I Am A Flyer

Bonus: Grey Questionaire

Written for another contest - we had to write a scene about how a character would react to a certain situation, followed by a series of questions that are answered by the characters themselves. Again, it's sorta cheesy, but I thought someone might enjoy a interesting look into this guy's personality. As such, I present you with Grey.

Disclaimer: The views presented in this little blurb are not the views of the author.

XXX

Part 1:  #1 (Your character killed someone while driving drunk)

Gray yawned widely, eyes squinting nearly shut.  He was incredibly tired and the pleasant buzz humming in his brain didn't do much to help.  Raising a hand, he rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear the fuzziness from his vision. It didn't work — the road ahead still looked like it was wreathed in blotchy fog. 

"Huh." He shrugged his broad shoulders, not too worried.  Or, more accurately, he just couldn't quite bring himself to care.  

The truck suddenly bucked violently, jerking him forward in his seat.  His head whipped back into the headrest, sending brilliant flashes of white throughout his vision. The next few moments were a haze of confusion. He was vaguely aware of skidding tires, of a sudden rush of air as the airbag deployed and pillowed his face.

Then all was still. 

It took a moment for him to gather scattered thoughts; he eventually came to the groggy conclusion that he had just hit something.  Something big.  

He blinked watery eyes. A sudden clarity hit him and he realized that whatever he hit was probably dead.  He shifted, rubbing his forehead with trembling hands. His head suddenly had a pounding head-ache, the alcoholic buzz seemingly so far away. 

Scowling, he shoved at the airbag, fumbling to get the door open, to get out.  After a moment of struggle, he managed to slide out of the truck and stand on wavering legs. 

He muttered a curse; his head was killing him! Perhaps he should go back to the bar and down another couple of beers . . .

Gray staggered to the front of the vehicle, which had skidded into the other lane.  The front bumper was dented, a few bumps and scrapes here and there. Sticky liquid was splattered across the hood and driver side.

Being a battle-hardened veteran, he instantly recognized it as blood more by smell than sight. Shrugging, he skimmed over the damage and decided that the truck was still drive-able.  Great, now he could get back in and continue on his way back to base. Those lumpy cots seemed absolutely heavenly right now, and he'd love nothing more than to drop into one and fall asleep...

He tripped over something on his way back to the truck. With a lurch, he found his world tilting and before he knew it, he was sprawled across a warm, wet lump. He grimaced, then struggled to rise, but only succeeded in flopping about uselessly. His hands pressed against wet slop, squelching as he tried to regain his balance.

Gray froze, mouth curling in disgust. He looked down.  And blinked slowly. 

"Huh." It appeared that he'd run over a man. A scruffy man, if the scraggly fragments of beard left through the broken face were any indication.  He must have hit the truck hard, for his face and upper body were crushed and his arms bent and twisted at odd angles.  The pavement had become a puddle of blood and flesh.

It was not the kind of environment that Gray wanted to recline in.  He frowned, wishing that the man had found another truck to get ran over by. Or, at the very least, hadn't decided to die at the very spot where he'd be in the way for Gray to trip on.  How bothersome.