Short Story: Girl With Gun: Road Rage
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Girl with gun gets pushed too far and pushes back


Lissette was having a bad day.

It had started that morning, when she had woken up with a terrible headache.
Then, going outside to pick up the newspaper, she had stepped in a pile of
poo. Some asshole had let his dog take a shit right in her driveway.

It hadn't gotten any better at work. At noon, she had opened the refrigerator
to discover that some jerk had stolen her lunch. During her afternoon break,
the skinny, nerdy new guy from accounting had been badgering her for a date
yet AGAIN, despite the fact that she had firmly said no many times and even
pointed to the official corporate rules that frowned upon employees dating
each other. And at a quarter to five, she had checked her email and found an
angry message from her boss's boss. Apparently, her boss had fucked something
up and rather than own up to it he had instead blamed HER for it. And to top
it all off, her headache had not gone away despite all the medicine she had
taken.

So naturally, when Lissette got in her car for the drive home, her fuse was
short. The unusually heavy traffic on the freeway didn't help matters.

After a wearying hour-long drive, she was finally almost home. Two more exits
and she could get off this damn freeway, then it was just three blocks to her
house. In anticipation of getting off the freeway soon, she was in the far
right lane. The traffic in every lane was heavy, moving at about fifteen miles
per hour.

Suddenly, she heard the roar of a car engine traveling at high speed. She
looked in her mirror and saw a silver sports car zooming along the shoulder of
the road. She shook her head at this reckless and illegal behavior. The sports
car went by her on the right, slowing down, and tried to cut right in front of
her.

On any other day, she would have let it go, decided it wasn't worth a fight,
and let the driver in. But not today. She had had it with assholes getting
away with shit.

She kept very close to the car in front of her, not giving the silver sports
car any room to get in. The driver, a middle-aged, snobbish-looking man with
sunglasses and slicked-back hair, glared over at her. He began pounding the
horn with his right hand while giving her the finger with his left. All the
while, swear words and threats were flowing liberally from his mouth.

Keeping the gap tight, she slowly moved past him, giving him the finger back
as she passed by. His threats and curses became louder, and he was still
honking his horn. Finally the noise became fainter as she passed him. As she
approached her exit, Lissette leaned back in the seat, feeling better. She
smiled as she broke loose from the freeway traffic and sped onto the offramp.

Suddenly, she heard the roar of a familiar car engine. She looked in her
mirror again. Sure enough, the silver sports car was behind her and coming up
fast. As she made her way onto the surface streets, the asshole driver kept
right behind her, still swearing and giving her the finger. A wave of anger
swept over her. This jackass had started the whole situation, and was now
following her in a fit of self-righteous rage.

She was approaching a fork in the road. She knew that not far down the left
fork was a police station. She could drive there, and be safe, and...

And what? Run and hide like a stereotypical girl and wait for a man to save
her? Let the asshole driver most likely get away, or at best get a fine and a
slap on the wrist, and let him do it again and again to other drivers? And
surely he wasn't an asshole only on the road. Guys like him were exactly the
kind of jerks who let their dogs shit in other people's driveways, stole
people's lunches, sexually harassed people, and blamed others for their own
failures. She felt her rage grow as she thought of the other bad things that
had happened to her that day. Her headache increased in pain as well.

She knew two other things. She had a gun in her glove compartment. And the
fork on the right led to an isolated area. A very isolated area.

On any other day, she would have taken the left fork. But today was not any
other day.

She took the right...

She drove along the road, watching as the houses thinned out. She drove fast,
as if she was frightened and trying to get away. Glancing in the rearview
mirror, she smiled grimly. The silver sports car was still following her.

Soon there was nothing but trees and bushes alongside the road. Lissette put
on a burst of speed, whipping her car sharply to the right and onto a dirt
turnoff. The turnoff dead-ended after a couple hundred yards. She stopped the
car and reached into the glove compartment. She put on a pair of black leather
gloves and took out the .45 pistol waiting inside. She chambered a round and
flicked the safety off. She also kept a thigh holster in there and she now
used it, quickly and efficiently putting it on and strapping the handgun to
her thigh underneath the skirt she was wearing. She then got out of the car,
face expressionless but heart pounding.

