PAT a short story by Die Dunkle Maus
The man looked fondly at his wife in the passenger seat as she prattled on about her day. Whatever she talked about, it didn't matter, he just liked to watch her talk in her animated way.
He gasped as a shadow blocked the sun. Slamming on the brakes, he realized at that split second that his wife had taken off her seat belt to prop her feet up on the dash, as she liked to do on sunny days.
He opened his eyes. The love of his life had flown through the windshield, and was now crumpled on the sidewalk, a ball of meat and denim, several yards in front of the car.
"You fucking Nazi, would you watch it? It's $10 pitcher night, you silly Trumptard!"
The man looked over the dashboard, trembling, to see some... thing. The thing that had stumbled drunkenly in the street, wearing a backwards baseball cap in a mockery of childhood, this shambling beast that was so massive, it had stopped the car dead in its tracks in the middle of the street.
The mound was so drunk, it didn't even know. It appeared to be... tweeting on its phone? It was laughing to itself in a peculiar high-pitched giggle.
The man started screaming. He ran into a supermarket, into the bathroom, and barricaded the door with sinks he ripped out of the wall with superhuman strength.
An hour later, the cops were finally able to break through the barricade.
The man had killed himself.
