Sounds To and Sounds From

Flash Fiction

Photo by Tim Photoguy on Unsplash

Tires didn’t sound like black rubber when they squealed. They sounded alive and silver blue and hungry.

Bunson didn’t look to the noise, he just felt it, peripheral, like most things in his life.

The turning car struck him from the side, as though he was dirt on someone’s geometry test, in the way of someone’s need to draw a triangle.