The silver sports car appeared. The driver smirked to himself when he saw
Lissette trapped at the dead end. Turning his car sideways to block the only
way out, he screeched to a stop and climbed out. The look on his face was one
of cockiness and arrogance. He had her now. He was a big man, about 6'1" and
200 pounds, wearing a loud and expensive sport suit. She was a slender, pretty
young woman, about 5'7" and 120 pounds. She wore knee-high boots, a black
miniskirt, and a white top. The sleeves of her top were rolled up, displaying
her slim, tanned, feminine forearms. Her thighs were thin, but had visible
muscle tone.

"Got something to say?" Lissette asked calmly and coldly.

"Suck my dick, bitch," he growled, advancing on her.

She smoothly pulled out the gun from underneath her miniskirt and aimed it
right at his head. He froze and a look of pure terror appeared on his face.
Sweat dripped down his brow.

"I didn't hear you," she said. "Say it again."

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He took half a step backward.

"What's the matter, baby?" she taunted him. "Don't want me to suck your dick
anymore? Cat got your tongue?"

He managed to squeak out, "Please...I'm sorry, I'll go..."

"You're not going anywhere," said Lissette, tightening her grip on her gun.
"Trying to escape would be a very foolish idea. I've had enough practice with
this thing that I can easily hit a running target at this distance."

He raised his hands. "Please! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done that! Please
have mercy, I'm begging you!"

"Shouldn't have done what? Driven illegally along the shoulder? Tried to cut
me off? Given me the finger? Cursed at me? Threatened me? Chased me? Boxed me
in here, thinking you'd trapped me?"

"Yes, all of those things! I was wrong on all of those things! Please don't
kill me!"

Lissette shook her head. "No, you're only sorry for one thing. You're only
sorry you got caught." All this time, she had been slowly but steadily
advancing on him. Now she was almost upon him. She suddenly whacked him in the
face with her pistol, sending him to the dirt.

She kicked him in the side with her big black boot, cracking one of his ribs.
"I know assholes like you all too well," she said, kicking him again, in the
head this time, giving him a terrible headache. "You think you're better than
everybody else. You think the world owes you everything. You think you don't
have to play by the rules. And you always blame others for all your own
problems." She kicked him hard in the back as she finished speaking.

Rolling on the ground in pain and clutching his cracked rib, the man began
begging and pleading again. She simply stood over him, gun pointed at his
face, and waited for him to finish his whining.

"Oh, you're begging me now. That's interesting. I wonder what things would be
like if I didn't have this." She waved her gun. "I wonder what you'd be doing
to me if you'd trapped me for real. I wonder if you'd listen to my pleas."

He was pale with fear. Begging wasn't working. Running wouldn't work. Fighting
wouldn't work. The sickening feeling of finality began to sink in. He was out
of options, and out of time.

"On your knees," she ordered.

He obeyed, trying to plead for mercy with his eyes.

She ignored it. "Open your mouth."

He opened his mouth. She approached him, holding her gun, still aimed at him,
right in front of her crotch, as if it was a surrogate phallus. He wet his
pants as he realized how it was going to end.

Shoving the barrel of the pistol into his mouth, she spoke the four words he
knew were coming. The words he knew would be the last he would ever hear.

"Suck my dick, bitch."

She pulled the trigger.

Lissette discovered that her headache was now gone. She looked dispassionately
at the blood pooling from the corpse. She scanned the dirt road to make sure
no one else was there, then collected the spent cartridge from the ground.
Reholstering her gun underneath her miniskirt, she bent over the body, fishing
in the dead man's pocket for his car keys. Still wearing her black leather
gloves, she moved the silver sports car to give her enough room to get out.

Putting his keys back in his pocket, she gave the corpse one last glance
before heading back to her own car. As she started the engine and unstrapped
her pistol from her thigh to put back into the glove compartment, she thought
of the trouble she was in at work and her asshole boss who had gotten her into
trouble.

She looked at the gun in her gloved hand, and smiled.

THE END

Comments, compliments, and constructive criticism encouraged.

silverstar222b@yahoo.com