by Sirloin Furr
“The Behicle” glowed off of the advertisement. It was a picture of a yellow, mobile machine, half boat, half vehicle. It was dual-terrain, capable of traveling on land, as well as ocean. The body of the Behicle resembled the shape of a tug-boat, with two axles penetrating laterally through the lower portion of the body, bearing wheels of extreme versatility. The body was equipped with two side doors, allowing easy access for the driver and passengers on the terrain, as well as side view mirrors, radio antenna, heated seats, and windshield wipers. The transmission was automatic, and the engine had 8 cylinder pistons, reaching 60 mph in 4.8 seconds, topping at 117 mph on land. Once the Behicle would reach a body of water, the wheels on the ends of the axles would adjust 90 degrees, transforming into underwater propellers. The top of the Behicle was equipped with a periscope, a crow’s nest, and a hatch for easy exiting and entering when water bound.
“Lacy, this is the Behicle.” Lacy’s eyes examined everything that was declared in the photograph. She was immediately appeased by the yellow color, as she instinctively thought that it would look cute parked in the driveway next to their yellow home.
“Never mind blowing up the sun,” Troy continued, “or those foolish blueprints that were drawn together. With the Behicle, we will be able to continuously drive west, in the pitch of night, rotating on the dark side of the earth, always avoiding the sun. Blowing up the sun is completely ludicrous. We can’t overpower the bright beast! So instead, we will run from it. We will begin running in the dark of night, running west, forever, so that we will remain in perpetual darkness forever, inhabiting earth’s dark side. This will be our exodus, evacuating from the daylight, forever rotating in the dark of the westward way. We will pack everything that we need into the Behicle, and begin traveling once the sun sets, never stopping, never living in the way of the light, never going to work, nor ever collecting meaningless trash for us to fill our lives with. This is going to be it Lacy. This is going to be us, living in our dreams! All we have to do is acquire the Behicle, and we will experience our deliverance.”
“But Troy, how will we pay for it?” cursed Lacy with her reasoning. She stared at the eye-gauging price tag at the bottom of the advertisement and momentarily had forgotten that she no longer wanted to think or speak reasonably. Lacy instantly regretted condescending Troy’s idea, fearing that Troy would once again retort back into depression, surrendering to the soulless, mechanized way of Awful, Ohio, which she would then follow. But before her nerves could twine together into a strangling chain of fear, Troy responded, “I’ll write a script.”
The answer had confused the both of them. Lacy wasn’t sure exactly how a script was going to get them the Behicle, and Troy wasn’t sure why the word “script” erupted from his mouth. He had never written a script, or anything longer than a paragraph. But he knew that there was something that pushed the word from his being, which was encrypted with a code that he needed to decipher.
“Lacy, I will write a script,” Troy repeated to whomever was listening. “I will write this script, and then sell it to Hollywood. The proceeds that we will earn can be used to purchase the Behicle. Hollywood is always looking for movie scripts! I read once that someone wrote a movie script, and sold it to Hollywood. That person never had to work again! Hollywood is eager for anything that they can shoot into a movie, so all we’ll have to do is engineer a movie script that Hollywood will be able to turn into a movie! This is going to be the easiest money that we’ve ever had to work for,” finished Troy enthusiastically.
Lacy’s complexion began to glow. This new direction was exciting and fervent. She was gratified with Troy’s discovery, pleased with the money-earning movie script, charmed that they may actually vacate Awful, Ohio, and even more pleased that everything that Troy had conjured within his mind was feasible. She was no longer living with someone who was on the edge of lunacy, but instead, co-piloting with a plucky lover who was guiding them towards the fringe of an ethereal revival. She began to envision seagulls flocking overhead, with white frosted waves breaking into a cooling mist, as the conceited moon would stare at its own reflection in the ocean, muscling out the sun from their existence. She imagined driving through the Grand Canyon, listening to the cutting Colorado River dissect the earth, as she would try to distinguish the lightning bugs from the glowing eyes that belonged to the nocturnal animals hunting for shrews. Lacy turned her head, realigning her vision back with Troy’s. His eyes were firm and strong, determined and promising, grimacing back at the advertisement with his curdled grin of perseverant devotion. She felt comfort and security.
“Troy, let’s go. Let’s write that movie script, let’s get the Behicle, let’s pack up everything we need, and let’s get the hell out of here.” Lacy was passionate and monotone, lifting her torso, aligning her eyes with Troy’s. Troy listened to her response with pleasure and satisfaction. He released the advertisement from his grip, and wrapped his arms back around Lacy in a warming hug that sheltered the both of them from their surroundings. Lacy burrowed her head back into Troy’s chest, wafting in what she was hoping would be the last inhales of Mad Ted’s Uckin’ Hot Auce. They both closed their eyes, blocking out the surrounding world, falling asleep into the chair. For the first time in many years, they were excited for the sun to shine, to start the next day, so that they can make progress on their destiny, beginning their exodus.
Chapter 7
“I love you, Lacy.” – Troy Slushy