Fifty Shades of Red - Prologue  

The cold midnight hour froze the skinny limbs of the lonely hitchhiker as he stumbled down the side of the highway. He was a wild-eyed motherfucker, cheek twitching constantly, teeth gritting.
“CRRRRR”, “CRRRRR”, “CRRRRR”
Back and forth like a saw.
 He finished the last of his whiskey bottle and smashed it on the road,
“Ahhhhhhh!” the burning sensation warmed him slightly.
“Cold dead night, Mother Mab calls to me” The Hitchhiker screamed, addressing nocturne: The light shaper’s veil and contrast.
“I’ll paint a thousand dreams madly into nightmares with my god damn bitter hand.”
 He faced each headlight with his thumb protruding as they passed him. The beams near blinded him as they passed but none brought him the warmth he desired; none till a shadowlike car emerged from the darkness. He climbed inside, no longer lonely as he sat and embraced the comfort of the car. He reached into his filthy overcoat and felt the warm comfort of his rusty cleaver, as his boney fingertips touched the familiar handle; he grasped the cleaver for a moment and a flood of glorious, gory memories of sick exploits of dissecting and disemboweling the most unwilling of subjects diluted his brain like heroin.
The lonely hitchhiker sat like a child, cross legged on the floor of his mind watching one of the countless classics of his gruesome vile habit, his most impure abuse exploring his deepest lust for blood and the sweetest sensation of ripping another’s flesh while they watch in dismay. He shook hands with the driver, as they exchanged pleasantries. One could be sure a bone handled quill scratched away, writing his latest masterpiece of horror in which he longs to execute. The driver sits helplessly doomed, this driver who he longs to execute.