Short Story: Disposable Cars by Zeeshan Qasim
My father brought a new car home 11 years ago. It wasn’t the greatest of cars. It didn’t have leather seats, antilock brakes, or even a moonroof. It looked like a cream colored box on wheels. For a box, it was really fast. As a car though, she was a bit more disappointing; too afraid to allow her needle to venture much further than 80 and too small to properly fit a family of 6. We were willing to work with her, though. I pushed her to 85 every now and then and at 90, she was a whiner. She threw proper tantrums; full of violent shaking, heavy breathing and moaning, she even flipped out on the road once. I don’t want to get too detailed but it ended with her losing two tires and me dangerously close to a brick wall. Still, I didn’t mind listening to her complaints. Her central locking system and automatic windows were enough to win and keep my affections at the time.