A Hex
I see you small small man in a big big car, tailgating me even as I’m flirting with speeding on a winding country road. I see you. You don’t frighten me. You don’t threaten me. I see you when you overtake on double lines. I see you when you speed off with a finger tossed back at me. I see you, tiny man.
May you and you alone flip your car on a depthless dark night on a road very far from home. May you never see what you almost hit. A flash of eyes, a glimpse of white, the scream of brakes, the lurch. That’s all you get. May you hang there in your seatbelt, pinned and panicking, listening to the tick tick tick of the hot hot engine and waiting for the smell of smoke. May you wait there, trapped by your own hand, knowing hardly anyone comes down that road and you won’t be seen in the dark and morning is far, far away.
May you escape with only cuts and bruises and a totalled car, but the fear never leaves you. May it sink into your bones and follow you all of your life.
May this happen soon, before you hurt anyone. Before your selfishness takes something from the world. Before it’s too late.
I see you and I hex you.
