Impaired

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PM2K
Always Remembered
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Impaired

Postby PM2K » Sun Jun 01, 2014 7:43 pm

A new story by me.

Impaired - by PM2K (2014)

Heather opens her dark eyes slowly, her pretty face resting on the red Corvette's steering wheel. She tastes blood, and her stomach rolls over to add bile to the coppery flavor.
Slowly, she pushes herself off of the wheel, groaning softly. The only other sounds she can hear is the hiss of the car's shattered radiator.
The last few moments melt together in a blur. She had been heading along the back dirt roads following the river to the Johnson's campsite, where, if Becky was right, the epic party of the summer was being held. She was buzzing from a sweet combo of hard lemonade and Kashmir hash, Aerosmith was blasting from the speakers of the 8-track, and the car was handling like a dream...
...which all came to an abrupt end when Heather swerved to avoid an early evening stroller and slid completely off the road, straight into a large willow tree.
Her senses dulled, the brunette brushes aside a mass of hair from her forehead and slowly feels along the skin for evidence of damage. Detecting none, she sighs with relief.
"Wow... hey, Becky... that was something, huh?" Heather says, giggling. "Guess we're walking to that party..."
With a bit of effort, she manages to open the driver's side door, and steps out of the crumpled vehicle. Except for a pair fashionable sandals, her long shapely legs are bare to the bottom curves of her ass, snugly contained in a pair of blue denim micro shorts. A matching bikini top which barely contains her ample breasts completes her outfit. A thick cape of well groomed hair flows over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. It moves freely, having burst loose from its elastics by the impact of the crash.
Heather stretches, and looks over the remains of the car in the fading daylight. She laughs, imagining what her boyfriend would say when he finds out what happened to his car. When he wakes up from his drunken nap and realizes it is missing, he won't be pleased.
Somewhat bleary-eyed, it takes her some time to notice the path the vehicle had cut through the tall grass to reach the tree. Still wobbly on her feet, Heather's gaze follows the flattened swath towards where she assumes the road is, and is surprised to see the way is quite steep...
"Fuck me..."
The brunette gives her head a shake in an effort to clear it. She doesn't really remember going over an embankment... yet they are now at the bottom of one, and surrounded by a thick curtain of vegetation.
"Oh, man... Bon-Bon is gonna freak over this..." she says. And with her license pulled after those string of DUIs, insurance won't cover this... unless her beau reports the car stolen...
The possibility hadn't occurred to her until now. The thought stabs through her coldly like an icicle. What's to say he hasn't called the police already?
"Shit, shit, shit..."
Heather sways in place, her stomach heaving. Oh, Christ... The car is his baby... if he woke up and found it missing...
She lurches towards the car again, leaning through the open door, searching for her shoulder bag.
Alerted to the sharp scent of blood, Heather looks over to the passenger side of the car. The seat is empty.
"Becky?"
Peering into the shadows, it takes her a few moments to notice the shattered windshield...
Heather backs out of the car and walks slowly around the back of the Vette to the passenger side. She stares for a moment, unable to comprehend it.
Painted in the dying light of the fading day, Heather gets a glimpse of something sprawled across the hood. She recognizes Becky's bare legs and feet, her sandals missing. Then her shorts, bright red and cut close to her rump.
Her gaze reaches Becky's white t-shirt, then stops at the crimson streaks running wetly through the fabric...
Heather chokes as her eyes fall upon the crushed and torn ruin of what is left of her friend. In moments, she is doubled over, her stomach violently emptying itself onto the grass.
Afterwards, worn out, she collapses beside the car, sobbing. As the humid night falls heavily over the scene, Heather finds herself leaning against the car, paralyzed with indecision.
What to do? What to do? She already has a record for impaired driving and drug offenses... her Daddy's money and family name got her out of the worst of those, even that time when she hit the kid... but all made it clear she was at the limit.
Now, with her boyfriend's car wrapped around a tree, her best friend dead, and her still impaired despite the vomiting, there doesn't seem to be anyway out of this...
Heather's addled mind works in fits and starts. Maybe... maybe.... if I can make my way to the party... or just... back home... I can play dumb... After all, it's not my car...
Maybe people will even think Becky was driving it... it was her idea to head to the party in the first place...

