It''s raining. It''s always raining when it happens.


    "Someone! Anyone! Please! Help him!"


    Between the sheets of rain running across the container and the hum of the diesel engine, no one could hear her pleas. No one except me, and since I clearly caused this—bang!


    "What the hell are you doing! Get out here and help me! This is all your fault!" The woman slammed her fist on the hood of the truck over and over again. Each strike leaving a bloody print that was quickly washed away by the rain. But there was nothing I could do.


    "It''s not my fault!" I want to scream. But nothing comes out. I choke off the fuel as much as I can, slowing it to a sputter. I dim my headlights to their lowest setting. This is the best I can do to show my respect for the young man whom I''ve just killed. The woman storms around to the driver''s side door and yanks on the handle. I unlock the cab and let her see for herself.


    "Where are you! Murderer! Coward!" She slams the door to the empty cab and rushes back to her partner. Another car approaches from the opposite direction. She waves them down, and the whole process continues like normal. Within a couple of hours, I''ll be impounded. A few weeks later, I''ll be put up for auction and delivered to a new owner. We''ll perform deliveries for a couple of days, and then one night, my engine will start up all on its own again, and like some sort of remote-controlled killing machine, I''ll repeat this horror all over again.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    No matter how hard I resist, I can''t change course, and my brakes won''t work, but only once the target is in sight. Even now, I wish I could just... drive away?


    I try to shift into reverse and hear the confirming click of the gears engaging. Slowly, I give it a little gas. Sure enough, I''m moving!


    "I don''t know, there''s no one in the truck—hey! HEY!" The woman turns from the man that stopped to help and charges after me, but I gun it. I can''t sit here and watch this scene play out again. The tires squeal as they try to gain traction on the slick road. "STOP!" I give it more gas. This is a popular tourist area, mainly because of the bridge about half a mile back. I don''t even bother trying to turn around; I just drive as fast as I can in reverse. I can see the bridge in my side mirrors now—there''s a police car with its lights on. Sorry, officer. I blare the horn; he swerves out of the way at the last moment as I make contact with the guardrail.


    Sparks fly as the side of my container rips along the railing, but it doesn''t budge. I''m losing speed, and thus momentum. The cop leaps from his squad car and opens fire. My windshield shatters, but otherwise, there''s minimal damage. I shift back into first gear and pull forward until I''m perpendicular with the bridge, then give it all I have. Slam! The railing bends but doesn''t break. Reverse. Slam! Only the container gives. Forward. SLAM! Reverse again- nothing. No click. I give it some gas; at least I''m stuck in first gear. The front wheels scream as I open up the throttle as much as I can. POW, the first one goes—POW, then the second. The railing creaks as I continue to push my crummy little engine to its limits, then, finally—freedom.


    I can feel the wind on leather seats as I tumble cab over wheels. To all those innocent pedestrians, I''m so sorry. I beep my horn one more time before impact, and then, darkness.