Prompt
I found a package on my porch. It was addressed to me, but had the wrong
address. I don’t know how it got here, but I shrugged, and opened it up.
Inside was...
Botner
...a huge bag of Reese’s Pieces (I don't even like Reese's Pieces) and...a
shirt, and pants, and...a cardboard license plate? Who did this? Hey there!
Yes, I know, that license plate looks pretty strange, but I thought it might
help you identify yourself if you ever get pulled over. Here are the parts
of it. There’s a 4x4 strip that says “Pickles Drive”. There’s a piece that
says “Raging Bull” and another that says “Scotty Doesn’t Drive”. There’s a
plate holder. It’s hard to make out the rest because the back part’s
missing. I’m very disappointed to find out that it’s not just some kind of
joke. I’m so excited! Did someone send me a gift? Can I open it now? Can I
say thank you? Can I wear it? I think I’m going to cry. From: The
[Nameless]. To: [Me]. From: [The Nameless]. Date: 12/16/13. Subject:
Greetings and salutations and other nothings. To: [Me]. I really appreciate
it! I haven’t tried the Reese’s Pieces yet, but my brother really likes
them, and it would be a shame if I didn’t...
Conclusion
...at least eat a little bit of it. Someone went through all this trouble to
make this care package for me, and it would be rude for me to completely
ignore it. The fake license plate intrigues me. I feel compelled to use it,
even though I obviously already have a state-issued plate on my car, and
this would be extremely illegal. I remove that one, and affix the fake one
in its place, just for fun, I guess. To my surprise, the cardboard
transforms into metal, and looks totally authentic. You would never know
that this isn’t the real thing. I now feel the urge to get in my car, and
drive as fast as I can. I’ve never been much of a daredevil, and I don’t
break the law. This is so not me, but I can’t stop myself. I stick to normal
speeds while I’m in the neighborhood, and don’t go too terribly fast in the
city, but once I’m out, all bets are off. I’m going ninety on a sixty-five,
and pissing everyone off as I weave in and out of traffic. I pass a speed
trap that we all know is there, because it’s not a very good hiding place.
The cop pulls out of their little spot, and switches on the sirens. They
match my speed until they’re right behind me, and then they do something
strange. They turn off the siren, and pull back over. Since we’re in flat
Kansas, I can see them in my rearview mirror for quite awhile, even at these
high speeds. They’re just sitting on the shoulder as if this were a video
game that’s not programmed well enough for the NPCs to notice the player
once they pass a certain point. I turn around, and start heading back
towards them. I don’t mean I get onto the other side of the highway. I’m
driving the wrong direction on the shoulder. It’s dangerous as hell, but as
I was saying, I don’t care anymore. I can’t. This Nameless person isn’t
letting me. I keep going until I’m face to face with the cop. He just smiles
at me through the windshield, and gives a salute. What the hell is going?
Curious and bold, I step out, and approach from the passenger side. “Mornin’
officer,” I say.
“Mornin’, sir,” he replies in between bites of his own giant bag of Reese’s
Pieces. “Almost got up to ninety-five today! Still can’t make a hundred, I
see! Ah, I’m just playin’. Anything I can help you with?”
Again. What the hell? Where does this license place get its power?
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