FLASH FICTION

YOU PICKED UP A HITCHHIKER

     You picked up a hitchhiker last night. Deep down in your gut you knew you shouldn’t have but you felt sorry for the kid. He looked so desperate standing there on the side of the road, in the dark, with his thumb out. You drove by and stopped a few feet away, rolled back. He leaned in and said can I get a ride? Anywhere, wherever you’re going.  I don’t really care. You said sure, hop in.

     You picked up a hitchhiker last night and this morning you are sorry for it. Deep down in your gut you knew you shouldn't have but you did it anyway. Now, here you are, in this room, alone, all tied up, naked, waiting for the maid to find you. At least you’re alive. That’s a consolation. A big one. You could be dead. He could’ve cut you up in little pieces and stuffed you in the tiny refrigerator of the motel room. But all he wanted was your money. He asked you to take him with you and you agreed. Whatever possessed you to do that? You said I’m going to spend the night at the Motel 6 in the next town and he said that’s fine, I’ll come with you.

     You picked up a hitchhiker for the first time in your life. All those years in the 60s when it was cool to do it, you didn’t do it. You were careful. And now, in your late sixties, you’ve become kind of a daredevil.  Next year you’ll be seventy. What will you do? Jump out of an airplane? That’s not a bad idea actually you think as you lie tied naked to the bed in this dinky motel room. The sun is beginning to sneak in through the half open drapes. What time do they clean the rooms in this place?

     You picked up a hitchhiker at least forty years younger and you thought nothing would happen. What a fool. But then – you didn’t really care. You still don’t. It could be worse. You could be dead. You could be.