Flash Fictions

New Car Warranty

These cars fix themselves. They’ve been running underneath the

assumption, where water’s deep and murky flow travels through gears and

motors, that each moving part must be maintained. This doesn’t please the

large groups of mechanics and dealership owners who are gathering outside

the cars’ compound. They are afraid, without being frightened, the cars that

fix themselves will breed and spread throughout the great and long kingdom

we call Earth. And with this shallow and spiraling ball of interlocking

pieces creeping with these self reliant automobiles, where will those that

fix and those others that sell live out their sad and useless days. Perhaps

we could build them an extremely large tent filled with such modern day

comforts as glucose based spreads and nylon utility hampers and place it in

Eastern Colorado. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about fixing cars and

hustling poor folks out of their paychecks and future

financial security. Instead the two groups, after undergoing the mandatory

painful yet tasty sterilization treatments, could warm themselves in the

winter sun of the Colorado plains, happily assured their crackers will

always be covered and their dirty clothes always in the proper place.

See also: “Smells Like Breakfast Cereal”


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