White Trash from Dell Sweet

White Trash from Dell Sweet

WHITE TRASH

By Dell Sweet

Copyright © 2018 by Dell Sweet

PUBLISHED BY: Dell Sweet; all rights reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

He peered down at his hands, at the blood and specks of bone. A smear of drying blood decorated one shirtsleeve. He peered down at the front of the shirt and saw it streaked with blood and gore. He turned and ran to the bathroom, stripping off the shirt as he went. As he looked down at his jeans, he noticed they were gore-spattered too. David pulled his jeans off, kicking his boots aside. He left the bathroom and ran to the bedroom, where he dug out a wrinkled pair of jeans from the basket, a clean shirt from the dresser, and promptly got re-dressed. He sat back on the bed, pulled the jeans up, and shoved his left foot into one of his sneakers lying next to the bed where he had left them the night before. David stood, jammed his right foot into the other sneaker, danced around unbalanced for a moment as he tugged the zipper home, buttoned the top, and threw himself back down onto the tangle of sheets to work the sneakers on the rest of the way and lace them.

His heart was racing engine once again, all high speed and flat out, and he tried to calm down as he walked down the short hall, opened the door, and stepped down the rickety steps and into the bare dirt front yard.

He could not see the fire engines or police cars, whichever it was that was coming. The sirens were loud, and a half-dozen people were walking down the road towards his shithole and the burning car. They were still a quarter of a mile away. He forced his breathing to slow down for the second time and sat down on the top step, waiting. Smoke from the fire was thick and black, spiraling up into the air. The smells of burning flesh and burning plastic hung in the air, competing, causing his stomach to flip once more. The smoke seemed to catch in the trees, unable to rise further: pools of it snaked along the ground, drifting slowly.

The lights came into view within a few seconds. They were far down the road but closing in fast. A city police car skidded to a shuddering stop on the dirt road, followed by two sheriff cars within a few seconds. Two Fire engines came next, coasting to a stop behind the Sheriff Cars, then swung around them, angling down toward the burning car. David Cross rose from the steps and began walking to the road to meet them.

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