"You heard what I said. STRIP!"
The voice was manly yet high in pitch. Pools of drool rolled out his mouth but the person didn't care, his eyes locked onto Jack himself.
The person in ragged clothes who looked mentally out of it, pointed the sharp "knife" at Jack. Jack himself looked this person up and down. He couldn't believe he was getting jumped by some junkie with a sharp-ass pocket knife.
He had many things to say but he knew more than to anger some junkie, so to buy some time for any tricks of escape he said one thing with the most pale blank face ever. "Huh?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TEN MINUTES AGO
The air grew sharper. the once parted clouds came together. Damping and darkening the closer they got. It was no secret it would rain.
Seeing this Jack stuck his thumb out on the empty country-road. He kept walking while keeping his thumb up and items close. Clearly he didn't believe he'd hitch a ride in these empty roads. Even if a car were to show up, who says it'll pick him up.
News has been spreading, many folks who stop to pick up hitch-hikers have been getting larceny or in simpler terms for your plebian brains, jumped, robbed, threatened, stripped... yes you heard me stripped.
Just then a car ran down the road. It's engine gently purred as it slowly stopped speeding. Jack gazed back. The car was actually for him.
What a kind soul. Jack thought as he halted his steps.
He would actually find shelter from the rain. But the closer the car got, the more it seemed to halt. Not physically, mentally. As if the driver themself was sensing something... fishy.
And once he laid his eyes on it, he put his whole foot on the gas. The once slowing car had now rushed out of there, it's purred engine now roared as it left.
Jack had his mouth agape. The soul he thought kind had now just ran away and Jack didn't know why.
He knew the recent news of hitch hikers but, almost all the larceny is done in groups. Yet right now it was only jack and his lonesome self. As far as he knew.
He dropped his duffle bag not caring for it's contents. He stared at the car that got smaller the more it drove. His hands raised to his head as he glanced back at the sky. Any second now the rain would begin.
Sighing he picked back up his duffle bag to restart his journey to the nearby town. Yet just as he moved something poked his back.
Jack stopped moving. The object felt sharp, definitely pointy. Ha. There was no one other than himself on this whole road... right?
Then the manly but rather high pitched voice spoke. "Strip."
His skin went pale. Goosebumps arose, he was in disgust and danger. Disgust cause the voice was a mans despite the high pitch, making it weirder. Danger cause it was a knife at his back. With some hesitation he turned to face the man who stood in ragged clothes as drool descended his agape mouth.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PRESENT
"Huh?"
They stood facing each other. As Jack further assessed this man he realized multiple things. Other than the man having a screw lose, he was short. Now Jack don't discriminate against short people, as they were only one or two inches below him as he was average height.
But the man was short which only seemed to worsen Jacks own image in his head.
Imagine this. You go down the street to your local park and a dude shorter than you, skinnier than you, less intelligent than you, picks a fight with you. You'd think how dumb this dude is, but in a local park with many people he picked YOU.
What does that say about your image? How weak are you that he picked you, he didn't even pick a kid!
Now even though Jack wasn't in a park full of people. His image was hurt. And to make it more "hilarious" this man wasn't asking, he was demanding, he was confident.
'Fuck man, I feel shitty. How weak am I that his raggedy ass got me lacking.'
Though other than Jack, the junkie wasn't feeling it. "STRIP!" He was losing his patience.
"Listen man we don't got to do this. Put the knife down." Jack tired to be calming and nice but the junkie disagreed.
"STRIP! NOW!" He pointed the knife gently downwards.
Before Jack could speak, the clouds erupted in a storm as lightning and rain landed on the road just besides the two.
They both screamed like girls as the lightnings light and thunder echoed. The junkie raised his knife and sent it down onto jack. It cut his arm leaving a shallow cut. Jack fell to his knees and screamed louder as the rain poured onto both of them, further stinging the arm.
"YOU CUT ME, YOU ACTUALLY CUT ME!"
