Bad Tires

Miranda tugged at the rope, checking for any possible slippage. Well, no more than usual. It was a noose, after all, and a noose must slip at least a little or its intended victim would fall out at the drop. From atop the plastic folding table she'd set beneath the lowest branch of the old sycamore in the front lawn, she surveyed the neighborhood.

Fall was coming, and leaves were collecting, sometimes haphazardly but for the most part in nice, neat piles, on well-manicured lawns. Miranda wasn't a fan of the trees so shamelessly shedding the foliage that covered the naked bark beneath, but trees were wild, and she'd long ago put her arbor-training efforts on the back burner. One day. One day they would learn not to be so indecent when the seasons changed. They would be more like the hedges, who knew their place, who stood proud, branches and leaves--they still had their leaves--forming sharp, defined edges. In rows and columns they carefully followed property lines, perfectly straight until forced by sidewalks to cut ninety degree turns with such military precision they'd make a drill sergeant weep. The clear sky blazed blue, the sun not yet down. In Willow Acres, a Covenant Community, the heavens held off the red typically associated with sunsets until the last possible moment, and then raced to darkness, avoiding as much of the nebulous "day or night?" nonsense people had to deal with elsewhere when the sun went down.

Each house down the block stood tall, like her, brimming with the same pride that surrounded everything else. All shutters hung at nice, clean right angles. All drapes had been pulled midway down the window creating that lovely picture book look. A wreath in autumn colors hung on each door just below the family name painted neatly on a small rectangle of finished wood, and tomorrow being the twentieth, each porch would soon have its own single jack-o-lantern. Cars filled driveways in the appropriate size and number. A one job family meant station wagon. Two jobs meant sports car and minivan. Each house automoted according to its needs. The number of bicycles laid with carefully planned abandon under the single tree in each front lawn indicated the number of children in the house. Girls' handles had tassels, as per custom.

She set free a sigh of contentment, smokey mist escaping from her lips as she exhaled. She eyed the breath cloud sternly for filling her perfectly clear sky. The steamy wisps, realizing the error of their ways, quickly dissipated into the ether. Her smile returned once more. Willow Acres, a Covenant Community, was her religion, her shrine to the triumph of man over the messy unpredictability of life. Few rebels remained here, most notably the trees. Still, they would learn in time, and her actions today would remind those who chose not to submit of the severity of their sins.

"Firestone Affinity Touring," she declared loudly for all the neighborhood to see. "You have, for two consecutive days, failed to maintain the consistent air pressure of your peers. You have been taken to a mechanic and been found guilty of having a slow leak. Your crimes against homogeneity and constancy have been documented and sentence determined. It is, therefore, my duty to pronounce upon you your fate. You shall be hung from the lowest branch as an example to all other would-be deviants."

Her eyes drifted over the other cars on the street, daring each tire to trigger the low pressure light.

"Your corpse shall not be taken down, but instead shall remain on permanent display, where children will make merry and delight in your demise, a grim reminder concerning the price of insubordination against Willow Acres, a Covenant Community."

She clasped her hands tightly around the tread and sidewall and hoisted the tire from the table.

"Any last words?" she said, her lips stretched wide in a wry, vicious grin.

Silence.

"I thought not."

She relaxed her grip and smiled as the galvanized rubber slipped away between her fingers. It bobbed sickeningly, dancing its gallows jig, before settling into a slow, steady swinging motion, turning lazy, macabre little circles in the light of the not quite setting sun.

Miranda climbed down from the table, folded the metal legs beneath, and carried it into the garage. She stared out once more upon her neighborhood, the last bastion of control in an imperfect world. It was a good stronghold, for the most part. The leaves could stand to fall in more uniform piles, and the trees... But that was a lesson for another time. For now, the tires would be reminded to winterize themselves and keep their air pressure up without any complaints about cold temperatures condensing air. Plus, the sycamore had to bear the corpse. That had to count for something.

"One day," she crowed. "One day I'll break even you."

She gave the leafless tree a bitter smile and a snort, then turned inside, pressing the button to close the garage door. As the hum of gears and metal and electricity thrummed through the air, the sky, very quickly so as not to offend, slipped from blue to red to black. It was night before the door closed.



Word Count: 877