Flash Fiction Friday: Hitchhiker

            Lost gods are the worst hitchhikers. Technically, as a Lyft driver, I'm not supposed to take non-paying passengers at all, but what can you do? Even the weakest, most pathetic god, stripped of most of his power and forced to rely on mundane methods of transportation can make the life of a demigod like me miserable. Just ask my pal Murphy.

            I pulled over to let the latest wandering deity in. If it wasn't for my own godly heritage, I would have thought he was a wandering artist, nobody special. He looked like a guy who would play soft rock, the kind with heavy social commentary but that's so mellow you hardly notice. A soft black leather jacket hung loosely on his thin frame. His brown hair and beard were curly and greyed with the dust of travel. He wore faded jeans and dark sneakers. It was kind of a surprise that he wasn't lugging a guitar.

            Sliding into the front seat with easy grace, the god gave me a tired but friendly smile. I don't know how I know they're gods, it's just an innate ability. Though everything about this guy said he was ordinary and pleasant, I knew I had to treat him with the utmost respect.

            "Where can I take you?" I asked politely.

            "Just drive," he said.

            This is what I hate about gods. They throw out orders, and I can't do anything but follow them, even though I have no idea where it might lead.

            Pulling back onto the road, I did as I was told.

            "Thank you for stopping for me." His voice was calm, and surprisingly humble. Most gods take it for granted that everyone is eager to do their bidding. And, the more forgotten the god, the more of his shrines have been dismantled and his powers have faded, the more arrogant and demanding he tends to be.

            "Of course," I said, glancing sideways at my passenger.

            He nodded. "Of course. You think I'd strike you down if you didn't."

            What could I say to that? It felt like a threat, even though his tone was friendly. I gave a sort of shrug.

            "I wouldn't hurt you, Brian. You could toss me out here and I wouldn't do anything."

            "Then what do you want?"

            "I want you to not be afraid of me." He sighed softly. "I wish everyone would stop being afraid of me."

            I raised my eyebrows. I was wary of all gods, but nothing about this one seemed particularly frightening.

            "I'm not afraid of you," I assured him.

            "You are," he said, looking out the window at the winding road ahead of us. "You always have been."

            "Who are you?"

            Maybe I was too intent on the conversation, too focused on the calm, melancholy man beside me, but I didn't see the truck. It came skidding around a bend in the road, driving on the wrong side. There was a squeal of collapsing metal, a blaring horn, a burst of fabric as the airbag engulfed me. Pain like I'd never known ripped through every piece of my body. In the senseless confusion, I heard a soft voice beside me answer my question.

            "I am Death."

Read Kira's response here.

♥/Kat!e