Unthinkable Horror ( I am very disturbed that I actually wrote this)

He was not thinking about his friends, or even his family. He was not thinking about his girlfriend who he had loved, not even her lovely, large, but not excessively so, breasts. He was not thinking about her hair that had been so long and brown or her lips that had been so soft and red. He was not thinking about his dog or the neighbor’s plants that the dog continually tore up. He was not thinking about work or the secretary with whom he had had affair after affair. He was not thinking about his ex-wife who left him because of said affair. Nor was he thinking about getting gas, although he would certainly need to very soon if he wanted to keep driving, though he had no such intention. He wasn’t thinking about the child that might have been on its way, or how it would have affected his relationship with his girlfriend. He wasn’t thinking about his growling stomach that had not been fed for nearing more than a day. He wasn’t thinking about the gun that was so carefully placed in the glove compartment, or how he had almost killed himself with it only hours before. He wasn’t thinking about the child with whom he had locked eyes with only seconds before he intended to pull the trigger. He wasn’t thinking about the tickle he felt on his right testicle that had been itching for the past twenty minutes. He wasn’t thinking about the smell of blood as he had opened the front door. He wasn’t thinking about the wave of silence and dread that had overcome him as he approached the stairs about thirty six hours earlier. He was not thinking about how he was now driving almost fifty miles over the speed limit. He was not thinking about the foolish prairie dog that scurried across the road entering his path and being squished, but only on the backend. He was not thinking about how he had watched it as the front half that still remained unsquished, had continued to try and run across the street. He was not thinking about how as he had descended down one stair at a time he knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. He was not thinking about how her right hand had been glued to the light switch just as it would have been if she were about to turn on the lights only without a body attached to it. He was not thinking about how her legs up to her knees were on the scale posed as if she had been weighing herself, only the weight displayed on the meter was certainly a lot less than what she had actually weighed. He was not thinking about the way the weather had been changing, finally starting to warm up after a cool beginning of spring. He was not thinking about the police car that suddenly appeared in his rear view mirror. He was not thinking about the rest of her legs and her torso that were sitting on the couch watching TV on mute, though it didn’t really matter since there was not head attached which meant no eyes, no ears. He was not thinking about how the officer in pursuit of him had now become two. He was not thinking about what he would do if he were forcibly stopped before he could reach his destination. He was not thinking about her right hand which was on the dinner tray wrapped around her fork with witch she had been eating a TV dinner. He was not thinking about the fly that was trapped in his car that kept banging its face against the window trying to escape. He was not thinking about the A.C. that he hadn’t bothered to turn off even though he was freezing. He was not thinking about how he had opened the basement bathroom door to find her head hanging from the ceiling forced into a permanent smile, eyes open staring into the mirror as if she were simply checking her reflection. He was not thinking about the helicopter he could now hear overhead. He was not thinking about the urine that now soiled his pants. He was not thinking about how there was blood everywhere even inside an empty glass that had been sitting on the coffee table, which he thought was odd. He wasn’t thinking about what the police driving behind him would do if they stopped him to find his girlfriend’s severed head riding shotgun. He was not thinking about the terrible job someone would have of cleaning everything up. He was not thinking about how long it would take for his house to sale and if the people who would eventually live there would know of the horrors that had been committed there. He was not thinking about what his parents and friends would say after he was gone. He was not wondering how much they would miss him or how they would remember him. He was not thinking about how much pain she may have suffered as she was torn apart or how much of her dismemberment she had been alive for.

All he could think about was what kind of sick sack of psychopathic shit face it would take to dissemble such a beautiful woman and then place her body parts in positions as if they were simply carrying on with everyday activities. And even as his car finally reached the cliff and he began the hundred and fifty foot drop into the canyon, he still couldn’t find the answer.