Choose Your Own Nuthouse

Section 18


            You drop the backpack, grab the shotgun from the trunk, and whirl around to face the creepy old man. You shove the barrel of the 12 gauge into his midsection.

            “Now, listen to me, fucko,” you say in your best tough-guy voice (which, all things considered, sounds like Woody Allen trying to do Sylvester Stallone). “I am not hauling your camper-killing piece-of-shit self anywhere, unless it involves dragging you into those woods and burying you in a shallow grave.”

            The old man's eyes go wide with fear. Tears begin dribbling out of his eyes and his lower lip begins to quiver. Aw... the poor old guy is scared. He's gonna cry.

            You don't care. Well, maybe a little. Kinda. Somewhat. He looks so pitiful standing there that you lower the shotgun and are about to give him a hug and apologize for being such an ass.

            “About” to give him a hug, because as soon as you lower the shotgun, he makes a move for that big knife sticking out of his backpack. You quickly decide against the hug, and opt for kissing him instead- kissing him with a faceful of lead! Oh, yeah, that's right...

            After reducing the old man's head to nothing more than a stain on your bumper, you realize that you're gonna have to make good on your word to bury him in a shallow grave. You hang your head, grab the old man's ankles, and drag him into the woods.

<>            After what seems like way more work than burying a dead drifter is worth, you get him in his grave and head back to your car. You climb behind the wheel and continue onwards to Lake Doomhole for a weekend of naughtiness.
The End!

...sort of…

This is a single end, but not the one you seek, go back and try again.