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Animals

Patrick N. Cole

    The car swept sharply around a corner and the four young men inside braced tight against their seats until it was over. They didn’t relax, however, for a foul pulse ruminated amongst them. Doom hung over their heads and clouded their minds as they raced down the highway into town. Maybe it was the music they had been listening to: lyrics filled with violence and anger, more than just general teen angst. Perhaps they had a bad day at school on this particular Friday, or the fact they were all into weightlifting and felt strong and proud and wanted to display it. One of them broke the silence and yelled “I want to beat the shit out of someone!”
    The other three agreed with grunts. Someone said “Hell yeah!” Primal urges were taking over, and as the car raced faster down the road at an excessive speed, the boys tumbled toward trouble that could forever impact their lives.
    The music blared as they psyched themselves up for the fight. They didn’t care who it was with and would settle on just about anyone that wasn’t in their tight-knit group of four. Their rage gathered strength as they played the event up in their heads: fists plunging hard into soft flesh, bones crashing against bones, the sweet taste of blood and the ecstasy of some innocent’s cries for help. They demanded to display their dominance over someone.
    Anyone.
    The daytime sky was failing fast when they hit a straightaway near a subdivision on their way into town. In no time they found a victim: up ahead on the right side of the road, they spotted a jogger, replete with light blue running shorts and bulky headphones. As they neared, they could tell he was older, but was in good shape, and would be a worthy opponent. “That’s him,” the driver said, as if the unlucky runner were somehow already targeted and not random.
    “Let’s get him!”
    “Let’s do it!” another agreed, banging his hands eagerly on the plastic door panel.
    The car flew past the runner about a quarter-mile and turned into the subdivision to turn around.
    “Let’s get one more look at him,” someone suggested.
    “Yeah, then turn around one more time and we can sneak up on him from the back. He’ll never see us coming.”
    The driver plunged the pedal down and drove past the jogger, who was completely oblivious to the four young men that were destined to beat him to a bloody pulp. But the road held two narrow lanes with small shoulders on either side, not conducive to a quick turn-around. They drove on almost a mile, where the road widened, and the driver flipped the car around and hit the gas.
    As they approached the subdivision yet again, the jogger was nowhere to be seen. “Where the hell is he?” someone shouted, and all four aggressively scouted through the windows.
    “Circling back around took too long,” one boy said.
    “Turn in the subdivision!”
    The neighborhood held a series of modest brick homes with perfect lawns, neatly trimmed landscapes and late-model cars in the driveways. There were a number of residents out and about in their yards, cutting grass or watering flowers. A woman pushed a stroller and led a dog by a leash, giving the boys a casual wave as they drove by. They spotted the jogger up the street, but no one said anything.
    When they neared, the man turned his head to the left and looked out of his peripheral vision and spotted the car. He turned back, but then it registered in his mind that he’d seen the car twice already, once when it passed him, and again after it had turned around. He stopped running and turned toward the car.
    “Oh shit,” the driver said, hitting the brakes and stopping just before they reached the jogger, who was now staring at them through the windshield with a look of concern. The man then crossed the road in front of them and jogged up to the window.
    “Just go,” someone whispered.
    “Be cool,” the driver said as he turned down the music and rolled down his window.
    “You boys lost?” the jogger asked with suspicion.
    “Yessir,” the driver replied. “Just looking for a friend’s house.”
    “What’s the street name? I live in this neighborhood and know all the streets.”
    “I don’t know,” the driver lied. “Our friend just gave us directions. Looks like they were bad directions.”
    “Oh, okay,” the jogger chuckled. “You boys have a safe night,” he said, and turned around to resume his jog.
    “Let’s get out of here,” someone said, and the boys drove away.
    The music was still down as they left the subdivision and continued their drive into town. They were silent, gone was the violent storm that had built up inside of them. They were no longer consumed with the notion of inflicting violence on an innocent person.
    Finally, one of them said “That was stupid.” The others agreed.
    “I don’t know why we got that way,” one said. “Doesn’t make sense.”
    “What the hell got into us?”
    “Let’s just forget it and go have some fun.”
    None of them would ever make sense of why they acted the way they did. Of course, they never spoke about it to anyone, either, not even amongst themselves. They were too embarrassed and sickened at having been more animal than human, which, in the end, made them more of the latter and less of the former.

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