Road Kill by Max Hipp
When the Crown Victoria sped through the intersection, we screamed for Kitty to get out of the way, but she just flicked her tail. The chrome bumper knocked her to the curb. She kept clawing the air until the icy wind took her.
We waved down the driver, beat on the hood. What was he thinking? Had he a mind? A heart? Hands up, he stepped out. Septuagenarian, cracked leather hat, tufts of curly white hair.
We clawed his eyes out, split his torso, sprayed viscera across the lanes. Feces in our fur, the taste of iron on our sandpaper tongues.
Max Hipp is a teacher, musician, and writer living in Mississippi. His work has appeared most recently in Black Warrior Review and Five 2 One Magazine. Tweet to him: @maximumevil