“You are a naughty, broken car and I’m going to tip you in the rubbish.”
“Ben, for heaven’s sake stop chucking things at the bin. You’re giving me a headache.”
“Come on, digger-crane-Cadillac, let’s scoop this old rust-bucket into the crusher. Wham-bang, wham-bang.”
“Lunch is ready.”
“Oh, but Mu-u-u-um, I’m playing with my cars.”
“Your soup will get cold.”
“In a minute. I’m just–“
“It’s petrol soup with tyre crôutons, followed by car-wax pudding.”
“Yummy stuff. Broom, broom, br-oo-oo-m. On my way up the motorway. Overtaking a police car–“
Skid. Crash. Silence.
Boy-racer in head-on collision with wall. Dial Emergency Services.
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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo prompt image (c) Jean L. Hays
Sarah Potter Writes 