The junkie looked quite shocked not even he thought he would actually cut Jack. But he couldn't falter now. Even though the rain started getting heavy he still continued.
"STRIP!" This time his body moved frantically as the cold already bit him. The rain mixing with the drool that poured out his mouth.
Jack lost it. "NO ONES STRIPPING! MOTHERFUCKER IF YOU WANT SOMEONE TO STRIP YOU FUCKING STRIP! I'M NOT STRIPING!"
"STRIIIPE! JUST FUCKING STRIP!" The junkie too lost it.
"AHHH!" Jack rushed up from his knees, his fist coming into a ball as it crashed into the junkies stomach. The junkie stumbled back, Jack went in for another blow but the junkie kicked him.
Jack fell onto his back away from his duffle bag that had dropped when he got on his knees.
The junkie looked at Jack then the back to the duffel bag which was laid halfway to both him and Jack. He realised clothes might be in the bag. The rain grew sleepier as it coated the ground in it's wet layer.
The two were officially drenched. Jack shielded his eye from the rain and tried to look at the junkie. The junkie was grabbing his duffle bag, his hands weaving in the air as he tried to run with it.
Jack rushed up with his cut arm painfully touching the ground. The cut was a bitch but adrenaline was a friend. He grabbed a handful of dirt near the road as he ran towards the junkie and let out a scream or a war cry considered very weak even in this time and age.
The man was fighting a junkie and losing, what did you expect.
The junkie glanced back as he eyes erupted in tears as the dirt touched them. The duffle bag dropped from his hands as they reached to clean his eyes.
"AHHH! MY EYES, AHHH!" The pain was real yet even with it he blurrily saw Jacks figure. His hand attacked with a heavy slap. Jack lifted his arm to block the blow but once he saw the slow blood dripping from his arm he realised he made a huge mistake.
The slap met his cut hand as Jack recoiled back. His screams mixing with the Junkies.
Furious about his painful eyes, he continued to attack Jack's blurry figure with the only proof of his attack landing being the sound of pain erupting from Jacks mouth.
The junkie said something else other than "strip" his voice slightly smothered due to the drool. "WHY..." He hit Jack, "WON'T YOU..." He hit him again, "LET ME TAKE YOUR SHIT YOU BITCH!" His voice beginning to crack.
This time he attacked with his hand containing the pocked knife. Jack luckily quickly tackled him down. Then got up, the duffle bag still on the ground. The Junkie struggled. His eyes still lingered of sand and blurriness as he now shielded it from the rain.
Jack moved backwards breathing heavily.
Fighting a junkie was never on his to-do list for a reason. Mostly because he was too weak to take a heavy punch. He was semi-skinny, he had fat but people would still call him skinny.
Plus he was emotional even now he wanted to cry, the shallow cut on his arm made him further contemplate it.
The junkie on his side laid down still struggling with his eyes. Jack continued to feel adrenaline leave as his stomach ached from the kick and his arm burned from each movement.
To anyone who saw them while they weren't fighting. They would look like hitch hikers who had it rough. Maybe that's why a truck was slowly slowing down.
Wait what!
Jack followed the truck with his eyes wide, it had stopped a bit farther from them as it struggled to break straight away in such awful rain. It let out a horn as if calling them.
Jack would have ran to the truck for shelter, but he had to be honest. The truck was not looking good especially with that colour pallet. It was black and white only. No bright colours, not a good look.
But guess who also noticed the truck?
The junkie breathed heavily as he got up. Looking at Jack then the duffle bag then the truck. His eyes stared at Jack the same way ma-ito stared at ita-ori when he lost. (JJK for reference)
Jack followed his eyes and was sure he had officially lost it. They stood in a stand off not cause they wanted to. They were just catching their breath before one of them could grab the duffle bag and run.
The duffle bag was closer to Jack, but the knife was in the junkies hand. Whose to say he wouldn't throw it.
