Flash Fiction: Pig Stencil
As I was turning from the road into my drive I felt a blow from behind. Careening round and utterly helpless, I saw I’d been rear-ended by Stephanie McMullane, the silly woman living three doors down in the mobile home. Long past the point when she ought to have stopped driving into me, she looked deadpen into my frightened eyes and hers registered none of the panic the moment warranted. I thought, “The old bitch’s finally lost it; must have forgottent to take her meds.” But while I heard my car crumple and the tricycle approach on the footpath, a serenity gently descended on the scene, a mellowing I attribute mostly to my own benificence. I decided I wouldn’t emerge from my poor car wielding fists and punch her squarely on the jaw; I wasn’t into hitting women anyway – bad for business you might say but there was a moral urgency at play too. Instead, and only once the cars had come to a complete stop, I took the can of blue spray paint and the stencil of assorted farm animals and found the pig and approached Stephanie McMullane on her right flank. She was rolling down her driver door window when I blasted her with pig-shaped spray, getting her square on her blouse which housed her massive bossom.
“What are you doing?” she cried, trying to prevent any further branding with her small, fleshy hands, her eyes scrunched up and her thin lips rolled back tightly like a wound.
“This is my contribution to the mayhem you’re intent on engendering around here,” I asserted, “but as to why I chose this particular mode, I really can’t say. Call it convenience,” my finger firmly wedged down on the button.
“My blouse, it’s totally destroyed! Stop, will you stop?!”
“My car,” I reminded her calmly; “what about my car?”
“I’ll pay for it, I’ll pay, I’ll pay!!” she pleaded.
“You will. You will indeed,” I said and started on the rhino.
R.H.