It was meant to be a nice relaxing drive home. There I was, cruising along the highway at no more than 30km/h above the speed limit. Our Lady Peace blaring into my ears and the sun flashing into my eyes. Except the last I checked, sunlight wasn’t blue.

I glanced at my rearview mirror and my heartbeat skipped. And skipped yet another time like a giggling schoolgirl. Because fast gaining on me, was a bright white cop car with its lights screaming blue.

I panicked hard. Was it because of the handphone-bearing yuppie who sauntered across the street too slowly? Was his arm sticking out of my car boot? Was it godforbid feebly waving to the cop car in desperation? Dammit! I should’ve disarmed (literally) him before I shoved him into the boot. Or at the very least, I should’ve backed over him and mowed him down again just to finish the job.

Excuses were racing their way through my mind. "My friend had too much to drink and now he’s off his face. I’m just giving him a lift home. In the boot? Oh yes, I didn’t want him puking on my leather seats." Or "I saw the poor guy splatter over the windshield of a Beemer. So I thought I’d take him to the A&E in the boot, to avoid misplacing any loose organs." Maybe even "here’s 50 bucks. You saw nothing."

Yeah, the last one would probably work. I took a deep breath and started to slow down. Cuz everyone knows car chases always end up with the chasee crashing into a barrier and attempting to escape on foot before running into a civic-minded citizen in his Landrover.

Then I noticed that blue lights weren’t flashing in my rear-view mirror any longer. In fact, they were now behind a tarp-covered truck, yapping away at its heels like a neutered terrier with something to prove.

What a relief. I sped off home with the dead yuppie bouncing away in the back. When I heard another thump and felt the familiar bounce of a body hitting the car roof. I stopped the car and got out to check…and my pulse went back to normal again. It was just some little squirty boy on a tricycle. At least I think it was a boy, I couldn’t tell anymore. No matter, I’d probably done the parents a service.

And I drove off whistling. Leaving Goodyear trails of gore and twisted metal in my wake.

Categories: Misc [t]

Thank you.
For killing my horrible son. Will you accept any payment of good will?
» le_battement on 2004-04-24 08:21:52

My pleasure.
No, my friend. The satisfaction of ridding the world of one more insidious little beast was reward enough. Go my child, and multiply no more.
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