Flash Fiction: Rage

First drafted on Typetrigger.


I hovered behind him like an angry hornet, pulling up close, about to hit his bumper. Who did this fool think he was driving under the speed limit? He doesn’t deserve a licence. I hooted again, two loud short bursts, to no avail. There was no passing lane on this stretch of road and I couldn’t cross lanes thanks to the road barriers kindly placed by our lovely government and MY tax dollars.

I pulled down my window and shot out a finger and waved it at the bloody little Honda. I combined it with the horn for an aggressive combo. My wife sat next to me in her passenger seat — eyes closed and white knuckles on the railing. Women could be such worry warts. How could we crash? We weren’t even going 100!

Finally the road barrier disappeared and I was left with a whole new side of the road to drive on. Apart from the odd car it was practically empty. I took my chance and went for it, foot on the accelerator, blood rushing through my hands and feet. My wife yelled my name, “Jason!”. But all I could see in that moment was to pass that little grey-haired man in his Honda. I was halfway between the two lanes, side by side with him. He looked out his driver’s window at me with fearful eyes.

That’s when the road barrier popped back up.

In less than a second, a dreadful shredding of metal tore its way though us. Glass exploded around us. My air bag deployed in the nick of time but my head still pounded from the impact. The seat belt had cut into my flesh. I looked at the damage to the front of my car. It was beyond repair.

Then I saw my wife. Her airbag didn’t deploy. She had a gash across her head. Glass stuck into her. She lay limp in her seat. The Honda pulled over and the little old man climbed out of his car and came to my aid.

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