being rammed by cars.

Lars was standing like in trance until Liza's scream yanked him back into full awareness. The young woman was already at the door when he reacted.

"NO! WAIT!" - but too late; she ran out towards the unconscious man at the second pump. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit and turned once again.

Liza squatted beside the motionless customer and tried to waken him. She wasn't sure if she should move him, so the girl just gently shook his shoulders.

"Mister?! Are you okay? Mister...Hartman?"

But her efforts were futile, and glancing fearfully to her right, she saw the black muscle car waiting in the half-darkness of the exit. Then the shrieks of rubber trying to find grip on tarmac let her heart skip a beat.

"Oh crap!"

Not being able to drag or carry Hartman to a safer place, she pushed him behind the protection rail so he couldn't be rolled over. Her mind was filled by the roar of the metal predator coming for her. Then she was hit. A stroke into the small of her back tore her away, a stroke not as hard as she had expected. Liza landed on the central lane, near the pump's other side, and felt the weight of Lars resting on her back. Behind them the Charger performed a full braking and nudged the rail with its right front wheel.

That was close! A tenth of a second later, and she would adorn the grille by now! He had reached the girl in the nick of time and had pushed her and himself out of the danger zone.

"Up!" he shouted, and both jumped to their feet.

Slowly the Charger rolled away from the pump, its tyre squeaking as it rubbed against the rail's metal. The black car was blocking their way back into the shop's safety!

"Lars!" she clung to his arm, "we have to lure it away from Mr. Hartman!"

"What?!"

He surely had never been a hero, just twenty seconds ago he had hesitated to follow her out of the shop. Yeah, but just fifteen seconds ago you jumped in front of a car to save her! The presence of the courageous girl took effect on him. Something pervaded Lars, flew through her warm hands into his arm, into his mind...

"Okay. We both dash towards the driveway, then we part. You run across the drive and jump into the ditch, I turn left and try my luck behind the building. Ready?"

"No, but what the hell..."

She kept holding his arm and both started their sprint, knowing how poor their plan was.

The Hemi's sawing filled the dark air. Again and again the engine speed hit the limiter as the lurking car rocked in its suspension.

Lars knew that he shouldn't do this, but nevertheless he looked back: he saw the Charger ready to hunt them down, saw its main beam flaming up, blinding him. And, forcing his eyes to stand the headlights, he saw the shop's door being opened.

"WAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUPPPPPP!"

Slim Jim flounced out of the station building, both arms full with ripped open Magic Trees. His impact against the driver's door had ballistic dimensions. The whole car seemed to perform a dart, the door's window burst into thousands of dark diamonds, and Jimmy released his awful load into the interior.

The Charger speeded up, swerving left and right. Lars felt Liza gripping his arm tighter. They would not part. Now both had reached the driveway and the infernal roar was close behind them. As soon as they felt the ground beneath their feet changing from tarmac to dirt, they jumped. Not a metre behind them the horrible car shot down the driveway, far to fast. It literally bounced onto the feeder road, sparks flew as the undercarriage touched the street's surface.

Lying in the ditch, still closely together, Liza and Lars got onto their grazed elbows and carefully raised their heads to throw a glance down the feeder road. The Charger's round taillights were disappearing in the night like an evil memory.

With a grown Liza let her head fall back onto her arms.

"Thank you, Lars!"

"No, thank you..." he replied. Lars knew that this girl was sent from heaven, right to this place, right to him!

"...for choosing AC Petrols."



END







v1.0

[pejanon]

This story is very cinematic. Not only the content, but also the flashy attention to details, the change in pacing, the use of clichés. You seem to need to explore every detail and follow your characters around every step of the way. The story would benefit from another cinematic trick: the final cut and more careful selection of details.

I rather like the completely irrational appearance of The Dodge. It seems more like an act cynical gods of Mayhem (who have their strange ways in putting boys and girls together) then the typical urban violence. The use of magic trees was cleaver and it brings the story full circle, back to the begging. I was under impression that the car were driverless (is it?) which makes it even more interesting.

A suggestion: nudge the story towards irrational. Just a hint more. Perhaps something that Steven King would do. It is just a suggestion, but I do think that the story needs to be more genre oriented.


Here are some suggestions:

THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING AC PETROLS!


You asked for it! Lars thought by (to) himself as the arrogant yuppie-banker, slick with styling gel, paid for the petrol. How he hated those guys! It only had needed the sound of the credit card, the affected move the banker had used to let the plastic snap on the counter, and Lars had known what to do. You are in for it, hotshot!
The yuppie had fuelled his brand-new Jaguar saloon at petrol pump number one; Lars could see its front half through the window wall of the petrol station's shop. The neon lights' reflections smouldered in the black paintwork. While the young cashier gave back the credit card and a sales check he smiled innocently at the customer:

"Sir, our company has Fresh Air Weeks, and therefore I would like to present this small favour to you..."

With a histrionic (well, ok, what’s wrong with ‘thatrical’?) gesture he handed out a Magic Tree air freshener to the sceptical driver. The snobbish man accepted it, apparently reluctantly, then turned around and left without a farewell.

"Thank you for choosing AC Petrols, sir!" Lars called after him in an exaggeratedly polite tone.

He once had found these particular Magic Trees in a joke article shop downtown and always had some of them in stock for special customers. It was a nice way to liven up the long, boring night shifts at this forsaken place. The ACP station stood at the corner of the northern feeder road and Industrial Lane, diagonally opposite Otto's Diner. Well, many around there still know it as Otto's Diner, but Otto had given it up after the death of his beloved Martha. Now Burger King was about to reside there and would be relied to (would rely on) the nearby motorway just like the petrol station was (did) . The industrial area down the 'Lane was like a ghost town even at day - mostly depots and dubious semi-letterbox companies could be found on the treeless lots.

Do you really need all these deatails? You’ve already established the stage.

