by Mikey Jackson
She was the most adored celebrity in the world. As seen on TV, in magazines, on billboards, overpriced merchandise, the lot. Me? I was just your average city taxi driver. Nothing special. Just one tiny speck of dust on an unloved, long-forgotten shelf.
I tried not to get too excited about the famous—correction, make that infamous—goddess in the back seat of my cab. But hey. I’m only human. And a hot-blooded male of the species. Oh, come on, are you seriously trying to convince me you haven’t got a poster of her on your wall? No way, pal. Everybody has.
In my rear-view mirror, I studied her beauty, her splendour, her very essence. I only took my eyes off the road for a second. Big mistake.
I didn’t even see it coming. Wham! The bus that torpedoed into the flank of my cab. I guess I must have jumped a red light.
The collision killed her instantly. Me? Oh, it took another six and a half agonizing minutes for Yours Truly to kiss goodbye to the life I honestly thought I was tired of living.
The last thing I remember? Gazing aimlessly through a fractured windscreen at the splintered rainbow colours of a big city doing its thing. And then . . . the darkness of black.
Ah, well. Her fame is immortal now. Even if she isn’t.
4 comments:
Very good. I like this one.
Love those D.O.A. voices from the grave. Nice set-up!
I love the attitude, and the unexpected turn. Voices from the grave can be misused so easily, but you did it well.
Thanks for the kind words. :)
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