Officer Bob placed his cruiser in park and exited his vehicle. Bob had followed the older truck for about a mile. Thee, ‘Free Leonard Peltier’ sticker had caught his attention while sitting at the red light. Officer Bob grunted as he adjusted his black patent leather utility belt. His swollen belly lead the way, as he approached his next potential scalp. “Let me see your driver’s license and vehicle registration jackass,” officer Bob said, not bothering to even look at the driver. Without a word, the driver handed Officer Bob his credentials. After running his plates he approached the drivers side of the vehicle. Officer Bob had yet to make eye contact with the driver. The portly officer flipped open his mobile minority ticket dispenser, and began writing. As Bob stood there, pen blazing, exacting the letter of the law; a medium size black feather slipped out of the driver’s window, and began a short descent, floating gently to the ground. It landed right in front of officer Bob’s feet. The officer glanced down at the feather. He slowly raised his head up and turned his attention to the driver for the first time.
The large yellow beak broke the plane of the window, reaching out snatching the ticket book from officer Bob’s hands. The immense head of the eagle screeched a mandate; snapping furiously at the startled police officer. A look of confusion crossed the officers face. The black eagle head sat upon the body of a man who held the steering wheel tightly in his grasp. The eagle man continued to screech retribution with it’s mandible. Using it’s dark eyes, the black eagle man pierced the spirit of the startled officer, causing the contempt that Bob held inside himself to bleed out of his eyes, and ears, like tears of blood. Officer Bob opened his mouth but no words would come forth from his stricken mind.
He sat up in his bed slowly, like a
b vampire in an old sixties daytime drama. He began to scream; like he did at the age of sixteen, when he accidentally ran over, and crippled his cousin Bubba in a cornfield on the outskirts of Ferguson Missouri.
“Bob honey, it’s okay you just had a bad dream, that’s all. It’s fine,”
Shane said, rubbing his shoulder.
Bob was trying to gather himself,
he was sweating profusely, his face flush. After brushing Shane’s hand away, he swung his tubby legs out of the bed. He rose quickly and walked into the master bedroom bathroom.
He turned on the cold water, splashing his face and neck. He returned to the bedroom and laid back down. After only a short time, Bob fell fast asleep. Shane sat up, putting his pillow against the headboard. He wondered what could have frightened Bob. Shane poured a glass of water and took his cholesterol medication. He turned off his lamp, and fluffed up his pillow once again. With his head on his pillow for a scant thirty seconds or so; the phone began to ring. The day of wine and roses was over.