The second part of my Friday Fictioneers click-soliciting challenge. three days now to get to 2,000 views.This one’s more serious-hence the dull title-and comes in at 120 words-because as a rehabilitated road-rager, I felt I couldn’t leave out the point about the therapeutic effects of sounding the horn.
Photo by Sandra Crook
A tractor pulls out. He leans on the horn. He hates when they cut him up. At this rate, it’ll be hours before they’re in Cornwall. The AC’s broken and the kids are fighting in the back. The drive’s been hell since his Dad took him and his sister here when really they wanted to go to Florida.
“What are you doing?” Asks Mary, “No need to get angry.”
“I’m not angry. I beeped the horn and now I’m fine.”
“It’s aggressive,” she whispers,”The kids are in the back.”
“It’s…catharsis. There wouldn’t be a word for it if it wasn’t a thing.”
Not meaning to, he looks at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. He’s become his Dad.