The dark saloon had left Number One and spurted in a sportive manner (spurted sportively?) towards the exit leading it onto the Industrial Lane. But just before it rolled off the ACP area, the driver slammed on the brakes, opened every window possible and threw out the Magic Tree. The smell of rotten eggs that had fanned out immediately after he had ripped open the packing would last some hours inside the car. The yuppie yelled something out of his passenger's window, but behind the shop's glass front Lars couldn't understand him.

"UP YOURS!" the adolescent shouted back.

With spinning rear wheels the car shot out of the exit and turned left. At the deserted intersection, it turned left again onto the feeder road, not bothering indicating. (‘to use a flasher’ sound better) Lars saw the dark silhouette racing past the station again, then disappearing into the night. Another happy customer!

Once more Lars applied himself to his reading, a porn magazine he had taken from the journal rack. But only seconds later the door opened again. Look who's commin' in! Slim Jim, fat as ever. He must be the laziest guy in the 'hood. Four or five years ago his parents sent him to a fat camp; he bunked during the first night and burgled a sweet shop.

The overweight boy waddled towards the counter, his long, scruffy hair dancing with each step.

"Ey, dude, what's up?"

"WHAT'S UP?!" Lars sneered back.

"WHAATTZZUPPP?!"

"WAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPP?!"

Both fell into the pubertal laughter.

"See that Jag a minute ago?" the cashier asked his pal.

"Shit, yeah! Looked like the guy was about to puke into his yuppie mobile!"

Slim Jim supported himself with the elbows on the counter, his XXXL T-shirt clenching around his stout body. (clenching .. or sqeezing his stout body) Then, with a clumsy but surprisingly fast move, he grabbed Lars' ACP baseball cap. The lanky young man grumbled, unnerved. (do you need both?)

"Give it back, you prick! I have to wear that..."

"Isn't my colour anyway..." He returned the yellow-black cap while nodding out of the window. "There's another one."

A black '68 Charger R/T had entered the area from the feeder road and was now slowly rolling along the lane through between the two petrol pumps. The ACP was a rather modern filling station, each petrol pump had four nozzles per side; 91/95/98 octane and Diesel. That means that all in all three lanes were running parallel to the feeder; one next to it, a broader one for two cars in the middle and another small next to the shop's window front. Oddly enough the old muscle car drove right in the middle of the double lane, metres away from each pump. Its Hemi engine was humming idly, and having a look (new sentence would be better: Looking …) at the famous "electric shaver" grille Lars noticed that the headlights were turned off and covered. He stepped to the glass wall, raising his arms in a both asking and provocative manner. (How about: inquisitively and provocatively? However, how important are those nuances here?)

"What do ya want, chief?!"

Though he couldn't see the driver through the car's tinted windows, Lars supposed that he or she was watching him. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit, and with a short roar it turned right, down the Industrial Lane and out of their field of view.

"Psycho!" Slim Jim chuckled and ambled towards the snacks.

"Yeah, must be full moon..."

Indeed Lars had seen odd people around the station at some shifts, but rather infrequently. Mostly it (it should either be ‘they’ ,the people, or find another noun) was (were) just boring, so he was happy having Slim Jim to accompany him. With his pal around it was more bearable to watch how the night would be hacked up in customers' visits and the times between. (How about not using passive voice here?)


Lars watched at the ugly digital clock on the wall behind him; 22:49. Ouh, it's time again... The cashier got a packet of Gauloises from the cigarette shelf below the clock and put it onto the counter. And indeed: not a minute later the door opened again and in came a tall elderly man, completely dressed in black.


"Hi, Mr. G!" Slim Jim shouted from behind a pile of potato chips.

"'Evening, Mr. G!" Lars greeted.

"What's up, sons?" the grey-haired man answered.

That's Mr. Gerlin! He's the fuckin' coolest guy around here - looks a little bit like that villain from the "Saw" movies. Mr. G is REALLY old, sixty or so! Every day at ten to eleven he steps in for a packet of Gauloises. Once he has been in hospital, suspected of having lung cancer. Luckily he's okay now - they have sent him home. He still coughs sometimes, but the Doc even permitted him to smoke again.




Mr. Gerlin strode to the counter and picked up his cigarettes with a measured move of his hand (with a measured move picked up his cigarettes sound better to me). He was buying on credit and paid at the end of each month, so the whole transaction was already finished by now.

"Busy night, Lars?"

His husky voice still owned (had? Possesed? a sonorous swing.

"Hell no, Mr. G! Same as ever...It's not the most exciting job in the world, you know - and the girls don't flip out hearing about it, too."

Gerlin slowly turned away to leave while he answered.

"Well, I consider you as smart enough not to be stuck at this place forever. And you better keep looking for a girl who won't judge you by your job or money or mobile phone..."

"Hope so. Good night!"

While stepping to the door, he nodded to the boy with the bag of chips.

"Jimmy."

"Have a good one, Mr. G!"

The tall man went out into the darkness, and the only sound left in the station shop came from Slim Jim crunching his late-evening snack.



He seemed to be dozed off; (‘He was dozzing off’ seems better) when Lars looked up it was past eleven, and Slim Jim was devouring his second bag of potato chips.

"Cmsstmmh..."

"Huh?"

Jimmy swallowed his chips and pointed out of the glass front:

"Customer."

A Volkswagen New Beetle Convertible had just stopped at Number One. The night was mild enough for having the soft top down, and Lars had a clear view of the girl behind the steering wheel. Damn, she's hot! Never seen her before...licence plate from another city...Woah! Great arse! The girl had got out of her car, showing how tight-fitting her Apple Bottom Jeans were. She surrounded (circled. She cannot surrond a car.) her pastel blue VW and headed towards the pump. Her shoulder-length hair bouncing in a cute manner (cutely?) as she grabbed one of the fuel nozzles and pushed it into the filler neck.

