I Killed A Runner

Last week, I killed a man. I hit him with my car while he was running down one of those residential roads. I guess you could say I ran over a runner. Pretty funny.

It was such a nice day, you know? We've had shitty weather for about a week—nothing but endless grey sky. It was nice to have a change. The weather was cooler, with a gentle breeze that filled your car when you rolled the windows down. And the air was crisp; the sky was blue; the trees were tinted with yellows and oranges. The day felt like a true autumn day. It wasn't eighty fucking degrees. It was perfect. And this man jumped out of nowhere. The bastard, he basically flung his body against my car. Ruined my Chevy. What am I going to tell the insurance carriers?

I don't know. The weather sent me back a couple of years. Made me think about the good ol' days, I guess you could say. Made me think of the times when my kids were still in kindergarten and first grade, when my wife had smooth skin and well-rounded hips, when the flab around my stomach wasn't so prominent. The kids always played outside back then. I would rake up the fallen leaves, and they would dive into the piles. They laughed all the time. They weren't so bitchy back then. They played games and used their imaginations. And goddamn it, they were adorable, those kids. I loved my kids with all my heart. I'd give Jack a piggy-back ride when he got too tired to walk. Their mother and I would always take them trick-or-treating around the neighborhood. Those brats just stay inside, now, playing their damn GTA. They yell at me whenever I try to talk to them. They criticize me for liking whiskey, the bastards. Jack and Grace never did that to their old man. They never slammed doors in his face, either, or blatantly ignored him. I guess that's what happens when they age, right?

That bastard runner made me so angry when I first saw him running down one of the main roads. I felt as if he had wronged me somehow, and when he turned off into one of the residential streets, I couldn't help but follow. He was just so damn good looking. His skin was tightly wrapped around his bulging muscles. Not an inch of fat sat anywhere on his body. He had no flab. The man looked too content, what with his damn music and earbuds and all. I hated the fool. The fat around my stomach felt so much heavier when I was looking at him. He was running with his back to me. Fucking idiot wasn't even on the proper side of the damn road. Everyone knows you're supposed to run against traffic.

I don't know what made me do it. Nothing really, maybe God did. I pressed the gas a little harder and swept him out from under his feet. You had to see him. The man looked like a bloodied rag-doll as his body went flying. I thought it was just fucking hilarious. He broke my windshield and fucked my bumper. There was blood on my car, too, but I washed it off before Shelia could get home to see it. I didn't stop driving. Instead, I banked a U-turn and ran him over one more time, just to make sure. I drove to the grocery store after I cleaned my car. I had forgotten that Shelia wanted me to pick up some eggs and white sugar. Have to get your woman what she needs, right? She would've beaten me if I hadn't.

It's been a week now, and last week I felt so good, but this week not so much. Maybe the guilt's just setting in. Last week I praised myself, now this week I mourn. I can't win, can I? I don't know. The man just reminded me of myself a little. He seemed like he was a lively kind of guy. I wonder if he had a wife and kids. Were they younger or older, like, graduated-high-school-in-college kind of old? Was his wife young or old? Did he even have a family that cared about him? Or did the bastard live in his parents' basement? Looking at him took me back to the days when I used to run. I hated that man, and I can't say that I don't still resent him. Shelia is mad as hell with me. I told her I crashed the car into a stop sign. She was practically foaming at the mouth. If only she knew, right? The man deserved it, anyway.