Massacre on Hobson Pike

Decisions came hard for her.  She was still parked on the shoulder with her engine idling when the yellow gas light popped on and instantly complicated her indecision.  Rats!  She stared at those twenty-six bloody bodies on the road (she had carefully counted them all), and the acid reflux from her churning stomach was gagging her.  Fumbling with the door lock, she barely pushed it open before her lunch she had spent thirty-five dollars on and devoured two hours ago was lying on the ground.  Great!

She sighed.  She was trapped in her little red car, because to straddle that console with her two chubby legs was not a plan that would ever occupy her head for even one second.  She was going nowhere without her tire rolling through all that crud, but she had to go somewhere, anywhere fast.  She looked at the car clock again - twelve minutes and still no one had driven over the top of the last hill or the hill beyond to join her in her predicament.  The engine was running on fumes, her cell phone was still sitting on her kitchen counter charging, and she had to so desperately pee.

She carefully drove back onto the road with the noise of upchuck flinging off her back tire, and grimaced.  She stopped.  She sucked most of the air right out of the interior of her little red car until she thought her lungs were going to explode; and then raced across those crunching bodies, over the next hill, and into the setting sun.  She put on her sunglasses, dug into her purse with her right hand, and fetched out a stale piece of sugarless gum to calm her nerves.  A semi, she thought.  It must have been a semi-truck barreling through a flock of birds.  It was a bad omen, all that carnage, and she knew the rest of her day was going to be shit - and it was.


The flock of birds was real...
the rest pure imagination.