I bent over and puked. The smell of burnt rubber and blood hung in the air as I surveyed the body. It lay there, broken and bloody, eyes fixed in that 1000 yard stare.

It wasn't my fault, my fault. Knife, that knife, oh my god how that knife gleamed. The trickle of blood as it nicked my neck...

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD!
"Get out of the car punk!"
"But, but...
"Hey, no buts fuckface, get the fuck outta da car now!"
I was stupid and tried to resist. He responded with his knife and my animal instincts of fight or flight took over. I dropped the car into gear and floored it. The street was a dead end.

He was coming.
I watched him drawing closer and closer in the rearview. Seemingly of it’s own accord, the car let out a hideous screech as my foot let off the clutch and went sailing back the way it’d come. The rear windshield shattered as he hit it and I saw him roll off into the street. Then I was roaring forward again, then back, then forward, again and again and again.

It was intense anger I had at first, then fear, then frustration. I was sweating, my hand sliding off the steering wheel. I couldn't breathe--this weight pressing into my chest. I felt dizzy. I could hear my heartbeat pulsing over the roar of the engine, see the dust on the window, the saliva and blood as I ran him down again and again. I choked on the carbon fumes of the car, mixing with the dry smell of road dust. I felt the sweat seeping out my pours, running down my fingers and my face. I felt myself shudder violently, and then there was this incredible cathartic feeling of release. It was like an orgasm, adrenaline rush and the highest high I ever had all rolled into one. It was better than acid or mushrooms or cocaine or speed or anything I'd ever tried. Compared to that steady glow of bliss, this was a raging inferno threatening to destroy me with pleasure. This sublime feeling wafted into my soul and I sat there, more in bliss than any human had ever been. All thought was lifted from me and all was complete nothing. It was like rock climbing--that feeling of oneness with the rock, of one man, one hold, but it went deeper than that. It wasn't anything material I bonded to--It was nothing, a complete void. At the same time, it was everything. It was like I'd directly tapped into the universe, linking the ahtman and the brahman. It was ultimate power. I could command the son of God to kneel before me. I was soaring higher than any bird could fly, was going everywhere at once, being everything at once, but still being nowhere, being nothing. I sat there, this *thing* roaring through the blood in the veins, pumping into my heart and mind. I was in neither this world nor the next. Then, just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the most intense nausea I'd ever felt, the strongest pain I'd ever known. The reurn to this world, this reality, was too much.

All I remember next was hitting the road.

The police woudl be looking for me. I was a wanted man. I was afraid to see my picture on a wanted poster as I pulled into the Exxon station. Fearfully, fidgeting, I paid the attendant and got back on the interstate.

It was a three hours before sunrise when the first craving hit me. The numbness had begun to wear off and all I could remember was the high. Not the man, not the knife, not any of it, just the high. I had to get a hit. From deep within a voice wondered how the craving could come so fast, but I couldn't hear it.

I tried cigarettes, but it wasn't enough. Running through the pack like I now breathed nicotine, the urge only grew. I had to stop somewhere. Who did I know this far from home who’d be holding? I needed something heavy, pot wasn't going to do it.

Shit, where am I? I saw a sign that read Olympia 15 miles...I knew right where to go in Seattle...Pike Street...Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Pi-iiiiiiiike Street? Seattle was still a ways away. I'd been there once, long long ago.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was about 3:00 AM when I finally pulled off interstate 5 and into Seattle. It was raining, and, with the windows rolled up, the stench of a pack of smoked cigarettes was cloying. After getting lost a couple of times, I parked the car and got out.

It was a bad time to be "looking"...a little late, but someone had to be holding still, had to...Scanning the streets and alleys, looking for anyone, I saw him, standing in the alley. I could tell he was selling, that nonchalant attitude betrayer super awareness, ready for cops, for rival pushers, anything.
He saw me walking towards him. He knew.
"Hey, man, you lookin'?"
"Yeah, I need somethin' heavy man, something real heavy."
"Bro, I got just what you need." He pulled out a little paper packet. "This here is the purest smack you've ever seen."
I stared at it, the craving reaching deep into my bowels by now.
"Yours for the paltry sum of $80." He said it like it was nothing, but $80 for a single hit was jacked. He could tell I was desperate. It was probably shit too.

