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Sep 4

The Interceptor

Posted on Saturday, September 4, 2010 in Poems and things

Rain pelted the windscreen in gusts as the car’s velocity hiccuped in turn, driving at a steady 90kmph, Chris peered through the bedlam of swishing wipers and racing raindrops on the highway of his melancholy.  Maybe it was a bad idea to cure 3am insomnia with a random drive to nowhere in particular that night.

Damn cow took his parrot, the African Grey he’d personally taught to answer the doorbell with a perfect “Piss off!” whenever it chimed.  He hoped she rotted in hell, her indignance and arrogance kept him from functioning at anything but a basic level since she’d fucked off two weeks ago out of the blue.  Driving helped him to think.

Chris pulled his car over at a truck-stop in a sudden dire need for a nicotine fix as he realised his pack of smokes was still in his jacket in the boot.  A shock of rain slapped his senses as the door popped open and he shuddered as a trickle of icy water meandered down the back of his neck which he braved with a grimace as he fumbled through the leathery folds of his coat and found his cigarettes.  As he slammed the boot-door closed, her sudden there-ness shocked him to the core.

“What the fuck.  Where did you come from?” his fright was immediately dampened by the softness of her face, and the cruel way the rain whipped her fringe into her eyes.  She seemed too pure for this sort of weather.

“Sorry,” she laughed with a gaiety that would ordinarily be forbidden on a night like this,  “Can I’ve a lift?  My boyfriend left me stranded a mile down the road and my phone’s all wet, it’s fucked!  I can’t make any calls on it.”

“Get in.” Chris fought the urge to victory-punch the air as she ducked into the passenger-seat.

As he shunted into gear and pulled back onto the motorway, he let his eyes roam over her striped knee-length socks and savoured the sweetness of the sickly perfume the rain couldn’t quite seem to wash away.  He was bewitched, he wanted to know everything about her.   She to him was like wet cement to a ten-year old, he felt a strong urge to make his mark on her somehow.

“So what’s your line of work?” he asked in his favourite mock-sensual voice.

She turned her head to meet his gaze directly, he found it hard to break away to watch the treacherous road ahead.  She smiled an odd smile.

“I guess I’m here now, I might as well tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m an Interceptor.”

“What… like… as in the ally of the Deceptacons?  Do you… like put WD40 on their transformer joints or something?” he snorted slightly as he laughed and instantly hated himself for it.

“No, my job is to be placed at a certain time in history to prevent certain things.”

Chris narrowed his eyes and shot her a glance.  The stuff that was coming out of this girl’s mouth was all too contradictory to her hooped earrings.

“Like what?” Chris toyed with the idea of dumping the girl and her little pool of insanity back to the kerb of the miserable night.  He had enough insanity in his life already.

“Like yesterday.  It was my job to let the bus out in front of my car into the path of a long line of traffic I’d already made sure to slow down on the path to the Red Cow Roundabout.  They were furious with me, you should’a heard the beeping I got!  The bus driver was happy enough with me though.  Thing is, they should all have been happy with me, but they didn’t know it.”


“Because if I hadn’t been there to slow down the traffic enough to let that bus out in front of me, the collision would have happened that killed fifteen people, ten minutes later.”


“That bus would’ve side-swiped a blue Audi which would’ve caused it to jack-knife on the slip-road, see?  It was my job to delay the bus, to let the angry Audi go on about it’s business.”  The girl pulled the sun-visor down in front of her eyes and began to stroke her eyelashes and check the status of her running mascara.  “Like you.  You’re a school teacher, right?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ” Chris spat as he momentarily lost his grip on the steering-wheel and struggled to re-gain control of the car.  “How did you know that?”

“You’re a school teacher.  Sure, the kids like you, but you’re a pretty stupid school teacher, because you’re letting that errant girlfriend of yours rule your life… I mean seriously, you were only with her for five years, that’s hardly an eternity, is it?  Is she really worth the distraction?  That bimbo would’ve caused the demise of seventy-two people, like, half the school, if it wasn’t for me.”

The girl pulled out a razor-blade and pulled the corner of her eye towards her ear, gazing at herself intently at the tiny mirror stuck to the inside of the visor in front of her as she did so.  The razor introduced itself to the soft whiteness of her eye in a flash and blood trickled over her knuckle as she pressed hard.

“It’s my job…” she blinked a blood-shot eye at the driver beside her and smiled her quirkiest smile “… to shock you into crashing your car and killing yourself so that the explosion you cause through your stupid neglect two weeks from now, doesn’t happen.”

By the time his car had hit the supporting column of the bridge, she had gone. 

He wondered in the brief moment before his skull shattered on the steering-column, if she had ever existed at all.

Bring on the comments

  1. Baino says:

    You’re good, very good . . you should have a bah at Tenth Daughter!

  2. Baino says:

    erm bash not bah. . haha

  3. Granny says:


  4. Nelly says:

    Good one. I read it twice.

  5. K8 says:

    Baino; Thanks very much! But what be Tenth Daughter?

    Cheers Grannyo, and to you Nelly twice over :)

  6. Brighid says:

    You are good, very very good…

  7. Gingermick says:

    Good stuff!

  8. Holemaster says:

    Great stuff K8. Really enjoyed that. I want to be an Interceptor.

    But we’re all interceptors aren’t we?

  9. Jo says:

    Oh, there just HAD to be an eyeball and a razor blade, did there? :)

  10. unstranger says:

    K8; superb.

    Baino most likely is referring to this site:

  11. unstranger says:

    K8; superb.

    Baino is an administrator there so clearly is referring to this site:

  12. K8 says:

    Thanks very much Brighid and Gingermick :)

    Holemaster; It’s true. Especially on Saturdays.

    Jo; Hey, it could always have been an incisor and a monkey wrench…

    Unstranger; I did a bit of stalking and found it but the direct link is handy, thanks, I forgot to bookmark it. I love the idea of a safe-circle for writing improvement!

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