Story the third. The stories under this title are separate and
not required to be read together, although I *think* these
are the same characters as from no.1, but I don't have my
Regular readers will have picked up on the theme by now.
And this one comes in at 498 words according to my WP..
Images In A Fractured Mirror III
Mike grabbed the steering wheel and sent the car screeching back into its proper lane. From behind the lorry that came thundering past them the overtaking vehicle emerged into view liberally decorated with bits of undergrowth, rejoining the carriageway from its impromptu trip along the verge. Mike cringed as he waited for the flash of brakelights and the squeal of brakes followed by an enraged motorist intent on vengeance. The other car, however, roared off into the distance: possibly the driver had gone on an urgent search for a clean pair of trousers. It was just as well. Mary would probably have mowed him down as he got out of his car.
"Why did you veer over into the other lane?" screeched Mike.
Mary looked at him, shocked. "Didn't you see the bunny by those bushes back there? It might have been going to run into the road. It could have been *hurt*!"
Mike was beside himself. "You didn't even look in your mirror! You do know where the mirror is, I suppose?"
"Of course I do, " Mary said placidly, "it's in the glove compartment."
Mike did a quick double take and observed that the only trace of the interior mirror was now the adhesive patch on the inside of the windscreen. His comments took on a slightly incoherent air.
"Oh it doesn't matter really, does it? " Mary replied calmly, "I've got two more out there." She gestured vaguely at the outside and looked down at the driver's door mirror. And looked. And looked.
She pursed her lips and smoothed the edge of her lip colour, flicked her hair, turned from side to side, dabbed at........ The car bowled on, regardless.
"Pull in to that lay-by," Mike gritted between clenched teeth. "I think we need to go over one or two basics again."
Mary roared into the lay-by, scattering a family unpacking their picnic table and flask of tea from an ancient but highly polished Ford Prole. Mike leaned over and turned off the engine and then pulled a copy of "Driving - The Ministry of Transport Manual" from the glove compartment. He opened the passenger door and breathed deeply to settle his shredded nerves.
"Do you remember these letters, M-S-M?" he queried calmly. Minimal interrogation established that in the negative. "They stand for Mirror, Signal, Manoeuvre," he continued, "A basic safe driving rule that I've mentioned, oh forty or fifty times I suppose. But I can see I'll have to drum it in some more."
He grabbed Mary and hoicked her sideways across his lap.
"Oo!" Mary looked wide eyed for a moment as she travelled over the gear shift.
Down came the panties and WHACK! The thick manual connected with her bouncing backside. "There's more than on way to impress the contents of this on you!" Mike shouted
M-S-M. Mirror. Signal. Manoeuvre.
Every letter and word duly impressed.
M-S-M. Mary's. Special. Memo
M-S-M. Mike. Spanks. Mary.
M-S-M. Morons. Shouldn't. Motor.
M-S-M. Mary. Scares. Mike.
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