Three AM. Eddie was outside, running as fast as he could. He wore a backpack. As he ran, he stopped at a random truck with an open bed. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a Seismic Wave firecracker pack, lit it, and tossed it in the trucks bed. Then, he ran like hell.
Eddie moved from one truck to another. Two trucks, four trucks, eight trucks. He kept going. He knew the fireworks weren’t hurting the trucks. But in those beds, the made a hell of a noise. Enough to wake the dead.
Truck drivers pissed Eddie off. The way they tried to push him and his tiny car down the road, riding so close to his rear bumper, all he could see in his rear view mirror was the chrome grille between their headlights. How, at night, their headlights reflected in his mirrors, and blinded him.
“This is where I get even, you ass holes!”
He found another truck, lit another pack, and off he ran, to the explosive sounds shattering the night. After twelve trucks, he lost count. It didn’t matter. He’d never get them all. Arrogant bastards, drove like they owned the roads. Their tires roaring so loudly on the road he had to close his car windows to hear the radio. Their gigantic engines so loud he could hear them even with his windows up.
Those trucks ruined his drive to work. His drive home. He had to park in the boonies in parking lots, ‘cause he couldn’t find his car surrounded by all the trucks. And then, there were the door dings, and the rocks and mud those beasts threw at his car.
So there he was, at three AM, showing truck owners how fucking considerate they were. “Wakey, wakey, bitches!” And he put another pack in another truck, and ran away to the staccato echo of tiny explosives rattling windows as they went “BOOM!” in metal truck beds.
Hell, he knew he’d go to jail. He didn’t care. It was worth it. He’d wreck havoc. He’d wake the whole damn city up. Everybody who drove a tiny car would cheer him, call him a hero. Perhaps his example would cause some of them to strike back at the stupid truck people.
As he ran, he heard sirens. One siren, then two, then four, then more. Police cars and fire trucks. People coming out of their houses in the dark, turning on porch lights, wondering what the hell was going on. Eddie laughed as he ran, stopping for a few seconds at another truck, here or there.
He ran until the Police figured out where he was, and cornered him. He stopped running, and threw himself on the ground, face down. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m not armed!”
They took him to jail.
“I showed them! Those truck owning bastards! I showed them!”
It’s April 6th, day five of the 2015 A to Z Challenge. This is the fifth of 26 pieces I’m writing in April. Today, the letter E. Tomorrow, the letter F. Will tomorrow be another story about Timmy the IT guy, or will some other character turn up?
As we started toward the trucks, I noticed a cat on the roof of the cabin, watching me. The man waved at the cat. “One of Taran’s friends, checking to see everything’s OK.”
Later, I heard two trucks. I spotted them outside the window. They stopped in the field behind the cabin. Two dogs leaped out of the truck beds, and a man in a scarf approached the cabin. “You called?” he asked.
My Soul's Tears 