"Eh, dude...?" Slim Jim was stretching his neck to get a better view, "did she just catch the Diesel?"

"OH, FUCK!"

Lars literally flew around the counter, along the window and out of the door. With wildly waving arms he ran towards Number One.

"STOP!" he yelled,(.) "Stop, that's DIESEL!"

The girl bent back to look past the pump's display, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Stop!" Lars groaned as he bumped into the passenger’s door, "you have the wrong nozzle, Miss...!"

She welcomed him with the cutest smile he ever saw.

"It's all right! That's one of these TDI's." Her smile became even cuter. "I'm so sorry that I have troubled you!"

"No, no! I have to apologise for startling you! I didn't..."

The Beetle seesawed when next to him Slim Jim bumped into the windscreen frame. The corpulent boy pressed his palms onto his knees and gasped heavily. Almost in the need an oxygen tent.

"Ey...Lars...everything...okay here?"

"Everything alright," he answered.

The girl was still smiling; a natural and authentic smile.

"It happens from time to time. But mostly the men around aren't as nice as you two. 'Look, blonde babe is killing her engine - how funny!' and so on..."

She rolled her eyes, and the cashier smiled back shyly, feeling his ears starting to glow.Don't mess it up, man!

"Oh, you're Lars, right? I'm Liza - with Z."

With a snappy move she offered her hand, and Lars took it.

"Hello, Liza with Z..."

She giggled heartwarmingly.

"...yes, I'm Lars. And that's Jimmy."

Still panting, Slim Jim raised a hand from his knee for a short salute. Lars gripped the fuel nozzle and strove for a professional voice.

"Fill her up?"

Liza couldn't help but smile again. He was so sweet!


How do we know that?

"Just a few litres more, please."



The dreamily (dreamy) expression on his face seemed to be carved into it (carved on it). Standing behind his counter, Lars was gazing towards the abandoned exit. She waved to me before she turned into the 'Lane...!

"Ey, dude. That chick really had a cute arse!" Slim Jim declared between two gulps of Pepsi.

"Shut up, you sucker! I've just met the woman of my dreams!"

"Then I hope you remember her licence plate since she didn't give you her number." Slim Jim glanced out of the window and groaned. "Talking about our dream partners - along comes mine..."

The door flew open, and Hartman entered the shop. The metal plates under his shoes made strange noises as he marched in, stalwart as ever. Although neither big nor heavy, his authoritative appearance made sure that nobody tried taking on him. Shit, not him again! Hartman has been in uniform since the First World War. Now he is retired and spends his time in bullying civilians. Old bastard - sometimes he exchanges a few words with Mr. G, but I doubt that he has any real friends.

"Good evening, Mr. Hartman!" Lars greeted.

Slim Jim took a step away from the counter.

"Good evening, sir!"

The man with the brush cut surveyed the two boys, then made a brief gesture towards Jimmy.

"Hand me one of these."

The boy hastened to grab a six-pack of cheap beer.

"Com'on, fatty, I haven’t got all day!"

Hartman took the beer and put it on the counter, then sized Lars with obvious disdain.

"Still working in that hole?"

"Only for some months, till I have my graduation, sir."

"Bullshit! You told me the same crap exactly one year ago, numbnut! And still I see you two wind eggs lazing and hanging around here. You ladies better quickly pull your heads out of your arses!"

"Of course, sir."

The elder man paid, carried his beverage towards the door and turned around before he left.

"There's nothing romantic about being a looser (loser), remember my words!"

"No, sir! Thank you. Good night, sir."



"Prick!" Slim Jim snorted after making sure that Hartman was gone. Lars nodded. What's business is it of him? ! I'll manage my life myself. Yes, sir; no, sir - who does he think he is? Old bastard! He glanced at the clock; half past eleven. Outside the shop the two orphaned yellow petrol pumps were standing under the neon light, waiting just like him for the end of the night. Maybe Hartman is right in one point... I should get the hell out of this hole. Damn night shifts!

The young man was still lost in thought when a wave of blonde hair raced a[COLOR="Red"]long (in front of or alongside) the window front. Not (A) second later the door burst open and Liza rushed into the salesroom. The wild, terrified look in her blue eyes and the nasty laceration on her forehead sent cold daggers down Lars' spine.

"Ooohhhfuuuck!" Slim Jim shied away from her, immediately as pale as the trembling girl. He couldn't stand the sight of blood. In no time Lars was next to Liza, ready to support her.

"Wha...?! Are you okay? What happened?" he asked while carefully leading her to the counter.

"I...I don't now. Suddenly something slammed into my car, and I lost control." Her voice was quivering, but Liza bravely told herself to calm down. "They forced me from the road, not a kilometre away from here."

Ok from now on the narrative style changes – which is good as it matches the events. However, you give Liza a different treatment then all other characters. We are seeing the event thought Lar’s eyes and I think it is a good approach. He has to say something about everybody EXCEPT Liza. And yet, suddenly, here and at several other places you go in her head and tell us what is she thinking or feeling. It might seem a minor point but I think that you should keep her ‘in neutral’: tell us what she is doing and what Lars thinks she is thinking staying out of her head.

The other option would be: expand the story and give her a full character treatment. That might be make this more of a boy-meets-girl story but it would slow down the story and it would change the feel of this story.

"Who?"

"I don't know. A black car. It rammed me from the left, and the next thing I remember was me parking in the ditch. My head..." She raised her hand towards her wound.

"Wait, I will take care of it!"

He dived behind the counter, looking for the first-aid kit. The laceration has stopped bleeding, but blood had run around her right eye and down her cheek. Marks from the seat belt (seat belt marks) were visible on her neck's left side.


"Shit, guys! Listen!" Slim Jim hissed from the room's other end.

All three of them (They) fell silent while a deep roaring started to fill the station's shop. It travelled to (towards) them through the darkness, menacingly approaching along the Industrial Lane, louder and louder with every second - and then it hushed.

