Reflections In Hindsight

Grace in the Rearview Mirror…it's closer than it appears

  • Ephesians 4:29

    Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. (NIV)

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It’s Titleriffic!

Posted by Luther D. Powell on June 14, 2012

With another busy week ahead of me, I thought I’d post another story excerpt while I didn’t have much concentration to come up with an interesting bloppick. I’m actually writing this before Thursday, so I’m like…blogging into the future.

I can only say so much about this little snippet. In short, best friends Shane and Nikko are driving home from a party late at night and have just run over a deer. Weirdness ensues. One thing I can finally declare happily about this story is that I may have settled on a semi-official title. I’ve been fighting with myself on titles for the past few months, so I’m pretty excited. Without further ado, here is an excerpt from the horror story I’ve spent the past 7+ years on, currently entitled, Twelve Hour Wanderer. Any feedback would be appreciated!

With uncontrolled gusts of laughter, the two morbid friends carried the stag’s corpse over to the bench and hoisted it up onto the wooden planks of the seat.

“We should set him up like he’s just sitting here after a leisurely stroll on the sidewalk or something!” Shane guffawed.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing! Here, take a picture of me with it!” Nikko handed Shane his cell phone, then sat next to the deer and pushed it upward as though it were sitting on the bench like any other person. Shane stepped back with the phone flipped open, its camera lens focusing on Nikko as he struck a silly “thumbs-up” pose, and took a picture.

“Now do me!” Shane demanded, rushing to switch spots. Nikko got up as Shane handed his phone back and sat on the bench in his place. Nikko took a picture of his friend next to the deer, throwing up a pair of “devil horns” with his hands.

“This is going on MySpace!” Nikko stated with another thumb of approval in the air.

“Alright, let’s bolt before somebody else drives by!”

Wiping their hands on their jeans, they dashed to the Corvette cackling maniacally, hopped back in, then lost it completely. They were always easily amused at this time of night, and they were quite proud of the grisly display they made out of the dead stag.

“Who needs mounting on a wall when you can just leave road kill out on the sidewalk to greet the citizens of your hometown?”

“I know, right?” Nikko answered, dragging from his inhaler once again. “If we had some spray paint, I’d be half-tempted to spray an upside-down star on the bench just to freak people out!”

“That’d be so metal,” Shane grunted with a fist pump.

“Alright, uh, I need to call the car insurance people, but I don’t have the number listed in my contacts. You wanna help me find the papers in here?”

“Yeah, but um, will they be like…open? I mean, would the insurance company answer this late at night?”

“Don’t know why they wouldn’t, but I’ve never done this before. If we can’t get through to them, I guess I’ll call tomorrow, but I need the number. Open up the glove compartment and dig out whatever’s in there.”

Shane did as Nikko requested and pulled out a stack of aged documents. “We should each look over a half of these, where did all this come from?” He handed Nikko the top half of the stack, easily more than twenty papers.

“I dunno, man, I’ve had the car all summer. Been collecting maps and printing directions for stuff, it all ends up in there.”

“This is a menu for the Hong Kong Buffet, dude.”

“I don’t know how that got there.”

“Gosh, you’re so fat!” Shane laughed, shuffling the menu under the rest of the dog-eared papers in his lap. Shane always called Nikko fat, fatty, fat-boy, et cetera, as an obviously-ironic joke.

“Directions to malls in Columbus, Delaware, Chillicothe, Grandma’s house—”

“What, ‘over the river and through the woods’ not enough detail for you?”

“I guess not. My parents give me more directions than I ask for, usually.”

“Menu from El Campasino’s, since when did you even like Mexican food?”

“Not everybody has as weak a stomach as yours.”

“I’ll give you a weak stomach.”

“Your mom has a weak stomach.”

“Dude, I’m not finding anything that even looks insurance-related. Any luck?”

“Uh…phone book. I mean, that’s kinda helpful…”

Shane ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m exhausted, man, do you really want to look for your car insurance company in a phone book right now?”

Nikko ignored the question and flipped through some yellow pages. “I don’t…think…this is going to work.” Just then, the napkin on his cheek finally peeled away and dropped onto the open phonebook. “Haha! I forgot that was still on my face,” he said, before erupting into a chorus of sneezes.


“Thanks,” Nikko sniffled, wiping his nose on the bloody napkin. He wadded it up and tossed it in the back seat.

“Ew, dude, I could’ve given you another one!”

“It’s my own blood, no problem.” He sneezed again, then coughed. “I think my allergies are spazzing out.”

“Was it Allen’s dog again, you think? I didn’t see it at the party.”

“I didn’t either, but sometimes dander alone is enough to mess me up. Let’s just head—” another sneeze, “—gah, home. I’ll call insurance tomorrow.”

After stuffing the maps and menus back into his glove compartment, Nikko restarted the vehicle, pulled the car into a straight line in the right lane and gradually built speed. “She lives! That’s good news.”

Passing another few buildings and approaching some train tracks, Shane glanced at the rearview-mirror and announced a barrage of expletives.

“Whoa-whoa, what is it?”

“Stop the car!” Shane commanded. “The deer’s gone!”

Cliffhanger, oogly-boogly-woogly! I hope that held your attention well, and just in case didn’t, here’s another picture of my cat. She does not want me to go on vacation.

In Christ,

Luther D. Powell

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