But Jack noticed the look in his eyes. Is he afraid of me? Oh please be afraid of me and dumb or this won't work.
He had a plan. Before that he silently prayed this junkie was really afraid of him. Getting ready he took a deep breath as the truck let out another honk.
GO TIME!
Jack flinched forward making the junkie flinch backward.
He used that to grab the duffle bag and run. He ran and kept his cut-slowly bleeding arm to his chest. The junkie chased him down the road that had a steep descent.
The junkie shouted. "GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT!"
Jack shouted back. "FUCK OFF YOU WACK NUTJOB!"
They both were increasing speed as the steep road forced them so they could balance again.
"FUUUUCK!"
The road was long and the pain gripped him like a hook yet he kept reminding himself and fate of one thing. FIGHTING A FUCKING JUNKIE WASN'T ON MY BUCKET LIST!
As they got closer to the end of the steep road, jack was faster. His legs hit the ground like a hammer. His lungs gasping for air yet still breathing. He was getting further closer to the truck and shouted.
"START THE TRUCK! START IT!"
Yet the driver only stuck his head out in confusion. And upon seeing Jack running. He finally noticed the bleeding from his arm, and the faint blur of a pocket knife in the hands of a ragged looking man who now looked more like a junkie.
Jack saw the driver mouth, "Oh shit!"
The truck finally purred to life as the wheels slowly moved and the engine starting to roar.
Is he... the fuckers leaving!
The man was driving away, he wasn't about to get caught up in no murder especially with the news running round.
Yet his heavy loaded truck failed him allowing Jack inches closer. Just as the truck picked up speed, the door swung open as Jack tried to climb in. The man glancing at him then the road as the truck went faster.
Jack shut the door. He breathed heavily as he watched the junkie grow smaller in the side view mirror. They had finally taken off.
Yet he didn't feel at ease. He turned to look at the truck driver who was silently hoping Jack didn't notice his earlier motive.
The man didn't look at Jack despite how Jack stared at him intensively. He tried to maintain a neutral face and finally after silence he spoke.
He first stammered over his words until he got them out. "Are you... okay."
Jack lashed out... calmly. "I AM BLEEDING, and I WAS PLEADING while you were LEADING this vehicle away. SO NO, I AM NOT OKAY... okay." Jack was a man on rhymes.
It was the mans truck, so it was his rules. But how could he now kick or force Jack to his rules especially when Jack knew his earlier motive.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The truck was quiet with the only loud sound being Jacks harsh breathing. The bleeding had stopped but it was still painful. And just when it seemed it couldn't get worse, the truck started leaning left, it felt more rugged.
So the man pulled over, Jack stayed inside in silence. Until the man outside groaned. So Jack came outside the vehicle while watching his arms movement then looked at the mans problem.
Jack was right. The junkie knew how to throw but perhaps forgot when they were running down the road. In fact that sharp pocket knife of his was enough to leave a tiny puncture in one of the tires. With the speed and force of how fast the truck moved the air continued to gush out as it deepened the blade until it broke off. In no time the tire would be flat.
"...Is there a spare?"
The man looked at jack. "Yes, but are you superman?"
"...If I was superman I would say no."
They stared at each other in an awkward silence. The man tilted his head slightly.
"We'll need the truck company, so long we should take 'refuge' at the nearby town."
Jack nodded, the town was his goal. If he could go past it, even better.
The two got in the truck and stared at the road. The man muttered, "fucking junkie." In the silence it was akin to speaking loud. Jack huffed and with a chuckle, "fucking junkie."
The man looked at Jack. "...When we get to the town I'll ask them for a med kit and a room. By the way... names Joe Moretti."
Jack looked him up and down slightly, clearly no room for negotiation. Joe was being kind or maybe he felt bad, nonetheless the journey can't go on with a no name basis.
"Names Jack, Jack Rue."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Also if it not funny tell me how to fix it to make more comedy.