Tailgaters are rude, selfish and arrogant. Today, I got my own back. Driving on a dual carriageway (two lane freeway), I pulled out into the fast lane to overtake a slow van and an even slower car just ahead.
And there he was, fast approaching in my rear view mirror in his shiny black Beemer, king of the road. I kept to the 70 mph speed limit and kept watch until he was practically glued to my back bumper.
Okay, okay, stay right there mate, I’m overtaking, as you can see – or can you? – and I’ll pull over when I’m good and ready, but not until I overtake that other slow car just up ahead. See that?
And do you know what he did? He attempted – I say, attempted – to cut me up by swerving way too fast and dangerously into the slow lane to overtake from the inside, expecting me to slow down, to make way for the king. As if.
Needless to say I kept to my speed, and he had no choice but to pull back in behind me, just in time for the road to merge into one lane for several miles. Oh joy! I will admit to no more.
Timely then for Charli’s flash fiction prompt for this week. Here it is:
‘This week’s challenge is two-fold:
- August 5, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write the common premise: “I ran over a deer (or other animal) and have decided to nurse it back to health.”
- But before you write, daydream. Do something out of your normal routine for 10 minutes. Go outside, sit and stare into space. Rest in a meditative yoga pose. Lock yourself in the bathroom. Mow the lawn, or do the dishes. Let your mind wander to the story and daydream before you write it.’
Charli has described my writing process here in one perfect one word: ‘Daydream‘. Usually my ideas come to me when out walking, but today this flash came to me whilst out on the road. My tailgater better watch out.
“Mrs Barker?” enquired the policeman as Ethel’s bulk blocked the doorway.
“There’s been an accident. The driver thinks he might have hit a deer, but before he could check– he’s a vet – he thought he saw ‘something’ run into the woods. An abandoned car nearby is registered to your husband. Is he home?”
“Something…what do you mean?”
The policeman coughed, then stuttered. “A man, but like a wolf, saw teeth…he said…”
“Gawd! It’s High Wycombe, not the bleedin’ Wild West.”
Later, Ethel heard howling. “Pipe down Fred,” she hissed from the bedroom window, “you’ll wake the neighbours.”