Heather is still steeling herself to do something when a voice cuts through her like a cold razor blade.
"Hey! Anyone down there? Anyone hurt?"
Heather's heart jumps, and she feels her blood freeze. On top of the slope, she sees the bright light of a flashlight stabbing through the darkness, lancing downwards.
Damn!
In a panic, she drops down and scuttles forward on her hands and knees, crawling rapidly into the nearby grass, trying to find a place to hide. The light swings over the car, and she can see a shadowy figure making its way down the slope.
Oh, God... cops... it's the cops! It's gotta be the cops!
She backs away, deeper into the underbrush.

The figure stops half way down, the light fixed on the car. Then it touches the front, and illuminates what is sprawled across the hood...
"Oh.... Jesus..."
Heather heard the voice, and peering through the grass sees it isn't a police officer, but a middle aged man in loose shorts and a golf shirt, likely a summer cottager. He continues to make his way down the hill...
A different voice, slightly gruffer, sounds from the top of the embankment.
"George? Find something?"
"Yeah..." the first voice, the flashlight holder, replies. He is now close to the car, a mere handful of steps. "It's some kid... poor thing... right through the windshield..."
Heather clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry.
Oh shit! Shitshitshit.... shit! My bag! I left my bag and my ID in the car! Oh, dear god...
I'm fucked... I'm totally, totally fucked...
A third male voice, coming from the top of the slope. It was higher pitched, and choked.
"G... get help... someone... please..." the voice says. "It's bad... it's real bad...."
Heather watches from her hiding place as the man called George calls out over his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" he shouts into the darkness. Several lights can be seen moving around near where the road should be.
"I... I think it's..." The third voice chokes off in a sob. The second voice, still gruff, but softer now, responds instead.
"It's Marion... Marion and the kids..." it says. "They're dead... all three of them... looks like they were out for a walk, and... someone run them down..."

Heather crawls deeper into the underbrush, the sounds of sirens beginning to echo in the distance. Out here, it could take an hour or more for police and the ambulance to arrive, and she needs to put as much distance between them and the car as she can.
She slowly rises to her feet. The grasses and cattails are higher here, waving well over her head, so she decides to risk moving faster. The going is fairly easy, at first. The ground is level and damp, and Heather can feel it squirting warmish water across her exposed feet as she walks.
Her head still swimming from recent events, Heather tries to remember the crash, and what the others were saying before she had fled.
A family? I hit a family?
It didn't seem real... but then, the other accidents didn't seem real either.
She keeps walking, guided by the light of the moon. The air remains warm and humid, and her skin quickly becomes greasy with sweat.
Maybe... maybe Bon-Bon and I had gone for a drive, and I left my bag in the car... then Becky and someone else stole it...
Her thoughts are interrupted when her right foot hits an uneven section, and Heather stumbles forward. She grunts in pain as her shins strike the undergrowth, a thick tangle of dead branches and stumps scattered beneath the ever denser grasses obscuring the ground.
Uncertain of her balance, she topples forward, and falls heavily, the impact driving her own left elbow deep into her solar plexus. Heather retches in reflex, collapsing atop the sloppy surface.
For ages she lies still, trying to catch her breath. The world beyond fades away, reduced to the soft rustle of grass and the sounds of her own raspy breathing.
Then, slowly, she regains her senses. She rolls over, then struggles to rise. Her footing remains uncertain, but she manages to stand again. The trouble is...
Heather looks around, frowning. The moon is gone. It must have set or something while she was out. A suffocating darkness envelopes everything.
Oh, God... I... I don't know where I am!
She chokes down the fear which rises as a beast to consume her. Even as a child, she was terrified of the dark, and of the things which may be hiding within it...
Shapes begin to form as her eyes adjust to the gloom, and Heather finds it isn't totally dark... a slight glow lights up the horizon, and it takes her a few moments to recognize its source.
Cottages! A string of them line the shores of the river, which widens at this point, forming a small lake. The current is sluggish here, making it ideal for swimming and other water activities.
She feels a sense of relief, which expands as her ears pick up the faint sounds of the thudding bass of Zeppelin. The party sounds like it is in full swing, and not that far away, either.
Heather thinks carefully for a moment. She had been to Joey's place a number of times before, and recalls sitting on the dock and staring at the wetland which stretched across the horizon. The guys often joked about swimming across the lake to shake hands with the creature from the Black Lagoon, but no one ever did.
I could make it... she thinks. I'm a strong swimmer.
Emboldened, with music and the lights as her guide, Heather begins to walk forward slowly, her sandaled feet feeling their way carefully along the spongy ground. Like a cliched jungle explorer, she uses her arms to sweep aside the reeds and wide bladed grass which surround her, while her mind, no longer completely clouded, turns slowly.
I just need to reach the opposite shore... In the dark, no one would see her until she nears the dock area, and it would be easy to blend in with the crowd. Likely no one would notice how wet she is, and even if they did, would dismiss it without a second thought. Summer, you know?
Heather smiles for the first time since the crash as she sees her way out. Everyone will vouch for her... she can easily get enough people to back her claim she had driven to the party just fine, but someone else made off with the car... There is enough reasonable doubt to wiggle out of this mess... and since the car is in Bon-Bon's name...

