Richard thumpscraped the Buick station wagon over the curb for McDonald’s. For a moment both kids in the back seat hovered weightless, then bashed up against the roof like fists striking a baking pan. They flopped down limp, out for the count. Rich thought this was a good thing because now they wouldn’t make any mistakes about looking outside the windows.
He bounced the car blindly, crashed it along the curve, around the building, always keeping his gaze low, anchored to the dash, avoiding the sky, the air. A smell of sparks and rubber whooshed into the car’s cabin.
The Buick screeched and squealed, stopped at the drive-through window. Rumor had it there were people inside, of sound mind, distributing stale chicken patties to those who braved the streets. He couldn’t know unless he took a real peek out the car.
Deep breath. Stomach gurgle. Looked at his rag doll kids first. Then he turned to take a real peek outside the car.
There were two of them there on the bricks just under the drive-though window. Of colors and shapes bold and busy: Crazy moths.
No time to look away. In less than a second the weirdness of their wings, those strange designs, screwed Richard’s brain like spaghetti. He laughed as his mind cracked and his foot eased numbly from the brake.
To find out what happens next, follow this link!
This story was written as part of “100-word Flash Fiction Friday.” But I had to cheat this week and give myself an extra hundred words or else the story would make even less sense than it does now.
For more practicallyserious flash fiction, check out this story!