Fanatic

*Beep *Beep

“Oh, my God. Come on,” he yelled at the station wagon driving the speed limit.

When the old car moved out of the lane, the old driver gave him the finger as he sped past her. He apologized to the elderly lady with a wave, but laughed at her insult and continued on his way; bullying cars, switching lanes with no signal, swerving, speeding… Where’s a cop when you need one?

The lights were generous to him. Green, green, green, up the street and he had to be going twenty over the limit. Fewer cars too, and for a stretch there he had the road to himself. He gave a salute to the Gods for clearing a path.

Seemed the lights defied those Gods though, because the next one turned yellow.

“Oh, fuck!” I don’t care. I don’t care. I’m going.

He wasn’t a regular douchebag, this guy. This wasn’t his everyday thing; being an asshole on the road. So, he let off the gas, looked one way, then the other, okay, no cops, no cars, and pushed on the pedal. The light turned red before he even made it to the intersection, but that didn’t stop him. He squeezed his palms, his shoulders…chewed on his lip and raced through.

He had big smiles until he saw lights flickering in his rear-view mirror. “Oh No!” he whined. “No, no, no, no, no. Not today. Not today.” And he slammed his palms on the steering wheel. “I can’t—I can’t.” He slowed the car down but hadn’t stopped yet.

“Pull the vehicle over!” the officer said through a speaker.

This was real. As real as the tears filling his eyes. Where were his Gods now?

As he veered the car to the side, he panicked. Something in his chest stole his air, and something in his mind screamed at him to go. He stopped on the side of the road as the officer rolled up behind him. Be cool, be cool… he thought over and over but that other voice was louder, stronger.

When the cop stepped out of his car, “Fuck it!” he said and sped away.

Tears streaming down his cheek, he had never been in as much trouble as now, but he didn’t care.

Going sixty through the main streets, forty through residential roads, he thought he’d lost the cop until he almost ran him over flying out of an alleyway. There was no losing him this time. Banging against parked cars, tearing up lawns, the fucking dude almost hit a kid on a bike… “Sorry,” he screamed as his side-view mirror grazed the handlebars.

Another cop showed and almost cut him off but an alley saved him and he swerved off the street and sped up the bumpy passage. But out of that hole, came more trouble, four more cop cars were on that street pushing toward him.

“Oh, my God. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I gotta get out of this. I can’t go to jail today. I can’t go to jail.”

Two cruisers were on his tail, the other two closing in on the sides, the slower two finally emerging out of that alley. Maybe leave the car, beat ‘em on foot, but not with all that gear on, he was slow as shit. Also, he didn’t want to get shot. How am I gonna get outta this? There was no way. They squeezed the back end of his vehicle until he lost control and ran his car into a ditch.

He hit his head on the steering wheel pretty hard and gave him a nice bump on his forehead. The police cars at a distance, officers screaming at him, he assumed a thousand guns were being pointed too. That something in his chest still there, the something in his head – gone.

When he looked at his watch, his head dropped. Forget about the cops and the guns and jail, the time broke his heart. He decided to give himself up, so, he waited until the cops were a little less manic.

One voice took over and instructed, “Driver! Slowly, out of the car and put your hands up.”

He opened his car door and raised both of his hands so they could see. The driver’s side of the car was at the edge of the ditch, and he stood on the dirt and took one step onto the pavement. He heard the whispers, some snickers, coming from the other officers regarding his appearance. But then…

“Drop your weapon! NOW!” the lead officer screamed.

The sound of guns shifting in the hands of the half dozen officers was so loud and frequent, he half-expected to be gunned down.

“What weapon?” he whined, almost hysterical.

“Drop it now. NOW!”

And then he remembered the sword. “Bah—bah—but, It—it’s not real—”

“Take it out slowly and place it on the ground.”

He pulled the wooden sword out of the scabbard that went with this entire ensemble he donned on this day, this special day, and he placed it on the ground as they instructed.

“Step away.”

He did.

“Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”

He did.

Another officer came and put handcuffs on his wrists, while four others surrounded him with their barrels pointed. He wept as his stomach and face were pushed against the street.

“Winter,” he whispered.

“What’s that you say?” the cop asked,

“Winter is here!”

“What?”

“Game of Thrones, dude,” he whined. “The season premiere comes on in five minutes and I’m gonna miss it.”

“Game of Thrones,” the cop said.

“Game of Thrones,” another screamed.

And the next thing he heard were feet shuffling, engines starting and cars peeling off.

And there he was, alone, face down, on the ground, in cuffs, wailing and missing the season premiere of his favorite show.

-M. Sydnor Jr. Copyright © 2019

-If you enjoyed this story, hit the like button and comment, I’d love to hear from ya. Oh yeah, and if you’re a G.O.T. fanatic like me, check out my epic top ten list here and slow down on the road. 🙂

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