Minutes passed in silence, and Liza, Lars and Jimmy were about to relax when steps became audible (how about: they heard the steps?). The hard (heavy?) sounds of a person walking quickly were echoing from the driveway at the feeder road. And there was no doubt where the noises were heading for...

"DOWN!" Lars whispered, (um… he whispered in capitals?) dragging Liza behind the counter. Slim Jim took cover near the pile of chips. The steps were unnaturally loud, even noticeable (heard even) through the glass front. Lars felt for the silent-alarm button under the table top, and the sound of steel-studded shoes on tarmac ringed in his ears. This psycho must be directly in front of the door!

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Hartman almost hammered the door out of its frame.

Lars rose from behind the counter with an awkward motion, banging his elbow against the cash register.

"Mr. Hartman! Was it you... I mean, did you see something out there?!"

"You can bet your sorry arse that I saw something. That little fucker driving around here without lights nearly ran me over! Fucking son of a bitch! If this limp-dicked woofter..."

The angry roar drowned out every further word as the pitch black Charger shot up the exit. Its Hemi let (made) the window wall quake, and like a mechanical beast it raced through between the two petrol pumps, just to turn with smoking tyres at the driveway. (how about new sentence: A mechanical beast raced between the two petrol pumps, just to turn at the driveway, tires smoking.)


"What is your major malfunction, scumbag?!" Hartman yelled and rushed out of the shop like a bull in rage. The black car again accelerated when the fuming man was halfway between door and pump. It took the Dodge only a split second to cover the distance. The dull sound of a body crashing into the car's front was covered by the howl of the V8. Hartman slid across the bonnet (hood is better here) and against the windscreen. The Charger swerved and the involuntary passenger was thrown over the left wing. He hit the ground and rolled against the low metal rail that protected the petrol pump against being rammed by cars. (this really IS a surplus detail, it just slows the action.)

Lars was standing like (as if – but you do not need it at all) in trance until Liza's scream yanked him back into full awareness. The young woman was already at the door when he reacted.

"NO! WAIT!" - but to late (too late); she ran out towards the unconscious man at the second pump. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit and turned once again.

Liza squatted beside the motionless customer and tried to waken him. She wasn't sure if she should move him, so the girl just gently shook his shoulders.

"Mister?! Are you okay? Mister...Hartman?"

But her efforts were futile, and glancing fearfully to her right, she saw the black muscle car waiting in the half-darkness of the exit. Then the shrieks of rubber trying to find grip on tarmac let her heart skip a beat.

"Oh crap!"

Not being able to drag or carry Hartman to a safer place, she pushed him behind the protection rail so he couldn't be rolled over. Her mind was filled by the roar of the metal predator coming for her. Then she was hit. A stroke (a blow? ‘stroke’ does not seem to fit the events) into the small of her back tore her away, a stroke not as hard as she had expected. Liza landed on the central lane, near the pump's other side, and felt the weight of Lars resting on her back. Behind them the Charger performed a full braking and nudged the rail with its right front wheel.

That was close! A tenth of a second later, and she would adorn the grille by now! He had reached the girl in the nick of time and had pushed her and himself out of the danger zone.

"Up!" he shouted, and both jumped to their feet.

Slowly the Charger rolled away from the pump, its tyre squeaking as it rubbed against the rail's metal. The black car was blocking their way back into the shop's safety!

"Lars!" she clung to his arm, "we have to lure it away from Mr. Hartman!"

"What?!"

He surely had never been a hero, just twenty seconds ago he had hesitated to follow her out of the shop. Yeah, but just fifteen seconds ago you jumped in front of a car to save her! The presence of the courageous girl took effect on him. Something pervaded Lars, flew through her warm hands into his arm, into his mind...

"Okay. We both dash towards the driveway, then we part. You run across the drive and jump into the ditch, I turn left and try my luck behind the building. Ready?"

"No, but what the hell..."

She kept holding his arm and both started their sprint, knowing how poor their plan was.

The Hemi's sawing filled the dark air. Again and again the engine speed hit the limiter as the lurking car rocked in its suspension. (no need for this.)

Lars knew that he shouldn't do this, but nevertheless he looked back: he saw the Charger ready to hunt them down, saw its main beam flaming up, blinding him. And, forcing [COLOR="Red"]his eyes to stand the headlights, he saw the shop's door being opened. (open.) (how did he ‘force his eyes’? did he squint?)

"WAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUPPPPPP!"

Slim Jim flounced (paraded?, stormed? ran?) out of the station building, both arms full with ripped open Magic Trees. His impact against the driver's door had ballistic dimensions. (‘a ballistic effect’ sounds better but I had a problem understanding what are you alluding to. Consider finding another way to express the idea.),The whole car seemed to perform a dart, (The car darted? Hmm hmm) the door's window burst into thousands of dark diamonds, and Jimmy released his awful load into the interior.


The Charger speeded up, swerving left and right. Lars felt Liza gripping his arm tighter. They would not part. Now both had reached the driveway and the infernal roar was close behind them. As soon as they felt the ground beneath their feet changing from tarmac to dirt, they jumped. Not a metre behind them the horrible car shot down the driveway, far to (too) fast. It literally bounced onto the feeder road, sparks flew (flying) as the undercarriage touched the street's surface.

Lying in the ditch, still closely (close) together, Liza and Lars got onto their grazed elbows and carefully raised their heads to throw a glance down the feeder road. The Charger's round taillights were disappearing in the night like an evil memory.

With a grown Liza let her head fall back onto her arms.

"Thank you, Lars!"

"No, thank you..." he replied. Lars knew that this girl was sent from heaven, right to this place, right to him!

"...for choosing AC Petrols."

END


I like the ending, the last line and the shmallzy “Thak you Lars!” – and there is even a hint of romance too. It does seem cut off suddenly but it is movie-like so it is quite fitting. Nice work.


edit: Italics disappeared in the quotes. Sorry, I do not know what happened.