Heather's thoughts are interrupted when she feels her right foot push deep into warm and slimy ooze. It reaches her shin before she fully realizes what is happening.
"Ewww..." she utters, shuddering at the sensation. The mud is dark and wobbles around her leg like jelly. Leaning sideways, the brunette strains to free herself, and after a moment manages to do so, grunting with effort. The earth emits a wet farting sound in response, with the hole left by her foot quickly filling with water.
Heather scowls at the muddy ground beneath her, her mouth twisting in disgust at the feeling of the thin layer of muck smearing her lower leg.
Looking ahead, she catches glimpses of wetness scattered about in front of her, glimmering through the foliage as it reflects the light. Balancing herself on her left foot, she carefully stretches out her right leg and gently presses her foot on the marshy surface. The ground bends slightly, then gives way, muddy slime flowing thickly over her bare skin.
Heather chews on her lower lip. Crap...
She stands in place, going over her options. Forward meant navigating the boggy mess lying in front of her, and God knows how deep it is.... Granted, so far it hadn't reached her knees, but... suppose she got stuck? The stuff is certainly thick enough, and had clung to her like a hungry leech.
Heading back, though, if she could find her way back... Heather looks over her shoulder, and thought she could detect the flickering of red lights playing along the tops of the trees. By now, there would be police all over the place, looking for the driver. In time, they will begin canvassing the area, starting with the cottages...
No... there really wasn't an option, if she wanted to stay out of jail...
Feeling her face set into a grim expression, she starts to navigate around the wetter looking parts of the marsh, grabbing hold of anything which offers any kind of lifeline. Fortunately, there seems to be a number of dried skeletons of drowned trees strewn about the landscape, as well as other woody and firm-stemmed plants scattered around, growing along slight ridges which she finds can support them and her.
Just take it slow, she thinks. Slow and steady...

There is just no end to this!
Heather's mind shrieks in despair. She is knee deep in tepid mud, both hands on a thick tree branch, gasping from the physical strain of slogging through the wetland which fights her at every step.
Her ample breasts bob free, stinging from the lashing they have been receiving from the marsh grass and thin twigs which seem to be everywhere. She had lost her top to a branch which somehow snagged her garment and tore it off of her, flinging it somewhere into the darkness.
Beneath the mud, her feet are bare. Her sandals had been sucked off of her, and lie somewhere along her meandering path. Her shorts are soaked through and mud streaked, plastered tightly to her skin making her acutely aware of her bareness beneath the denim.
Might as well be fucking naked... Heather thinks, the ever-present film of sweat stinging her eyes. Eve lost in the armpit of Hell...
Straining, she manages to extract herself from the glue-like muck, the wet slurping noise reminding her perversely of sex. Feeling ahead with her feet, she finds firmer ground and carefully works her way onto the tangled ridge.
Weaving her way slowly around the small, wiry trunks of the plant life crowding the small island, Heather glances at the lightening sky. The music had stopped ages ago, and the lights along the opposite shore had faded out, leaving only the occasional one still to burn. The predawn glow gradually replaces it, which makes it easier to see, if not easier to move across the marsh.
So tired... so goddamned tired...
Every muscle in her body hurts, worn out by the struggle. More than once she had stumbled and fallen, yet the desire to reach her goal continues to propel her forward.
Spotting yet another shallow puddle barring her way, shimmering in a narrow clearing between stands of vegetation, Heather sighs heavily, then begins to work her way around it. Her path is tough and heavily overgrown, and it is only by grasping the nearby branches she can make any forward progress at all.
Leaning over the murky water, she goes hand over hand, grabbing limbs and handfuls of twigs as her toes dig into the small ridge. Swinging her left leg forward, she straddles a small tree blocking her path, and grabs hold of another branch to steady herself...

