by Amra Pajalic
He didn't notice as I followed his car in a borrowed truck down Midnight Road, so called because there no street lights and on a clear night the road lit up in the moonlight.
He'd promised he'd ended it with the skanky bitch, but when I saw him putting on aftershave and slicking his hair back for a night out with the boys, I knew he'd lied.
I told him I was going to visit my sister, which was true. I snuck into her house, taking her boyfriend's keys from the hook beside the back door, while they played hide the sausage.
He turned off the road and parked his car among the trees. I passed him and parked a few hundred metres away. When I reached them on foot I saw her feet propped on the car roof through the windshield.
By the time I'd returned with the truck, keeping the headlights off and driving at five miles an hour as I approached their hideout, they'd finished and were kissing beside his car. I hit the beam lights. They covered their faces with their hands and squinted in my direction.
I hit the gas and sped toward them. They made a crunching sound as they were crushed between the truck and the bonnet of his car, kind of like the sound of chicken bones popping as you eat it. After I dropped off the truck at my sisters' I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken. Murder was an appetiser.
[Amra Pajalic is an aspiring novelist and has placed in short story competitions, been published in magazines, journals and in anthologies. Her blog is www.amrapajalic.blogspot.com.]