The Road Creative Writing

Unknown answer (creative writing)
Waking up to the sound of trucks isn’t the most enjoyable thing, nor is waking up cold not knowing where the heck you are. I tried pinching myself a few times to see if maybe this was a dream but all i got in return was pain and marks amongst my skin. “This can’t be happening right now” i thought to myself, what did i do wrong in order to receive this as my karma. I glanced around to visualise where i was exactly and all i saw was one narrow road surrounded by dry dirt, with an old abandoned house about 400 yards east. No road signs were in sight, just a handwritten speed sign with the number ‘110’ on it, indicating that the speed is 110km per hour.
I stared and studied my body to make sure that everything

I slowly walked up the stairs and tried to be aware of what might happen but the crackling sound of each step i took totally took my attention away. As i arrived to front door i placed my ear against the prickling wood, i heard nothing. This house must’ve been like a hundred years old because the knocker on the door was one of those shoes you would place on a horse's foot. I knocked on the door with fear the size of Russia, i must’ve waited at least 20 minutes before i had the guts to open the bloody thing. After gaining the confidence i finally creeped through the front door, finding the place looking like a five star hotel. I rubbed my eyes three or four times because everything that i'm experiencing is just getting crazier and crazier. I explored the house and notice that this is really an abandoned house, how could no one want to live in such an amazing yet so crappy place. I saw a bright white leather couch and decided to take a seat, thinking over and over on how the heck i got planted by a freeway in the middle of nowhere. I had no answer come to my mind, not one thing. After contemplating whether to leave the house and find help or stay i remembered that reason i entered this place was to find a telephone. Time had passed and i finally had come across a telephone which appeared to have my name is it, i mean, at first i thought maybe the person who use

A hand slowly creeped onto my shoulder, wrinkly and dry. I was turned around and pushed onto the ground, this old man was holding an axe. I couldn't get a clear image of his face because he was wearing a cowboy hat on an angle that had covered his face. He stared at me and started to mumble and hum the song of the Simpsons, “The siiiiimmmpsoonnssss”. It was catchy but scary because his breathing was gradually getting heavier and heavier. The old guy must’ve seen me as a tree log or something because he was preparing to hit me like