Heather's eyes widen as she feels the branch crumble under her fingers. She tries to lunge for another one but it is breaking too swiftly, and she has leaned out too far to maintain her balance.
With a shrill cry, she falls backwards, landing butt-first into the center of the puddle with a splash. Feeling her hips being surrounded by dark greasy mud, which oozes greedily around them, she stares in surprise as thick clumps of wet earth rise to the surface, causing the water to vanish.
Heather finds it hard to move easily as the mire thickens around her, and, spotting another branch overhead, decides to reach for it. Thrusting her pelvis forward, she manages to stand upright and grasp the dried tree limb, only to feel her feet and legs slide rapidly downwards in quaking ooze, which continues to bubble up around her.
"Oh... God no..." she gasps aloud, sinking rapidly to her crotch. The muck is a weird mix of colors of black, grey, dark and light brown and green, and seems to be both silty and gooey at the same time.
It is also heavy, and clings to her, the bog hole sucking hard on her body, dragging her downwards.
Heather pulls desperately on the branch, hoping it would enable her to break free of the mud's suction. The wood bends alarmingly, yet she does not feel any indication the muck is willing to release its prey.
She tries to scissor her legs in an effort to extract them, but finds it nearly impossible to move them through the thickness of the mire she is trapped in. Beneath the slowly churning surface, her toes are pointed downwards, seeking any sense of something solid, but are failing in the task.
Is this shit bottomless? The thought frightens her. Heather never been in this situation before. She had seen it in movies, when someone would be devoured by liquid earth, but never believed it could actually happen in real life...
She feels the branch bend further under her weight, and hears it protest. The mud creeps over her ass and swallows the rest of her groin, forming a dense ring around her which resembles hungry lips.
Her arms ache fiercely as they strain against the deadly grip of the marsh mud. The tepid slime licks her bare belly and the base of her back, and she is becoming convinced she is being held in the maw of some horrible monster, hungry for her tender young flesh.

"He...elp... help me.... someone..."
The words dribble quietly out of her lips, unbidden. Heather stares at the bright sky, framed by the dense growth of marsh plants around her. She wiggles her trapped pelvis in yet another vain attempt to escape the mucky trap, but only succeeds in creating a series of thick waves which roll slowly away from her.
Time has little meaning for her anymore. Her arms have become numb, and it is only by her strength of will she hadn't released her anchoring branch.
Every sound, every snap, every rustle brings her hope someone was coming to get her. Even the police, with their search dogs, would be a welcome sight. Right now, the threat of jail doesn't seem so bad...
The branch groans then, a deep vibrating tone. The sound causes Heather to hold her breath.

Please God... Jesus... anyone... please don't let the branch break.... pleasepleaseplease....

The limb creaks and begins to crack, and she whimpers.

Oh God... please... I'm sorry... so sorry... so sorry... Get me out of this, God, pleasepleasepleaseplease and I'll...

The branch snaps, and Heather screams as she plunges downward. Her body glides rapidly into the quavering muddy mass, stopping only when the bottoms of her breasts slap on its wet surface.
"Oh God, no.... no, no, no, NO!"
Wild eyed and panicked, Heather claws at the mud, trying to move, to reach more solid ground, but to no avail. She thrashes about, tossing her head to and fro, sending her hair flying around in a brunette spray, and shrieks, a sound of pure terror.
The mire pays her struggles little heed, and relentlessly sucks her down. Soon, her bare breasts are half sunk, the quivering black, brown and green mud lapping at her erect nipples and the back of her shoulders. Her long hair forms a thin coating atop the earthen slime, surrounding her as it bubbles from the release of swamp gas.

"Help me! Someone! Hellllllp!"
Heather wiggles in place, her breasts almost sunk out of sight, her cleavage neatly packed with mud. Only her collarbone, shoulders, neck and head remain above it, her arms half sunk in the shallow trenches her hands have clawed out. All around her and beneath her is churning mud, dense and heavy to prevent her escape, and yet loose enough so she keeps sinking into its unknown depths.
I'm going to die... I'm going to die in this swamp... I'm going to keep sinking and sinking and sinking and the mud is going to suck me up, suck me under and no one will ever know where I'm buried... never... never... never.... never...
She wails then, a wordless cry of despair.

The mud oozes heavily over her shoulders and surrounds her neck. Heather finds it hard to keep her arms on top of the surface, and lacks the energy to fight against the muck's pull. She no longer screams, having worn out her voice to the sounds of a steady whimper.
"Please, God.... please.... don't let me die like this..." she whispers, feeling the warmish mire slowly creep up her neck. In no time, it is pressing softly under her chin.
Her arms give up the fight and submerge, but somehow her hands remain floating. Heather's chin slips under, and mud licks her earlobes. Her whole body can feel every movement, every jiggle from the dense slime encasing her. Her feet continue sliding downwards at a steady, inevitable rate, taking the rest of her under with them...