"Eighty bucks! Man, that"s jacked."
"Hey bro, I got kids to feed, take it or leave it."
I stared into my wallet. I didn’t have $80 cash. FUCK, fuck fuck fuck. I needed that hit. The fire was eating me alive, slowly burning away my insides.

"C'mon man." I thrust $46 at him. "It's all I got. Please, take it."
"Man, you is sorry shit."
I had to have that smack. Maybe I could trick him. He was a dealer, so he couldn't be all that smart. Clutching at the first idea that came to mind, "No man, you is sorry shit. Hands up, you're under arrest. I'm a cop."

He called the bluff, "Bullshit. Let’s see a badge fucker." When I didn’t reach for my wallet, he pulled out a gun. In the dull, pre dawn light, I could see the light reflect from the steel surface. It looked evil sitting there in his palm. I stared at it, eyes wide.

"You wanna see what I do with fucking junkies who mess with me pal? Man, you really gone and fucking pissed me off. You better say good-bye boy."

Just like that, he was going to cap me. No further words, no further messing around. Maybe I deserved it after everything I’d done. Probably not though. I’d been a good person...for the most part. Sure, there was the usual teenage thievery, car stereos and the like. Looking back though, it was just the normal rebellion every teen went through. I'd done more than enough good to repay my sins. I just couldn’t believe this fuck was gonna cap me now, here. I wasn’t gonna end dead in some rainy alley. No way...

He aimed the gun at me and I rushed him, shoving his hands up and away. We stood there, struggling for the gun, when the pusher's spotter came up.

For a second, the pusher relaxed. Kicking him in the testicles, I seized the gun and fired. I didn't even bother to watch him slump over, clutching his now useless bowels. Turning, I sighted in the spotter. Seeing the gun his eyes bugged out and, realizing he couldn't run, he stood there, pleading for his life.

"Hey man, not me. Shit, I won't tell. Don't shoot me bro. Please, Please man."
I didn’t say anything. He tried backing away, hands up. I could see the sweat glistening off him in the moon light. I could feel the high kicking in. The anger was first again.  I advanced on him.

"C'mon man, say something, say something." I could smell his fear as his eyes bugged out, staring into mine. What did he see? It made no differance. I actually, literally smelt his fear. It was invigorating, like a waft of fresh air. By now he was blubbering. He had stopped moving and sunk to his knees, hands reaching towards me, his eyes straining up at me. The light made a halo around his head, his eyes watering.

Still full of anger, I shot him too. The rush came upon me as I stood there, smoking pistol in my hands. I sank to my knees as it took full effect. It didn’t last as long this time, but was still just as incredible. Standing, I wiped the spittle from my lips, robbed the two bodies, and walked away.
 

Getting back to my car, I surveyed my spoils: about $500 in cash, 4 or 5 hits worth of smack, the gun and a full extra clip. I looked the gun over closely. No expert on firearms, I could tell it'd seen it's share of use. There was a ragged scratch along the handle where it had probably been dropped once or twice. Feeling the weight of it, I pulled back the shaft like I'd seen the pusher do and aimed down the barrel out the window. I set the safety on and lay it on the seat beside me.

I’d found a set of car keys on the pusher, and debated going back to find it. By now my car would have an APB out on it. The shattered rear windshield was enough cause to get pulled over as it was. The pushers car was probably nice, air conditioning, good stereo, flashy, but not too flashy (or so I hoped), low mileage (most likely new). My car was breaking apart, an old, v8 American tank, low gas mileage, broken stereo, no AC, bald tires, faded paint, torn interior. The engine was in serious need of repair. As a matter of fact, I was surprised it'd gotten me to Seattle.

As far as I was concerned, it was a no-brainer. Shit, the man was a drug dealer--pushing to little kids. Dealers were the whole reason I was caught out last night...I was going to school, getting good marks. Two more years and I'd graduate with a bachelors of art in anthropology. Now, gone. All my dreams, gone, all my life, gone.

