My brand new leather grip shovel


With the shovel next to me on the passenger seat, I head for the pinewoods. The snowflakes caught in the headlights flash straight at me like bullets. I keep ducking and start feeling claustrophobic. This old Chevy is not made for winter. The heater’s dead and it’s draughty as hell. I look at my hands holding the steering wheel. Fingers turning blue except for where the cuts are. I wonder how long it will take them to heal. Will there be scars to remind me of today? I hope so. There’s not a soul on the road to help in case we get stuck. But even so, the noise from my trunk would surely complicate things. Why can’t people accept their faith like I have; eyes of apocalyptic green and a slaughterish whisper; “Where is your saviour now?”
We’ve gone as far as this car will take us. The blanket of snow makes it hard to open the door. An eerie greenish glow from the dashboard lights reflects on my brand new leather grip shovel. It feels heavy and expensive as it rests on my shoulder, freeing my left hand to open the trunk. As I put the key in the lock I stop and take a deep breath. The crisp air freezes the thin veins in my nose. It hurts, but in a good way. I close my eyes to open all other senses and really appreciate a fleeting moment like this. The pine tree smell, the wet snowflake kisses on my face, the muffled screaming behind the rusty steel. Oh how I love the anticipation…
A sudden gust of pain as cold metal violently ends my daydreaming and sends me flying backwards into the snow. Instant needles piercing my head concentrate around my chin. The echoing sound of a hundred Chinese iron balls. Where is the ground? This is taking too long. I’m still falling as I realize the snow has absorbed the impact. The echoing fades to a bearable intensity and I open my eyes. As if the sky ripped open a down pillow soaked in blood, little red feathers come whirling down around me. The metallic taste in my mouth helps further enrich the experience until I allow the reality of the red taillight to take shape, showing the snowflakes for what they really are. It’s much too early in the game to get this excited.
I turn my head and my shovel is right there waiting for me. I notice the snowflakes react differently on all three surfaces. The coldness of the steel strangely enough seems to magically melt them, while the smoothness of the wood prevents them from sticking and instead slides them right off. But this leather! The leather allows even the tiniest and wateriest flakes to have a firm grip. I grab it and use it to support my wobbly legs as I stand up. The leather feels dry instantly so I ponder about engraving my initials. Although tempting when one has my particular interests, a certain anonymity is advised. Especially when it comes to certain tools and this shovel most definitely belongs to that illustrious category.
Snow gathers in the open trunk covering bits of rope you must have gnawed off. There’s blood, from the cut on my chin, on the metal next to the key which is still in the lock. The echo and needles keep fighting for attention. Clever trick kicking the trunk open like that! A few inches to the right and that key would have found an alternative way into my mouth. I examine the blood from up close and notice it is frozen. As I lick it, I see images of lolly pops made out of blood. Playing with that thought I quickly conclude the market for ‘bloody pops’ is not big enough, so I try to think of other bloody products but only earlobe chewing gum comes to mind. No catchy product name either so I drop the idea and get back to business.
Judging from the amount of rope fibre, your hands must still be tied around your back. That explains why you didn’t take out the keys and drove away. Instead you probably just ran off as fast as you could. You really didn’t think this through, did you babycakes? It’s a hell of a walk home on heels wearing only that polka dot dress I gave you. Especially with your footprints going the opposite direction into the woods. If I were a man of god like you wanted me to be, created in His image, I’d fall to my knees and bless this white carbon paper that falls from the heavens. But this wolf ain’t no lamb and sure as hell doesn’t turn the other cheek. This wolf prowls and has just picked up your scent “Where is your saviour now?”
I switch off the lights, close all doors and start following your trail, shovel in hand. The thought of you frantically running through these woods wearing nothing but that little dress combined with the firm touch of the fine leather turns me on, so I pick up the pace. My breathing fastens and my mind wanders off as I imagine the warm puffs of fog on my face are yours. Who will you turn to now? Will you still pray to Him or will you plead and beg to me? The godless look on your hopeless heartshaped face as I slaughterishly whisper; “I’m here to hurt you”
I’m so aroused it’s making me aggressively clench my fist around the leather handle. My nails sink deep into the surprisingly thick leather. I stop and look at my hand. These nails will shortly sink into your leather. My nails and knuckles are as white as the snow under my feet. As I look up and into the distance, cold sweat breaks out of my every pore. The footprints suddenly stop some 20 feet in front of me. I panic, you’re almost completely covered in snow. I start running towards you, afraid you’ve lost consciousness and ruined everything. My heart freezes as I see my faith before me, neatly composed. In front of me lies a big rock. Draped over it, like a tablecloth, a torn off piece from the polka dot dress I gave you. On it ‘my last supper cutlery’; a note, a nail file and an empty key ring with a Chevy logo. I hear a car start in the distance as I read the note:

And the LORD replied; “Oh my precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, I didn’t leave you, it was then that I carried you.”

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