by Kristin Lennox

“MOVE, ASSHOLE!”

Horn blaring, Marvin swerved between lanes, flipping off the minivan that dared to drift into his path. Fucking Sunday drivers.

Only suckers use mirrors while driving, but the reflection in his rearview caught Marvin’s eye—what the…? The back window was spiderwebbed with cracks, the seat crumpled inward and soaked crimson with blood. He gasped at his face–charred black, lips burned away, left eye dangling from the socket.

The steering wheel jerked from his hands, yanking hard to the right.

Marvin screamed one last obscenity as his car slammed through the guardrail and cartwheeled into the bay.

Kristin Lennox