I had to say goodbye, so I found a payphone. "Mom, mom it's me."
She howled something back. I lifted the receiver from my ear. "Listen mom, things got all fucked up. Whatever happens, I love you. I'm sorry things turned out this way." Then I hung up. I didn't want to hear her cry if I got into the details. There were too many details.

"Go Westward Young Man!" Well, I was going East--fuck it. Speeding along I-90 in a brand new beamer, I chain smoked another pack of cigarettes. Even with the window down, the car filled up with smoke, the ash tray overflowing. Coughing violently the whole way, it seemed Spokane had just been right around the corner. My whole train of thought was skewed somehow. This wasn’t your normal addiction, I’d penned in my little diary. It seemed to fill me with something. Unlike a normal craving, which could ebb and flow at times, this seemed to bear full force, all the time...even during that last kill at the gas station. I could feel it pulling as I leaned upon the counter, eyes rolled into my head.

"What do you want, the safe, the money? Well, I'll do it, I'll do it. Just hold on, Oh please, don't kill me. I'm just a student man. I'm just a law student..." His fingers trembled and his eyes widened even more. He turned to open the safe. I leveled the pistol and took carefull aim.

"Boy, I fucking HATE lawyers." Then I shot the bastard in the back of the head.
The bits of brain and blood stained my shirt when the bullet hit. It smelled funny. I vaguely remember tearing that shirt off like Hulk Hogan and snatching a tourist’s shirt 'I ate at Roselyn’s Cafe'. There was a hole in it now from the cigarette I’d dropped on it.

I looked out the window, and everything was different. I couldn’t look at another car the same way. Before, it had been just another vehicle. Now, now it was like a can of sardines. All I had to do was pull back the little ring and munch away..

I hoped the urge to eat people didn’t start, but who knew. This was so otherworldly I couldn’t begin to foresee the consequences besides a straight jacket and the nuthouse. I’d go straight into the funny farm. I was obviously no longer sane. "They’re coming to take me away. They’re coming to take me away ha ha he he to the funny farm where life is happy and clean all day..."

I didn’t know where I was headed. Away, yes, but away from what? Like I could escape the gnawing in my stomach, as if distance would make Portland and Seattle and that little mini-mart all better. Like distance would return me to myself.

I forced myself to drive through Spokane without stopping. Too many people, too much temptation. I was trying fight it. Those drug dealers had been OK, I rationalized. No-body cared about them--they, in effect, deserved their fate. But that kid at the gas station. His cheery smile turned to horror as I pulled out the gun. He'd gotten the safe open before I pulled the trigger. I didn’t want his death to go to waste, so I availed myself of the money anyway--close to a grand. I had plenty now, but who knew down the road? For that matter, who knew I wouldn’t snatch up some hitch hiker with a knife or gun or whatever who would get me before I got him? Who knew I wouldn’t just slam myself into some other car, so desperate for the taste of blood. What then? What if I died and Hell existed? What fiendish plan would Satan have for me? Maybe make me one of his minions? Maybe I was already and just ddn't know it yet?

Anyway, I was out of Spokane, headed for Helena, Montana. Maybe I’d go up to Canada, find some log cabin and just live out my days alone--try to end my blood lust before it really kicked in and I went postal.

Shit, if this ain’t postal, what the hell was? How could I know? How did I know this is what went through Manson or Bronson or the Iceman or any of them characters? Maybe I should find some other killers and ask them? Myabe the library? Well, maybe if the police get me I could ask some killers at the nut house. Too many questions, too many possibilities. Being like this was, I had to admit, the freest feeling in the world. What higher code is there than respect for life? What more binding commandment than the fifth? Being free of this, what more is there? Well, beside this fire in my legs, this twitching in my fingers, tingling in my nails...

STOP. I had to stop thinking about this damn possession. The more I thought about, the more it called to me, beckoned me, forced me into action. I had to pull over and do a hit of the smack. I didn’t have a spoon, so, I washed out the can of chili with a wet nap. I’d eaten it cold for lunch. I heated up the dope with my lighter, grabbed a syringe I’d found in a briefcase on the back seat and sucked the shit up. Using a bandanna I’d found in the car, I tied up my arm, smacked it a bit to help the vein pop up, and slammed the needle down.

