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Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2198944
A story of 648 words written for 'Why? Why Not?'
The Road Hog

I know just what you are thinking of, reading those three words. The sort of driver that thinks he owns the roads and anyone else, well, they are no more than an inconvenience. He is well within his rights to hurry them on, to overtake when every sane person would not take a chance. He is the driver that positions his car so that center line runs right down the middle of his vehicle.

In other words, he is the type of driver that likes to cause havoc. But no, this tale is not about the likes of him. Although he might well be in the company of just one such Road Hog.

This is the story of a very common, but largely forgotten, character of folklore. A bug, tiny, so small that without a microscope you would not appreciate what an appropriate appearance this little fellow, the Road Hog, has.

His body is a very dark grey, almost black; yes, a bit like asphalt. Down the center of his back runs an unbroken line of white. There, you can clearly see the connection of 'road' in its name. The 'hog' part is not from its appetite, although he is a rather greedy little fellow, but rather from his face which comes to a blunt end in what is very much a pig-like snout.

Of course, like most characters of folklore he has been around for a very long time. Much longer than the motor car and the modern-day driver. He used to be quite content with horse riders or the drivers of carts, and before that, the runners. These days, he is in his element, pitting his skill against such opponents as Google maps, and sat-navs; not to mention his arch-enemy - The Rules Of The Road!

Rarely is he interested in female drivers. I don't think it has anything to do with concentration skills or anything like that; it is more to do with testosterone. Yes, the male hormone is its food of choice.

The man now sitting behind the wheel, starting the engine and pulling away will be subconsciously hearing the instructions of the road hog. He'll go this way, turn that way, regardless of the fact that the sign-post for his destination is pointing a completely different way. If asked the driver will simply respond with: "We're taking a short cut."

The Road Hog is not the slightest bit interested in arriving. It is the getting there that he thrives on. Of course the busier the route, the more satisfying the ride, at least for that miniscule guide. Just think of the agitation caused by traffic jams! A little extra to feast upon, while the driver, driven to distraction, is none the wiser.

Not to be underestimated is the thrill of the more open routes. Highways, motorways, places where there are multiple lanes. The Road Hog will attempt to misdirect in a way which will take at least one such road during the course of the journey. There, he is in his element. Not just directing the directions but directing the driving too. That little voice that says, "Those three cars are going way too slow," well, that's his. Foot down, to hell with the law, slurping up the extra testosterone by the mouthful!

It's only when he's had his fill and has drifted off into a satiated snooze, that the driver will regain control of himself. He'll look at the signs, reverse or alter his course, and eventually, after many extra miles, the destination will be reached.

He'll come up with the excuse that he missed the sign, that the sat-nav lost signal, or that he quite simply got lost. But you and I, we know the why and why not, the reason that the driver did not ask for directions. He was already getting the wrong ones, straight from the Road Hog's mouth.

(648 words).

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