128 lines
7.6 KiB
Plaintext
128 lines
7.6 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Point of No Return
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by Dave Ferret
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>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
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|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
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He nervously glanced left... then right. His palms were slippery with
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sweat. He encircled his hand around the shifter, grasped it firmly, felt his
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hand slide ever-so-slightly to the left. He brought his gaze 45 degrees up
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towards the stop light. Bright red. He saw the yellow glow as the traffic
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signal cycled through the other lights. The other signal was yellow. It
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pulsed, he thought, but he returned to watching the set of lights right in
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front of him. RED burnt into his mind... then a blink. The light changed
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shades.
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GREEN.
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He started hard, yanking his foot off the clutch at the same time as his
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right foot sunk to the floor. The engine raced, the tires squelched. In just
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a fraction of a second he was traveling 20 MPH. There was a hint of smoke and
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a tire track as the car barreled forward. Half a second - 25 MPH. He dropped
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the clutch and his greasy palm grasped the shifter and moveed it a notch down,
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droped the clutch and the tires chirp slightly as 2nd gear's torque kicked in.
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Then on into 3rd, the engine was still racing, but had changed to a more
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feverish pitch... 40, 45, 50... five seconds elapsed. 60, 65, 70... he
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finished off by skipping 4th gear and eased it into 5th. The engine revved
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down slightly, although it still droned out a moderately-pitched whine. Then
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he had a chance to notice the surroundings blurring past the windows. A tree,
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a house, a block. Back to the road. The little dashed line blended into one
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line. He lanced at the speedometer, knowing his foot was still hard on the
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accelerator. It read 90 and was slowing its pace and steadily incrementing up
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to 91, 92, 93....
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Again he looked up, having almost forgotten he was in control of this
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growling animal. He hit the on-ramp to Route 95 South, a mild curve - or so
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you would think. At that speed, the whole car tilted at a wild angle. Almost
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having lost traction, the car hopped slightly as it neared the actual
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mouth of the ramp. His heart skipped a beat.
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The car settled and stabilized as he pulled onto the highway doing a
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steady 95 with the accelerator down about three-quarters, Then he gradually
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slid into the 4th lane and began passing cars. The engine of the 928 had
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settled down to a small roar once again, and the high pitched revs he once
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heard faded away into ambient background noise.
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BZEEEEEEEEP! screeched through the compartment of the car and made his
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ears go nuts. Without even glancing he _knew_ the radar detector had gone off.
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Lights flashed in the distance. SHIT shit. He thrust his foot forward on the
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damn pedal. It was floored now, 'pedal to the metal' he quoted in his mind.
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The engine started whining again under the strain and the car accelerated
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steadily... more swiftly than before.
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100, 110, 118, 125. Traffic had thinned out except for one or two
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cars in the far right lane. The pulsating lights were still in the rear view
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mirror: floating, just in sight. 130, 132, 135, 137. The lights faded off,
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the car sailed over the highway, barely touching the road. A blue sedan was on
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the top of the next hill - then directly in front. He pulled the wheel to the
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right and the car floated up next to the sedan.
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SCREEEECH. Skid. His car started sliding farther and farther out of the
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lane towards the guardrail... 25 feet, 15, 5 feet. A small cloud of sand was
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spit up as the wheels dug in and regained traction. The car rocked slightly as
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he and his car regained composure. Looking down at the speedometer, it read
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160. He passed two more cars on the right, thinking one was a police car,
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but then realized they didn't even turn on their lights so they couldn't have
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been. They were almost standing still. The road took a banked curve up near
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Exit 35. The car tipped slightly as it navigated the turn using all four lanes
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to keep from sliding. There was a glow in the distance. Maybe a restaurant
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sign, maybe something else. Stop? No, probably not Over the next two rises
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in the road, then directly ahead....
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RED.
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He was rising in the seat. His entire body lurched forward, making
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contact with the windshield. He slid through. He couldn't feel his hands:
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just a dull, sick feeling growing. The dashed white lines again appeared...
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barely... almost... one solid line. His head made contact with the pavement
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but the pain didn't register. He noticed his head seemed slightly bloated.
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As he rebounded off the pavement, he tried to use what little energy he
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had left in trying to look up. A whirring grey. Closer. Too close. Cold
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steel. His body convulsed but he only felt a warmth growing inside. Then it
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was over. Nothing. Red blurred into grey, and then into nothing.
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__________________________________________________________________
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|\_________________________________________________________________\
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| |Jason Farnon | Time of Death: D.O.A - 7/12/92, 3:42am |
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| |12 Oxbow Road | |
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| |Westboro, MA | Cause: severe trauma and blood loss |
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| |--Address------ sustained in collision |
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\|________________________________________________________________|
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was printed in careful black ink on the zipper of the black bag containing
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what was once Jason Farnon.
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_______ __________________________________________________________________
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/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
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((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
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[ x x ] |Ripco................312/528-5020|Moody Loners w/Guns.415/221-8608|
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\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Finitopia...........916/673-8412|
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(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
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(U) |==================================================================|
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.ooM |Copr. 1993 cDc communications by Dave Ferret 03/01/93-#211|
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\_______/|All Rights Drooled Away. SIX GLORIOUS YEARS of cDc|
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