[H Dean]

I am gonna throw in a couple quick comments here.

First, it appeared as if you were going for a very stylized approach to this tale. You managed it, but you also overplayed it a bit. Take a step back when you go for this flavor of writing, review it a bit more carefully. Finally, watch for spelling gaffes. You used "grown" where "groan" should have been. Yeah, it happens to us all. Just be aware of them.

[Venom]

Thank you for your comments and suggestions, both of you!




H Dean, what shall I say: once it has grabbed me, I have to go the whole way...


pejanon, the Charger isn't driverless, of course. Else the Magic Trees wouldn't chase it away. Nevertheless your impression was right in itself. It's an affair not unlike Stephen Spielberg's "Duel". There's nothing supernatural about the scene or the car. Nonetheless the Dodge appears to be invincible and even mythic to the protagonists. The car needs no reason and no explanation. And it isn't defeated, it just disappeared into the night from where it had come. It's driver is faceless and with no rational motives. He (or she) is one with the car.




Some words to your comments:

Well, many around there still know it as Otto's Diner...

That's some kind of small town blues, a melancholy anecdote that shows Lars' ambivalent feelings concerning his town. He hates his life there, at least his work, but this place is full of memories.

With a histrionic (well, ok, what’s wrong with ‘thatrical’?) gesture...

Nothing, but I wasn't sure if "thatrical" was only used as "related to theatres"...

The dark saloon had left Number One and spurted in a sportive manner (spurted sportively?)


He stepped to the glass wall, raising his arms in a both asking and provocative manner. (How about: inquisitively and provocatively? However, how important are those nuances here?)

Originally I'm a friend of adverbs, but some just sound too artifical to me. I couldn't say if "provocatively", for example, was used in spoken English.

Mostly it (it should either be ‘they’ ,the people, or find another noun) was (were) just boring, so he was happy having Slim Jim to accompany him.

Not the people, but the situation is talked about...well, it's misleading.

He seemed to be dozed off; (‘He was dozzing off’ seems better) when Lars looked up...

He seemed to be dozed off (Indeed he dozed off), then he was aware of his surrounding again and then checked the clock...

The steps were unnaturally loud, even noticeable (heard even)

The glass is reinforced (like at all modern petrol stations, at least where the cashiers have their place), so he can't actually hear the steps. Same with the Jag driver: Lars heard him yelling, but couldn't understand the words.

Hartman slid across the bonnet (hood is better here) and against the windscreen...

Why? This is an old discussion: BE versus AE. "Bonnet" is the correct term. Hood could (I say could, not will...) be misunderstood as some kind of soft top.

And still I see you two wind eggs lazing and hanging around here.


Lars nodded. What's business is it of him? ! I'll manage...


Not (A) second later the door...

These last three are without an explanation or alternative, so I'm not sure how to deal with them.





I'll need a few days to rewrite the story and I will mostly follow your suggestions. Some red sentences I won't change for different reasons (style, personnel taste, being a smartarse). I'm sure you don't take this as an affront.



Venom

[pejanon]

No affront at all.

You are welcome to use the editor’s comments, suggestions and corrections as you see fit.

It is usually a good idea to consider that the editor had a good reason for a correction or a suggestion.

For example: He seemed to be dozed off is just not the right usage. He seemed to be dozing off is – but then it can be seen as if he was pretending to be drifting to sleep which is not what you were trying to say. Therefore: he was dozing off…..

Etc.

Hood/bonnet controversy is not really related to BE versus AE. Hood is not a soft top but someone might read that sentence as: Hartman slid across the female period cap and against the windscreen…


Not a second later is a rather shallow phrase. A second later…. Is shorter if nothing else.

Yes, I was aware of the “Duel” connection. Note that Spielberg makes sure that we know that there is a driver and he wears cowboy boots. But, I was rather thinking in terms of King’s Maximum Overdrive… (he said thatricaly …. )

[Venom]

King's "Trucks"/"Maximum Overdrive" as well as "Christine" dealt with supernatural elements. I my opinion elements like these don't fit to the story above - they would turn the narration into sci-fi/fantasy. The fantastic element would in the worst case overpower the whole story line. There's no need to tell that a guy is driving the car because there's no allusion to supernatural action. Jim talks about the driver: "psycho". Okay, he just assumed his existence, but at no point he, Jim, is contradicted.

To hood/bonnet: If you don't close the engine bay of a Jaguar correctly, it will tell you "Bonnet Open" on its dashboard display. (Jag's for the British market do this...)

[Venom]

Something went wrong with the blank lines; I'll post it again...

[Venom]

THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING AC PETROLS!


You asked for it! Lars thought to himself as the arrogant yuppie-banker, slick with styling gel, paid for the petrol. How he hated those guys! It only had needed the sound of the credit card, the affected move the banker had used to let the plastic snap on the counter, and Lars had known what to do. You are in for it, hotshot!
The yuppie had fuelled his brand-new Jaguar saloon at petrol pump number one; Lars could see its front half through the window wall of the petrol station's shop. The neon lights' reflections smouldered in the black paintwork. While the young cashier gave back the credit card and a sales check he smiled innocently at the customer:

"Sir, our company has Fresh Air Weeks, and therefore I would like to present this small favour to you..."

With a theatrical gesture he handed out a Magic Tree air freshener to the sceptical driver. The snobbish man accepted it, apparently reluctantly, then turned around and left without a farewell.

"Thank you for choosing AC Petrols, sir!" Lars called after him in an exaggeratedly polite tone.

He once had found these particular Magic Trees in a joke article shop downtown and always had some of them in stock for special customers. It was a nice way to liven up the long, boring night shifts at this forsaken place. The ACP station stood at the corner of the northern feeder road and Industrial Lane, diagonally opposite Otto's Diner. Well, many around there still know it as Otto's Diner, but Otto had given it up after the death of his beloved Martha. Now Burger King was about to reside there and would rely on the nearby motorway just like the petrol station did. The industrial area down the 'Lane was like a ghost town even at day - mostly depots and dubious semi-letterbox companies could be found on the treeless lots.

