Flash Fiction: AutoMaismatic

The overly orbicular shape of all four headlights of his 1999 Mercedes-Benz E-Class illuminated the enclosed space of his garage, which was filled with neatly arranged storage bins of mixed memorabilia and merchandise from his time spent as a Romanian Football star.

The exterior of the vehicle was sleek and spotless. The infamous hood ornament reproduced an enlarged, shadow version of itself against one of the walls.

The windows tinted so dark it was impossible to make out exactly what was occurring on the inside.

I lingered silently in the air like an invisible third wheel. They couldn’t sense my presence even if they weren’t under the influence of their libidos.

The hum of the engine provided the subliminal rhythm they rode to.

The attraction was magnetic. Their desire for one another was evident from the moment they pulled up making the wait inevitable for him to push in, after a long night out on the town. The urge was so strong; their hands, their lips, their bodies could not contain themselves as if they now had minds of their own.

I loomed over them creating a dense, colorless film.

The interior leather upholstery attached to the moisture their skin produced causing them to stick to it as it crepitated from the friction — her body shifting hurriedly back and forth in the bucket seat on the driver’s side.

Power locks, power steering, power brakes became powerless to my elemental entry.

Nearly 30 minutes in lust.

His eyes had squinted for a few seconds before widening into this cherry blood red hue that was impossible to view from her point.

But I could tell they were hemorrhaging.

“Slow down,” he whispered in between heaved huffs.

“I can’t,” she breathed in between labored puffs.

She convulsed in orgasmic spurts, or so it seemed.

Her head spun in a dizzied frenzy under the lecherous haze I blanketed the space with as she dropped it down limply in the crook of his neck.

She sat there quietly. Still straddled across him.

I continued to emit unapologetically from the exhaust of his luxury vehicle.

He too convulsed, remaining inside her still.

His lungs, flanking his amorous heart, had expanded to full capacity for one last breath. Absorbing the odorless poison mixing in with what was left of untainted air in the confines of his garage. Halting the oxygen flow to his bloodstream.

The hum of the engine now providing the idle tempo that they lay listless to in the afterglow of their afterlife.

© Patrice Washington

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