Ghoul Dodges a Ticket

“I’m scared Ghoul. I am really scared right now.”

We guessed about a mile back was when the ligaments in his knee cap finally snapped, completely dislodging his shin bones to the floor. It took Ghoul a few minutes to grasp left foot driving, and I could only imagine that he did resemble an intoxicated motorist. I wasn’t the only one who felt this way, as a state trooper flew behind us with flashing blues.

“Don’t worry man, I can handle this.”

“He is gonna know you’re a corpse. Ghoul – I am freaking the fuck out right now.”

The trooper seemed of average height when he exited his squad car, and with every step he took, his size grew. When he approached the driver’s side window, I felt like I was looking at a seven foot tall walking freezer. He bent down, and never once looked at Ghoul or myself. The trooper only stared through us with a piercing gaze that made my anxiety climax. I was useless. I could sit back and only watch in horror as Ghoul began to pull my grandfather’s old drivers license from the middle console.

“Sir,” the troopers face was abrasive as rusty steel wool. “Do you know why I pulled you over? And furthermore, what is wrong with your skin?”

Oh we’re so screwed.

“Sorry officer. Damn shingles on the rest of my leg made me itch, and my prosthetic fell off. I lost my leg in the war.”

The trooper never flinched, nor changed his facial expression.

“What war, sir?”


He now took off his hat, and held it to his side. I could almost see tears well in his eyes.

“Your an American hero, sir. Can I shake your hand?”

Ghoul offered his. I have never seen a sight in my life that was so purely frightening. I just wanted to cry myself into a coma.

“Thank you so much, son. Means a lot to an old veteran like myself.”

“God bless you. Thank you for your service.”

I thought that this couldn’t be happening right now. I had no idea how to react or respond, so I just started to fiercely and uncontrollably wheeze-laugh.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” demanded the trooper.

He produced a flashlight and shined it towards me with blinding speed.

“Oh that’s my grandson. Makes an old veteran like me come out and pick him up at this hour, all cause he can’t handle his booze. Can you believe it?”

The trooper now shot out a hand that was shaped like a murderous knife towards my face.

“Boy, you need to learn some respect for your elders, and more importantly, a purple heart recipient!”

I tried to apologize, but could only continue my dry cackling.

“Let me get him home before he throws up in my car.”

“Absolutely sir. It was an honor. Drive safe.”

Once the trooper took off ahead of us, Ghoul turned to me.

“Prosthetic legs are not a bad idea.”

© Copyright John Potts Jr

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