Road Rage

626 words. Taboo words: Anger, cross,annoyed,furious,irritated,temper.


Above the ambient noise of rush hour traffic, sounds of impatience and frustration penetrated Stan’s consciousness.
Looking forward to getting home and seeing his kids before they went to bed he relaxed back into the soft leather. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to a song playing on the radio, he drove home.
There it was again, a horn blaring, lights flashing repeatedly. Stan pushed his driving glasses further up his nose and glanced in the rear-view mirror, he saw a pickup truck, following him so closely he could see the driver’s scowl.
“What’s up with him?” Stan muttered, tapping his brakes as a warning to back off.
The pickup driver nudged the car.
What the hell does he think he’s playing at? Stan sped up, away from the maniac behind him.
A game of cat and mouse began with Stan trying to make room for the truck to pass. Go on then, piss off. He muttered.
Even though the pursuer now had room to pass, he stuck to Stan’s tail and continued travelling inches behind as they zoomed along the freeway.
At last, Stan’s exit sign appeared. Thank God, let me get away from this loony. He hoped the pickup wasn’t going to follow him.
He swerved off, the screech of tyres behind him warned he was still being followed. His mouth dry, heart pounding in his chest he reached the minor road.

“I’m sick of this!” Stan pulled over onto the gravel verge.
The other driver skidded to a halt in front of Stan’s vehicle.
For a moment no one moved.
Then the truck door opened wide, out stepped a man dressed in camouflage pants and leather jacket. His huge belly preceded him, hanging over a wide leather belt.
He wore reflective sunglasses making it impossible to see his eyes, and in his huge meaty hand he held a baseball bat which he slapped into his other open hand in a manner that told of imminent threat..
He swaggered his massive frame over to where Stan leaned back onto his car.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” Stan tried to sound brave, but his voice had a slight tremor he couldn’t disguise, his slender frame shook.
“You bastard, you cut me off back there,” the man mountain growled, jerking his head in the direction of the freeway.
“If I did, I didn’t see you, I’m sorry there’s no need to threaten me. Take it easy man,” Stan tried to diffuse the situation. He’d seen too often on the news and social media the bad outcomes of road rage and didn’t want to become a news item himself.
He glanced around, hoping someone might stop to help. Cars simply veered around the scene, driver’s averting their eyes.
The big guy lifted the baseball bat and smashed a wing mirror, glass flew in all directions.
“What the hell?” Stan couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.
He grabbed the man’s arm with both hands. “For God’s sake stop! What are you doing?” He yelled.
Before he realised what was happening the insanity worsened, the truck driver dropped the bat and lifted Stan off the ground by the front of his shirt, pulling him close until they were face to face.
He could smell his fetid breath as the man snarled, “You want to pray you never meet me again.”
Stan raised both his arms and with palms either side of the huge gorilla like head he gave an almighty slap, instantly bursting his agressors’ ear drums.
The man dropped to the ground, groaning and holding his head.
Stan left him there and nonchalantly slipped back into his vehicle, turning the music back on and drove home.

“Hi Darling,” Stan’s wife turned from the stove to greet him. “ What did you learn at the Martial Arts Acadamy today?”
Stan smiled.