Hey, I forgot I had this little gem in my library. It was a 450 word max flash fiction with the prompt “Moonshot”. Pretty much made this one my own, I have to admit this one I’m a little proud of. Just ’cause.
Harmon Ferguson drove his 1979 Chevy Silverado across the boundary between blacktop and gravel without taking his foot off the gas. The gravel road was smooth, as gravel goes, and the loose left headlight only occasionally winked in the darkness. He had driven the same truck down the same gravel road since ’80, when both man and truck had fewer dings.
He casually leaned toward the passenger seat and patted the butt of his double barreled 20 gauge. “This’ll be the last night.”
He rolled the window down and spit a stream of tobacco into the darkness, adding another layer of juice to the stains on the side of the truck. He didn’t bother to wipe the dribble off his lip, there was no time. The bridge was just around the bend.
From his pocket he pulled two earplugs, shoving one in each ear. His buddy Andy down at the gun shop had fixed him up with two “special” shotgun shells. “Those little pricks won’t bother me after tonight.”
He slid the two special shells into the gun and levered it closed. The bridge was just coming into view. They always came at him there. He slid the barrels of the gun through the window, clamping down tightly on the butt with his armpit.
As the truck bounced onto the bridge, his headlights illuminated three pale and pimply bare asses. It was the Morgerson brothers, showing him their good sides again. His lips stretched into a grin, whiskey-colored teeth revealed in the dim glow of dashboard lights.
Harmon didn’t slow down. He didn’t have to. As the truck passed the three boys, Harmon pulled both triggers. The gun bucked in his hand as three ounces of rock salt, travelling at over a thousand feet per second, exploded from the truck window and embedded itself in three bare teenaged asses. He didn’t hear the screams over the thunder in the cab or through the earplugs, but he saw the boys jump and he knew his shot had hit the mark. As the truck bounced off the bridge and back onto the gravel he cackled out his window, “How’s that for a moon shot, you little shitpokers?!”