Short Story
                                                                      By Kelly Glover

      As Rodney focused on his third car of the evening, he grabbed his last beer from the cupholder and
turned it up, finishing it with a wet belch. The empty can he tossed in the back seat landed with a clank as it
fell to rest on a pile of discarded junk food wrappers. The smell of Little Debbie and booze permeated the
rank interior. Rodney licked his chapped lips as the small red sedan continued in his direction. This
particular stretch of road was one of his favorites. It was one of those long rural roads where you can see
far up the hill when another car is coming your way. There is always plenty of time to make decisions.

      Rodney had some sort of a sixth sense about certain things and he’d tell you that he could
telepathically communicate with the machine and its driver. Each car had to speak to him first. The little
red car gave itself to him. Rodney still had plenty of time before the car was upon him, so he tried
searching the radio stations for a fitting game song. He fished through the musical stylings of Journey,
Mexican restaurant mariachi, and The Jackson Five before settling on “Highway to Hell”, by AC/DC.

      Rodney turned his radio up loud enough for any mother to threaten deafness by the volume. “Workin’
double time on the seduction line” he belted out as his excitement grew. The adrenaline rush he got from
his game was just as addicting as his cocaine habit. “One of a kind, she’s just mine all mine”, Rodney
gripped the steering wheel in his moistened hands. They always got sweaty, no matter how many times he
did this. It was almost time.

      When his target was within several hundred feet, Rodney jerked his wheel hard into the other lane
straight at the oncoming car. He wanted the other driver to know that this maneuver was not an accident,
but deliberate. “We’re on a highway to Helllll”, he serenaded as he punched the gas pedal to the floor of
his trusty old Jeep Cherokee. His favorite moment of this game is when he can see the fear in the face of
the other driver as they swerve to miss him. The little red car housed a middle aged woman that happened
to be talking on her telephone at the moment, no doubt screaming bloody murder to whoever was on the
other end of the line.

      When she recognized that this car was not correcting itself, she jerked the wheel sharply to the left
going off the road and only stopped when she collided with a tree on the edge of the woods. “He, Ha, HA!
CHICKEN”, Rodney blurted out. He never stopped to assess the aftermath of the wreck, he just sped off
until he was ready to find another one.

      “Oh, SHIT! Let’s have me a harley hog! That son of a bitch is going down!”  The lone rider wore a
chrome helmet that reflected the last bit of sunlight there was to be had for the day. He had to wait until it
was closer to him than the previous red car was because the bike had a quicker reaction time. The right
driver could avoid the move all together. “Oh, you’re going down, down, down, allllll the waaayyyyy!”, he
sang as he pulled the steering wheel towards the unsuspecting biker.

      The Harley’s wheels burnt rubber as it veered away from the Jeep barrelling down on it. The bike hit
either a rock or a crack in the road and the rider was thrown over the handlebars on to the street. Rodney
could almost feel the guy’s road rash. “WHOOOOWEEEEEE, CHICKEN! You’re all chickens! Damn
doesn’t any of you have big enough balls to fuck with me?” Rodney was starting to grow bored with his
own fun. “One more just because I can”.

      The last bit of daylight had crept behind the clouds. Rodney didn’t turn on his lights, though. He thought
it was extra fun to blind the other driver with his brights just before the move, bringing another element of
surprise to his hobby. The radio began to play the beginning of “Sweet Emotion”, and Rodney decided
Steven Tyler would sing him into his next prospect.

      “There you are, my last lover of the night”, whispered Rodney as he readied himself. It was not until he
veered into the other lane and turned on his brights that he saw something he never expected. He was
faced with a massive dually Chevy and right before impact, Rodney caught a glimpse of the other driver.
The young man was smiling like a deranged fool. “Yeeeaaaahhhwww!”, the maniac yelled with vigor
pointing furiously at Rodney. The poor guy had finally met his match.

      First responders had the gruesome task of fetching Rodney’s mangled body from a nearby ditch. The
other driver survived without a scratch. As the police officers inquired about what happened that night, the
unshaken man simply said, “I ain’t no chicken”.
To read other short stories,
click one of the titles below.
About Kelly Glover

Kelly Glover is a single mother and supreme leader of three kids, two cats, and one failed
marriage. Her writing touches on the darker aspects of life that we all go through, but few talk
about. Her first book of poetry, “The Light of My Dark” is available on Amazon.