6I was cold
I was running away
I was trying to be brave
But some things they don't teach in highschool
I was walking along
The side of the road
What's this? A truck.
Do you think he'll stop?
Give me a ride
This poor little girl
With no place to go
The lights flash past me
No luck.
It's dark again
And I'm cold.
And I'm getting hungry
I forgot to bring food
They didn't teach me that in Highschool.
To bring food when you're running away.
I have a little money
But there aren't any restaurants
Out here
In the cold
In the middle of nowhere
Another car
Will he stop?
He looks like a nice guy
Pick up a poor cold little girl
He's stopping
Thank god.
Thank god.
I climb in to his car
It's warm and light
He looks like a nice guy
But appearances can be deceiving.
They don't teach you about appearances.
Not in highschool.
He asks me where I'm going
I tell him I don't care.
Just get me out of here, I think
But I don't say that
I was raised to be polite.
I buckle my seatbelt
The rain pounds the windshield.
But I'm warm
And I'm away from my dad
That's all that matters.
I ask him where he's from
He doesn't answer me.
Hm. How strange.
I realize he's wearing sunglasses
No one ever told me
Beware of men who wear sunglasses at night
They don't teach you that in highschool.
So, I ask him if he has any food.
Yes? How wonderful.
In the backseat. Okay.
In the brown paper bag?
There's something else in there too
I wonder what it is
But I don't ask
I was raised to be polite
I thank him for the sandwich I find
And eat hungrily.
I haven't had food in 2 days.
I lick my fingers clean.
I wonder if there's more
But I don't ask.
I catch him glancing at me
Through those dark sunglasses
He wants me to get something out of the back seat.
The brown paper bag.
I hand it to him carefully, so he doesn't drop it.
He removes it.
A gun.
How interesting this night is.
I start to think of escape.
But we're going about 80 now.
I can't get out.
He points the gun at me.
I beg. It's the only thing I can think of.
They don't teach you that in highschool.
How to beg for your life at gunpoint.
He stops the car. It takes forever.
I open the door to get out, but my seatbelt holds me
I'm going to be killed because of a damn seatbelt.
He orders me to strip.
No. I say. No.
I'd rather die, you pervert.
And so I do.
I don't even hear the gun go off.
They don't teach you how to die.
Not in highschool anyway.
I bleed to death as he rolls my body out of his car.
I'm already gone though.
Death can be a depressing date.
They don't teach you to go along with men with guns.
They don't tell you to strip for them.
Probably because they'll just kill you anyway.
But why didn't I learn that in highschool?