Diabolic Fiction

ROCK MUSIC

Tommy Dingle thought he had the world in the palm of his hand.
But all he really had was a rock.
It was almost the size of his fist and felt cool. He loved the weight of it. The roughness...poking his skin.
Tommy peeked over the squat hedge that encircled his parent's house. He watched as a red pick-up truck traveled slowly down Elm Drive... muffler grumbling.
"Nope. Not you."
A few minutes later, a dark green Lincoln Continental rumbled the opposite direction along Tommy's street.
"Not you, either."
Very little traffic was ever seen on Elm. It made the street relatively safe for the many children that played in the neighborhood. But children seemed to be the only thing safe on Elm.
A sparkle-blue Camaro surged by.
"Hmmm...too fast."
A black Cadillac followed and Tommy smiled.
"Yes. Ok."
He hurled the rock, launching it in a beautiful arc. The car's windshield was right under it when it came whistling down and through the glass.
The driver threw his hands up to block the razor shards from piercing his eyes, leaving the steering wheel to spin at will. Tommy watched the Caddy swerve, bounce over the curb and skid across the MacMurphy's lawn.
"Woah. Mr. Mac's gonna be pissed."
The car finally stopped when it slammed into an elm tree.
All the while, Tommy was hidden behind his hedge. He was kneeling down and peering through the concealing branches.
"Can't see me... can't see me. Who threw the rock... who threw the rock?"
Tommy always sang his victory song after launching a missile.
"Don't know me... don't know me. Who threw the rock... who threw the rock?"
He whistled this tune... a tune he had made up after he'd thrown his first rock. That time, it had been a cinderblock, dropped off an interstate overpass and onto a passing car.
"Daddy's dead... daddy's dead. Who threw the rock... who threw the rock?"
Neighbors soon filtered into the street.
They had all seen this before. It seemed to happen every few months.
"Invisible now... invisible now. Who threw the rock... who threw the rock?"
Tommy crawled backwards, always keeping the hedge between him and the prying eyes of his neighbors.
His feet hit the side door and he reached back for the handle.
"No one knows... no one knows. Who threw the rock... who threw the rock?"
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Tommy? What are you doing out here?"
"Mom?"
"Get inside. Another car just crashed. I don't like you being outside."
"Ok, Mom. I was on my way to my room anyhow."
"Good, 'cause that road is cursed. So many crashes."
"Yes, Mommy. Just like Daddy."
Tommy's mom slapped him hard across the face.
"You know better than to talk about him."
"Yes, Mom."
"Now go inside."
"Yes, Mom."
Tommy walked into his house and up the stairs to his room.
He locked the door and stripped down to his Aquaman Underoos. Then he knelt by his window and peeked over the top.
Two houses down he saw the black Cadillac. Henry Miller, the neighborhood crimewatch leader, had pulled the man from the car. The driver's hands were mangled... nothing but ripped masses of blood and flesh.
"Just a tiny little rock... in my hands... it is something more."
Tommy lay on the wood floor of his bedroom and looked up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars faded with the sunset light, but tonight, they would be ablaze with life. Tommy could see into his stars... he knew he would be with them some day. Up in the stars... with a rock in his hand.