Flirt With Danger

 Gunner

I got enraged over time by cars taking up air, by pushing out pollution and consuming oxygen. Eventually I bought a ex-WWII, a Lee Enfield 303, rifle off ebay and bought a clip of bullets. I'd inserted the bullets in the rifle, and now was the time, I watched the advertisements off TV and hated them. I was sweating intensely, including my right-hand which included my rifle hands.

I aimed from the upstairs window.

I hit a VW Beetle first square in the radiator, my shoulder ached from the recoil received. It slowed gradually. Then I hit a motorcycle in the back tyre, a “fart machine” as I called them accelerating up the hill. It stopped immediately. My shoulder ached not as much as the first shot.

I brought the rifle round for the 3rd shot, I hit a Range Rover Defender then, gas guzzler indeed. It veered off, arcing across the right side of the road, smashing into some metal rods, ahead of a brick wall.

I waited patiently for the police to arrive. Arrive they did, two cars and eight officers manning them. They knocked at the door, I let them in, my rifle still in my hands. They arrested me then.

“You killed the last driver, the Range Rover driver. The third shot ricocheted off the engine block, hitting the driver in the throat.”

Crestfallenly, “I guess I aimed too high.”

“Name', the first officer commanded.

“Colonel Tom Parker”, I replied.

“Say, that wasn't Elvis's manager”.

“Military or otherwise?”

I'd put it on the voter's registration form, some months before

The police officers then handcuffed me, leading out to the second car.

They released the handcuffs at the police station, which it took 10 minutes to make. They sat me down in a cell, which had a bed and an open toilet.

They knuckled me, which I'd been expecting, having "fallen down the stairs", in the parlance of their stupid police excuses.