Six Feet Down

Chapter 1 -- The VW Beetle

It was mid day, 5 minutes to noon. 75 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. John stepped out of his house and crouched down to tighten the laces on his black Nike running shoes. Checking his watch he saw it was 4 minutes to noon, "Starting a little early never hurt anybody." He said to nobody in particular as he put earbuds in and started his running playlist on his phone.

Starting his trek down his driveway he made his way into the busy streets of San Francisco. Running at a rather comfortable pace John greeted the random passers-by with a smile and a head nod. What John didn't know was that in three minutes life was going to throw him a firm head nod of its own.

As he held his chest high, arms at 90° angles, eyes on the horizon - John had no clue what life, or rather death, had in store for him as he finished the first half mile of his run. Passing houses that seemed stacked together like books in a library, John was happy for the upcoming change in scenery. A moving truck sat atop the hill John now climbed, where inside lay rows upon rows of neatly stacked dull brown boxes.

What went unnoticed to not only John, but the movers carrying the boxes into the house, was the blocks keeping the truck from rolling back down the hill were ever slightly starting to move out of the way of the tires. As John climbed that hill at less than 1 minute to noon, he saw those blocks fail. He saw the truck slowly start rolling downwards, starting to gain speed. The truck rolled down the hill 20 feet or so, while John was only 40 feet away now - staring like he was caught in a trap he knew he couldn't escape. But the truck kept rolling, moving quicker now it was only 15 feet from John. However, the truck hit a pothole in the road - the very pothole John ran around every day, the very pothole that he's complained about several times over, the very pothole that gave him a flat tire not even a month ago - and swerved sideways blocking the entirety of the road.

Laughing John felt his pulse to make sure he was still alive. He was. But now, just as the time shifted to 12:00, John turned around to the sound of screeching tires and a shrill horn resounding down the street.

Thankfully John was dead on impact with the old Volkswagen Beetle. He didn't have to witness the splatter of red across the dulling yellow paint of the Beetle. He didn't have to hear neither the crunch of bones, the shattering of the windshield, or the shriek of metal as the Volkswagen hit the moving van head on. He didn't have to see the look of horror across the woman's face before she too found herself in the same situation as John - dead.

~

Ashley was late. This was nothing new. Unbeknownst to her today when she arrived at work there would be a letter on her desk telling her she was to pack her things and leave as soon as possible. But pulling her flustered hair into a ponytail and half running, half falling, out of her apartment and locking the door behind her she wasn't aware her first real job would be over only a month after it had begun.

Hurrying down the stairs in a partial frenzy she reached the lobby and pushed her way out the front door into the waiting street. 'What a beautiful sunny day' she thought before remembering she was running late. Checking her phone she saw the time '11:58'. 'Now I've done it,' she thought, 'surely they'll fire me now.'

Going down the street she saw a dreaded parking ticket underneath her windshield wiper 'parked within 20 feet of a fire hydrant' the ticket read. "Great, just what I needed." Luckily for her she'll never have to pay that ticket. The ticket which she now grasped in her fist as she opened the door to her old dulling yellow Volkswagen Beetle and climbed into the drivers seat - not putting on her seat belt as she was in a hurry.

Speeding out of her parking spot, and barreling down the street, she ignored the protests and whines of the old rustic engine. Grabbing her phone she texted her boss 'Sorry running a little late' and saw the time was now 11:59. Looking back to the road she saw a massive moving truck laying across the entirety of the road ahead with a man in running clothes laughing in the middle of the lane she was in - a view she had no time to process nor even judge as she pushed her foot down on the brakes.

But her foot, along with the pedal merely hit the floor. Grabbing the steering wheel she tried turning the car out of the way, but the wheel wouldn't move. So she pulled the emergency brake and pushed her hand against the horn hoping to alert the man she was about to collide with that he should jump out of the way.

As he turned, and his face went from laughter to shock - they made eye contact. And then the car hit the man with a sickening crunch, his body falling over the top of the car - thick blood staining the now cracked and smashed windshield. And a mere half second later the Volkswagen collided with the moving truck, followed by Ashley's body flying through the windshield.

The Beetle's engine sputtered and shut off for the last time. Papers that were in the front trunk now stuck out, impaled by the sharpened metal body that jutted out at odd angles, stained with the blood of both Ashley and John. As for the police and EMTs there was nothing they could have done to revive the disemboweled John whose head was looking backwards, or the brainless Ashley whose brain painted a mural across the once blank white moving truck.