The dark saloon had left Number One and spurted sportively towards the exit leading it onto the Industrial Lane. But just before it rolled off the ACP area, the driver slammed on the brakes, opened every window possible and threw out the Magic Tree. The smell of rotten eggs that had fanned out immediately after he had ripped open the packing would last some hours inside the car. The yuppie yelled something out of his passenger's window, but behind the shop's glass front Lars couldn't understand him.

"UP YOURS!" the adolescent shouted back.

With spinning rear wheels the car shot out of the exit and turned left. At the deserted intersection, it turned left again onto the feeder road, not bothering to use the flasher. Lars saw the dark silhouette racing past the station again, then disappearing into the night. Another happy customer!

Once more Lars applied himself to his reading, a porn magazine he had taken from the journal rack. But only seconds later the door opened again. Look who's commin' in! Slim Jim, fat as ever. He must be the laziest guy in the 'hood. Four or five years ago his parents sent him to a fat camp; he bunked during the first night and burgled a sweet shop.

The overweight boy waddled towards the counter, his long, scruffy hair dancing with each step.

"Ey, dude, what's up?"

"WHAT'S UP?!" Lars sneered back.

"WHAATTZZUPPP?!"

"WAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPP?!"

Both fell into pubertal laughter.

"See that Jag a minute ago?" the cashier asked his pal.

"Shit, yeah! Looked like the guy was about to puke into his yuppie mobile!"

Slim Jim supported himself with the elbows on the counter, his XXXL T-shirt clenching his stout body. Then, with a clumsy but surprisingly fast move, he grabbed Lars' ACP baseball cap. The lanky young man grumbled.

"Give it back, you prick! I have to wear that..."

"Isn't my colour anyway..." He returned the yellow-black cap while nodding out of the window. "There's another one."

A black '68 Charger R/T had entered the area from the feeder road and was now slowly rolling along the lane through between the two petrol pumps. The ACP was a rather modern filling station, each petrol pump had four nozzles per side; 91/95/98 octane and Diesel. That means that all in all three lanes were running parallel to the feeder; one next to it, a broader one for two cars in the middle and another small next to the shop's window front. Oddly enough the old muscle car drove right in the middle of the double lane, metres away from each pump. Its Hemi engine was humming idly, producing a deep, torque-laden sound. Looking at the famous"electric shaver" grille Lars noticed that the headlights were turned off and covered. He stepped to the glass wall, raising his arms in a both asking and provocative gesture.

"What do ya want, chief?!"

Though he couldn't see the driver through the car's tinted windows, Lars supposed that he or she was watching him. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit, and with a short roar it turned right, down the Industrial Lane and out of their field of view.

"Psycho!" Slim Jim chuckled and ambled towards the snacks.

"Yeah, must be full moon..."

Indeed Lars had seen odd people around the station at some shifts, but rather infrequently. Mostly the hours here were just boring, so he was happy having Slim Jim to accompany him. With his pal around it was more bearable to watch how the night would be hacked up in customers' visits and the times between.

Lars watched at the ugly digital clock on the wall behind him; 22:49. Ouh, it's time again... The cashier got a packet of Gauloises from the cigarette shelf below the clock and put it onto the counter. And indeed: not a minute later the door opened again and in came a tall elderly man, completely dressed in black.


"Hi, Mr. G!" Slim Jim shouted from behind a pile of potato chips.

"'Evening, Mr. G!" Lars greeted.

"What's up, sons?" the grey-haired man answered.

That's Mr. Gerlin! He's the fuckin' coolest guy around here - looks a little bit like that villain from the "Saw" movies. Mr. G is REALLY old, sixty or so! Every day at ten to eleven he steps in for a packet of Gauloises. Once he has been in hospital, suspected of having lung cancer. Luckily he's okay now - they have sent him home. He still coughs sometimes, but the Doc even permitted him to smoke again.

Mr. Gerlin strode to the counter and with a measured move picked up his cigarettes. He was buying on credit and paid at the end of each month, so the whole transaction was already finished by now.

"Busy night, Lars?"

His husky voice still possessed a sonorous swing.

"Hell no, Mr. G! Same as ever...It's not the most exciting job in the world, you know - and the girls don't flip out hearing about it, too."

Gerlin slowly turned away to leave while he answered.

"Well, I consider you as smart enough not to be stuck at this place forever. And you better keep looking for a girl who won't judge you by your job or money or mobile phone..."

"Hope so. Good night!"

While stepping to the door, he nodded to the boy with the bag of chips.

"Jimmy."

"Have a good one, Mr. G!"

The tall man went out into the darkness, and the only sound left in the station shop came from Slim Jim crunching his late-evening snack.



He was dozing off. When Lars looked up it was past eleven, and Slim Jim was devouring his second bag of potato chips.

"Cmsstmmh..."

"Huh?"

Jimmy swallowed his chips and pointed out of the glass front:

"Customer."

A Volkswagen New Beetle Convertible had just stopped at Number One. The night was mild enough for having the soft top down, and Lars had a clear view of the girl behind the steering wheel. Damn, she's hot! Never seen her before...licence plate from another city...Woah! Great arse! The girl had got out of her car, showing how tight-fitting her Apple Bottom Jeans were. She circled her pastel blue VW and headed towards the pump. Her shoulder-length hair bouncing cutely as she grabbed one of the fuel nozzles and pushed it into the filler neck.

"Eh, dude...?" Slim Jim was stretching his neck to get a better view, "did she just catch the Diesel?"

"OH, FUCK!"

Lars literally flew around the counter, along the window and out of the door. With wildly waving arms he ran towards Number One.