At one point in my life, before all this, I used to love that shit. It used to feel so pure, so sweet, so overwhelmingly beautiful. I could sit and sit and sit, doing nothing, as the herion coursed through me. Before, I would never had slopped it into an empty chili can like this, would have been painstaking carefull to keep it pure, to make it right. No more. Now it was a temporary fix, barely anything at that. Where once it had been so clean and light, now it was like a cigarette...dangerous and stupid, but fun in an odd way. That’s about the best the herion could be now, fun. More likely, it was just a little water on the fire. And it was getting less and less usefull for that too. I’d just about used up what I had already...3 of the five gone.

I was getting a pain in my stomach from driving so much. That chili just wasn’t gonna do me. I decided to stop at the next roadway diner...maybe a Perkin’s or something. They had those in Montana, right? Who the fuck knew. Not like it mattered. Denny's, Perkin's, Carrow's, what the fuck differance was it? It was all the same shit. Same overweight, aging counter woman who you knew didn’t want to be where she was. Same greasy half--ass--monkey of a meal that probably wouldn't do any better than the chili. It'd go a long way towards calming my ass down though, that or the coffee. It felt like years since my last cup of coffee. In reality it had just been a couple days. Anything that had occured since before last night was an eternity away.

I don't even remember how fast I was going. I just remember seeing those fucking flashing lights come out of nowhere and then pulling over.

The cop wouldn't get out of the car.
He was calling for backup.
Why'd I stop? That was a stupid mistake.
I hit the turn signal. Don't ask me why, just for the fucking hell of it.

Little water droplets flew as I screeched the tires. That cop car sat there for a few more seconds. It was obvious I'd gotten the jump. Why oh why had I stopped? In my delusional state I thought maybe it would be best...go to jail--actually the sanitarium...end my danger to the world, and all would be right. I'd be locked away like I should be, everyone safe, safe from me, from me the pyscho mother fucker who killed someone's husband, someones lover or father. Then the world would be safe from the crazy killer who'd destroyed that little boy who'd seen from the back aisle of the store, eyes wide with terror as he saw the counter boy bleed and bleed and bleed, then jump as the man scowled, then laughed, at him...

But then IT took over. Why the fuck should I. Huh? What obligation did I have to them? It was my life. My karma. Why should I stop it all now? After all what was left to be done? Who cared now? What was left to feel remorse for? What was done was done and no amount of repentance, not that there would be any, would make up for it all. Not that any shame would come up, hide me in that blanket of pitty. No-one cared about me, so why should I them? I grabbed the shotgun I'd found in the car and shot out the back window firing over my shoulder. Fuck the car. What did I care about the back window? It was drug money that bought it, tinted it. Drug money that started it all. Fucking cop swerving and shit...fuck his ass...outrun the radio, yeah right. I'd do it...they'd never get my ass...fucking superman invincible--man of fucking steel. Another shot at the fucker...HA, I got it! One copper down! Great! Now I can go get something to fucking EAT!!
 
 

I couldn't feel the high from the heroin but it still boiled my blood, still persecuted my rational thought...Behind it all the blood lust ran thick and heavy. It's slipping away again now, I can feel it going. This last little waiter bitch here calmed me somewhat. Too bad the food sucked. This fucking knife is still bloody...this waiter's corpse at Denny's, still at my feet....fucking cunt crying out. Why can't they just fucking sit still, course it's more fun when they squirm, like when I stuck her--right in the breast. She screamed oh how sweet how sweet the sound ringing in my ears it was like poetry to me ears so I listened god I need to get a tape recorder just plug it away all day long that screaming such a perfect pitch too that high wailing blood curdling shreak it curdled the blood in my dick boy was that a good time she was still warm and all the switchblade protuding from her tit fucking nicked my tongue on that knife fucking bitch so I pulled it out and worked her over the dull thud thwack of flesh resounding I never heard the cop fire his first bullet I felt it enter my chest sure enough however the surprise shocked me more than the pain but i heard the next bullet