Pavement slid by like the juice flowing from Tom’s burger as he careened through the wooded corners of state route 522, known locally as the highway of death. “Dad that’s gross! wipe your chin,” Natalie giggled. “Tom for God’s sake watch the road, you’re going to get us killed,” Sarah, his wife interrupted. “We don’t watch out. They watch out for us, cause we’re the Hammonds! We’re carnivores.” Meat, sauce, and red juice streamed from his mouth as he spoke. “Tom!” Their black SUV jolted upward on the right side with just the left wheels on the pavement. They rode like this for several feet before landing back on all four wheels and spinning to a complete stop. Tom blinked his eyes several times to clear the shock. Once he regained his composure, he checked on his family. Like him they were disorientated but the safety restraints had brought them through the worst of it. Tom got out of their car followed by his wife. “My God what is that smell?” Sarah said, ...
Original stories and poems by Patrick James