"STOP!" he yelled, "Stop, that's DIESEL!"

The girl bent back to look past the pump's display, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

"Stop!" Lars groaned as he bumped into the passenger’s door, "you have the wrong nozzle, Miss...!"

She welcomed him with the cutest smile he ever saw.

"It's all right! That's one of these TDI's." Her smile became even cuter. "I'm so sorry that I have troubled you!"

"No, no! I have to apologise for startling you! I didn't..."

The Beetle seesawed when next to him Slim Jim bumped into the windscreen frame. The corpulent boy pressed his palms onto his knees and gasped heavily.Almost in the need an oxygen tent.

"Ey...Lars...everything...okay here?"

"Everything alright," he answered.

The girl was still smiling; a natural and authentic smile.

"It happens from time to time. But mostly the men around aren't as nice as you two. 'Look, blonde babe is killing her engine - how funny!' and so on..."

She rolled her eyes, and the cashier smiled back shyly, feeling his ears starting to glow.Don't mess it up, man!

"Oh, you're Lars, right? I'm Liza - with Z."

With a snappy move she offered her hand, and Lars took it.

"Hello, Liza with Z..."

She giggled heartwarmingly.

"...yes, I'm Lars. And that's Jimmy."

Still panting, Slim Jim raised a hand from his knee for a short salute.
Lars gripped the fuel nozzle and strove for a professional voice.

"Fill her up?"

Liza couldn't help but smile again. Her eyes sparkled with true sympathy.

"Just a few litres more, please."



The dreamy expression on his face seemed to be carved on it. Standing behind his counter, Lars was gazing towards the abandoned exit.She waved to me before she turned into the 'Lane...!

"Ey, dude. That chick really had a cute arse!" Slim Jim declared between two gulps of Pepsi.

"Shut up, you sucker! I've just met the woman of my dreams!"

"Then I hope you remember her licence plate since she didn't give you her number." Slim Jim glanced out of the window and groaned. "Talking about our dream partners - along comes mine..."

The door flew open, and Hartman entered the shop. The metal plates under his shoes made strange noises as he marched in, stalwart as ever. Although neither big nor heavy, his authoritative appearance made sure that nobody tried taking on him. Shit, not him again! Hartman has been in uniform since the First World War. Now he is retired and spends his time bullying civilians. Old bastard - sometimes he exchanges a few words with Mr. G, but I doubt that he has any real friends.

"Good evening, Mr. Hartman!" Lars greeted.

Slim Jim took a step away from the counter.

"Good evening, sir!"

The man with the brush cut surveyed the two boys, then made a brief gesture towards Jimmy.

"Hand me one of these."

The boy hastened to grab a six-pack of cheap beer.

"Com'on, fatty, I haven’t got all day!"

Hartman took the beer and put it on the counter, then sized Lars with obvious disdain.

"Still working in that hole?"

"Only for some months, till I have my graduation, sir."

"Bullshit! You told me the same crap exactly one year ago, numbnut! And still I see you two wind eggs lazing and hanging around here. You ladies better quickly pull your heads out of your arses!"

"Of course, sir."

The elder man paid, carried his beverage towards the door and turned around before he left.

"There's nothing romantic about being a loser, remember my words!"

"No, sir! Thank you. Good night, sir."



"Prick!" Slim Jim snorted after making sure that Hartman was gone. Lars nodded. What has he got to do with it?! I'll manage my life myself. Yes, sir; no, sir - who does he think he is? Old bastard! He glanced at the clock; half past eleven. Outside the shop the two orphaned yellow petrol pumps were standing under the neon light, waiting just like him for the end of the night. Maybe Hartman is right in one point...I should get the hell out of this hole. Damn night shifts!

The young man was still lost in thought when a wave of blonde hair raced alongside the window. A second later the door burst open and Liza rushed into the salesroom. The wild, terrified look in her blue eyes and the nasty laceration on her forehead sent cold daggers down Lars' spine.

"Ooohhhfuuuck!" Slim Jim shied away from her, immediately as pale as the trembling girl. He couldn't stand the sight of blood. In no time Lars was next to Liza, ready to support her.

"Wha...?! Are you okay? What happened?" he asked while carefully leading her to the counter.

"I...I don't now. Suddenly something slammed into my car, and I lost control." Her voice was still quivering, but Liza told herself bravely to calm down. "They forced me from the road, not a kilometre away from here."

"Who?"

"I don't know. A black car. It rammed me from the left, and the next thing I remember was me parking in the ditch. My head..." She raised her hand towards her wound.

"Wait, I will take care of it!"

He dived behind the counter, looking for the first-aid kit. The laceration has stopped bleeding, but blood had run around her right eye and down her cheek. Seat belt marks were visible on her neck's left side.


"Shit, guys! Listen!" Slim Jim hissed from the room's other end.

They all fell silent while a deep roaring started to fill the station's shop. It travelled towards them through the darkness, menacingly approaching along the Industrial Lane, louder and louder with every second - and then it hushed.

Minutes passed in silence. Liza, Lars and Jimmy were about to relax, but suddenly they heard steps. The hard sounds of a person walking quickly were echoing from the driveway at the feeder road. And there was no doubt where the noises were heading for...

"Down!" Lars whispered, dragging Liza behind the counter. Slim Jim took cover near the pile of chips. The steps were unnaturally loud, even noticeable through the glass front. Lars felt for the silent-alarm button under the table top, and the sound of steel-studded shoes on tarmac ringed in his ears. This psycho must be directly in front of the door!

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Hartman almost hammered the door out of its frame.

Lars rose from behind the counter with an awkward motion, banging his elbow against the cash register.

"Mr. Hartman! You?!...Did you see something out there?!"

"You can bet your sorry arse that I saw something. That little fucker driving around here without lights nearly ran me over! Fucking son of a bitch! If this limp-dicked woofter..."

