The Biker

The ole Knucklehead started to sputter up the hill. Damn thought the rider. He quickly reached by his left leg to shift the bike to neutral using the jockey stick. The bike rolls to the shoulder of the road.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Out of gas again. The biker kicks the stand into place and leans the bike over. He swings his right leg over the bike and gets off. He swipes his right hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat. Damn.

Looking back down the two lane road from where he just came he knows he passed a gas station 5 miles back. Passed it because he could not trust the place to be a "free" station. These days one had to be careful.

Shifting his gaze up the hill he could see that it would be about 200 yards to top the rise. Damn. He pushes the bike.

At the top he stops. He runs his left hand through the long beard. The wind from the ride twisted it into odd shape and full of bugs not able to get out of the way. His long hair is in the same shape. The hot afternoon desert sun was almost directly overhead. Sweat. Damn. He looks down the hill and sees another gas station. Well, at least the bike will coast to it with ease. The biker strides his bike and begins the coast to the station. Hope it's a free station.

The long haired biker coasts the bike to a bush on the side of the road about 40 yards from the station to hide it. He dismounts. On his side is a sawed off pump 12 gauge shotgun. Modified to hold 5 shells. He checks it to make sure it is fully loaded and places his right hand into an inside pocket in the left of his leather vest to make sure of the 5 shells there. He walks to the side of the gas station staying well out of sight of the windows there. A car sits out front of the station. Homeland Security. Damn. Could be Chinese agents. Trouble for sure.

No other cars. Good. To damn quiet. The biker reaches the side of the gas station. He peers inside the station. Chinese alright. Having their way with the lady owner, he guesses, of the station. Anger rises inside the biker. He walks to the front door. He isn't noticed.

The shotgun is at the ready. Buckshot shells. This will be very messy, but very effective. He kicks the door open. All three of the Chinese pukes are in line with their pants down forcing the lady to have sex. Not anymore. The first blast catches the nearest guard full in the chest. The next one turns to face his shot in the face. The last one was between the legs of the woman. Not a chance for him either. All dead. The woman is screaming. Shut up lady. Your trial is now over.

"You a free station?" asks the biker. "Yes, and thank you."

"I'll take these bodies way out back. The buzzards and coyotes and ants will make quick work of them. The car I'll ditch down into the canyon a ways back."

"How can I show my gratitude?" says the lady of the free gas station.

"Fill my bike and have something to eat and drink when I'm done. A Bud please."

Later the biker is ready to go. Bike full of gas. Belly full of sandwich and beer. The lady asks, "where you going? We could use you here."

"Going to Texas. Hear they still live free."

The biker kicks the bike over 3 times to make sure gas is in the carburetor bowl. Then he kicks it one more time and she fires. He places the bike in first gear. He winks at the gas station owner. And rides off to Texas.

The Portrait

The tall muscular orderly was pushing the old man on the gurney down the well lit white corridor of the hospital to the oven at the end. The hallway smelled of rubbing alcohol and death. The old man died just a few hours before. Others in the hallway on their gurneys lined both sides and they were on their way to the same fate as well. Old men and old women. The orderly called the corridor the Last Waiting Room.

At the beginning of the day the old man and his granddaughter had been in an automobile accident. The ambulance brought them both to the same hospital. The triages performed on the two were extensive. The health care counselor from the government had to be consulted.

Life saving procedures could have saved them both. The old man had the most damages from the accident. It was decided that the old man did not have enough time left to be productive. The granddaughter was deemed more valuable. The family did not have an input. They were just glad to have the girl. They would mourn the loss of the old man for awhile.

The granddaughter was wheeled into surgery immediately. She was not awake. She would learn of her grandfather's fate much later. She would cry.

The old man was wheeled to the Last Waiting Room. Visitors are not allowed in there. He was totally alone with the other old people. No feeding tubes or other means of life support is allowed. To help fray the cost of the new health care program bodies are cremated and mixed with fertilizers. Local farmers can then buy the product to nourish their crops. The government thinks of everything.

Just before the old man drew his last breath he opened his eyes. He did not know just where he was at first. When he realized he did not fuss. He thought it was very cold in the hallway and why couldn't they at least put a blanket on his torn body. The old man had been staring at the ceiling of the white corridor. So antiseptic he thought. He turned his head to see the opposite wall. His time was very near now. He saw the portrait then. A tear ran down his left cheek. He died.

High up the wall hung the portrait. High enough for the patients to see. Out of the frame a smiling face beamed on the people laying in their gurneys. The face belonged to President Barack Hussein Obama.