Parcos World

I wrote this a few years ago, back when Richard Horsely and I were collaborating on different writing projects. This short, 500 word story, was written from a prompt which I struggle to remember. I still think it's one of the best things I've ever written and it's a shame not to share it.

I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please let me know. If you hate it and have something constructive to add please also let me know! 

Weak sunlight illuminated the morning mist carpeting a vast expanse of cracked tarmac.

Parco peered through the fogged windscreen, searching for a gap in the endless ranks of cars.

“Do you enjoy driving?”

Parco glanced at his passenger. “Most of the time.” He sighed. “Some days it gets a bit tedious,” 

“What makes it tedious?”

Parco shrugged. “Well. Maybe searching for a space in the same parking lot day after day.”

Reaching the end of the line of cars he pulled on the steering wheel and swung into the next row.

“Are you happy in your work?”

Parco drove on in silence a moment before answering. “I’m not unhappy.”

“Is that the same as happy?”

“You tell me. You’re the psychoanalyst.”

The mist began to fade. Greedy tarmac sucked heat from the weak sun, warming the air above.

Parco turned his head and eyed his companion. The metal face stared back, giving him a vague impression of sadness.

It said, “Do you miss them?”

“Who?”

“The humans.”

Parco grunted. “No.” He turned the car at the end of another row and set it crawling along the next. “Before they went I was a delivery driver. Almost half the vehicles on the road were driven by humans. No driving aids, poor reflexes. Just those watery, slower-than-the-speed-of-sound brains to react to danger. The roads were carnage.”

“Were you happier then?”

“No… Yes. I don't know. Maybe. I had more people to talk to. Mostly shouting at me to get out of the way.”

“Are you happy to continue doing this job?”

Parco stared at the solid unbroken line of cars sliding past. “Yes, ” he said, his voice almost lost against the rumble of worn-out car. 

“Under normal circumstances I would recommend a leave of absence. Would you like a holiday?”

“I'm not sure that would improve my state of mind.”

The car swept around the end of another row.

“So, what’s your biggest frustration?”

“There are no spaces.”

“OK, expand on that.”

“I have been trying to park this same car for the last twenty-three years. Well, it’s mostly the same, it’s been patched up so much. We had a celebration last week. One million miles. The guys at the courtesy service station made a cake.”

“No spaces?”

Parco slowed for the next turn. “This parking lot has been full for the last twenty-two years.”

“And this bothers you?”

“I try not to think about it. The driving helps.”

“Would you like there to be spaces?”

“No. I’ve grown attached to this car.”

“That's not very funny.”

“It was easier to weld me in here than replace the seat.”

“Cake. You said they made a cake.”

“I’m sorry. The cake was a lie.”

“I see.” The metal psychoanalyst flapped a hand. “Well this is a process, we can’t expect results immediately.”

“When can we expect them?” asked Parco.

“It’s hard to say. I’ve only had one patient for the last twenty-two years.”