Bikerwolf

"The day had started with a down pour and it looked like ending in one.  It was one of those truly wretched days, cold, wet and windy and downright miserable. The sky was steel grey and the rain did not just fall it fell with a purpose. Tom had gone in early into work in order to finish early, he had some shopping to do and that in it self had placed him in a foul mood. Shopping on top of it all merely intensified his hatred for the day.

By the time he left work he was ready to commit murder. The day had seemed to drag; he was convinced someone somehow had placed several extra hours in his day.

He was late and in a hurry, the gods of irritation were working overtime, so by the time he had found a parking space in the supermarket car park he was in no mood to take prisoners; the heavens opened and he had not brought an umbrella. He thanked the rain profusely with some ripe and choice expressions of gratitude.

Everything it seemed was colluding to hold him up so by the time he had got to the bread section he was quite ready to kill, he wanted to know why it was every time he was in a hurry, to shop and depart, every brain dead moron for miles around would decide to come and shop at the same time, he knew they waited till he was in a hurry and then came out just to ruin his day.

 Women would gather with trolleys at the junction of an aisle to swap life histories of their little darlings, or pensioners who having all the day in which to shop would flock to the supermarket en masse at the precise time he was there shopping in haste. His favourite were the children from Hell; it was the ditherers that really got to him, people who normally would be quite capable and intelligent left their brains at the supermarket entrance, they inspected every can or packet there was on the shelf despite them all having the same label.

 Many a time he was sorely tempted to do a hit and run with his trolley. He wasn’t paranoid ,he just knew they had it in for him.

He queued at the check out, one eye on the weather outside, which by now had turned into a thunder storm. The puddles outside on the tarmac had turned into large pools which could have hosted a swimming gala.

By the time he got home the storm had set in for the evening, he was drenched. Inside the car an old banger that had definitely seen better days, the windows had steamed up and the left hand windscreen wiper was making a strange shuddering movement. All in all he decided, this was not his day!

Home was the old rectory about two miles from the village surrounded by woodland and farms

It was no stately pile and was far too big for just one person, but it was home, his home, the only one he had ever really known.

Tom pulled up outside the front door and sat looking at the front of the house, wiping the steamed up window with his coat sleeve.

He had two options, either he could go for broke and try get the weeks shopping inside in one go; or he could make several journeys to the car and get even wetter. A large rumble followed by a flash of lightning made his mind up for him, he would go for broke.

Galvanised into action Tom leapt out and opened the boot, as he did so the rain became heavier.

“Buggeration” he growled to no one.

 He grabbed the bags, all eight of them, closed the boot with a well tried combination of elbow and footwork and ran for the front door; as he approached he could hear the telephone in the hall ringing. He groped in his right pocket; he was still holding onto the shopping, no key.

 The phone kept ringing. He felt in his left pocket, no key! By this time the rain had started to seep down his neck, he turned round and cursed. He had left the key ring still in the lock of the boot; still carrying the shopping he ran back to the car, retrieved the key ring, and scuttled back to the front door, his fingers ached as the plastic handles of the shopping bags cut into his hand.

“I’m coming hold your bloody horses.” He shouted at the phone in the hall as he fumbled with the lock."