Christine '24

Time capsule narrative of Stephen King's distance tale of machinery-ownership (haunting) yielding mankind helmets from the beyond.

This is a fanfiction/adaptation of a very-special yarn about the haunting by possessions possessed, and it's made for nifty adaptations, and it's inspired by the adapted visualization-portals film Christine (Stephen King). 

DISCLAIMER: This work of fanfiction/adaptation offers no commercial/explicit ties to the referenced work/film of inspiration and is therefore cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social art (for 'open' views). 

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It's the year 2024 (Earth, General Roman calendar). Let me tell you the unusual and eerie auto focus haunting story of Mr. Amlan Satan, an affable Algerian-American Catholic Bostonian citizen and car-mechanics aficionado and a proud owner of a 1990s Maxima he named 'Christine' and became the object of his eye (and mine!). I sold him the damned vehicle, and I knew it was rumored to be haunted and was part of a horrible accident of another car going off-cliff without it being sidetracked at all. I knew it was evil and warned Satan before the purchase. He insisted I had a very-nice magazine culture 'fashion' face for trustworthy cleats (Selfie-like).

ME: It's otherwise a working perfect machinery, Mr. Satan (Amlan!).

AMLAN SATAN: Good...I've earned enough to purchase this used auto (focus!).

ME: Well...it's under-priced because the owner sold it in hurry (worry).

AMLAN SATAN: Good; I know it's the auto focus for me...naming it Christine.

ME: What do you care so much for a car verboten?

AMLAN SATAN: I need a friend (thanx).

ME: Fine, Satan ($5K up-front).

AMLAN SATAN: I own it (Selfie-lie!).

I read the news sometime soon thereafter in Maine, post-sell to Satan (Amlan!) who took a bus up to Bangor to get Christine from me (damn). I read the news, the horrific headlines. Multiple humans dead, some in cars, and Christine was still spotted on the road late-night, by cops wandering why every now and then it slowed down a great deal while in motion. Amlan Satan, he became its masked-racer, and I knew it was his brain that was merged with that evil auto focus. Christine owned him (Selfie-like).

POLICE: Man was a hitcher who was enjoying nice soup in Bangor; picked-up.

ME: That's what the witnesses said, huh?

POLICE: He was dead...found him...without a head.

ME: Maybe Satan has decapitation agenda for hyperbole, huh?

POLICE: Why're you so fascinated, lady?

ME: I sold Christine.

POLICE: Damn (Selfie-like).

ME: Why'd you call me (suddenly), Mr. Satan?
AMLAN SATAN: I want you to write my tale...in a time-capsule (anthropology).

ME: Christine owns you.

AMLAN SATAN: You said it...look, I want to be laid to rest with the car (ok?).

ME: I'll tell your story; I can guess the parts.

AMLAN SATAN: Cemetery arts, machinery and men (with your computer mouse).

ME: Thanx (evil).

AMLAN SATAN: Fiction.

ME: Thanx (evil).

I decided to concede to Amlan's demand(s) post-story of a Catholic hotel manager's daughter ('Ezzy') who turned-up dead somewhere in Maine. She was most-likely in her car or picked-up by Christine/Satan who offered her some joyride (unsure). No one knows. What I do know is that ownership of machinery can reflect field goals of Hell. I wonder if Amlan Satan was a Patriots fan (Selfie-like).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)