Another weekly venture with Sunday Photo Fiction, a Flash Fiction challenge to conjure up a story of about 200 words centered around the photograph captured by Al.
This week’s edition drives us all batty when we see someone parked over multiple space. How friggin’ hard is it to pull into one spot?!? You’re not a semi! You’re NOT A…Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Better. Now I can focus on this week’s tale.
“Dad!” Junior cried. “You can’t park there.”
Dad looked back as he continued to walk away from the truck toward the indoor swap meet.
“Because, you’ve parked over two spots, and one of them is for special people.”
“What makes them so special?” he said. “They want to be treated like everyone else, but they want the best parking spots. Well, I’m going to treat them like I do everyone else. No privileges from old Hank Carlson.”
It came out as a sneer.
Junior, who despised being Hank’s offspring, stopped.
“No privileges, right dad?”
“Right son,” a wide-grinning Hank replied.
Junior went back to the truck and took out the pick axe that always sat in the flatbed.
“Then none from me either. This is what I’d do to any car I found parked like this.”
He started on the driver’s side window. The axe sliced through the glass as easily as a knife through a down-cushion. Next was the windshield, the headlights and the passenger’s window. Then the tires.
Then Junior opened his mobile. “Yeah, police?” he said. “Some jackass has parked in a handicap space.”
He hung up, put the axe back and walked away. At 18, it was time he found his own place.