Short Story #1

Just something to kill some time and get rid of some writer's block

For the record, I’d like to state that I'm not crazy. Well there’s no way for me to be sure, but let’s just say that I’m not. I’m not on any kind of medication or taking any drugs, though I’d like to be at this time. I’m neither sleepy, stressed and I haven’t received any type of head injury in the last seven days.

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this.

So, I’m sitting in my car and driving down some back way highway at night. My only companions are my photography equipment rattling in the back, Elvis on the radio, his voice scrambled from the poor reception and a half a bottle of Jack Daniels swilling in the front seat. I would also like to point out that I haven’t been drinking either. It's dark, real dark when you’re out in the bush. I haven’t seen a single lamp post for the last thirty minutes. You got all that?

So I’m driving along with Elvis crooning ‘Love Me Tender’, when the next thing I know a leprechaun appears in the passenger seat, looks at me and calls me an asshole.

Fuck.

Remember, not crazy. And, well, I think it was a leprechaun. It was five inches tall, dressed in green, had a very large red bushy beard and swore at me with a faint Irish twinge. If that wasn’t a leprechaun, than I’m not sure what is. Well, of course I’m not sure what a leprechaun is, they don’t exist!

Needless to say, the next thirty seconds things get a little awkward. He stands there, tapping his foot and all I can do is turn my eyes back to the road and switch off the radio. I just drive, I mean, what else could I do? Actually I’m proud that I haven’t freaked out by this moment and trying my best to ignore the bottle of Jack that’s looking more tempting as the seconds tick by.

It must have been five minutes of uncomfortable silence before I turned the radio back on, receiving a garble of white noise in response. Taking a deep breath, I decided to face what was standing next to me.

'You're still here?" I ask.
"Yep,' he replies. The tiny little bastard has this smug look on his face that I just want to punch. Also, he’s standing on my Jack and I’m afraid he’s going to bite one of my fingers off if I try to reclaim it.
'Why?'
'Because,' he said, 'you're an asshole.'

Well, doesn’t that fucking help!

I pull to the side of the road and kill the engine. I begin to question my sanity and I rub my eyes, hoping that the tiny man in my passenger seat is a hallucination. Could this night get any worse?

Famous last words.

'Can I ask why I'm an asshole?’ I ask, wondering if I should be going along with this delusion.

The leprechaun crosses his arms and frowns at me. It would’ve been cute but I decide to keep my mouth shut before the little bugger chokes me.

'You wonder why I call you an asshole?’ he squeaks. ‘You, who left King Finnilow and Queen Lunious alone, to face the threat of Lord Dorthrax. You, who abandoned the elves and halflings as their forest burnt to the ground. You, who allowed them into our world, the world Lozith and exposed it to the taint of The Dark One. You, Eric Peterson, are an asshole.'

Okay, now in English this time

I stare at him and wonder what he was babbling about. Lozith? Lord Dorthax? Surely with all the stress of exams, work and a nagging bitch of an ex-girlfriend, I’ve finally snapped. I don’t know if it’s healthy to talk to your delusions but at this stage what did I have to lose? Besides my mind, mind you.

'What are you talking about?'
The leprechaun stared at me, now he was the one looking confused. Now you know how it feels you little prick.
'You are Eric Peterson, right?' he asked.
'Yes,' I told him, a little alarmed how he knew my name.
'And your parents are Jeremy and Susan Peterson?'
Okay, upgrading from alarmed to a what the fuck moment.
'And you grew up in Kansas, of the country of the United States of America?'
'No, I’m from Melbourne, Australia,' I told him.

There was a delay as the car and the leprechaun’s cheeks turn a rosy red.

‘Oh,' he said, 'so sorry about that,' and then the little bastard disappeared, leaving me alone in the car and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

You remember how that bottle of Jack was looking tempting? Well, between deciding if I’m crazy or not, I snatch the bottle and begin drinking like there’s no tomorrow. Because, let’s face it, if you just had a one on one talk with a leprechaun, you be sure there wouldn’t be one for you.

I throw the empty bottle back onto the passenger seat, my stomach warm and fuzzy from the alcohol. I know drinking and driving isn’t safe but at this moment I’m not sure what to think. I turn the ignition and shift into first, leading the car back onto the road.

The next few minutes I keep an eye on the seat, daring the little bastard to pop up again. When he doesn’t I keep an eye on the rear view mirror, hoping no cops decide to pull me over.
I begin to relax, the booze loosening my nerves and I tap along to Hendrix as I past the hills and hit flat road.

'Say, you wouldn't know how to fight a dragon?' A little voice asks.

I must’ve used up my entire vocabulary of swear words as I fight to keep the car on the road, my face out of a sign post and my blood pressure from killing me.

'Where the fuck did you come from?' I yell at the leprechaun who has fucking materialized back into my passenger seat.
‘It’s not important,’ the bastard waves me off. ‘I just need to know if you know how to fight a dragon.
‘You mean besides rolling a twenty a getting a fucking critical hit? I don’t know.’
'Oh,' was all he said, looking crestfallen.
'Oh?'
Why was it that a single syllable word, only two letters long, suddenly had the ability to make me feel very, very scared?

The sky was suddenly illuminated and my car shakes as something flies above it. The roof is torn open with a screech and I found myself face to face with a claw. Slamming on the brakes, I fight the steering wheel for control and slide to a stop. Out in front of me, a dragon, a real life black scaled fucking dragon with giant fucking wings and breathing fucking fire; parks its giant ass in the middle of the road and stares at me with blazing red eye.

For the first time tonight, I will admit, I wet myself a little.
It was the second time that night that I began to doubt my sanity.
And oh, get this, I was called an asshole for the third time.