The Fear

I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.

The steely determination with which she ignores all rules of the road known to man. And unknown to granny.
The regularity with which she hits the 6,000 RPM in second gear.
The screams of the 1.1 engine.
The screams of the crushed cyclist.
The screams of terror as I wake up in a sweat.

I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.

I am the cornered squirrel and she is the cobra.
I am transfixed by so much beauty. Cruel beautiful beauty. Lethal beautiful silvery shiny beauty. Blue-rinsy shiny shiny silvery killer beauty.

She chases me. My foot slips on the pedal. She is pedal to the metal. My bike wobbles. The engine screams. And just beneath the scream of the engine I can hear it. And my blood freezes. I can hear it. The Nissanity of her laughter.

I see her in my dreams.
The Killer Granny in the silver Micra.