Freedom's just another word for... what?
By: Miss Special
Freedom is a fully loaded semi-automatic, plain and simple. You try stopping a guy who can stop you faster just by pulling a trigger and see how far you get. It's all about the mentality of the guy.
I used to stay in the lines while driving. Then I got sick of it. Sure, people don't appreciate my driving, but I don't appreciate being told what to do by a bunch of lines on the road. So I drive how I wanna drive.
That's the way it is when you're truly free. The only laws you have to obey are gravity and all them other physicky things. Everything else is just stuff on paper. Unfortunately, cops don't know that.
Anyways, on to my story. The cops had my place surrounded, or so they thought. They missed a second-story window on the eastern wall, so I used it to my advantage. That and a rope made out of bed sheets. Once out, I drove off in my (stolen) car. They saw me leave, but they went by the lines on the road, so I was way ahead of them.
After driving for awhile, I noticed I was low on gas, so I stopped at a gas station. While my car filled up, I got some grub from the AM PM. The guy at the register didn't like me taking his food, so I waved my gun at him. Guns are nice; they help people understand your philosophy. That or they scare people to the point where they don't care anymore. I guess it was the last part, 'cuz the jerk called the cops as soon as I left.
Stupid cops. They followed the lines again.
I got bored with driving on the road, so I drove through a corn field. Some corn broke the car, so I walked. I kept walking till I found a house. The lady who lived there wouldn't let me in, so I pointed my gun at her. She had one, too. Mine was bigger, so I won. Soon as she let me in, she called the cops.
I wasn't about to give up my new house. It was nice, and it had some cows to boot. And corn. Lots of corn. I like corn.
I was into my second helping of corn when the line-following cops showed up. I didn't like them interrupting my dinner, so I told them. With my gun.
I learned pretty quickly that cops don't like getting shot at. They could've told me earlier.
When I leaned outside to tell the cops this is my house now, they shot me. In the head.
Getting shot in the head feels real funny. You get sleepy real fast, then you forget which way's up, and then you fall down. At least I think it's down. It's pretty hard to fall up, but I saw a guy do it once.
Back to my story, the ambulance followed the lines, so I died.
Now I'm free from gravity, too.