By Dylan Scott, TIWP Student
Me, I am Hunter. I have lived in many different places for… my job. My job requires me to bring certain things to certain people across the country. On my phone, I was ordering an Uber. The dark New York streets filled with little glimmers of light and the chilling air made me question who was looking at me and from where. A white Suburban pulled around the corner. I saw a dark man, but I couldn’t make out any of his features.
“Hello,” he softly whispered with mystery in his voice.
“Hey,” I responded. The car moved, screeching across the icy road. “Wayne Road, please,” I instructed the driver. I had my work business in the back, and the driver couldn’t know what it was or I would be locked up within minutes.
“Who do you do for work?” the driver asked.
“A pillow business,” I responded. “We recently consolidated with another company.”
The driver didn’t respond, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that he looked in the mirror at me with his dark, mysterious eyes. “Is that so?” he asked.
“Here is my turn,” I said.
He turned in the opposite direction.
“Sir, that was my turn back there,” I said, raising my voice.
Still, no response. I was starting to get nervous. What did he know? Did he see me? Where was he taking me? I was plotting my escape plan in my head. How do I get out of this damn place? The driver made another sharp right turn on what read Muerte Avenue. I looked it up on my phone and translated it. What I read, shocked me. Death Avenue.
I had to act, and fast. I climbed into the front seat and threw a punch. I hit the window, glass shattering, and blood streaked down my hands. I tried again and screamed out in pain. I looked down and my hand had been severed. I then attempted to jump out of the open sunroof, but the man pulled me straight down. Driving down the dark alley, there was no escape. Suddenly, the car stopped.