Period: The periodic sentence, characterized by the suspension of the completion of sense until its end. This has been more possible and favored in Greek and Latin, languages already favoring the end position for the verb, but has been approximated in uninflected languages such as English. [This figure may also engender surprise or suspense–consequences of what Kenneth Burke views as ‘appeals’ of information.
In spite of being solid, shiny and new, the tuck was parked by the side of the road in the middle nowhere with no driver, no passenger, no nothing, like it had broken down and been abandoned. I slammed on my brakes, stopped and backed up. I got out of my truck and walked toward the abandoned truck. I heard the engine running. I opened the door and looked inside the cab. I tried to turn the engine off, but the key wouldn’t budge. I wondered how long it had been there—the gas gauge said full and the air conditioning was blowing on high. There was a copy of Nietzsche’s “Beyond Good and Evil” on the seat along with a handwritten map. I had had a brief brush with Nietzsche in college in a philosophy course titled “Thinkers Who Destroyed Western Civilization.” I addition to Nietzsche, we read Rorty, Plato, L. Ron Hubbard, and Gadamer. There were a few more we studied , but I can’t remember them. After reading Hubbard’s “Dianetics,” I joined the Church of Scientology, became clear, and rose to rank of Ensign in the Scientology navy, but I quit. The navy didn’t even have a boat and I found that off-putting.
As I sat there in my truck, I had the same old conflicted feelings about my life’s trajectory. 5 wives. 9 children. Currently unemployed. Wandering.
I looked out the abandoned truck’s windows. The terrain was perfectly flat for miles around. I saw a couple of antelope off in the distance, but no people. I was perplexed to the max—most perplexing was the fact that I couldn’t turn of the truck’s engine. I picked up the map and flattened it out on the truck’s hood. It was titled “Golden Gulch.” I thought with a title like that it must be a treasure map! All the roads and trails on the map looked like tangled yarn. It was a fuzzy mess. I noticed the map was subtitled “Curse Me.” I thought for a second and then said “Damn you!” I could feel the map suddenly wiggle under my hand. I jumped back and watched the map transform itself into crystal clear rendition of our location—including the mystery truck in the lower right hand corner. I was amazed and frightened. Then I saw it—there was a route from the truck’s location to an “X” with the word “gold” written alongside it.
I put the map back on the seat and went to get a cigarette from my truck. The abandoned truck started moving! I prayed for guidance and got none, so I jumped in my truck and followed the abandoned truck. Surely, it was following the map to the gold. We set off across the prairie. I shifted into 4-wheel drive as we started to pick up speed. We were going 25, 35, 50, 60, 70, 80 mph. It was insane, but I couldn’t get the gold out of my mind. In the span of a couple of hours, I had become obsessed. I had become insane.
I heard an alarm dinging. I was going to run out of gas. Then, I ran out of gas. The abandoned truck slowed down, blew its horn, and kept on going. I smacked the heel of my hand on my steering wheel. I got out of my truck and kicked it. Then I realized that was stupid. I went to call AAA, but there was no phone service. I had to walk. Our trucks had left indentations in the grass and flattening a trail I could follow. It took me four hours to get back to the highway when my cellphone service resumed. The AAA driver brought me food and water—well worth my membership fee. He brought two Jerry cans full of gas. We emptied them into my truck’s fuel tank. I was driving myself back to town to get fueled up and check into a motel for a shower and a good night’s sleep. I looked in my rear view mirror. It was the abandoned truck and it was gaining on me fast—it must’ve been going over 100 mph.
I pulled over. It roared past. I never saw it again.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu). Bracketed text inserted by Gorgias.
The Daily Trope 