Transcribed from tape labeled “Coyote.”
ANONYMOUS: I never thought I could kill anyone. Until I did.
All I wanted was some fuckin’ ice cream, man. It’d been pushing’ a hundred all week, and I was sweating’ like crazy every night, all night. And… I mean, y’ever been so hot you stick your head in the freezer just to cool off? Y’ever get stoned out of your mind just so you can forget how hot it is? Well, when you’re both, ya know, shit happens.
The last thing I remember before it all went screwy, it’d have to be standing in line in this sweatbox of a gas station, right around the corner from my place. I had that ice cream in my hand, man. Sweatin’ there in this long fuckin’ line, wondering the fuck there’s a line at two in the mornin’. Then I finally pay, step outside, and then… nothin’. No stars, no black, no nothin’. Just, nothin’. Didn’t even get to open the wrapper, man.
I remember the way the man cried. He was… how do I put it? He was fuckin’ losin’ it, ya know? I remember’ just kinda blippin’ into that, ya know? One minute, I’m all about that ice cream. The next, I’m in the middle of a fuckin’ canyon. The sun’s coming out. It’s finally cold as shit, and everything’s wet. And there’s this guy tied up next to me. He’s just layin’ there, losin’ his fuckin’ mind. Crying and screaming. Shit was runnin’ down his nose. He was choking on his spit and everything. I don’t know what happened. He looked fine. Nothing had happened. Not yet.
Maybe I’m the weird one for not acting like that.
She wore a Coyote mask, jeans, and a Ramones tee. Her voice sounded young, but something about the way she talked, I don’t know, it’s like she’d been doing this a while. Like, there’s that way people talk when they’re really comfortable doing shit, ya know? Like, they got this shit handled. No worries. Ya know? Real boss-lady type shit.
The whole thing’s really fucked up. The whole fuckin’ thing.
“Pick one.” That’s what she said. She tossed me a fuckin’ tire iron – a tire iron! And she says to me, “Pick one.”
And I just stood there for a minute, looking at her like… I don’t know. I guess like she’d just kidnapped me, dragged my ass to the middle of a fuckin’ canyon along with some dude who looks and sounds like he’s shitting himself, and then tossed me a tire iron and instructed me to, “Pick one.”
Then she pulled out a piece and aimed it at my head. So, I picked one.
She took our phones, our wallets. I had to walk out of the canyon, down the highway. Caked-up in dirt, in tears, in vomit… in bits of blood and brains and bone. I don’t know how long I walked. Maybe it was a few minutes, maybe longer. Eventually CHP pulled me over, and they pulled a gun on me too. Not that I blame him. I mean, you should have seen me.
You think she was watching? I bet she was watching.
Sleep is hard. Being awake ain’t easy either, I guess. But sleeping is harder. I should probably see someone about that. Money’s a bit tight. But sometimes when I can’t sleep, I think about her. Did she know what I would do? I didn’t know the guy, he didn’t know me. Probably. She could’ve picked anyone else in that gas station. Why me, huh? Why him? Or that piece of hers. It’s not like she fired a warning shot, or whatever. She just kinda held it, waved it around a bit.
“Pick one.” Do you think she meant her too? Did I kill some guy I didn’t know with a fucking tire iron when I didn’t have to? Maybe if he had to pick, we’d both still be here. Did I fuck up? Does it even matter?