The angry roar drowned out every further word as the pitch black Charger shot up the exit. Its Hemi let the window wall quake. Like a mechanical beast it raced through between the two petrol pumps, just to turn with smoking tyres at the driveway.

"What is your major malfunction, scumbag?!" Hartman yelled and rushed out of the shop like a bull in rage. The black car again accelerated when the fuming man was halfway between door and pump. It took the Dodge only a split second to cover the distance. The dull sound of a body crashing into the car's front was covered by the howl of the V8. Hartman slid across the bonnet and against the windscreen. The Charger swerved and the involuntary passenger was thrown over the left wing. He hit the ground and rolled against the low metal rail that protected the petrol pump.

Lars was standing in trance until Liza's scream yanked him back into full awareness. The young woman was already at the door when he reacted.

"NO! WAIT!" - but too late; she ran out towards the unconscious man at the second pump. Meanwhile the Charger had reached the exit and turned once again.

Something took hold of Lars. Unable to move, the young man was forced to watch the scene outside in slow motion. He saw Liza squatting beside the unconscious customer, trying to waken him. She seemed not to be sure if she should move him, so the girl just gently shook his shoulders. But her efforts were futile, and she glanced fearfully to her right. Lars' eyes followed hers and he saw the black muscle car waiting in the half-darkness of the exit. Then the shrieks of rubber trying to find grip on tarmac let his heart skip a beat.

"Oh crap!" he whispered - and he could read the very same words from Liza's lips.

After an eternity Lars regained control over his legs and he headed for the door...

Not being able to drag or carry Hartman to a safer place, Liza pushed him behind the protection rail so he couldn't be rolled over. The air was filled by the roar of the metal predator coming for her.
Then she was hit. A blow into the small of her back tore her away. Liza landed on the central lane, near the pump's other side, and Lars dashed against her back. Behind them the Charger performed a full braking and nudged the rail with its right front wheel.

That was close! A tenth of a second later, and she would adorn the grille by now! He had reached the girl in the nick of time and had pushed her and himself out of the danger zone.

"Up!" he shouted, and both jumped to their feet.

Slowly the Charger rolled away from the pump, its tyre squeaking as it rubbed against the rail's metal. The black car was blocking their way back into the shop's safety!

"Lars!" she clung to his arm, "we have to lure it away from Mr. Hartman!"

"What?!"

He surely had never been a hero, just twenty seconds ago he had hesitated to follow her out of the shop. Yeah, but just fifteen seconds ago you jumped in front of a car to save her! The presence of the courageous girl took effect on him. Something pervaded Lars, flew through her warm hands into his arm, into his mind...

"Okay. We both dash towards the driveway, then we part. You run across the drive and jump into the ditch, I turn left and try my luck behind the building. Ready?"

"No, but what the hell..."

She kept holding his arm and both started their sprint, knowing how poor their plan was.

The Hemi's sawing filled the dark air. Again and again the engine speed hit the limiter as the lurking car rocked in its suspension.

Lars knew that he shouldn't do this, but nevertheless he looked back: he saw the Charger ready to hunt them down, saw its main beam flaming up, blinding him. And, squinting against the headlights, he saw the shop's door open.

"WAAAAAAAAAAZZZZZZZUUUUUPPPPPP!"

Slim Jim stormed out of the station building, both arms full with ripped open Magic Trees. His impact against the driver's door had earthshaking effects. The whole car seemed to perform a leap, the door's window burst into thousands of dark diamonds, and Jimmy released his awful load into the interior.

The Charger speeded up, swerving left and right. Lars felt Liza gripping his arm tighter. They would not part. Now both had reached the driveway and the infernal roar was close behind them. As soon as they felt the ground beneath their feet changing from tarmac to dirt, they jumped. Not a metre behind them the horrible car shot down the driveway, far too fast. It literally bounced onto the feeder road, sparks flew as the undercarriage touched the street's surface.

Lying in the ditch, still close together, Liza and Lars got onto their grazed elbows and carefully raised their heads to throw a glance down the feeder road. The Charger's round taillights were disappearing in the night like an evil memory.

With a groan Liza let her head fall back onto her arms.

"Thank you, Lars!"

"No, thank you..." he replied. Lars knew that this girl was sent from heaven, right to this place, right to him!

"...for choosing AC Petrols."





END





v1.1

[Horatio Palmer]

Isn't a black Charger just the most sinister car in the world? Good choice for the fear factor. It reminds me of that film with the possessed Lincoln Mk.4 (i think it was a Mk 4) that kept chasing people. I can't remember the name of it, but the car wouldn't go into graveyards. It was weird anyway.
This story reminded me a little bit of a Tarantino film with all the realistic and sharp dialogue.

[Venom]

Yeah, but it must be the '68, like in "Blade", with the Hemi engine, not the "Duke of Hazard" or the car Vin Diesel drove at the end of "F&F"...

Lincoln Mk4, 1973?!: you don't mean "Christine", the red&white '58 Plymouth Fury Coupé, do you? Or are you thinking of "The Cars That Ate Paris" (1974)?

You are surely having Tarantino's "Deathproof" in mind, with Kurt Russel's '69 Charger as second car...

[Horatio Palmer]

The film about the car that chased people was "The Car" from 1977 starring James Brolin. It was a Lincoln Mk3 modified by George Barris.
Haven't seen Deathproof yet, but that's sort of what I was thinking of. Generally his style of dialogue in all his films esp. Reservoir Dogs is very sharp and realistic.
I was thinking of the Charger from Bullitt. That's the archetypal sinister car.

[Venom]

I was thinking of the Charger from Bullitt. That's the archetypal sinister car.

OUUHH, how could I forget "Bullitt"?!

[pejanon]

This is better told story now. Well done.

[Venom]

Thank you, pejanon. The part when Liza runs out to help Hartman has become much rounder. The whole story is now narrated from Lars' subjective point of view.