Here’s a writing prompt one of the groups on Facebook tossed our way today. When I hit the post button to submit my paragraph, the bots instantly warned me against it.
You be the judge.
I punched the address triangulated from both her cell and the Air Tag she kept in the soul of her Nikes into Waze. A lone dwelling at the edge of a farm about 10 miles north of town.
My passengers included a Mossberg Pump, my trusty Glock, and a taser personally modified to deliver a sting 50 times stronger than the police version.
I opened all the windows to let the fall chill attempt to cool the tension coursing through me. The aroma of a leaf-filled burn barrel filled the car.
I knew what I would do.
All that was missing from this cinematic terror was a soundtrack. I punched the Keener 13 icon and AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” permeated the night.
Serendipity? Synchronicity? Either way, some bad guys were about to be dispatched to the fires of Hades.
I would be Charon, the ferryman. And love every minute of the journey.
