Archive Project - Previously Unpublished Work #4 - "B"

"B" a short story by Jeffrey Lageson © 1997
(previously unpublished)

A buzz.
Panic.
I glance.
Less than an inch long.
One of Hell's little messengers on Earth has once again found its way into the cab of my truck. Nothing on Earth is more frightening to me. The thought of dying from a fall from high atop a bridge or building is nothing compared to the pangs of fear that a thought of a swarm bearing down on me brings, the only true horror movie death. It's only one this time but that doesn't matter. Within the first millisecond of recognition my heart rate has tripled and any possible escape route is sought after.

I'm belted in. &*? #@^- safety laws.
The doors are locked.
Need to remember to be more careful.
The little #*(%er is buzzing along the dashboard away from me.
After what seems like a long time, sort of like the amount of time it feels like when you've really got to piss and your belt buckle and pants are tough to get past or are stuck, I manage to get the seat belt unbuckled. Time is relative in weird ways.

But it's like the microdemon has sensed my struggle, as though it is genetically encoded, given powers by Satan himself, to sense the struggles of mere mortals such as I. Ears small, yet capable of tuning in to movements of humans.

I dare not attack it.
There would be one chance and then I would move from hunter to prey. I'd really rather skip over the antagonistic part and run like Hell. If only I can get myself out of here.

I finally reach out and unlock my door. Slowly. My eyes remained fixed on the hovering microdemon. It's taunting me, baiting me, daring me to throw caution to the wind and throw the first punch. I dare not take the fantasy of squashing it with a single blow too much to heart. The odds of connecting a deathblow and not one that just pisses it off into a kamikaze buzz dive are greater than Lotto odds.

My only sensible course of action to follow is to flee. There is honor in a strategic withdrawal.
I am not being a chicken$#!+, I am being prudent, cautious, and am rationalizing with the best of them.
My hand slowly reaches for the handle. I hope to slowly depart, although I really want to run screaming like a baby. Two of my left hand fingers grip onto the handle. Slowly I begin to pull back. The latch releases. The door inches ever so slightly open. I make a break for it.