Heather feels mud slopping at her lower lip, seeping into her mouth. Her ears are stopped up, and while she is able to tip her head back a bit, it is not nearly enough.
"Please... someone... hel... mmmph!"
The mud rises over her lips, smothering her cries as it laps at her nose. Her nostrils flare wide in response, attempting to draw in as much air as possible. Her eyes bulge, rolling around in their sockets, silent terror flashing in them.
Her mind screams silently... Ohgodohgodohgod... as she feels the relentless tug of the bog, so close to consuming its helpless prey. Heather flexes her fingers, digging them into the thick muddy surface, hoping against hope for any sign of firmness, any hint of something, anything which could prove to be her salvation.
But all she grasps is handfuls of slime.
The mire stops up her nose, and Heather thrashes about in a final bout of panic in an attempt to steal one more breath of air from the fetid marsh atmosphere. Unbidden, her jaw drops open beneath the mire, and she sucks in a mouthful of liquid grit. Coughing and choking, her body attempts to get rid of the foul substance, but only succeeds in drawing more in... a never ending wave of muck flowing thickly down her throat.
Heather's breath froths violently atop the dark slurry lapping at her widening eyes, making thick gurgling sounds. Her trapped body jerks and squirms in a futile effort to escape this horror, but this only manages to speed her descent, driving the rest of her head under in a single motion.
Mud burns her eyes as she feels the heavy edge of the mud ooze over her forehead and work its way through her hair, weighing her down. Her mouth and nose filled with gooey marsh silt, she is all too aware she is drowning (smothering? suffocating?) and there is nothing she can do about it, save for praying for it to be all over quickly.
Above the mud pit's churning surface, her hair forms a heaving light colored mat, which gradually is drawn under, swirling down a thick dent left behind in the slurry by Heather's vanishing act.
Her hands convulse and clench into claws, reflecting her final agonies, dark mud squirting from between her long fingers. Finally they slip out of sight, her digits wiggling a farewell to the world before disappearing under the muddy surface.
The mire heaves once more, releasing a burst of bubbles, then calms. Save for the shallow puddle of water now forming on the dark surface, the marsh reveals no clues as to the existence of the young woman now buried in its depths...

water_bug_62208
Posts: 2128
Joined: Thu Apr 16, 2009 1:21 am

Re: Impaired

Postby water_bug_62208 » Mon Jun 02, 2014 5:11 am

WOW! You, sir, have a way with the dramatics! Another outstanding, suspenseful story!

It was one of those stories where things kept going from bad to worse. The crimes that Heather committed just kept piling on. And, your descriptions of the incident and dialog of other people arriving on the scene painted very vivid images of the aftermath. You're left feeling sad for Becky and the family, all victims of Heather's negligence. You certainly didn't feel sorry for Heather when she met her end in the marsh.

And, your description of Heather's struggles in the marsh was brilliant! You could sense the amount of time she spent just trying to make her way to the river so she could swim across it to the party... what should've taken perhaps an hour drew out into several hours to the point that the party was long over and the morning was dawning upon her. Love your description of the moment Heather finally got stuck. The mud's grip on her being so powerful that even with the leverage of the tree branch, she could not pull herself free. Outstanding account of her struggles and very detailed descriptions of her slipping deeper and deeper into the mire. Beautifully done!

I also like how you set the time of the scene with references to eight-track tapes, Aerosmith, and Zepplin. I do love your attention to detail!

Thanks for sharing!

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mudmanic2012
Posts: 188
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Re: Impaired

Postby mudmanic2012 » Mon Jun 02, 2014 7:54 am

Awesome story telling as always,thx PM2K :)

quickbeard
Posts: 71
Joined: Wed Apr 22, 2009 2:30 am

Re: Impaired

Postby quickbeard » Wed Jun 04, 2014 5:20 pm

It's the Quagmire Avenger! dealing quicksand karma to evil.doers everywhere! :D
Nicely done

Stephymink
Posts: 177
Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 12:41 pm

Re: Impaired

Postby Stephymink » Thu Jun 05, 2014 12:30 am

I always love your stories Purple Monkey. This one was fantastic! Thanks very much for posting this.

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sinkwithme
Posts: 148
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Location: Connecticut

Re: Impaired

Postby sinkwithme » Sat Jun 07, 2014 1:35 pm

Really 1st rate. Loved it start to beautiful finish! one of the best descriptions of the final moments that I've seen. Great job!


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