WP: You’re driving to your favorite city when you’re stopped by a police officer. Sure, you were going a few miles over the speed limit, so you’re not overly surprised. But you are surprised when the police officer gets to your car and screams, “Get out of your car with your hands up!” This leads to an unexpected night for you.
I love this time of night, where the streets are vacant, my only accompaniment the overhead street lamps dotted along the carriageway. I can hear my engine purring, the growl as I put my foot closer to the chassis floor, the car pushing forward effortlessly.
There are only ten miles before I get there. This is officially the home stretch, the place I really decide to let go, release all my worries and cares.
I smile to myself. There’s nothing quite like the open road at the dead of night.
I light a cigarette and take a long hard drag like it’s my last. My body feels alive, so much so that my hands are shaking from adrenaline.
Blue lights flash behind me.
I feel a frown forming on my face as Officer Buzzkill forces me to pull over. What could he possibly want with me? Does he not know who, I, am?
The police car pulls up close to my car but he leaves his lights on so the flashing is all I can see, blinding me through my mirror. His steps are slow, lazy and they echo along the highway, making my frown more prominent.
Before he reaches my car I open the door and step out of the vehicle, throwing my cigarette to the ground, much to the officer’s surprise. I tower over him and I visibly see his Adam’s apple bob.
I see recognition in his glossy wide eyes.
“Put your hands behind your head, now!”
I roll my eyes but oblige, slowly raising my hands until I can cup the back of my head.
“And what am I being charged with?” I ask.
“Y-you’re the wanted criminal, Edward Grimes.”
It was not the best time for my car boot to start banging.
The officer’s eyes flicked to the boot and back to me as I lowered my hands.
“Open the boot.” The officer instructed, clearly overwhelmed by the events of the evening as his hands shook much like mine had.
I punched the officer in the face. A right hook to the nose which sent the guy toppling over, arse over tit, onto the asphalt. As he recovered from the blow I bent over his body and pulled him to his feet.
“Speak to your people. I’m immune to this kind of bullshit.”
I threw him back down just as the banging sound became too much to bear.
Opening the boot I pulled the twenty-something guy from his fetal position by his collar to observe his blood stained face. Mike had really done a number on this guy.
“Stop banging, we’ll be there soon.”
And with that I threw him back in the trunk, slammed the lid and drove off, leaving the officer propped up by his car, holding back a nose bleed.
There are only nine miles before I get there, the fine Jameson’s waiting for me entices me home. Whiskey is my cure, my aphrodisiac, and my saviour. Whiskey is there to help forget all the bad, all the regrettable, and tonight I desperately need my fix.
This piece was my first experiment writing the story from the point of view of a bulky male supervillain. It was a challenge to write something from such a different perspective but I really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope you enjoyed reading!
How would you continue this story? Let me know.