He pulled over to admire it, gleaming in

He pulled over to admire it, gleaming in the morning light. The smooth, pale stalk and atop: an inverted triangle. "Give way" it stated, cryptically. Wasting no to time, he snapped

the Give Way sign off at the base of its stalk and stuffed it in his car. It would make a nourishing soup. He drove carefully and at last found some shy traffic cones grazing on th

e grass of the berm, took them out with his high powered rifle and field dressed them in a parking lot. Traffic cones were tasty when prepared properly, but what he really craved

was human roadkill. Uh-huh & here you thought this was going to be another whimsical tale on FoldingStory, didn't you? Nay, my friends, for this is the dark saga of The Highway Man

, speaker for the dead, solver of unsolved highway homicides, and master of the ruggedest jawline this side of Tom Selleck circa 1986. Today, The Highway Man had unearthed a triple

But something bothered Highway Man, where could the rig have gone? A sound like millions of trash compactors exploded across the highway. A giant robot said, "I am Optomis Prime

And I know who you are from your biometrics." I reminded Optimus Prime I put Anthony Soprano for years on my credit cards and shut my eyes for the drivers license photos.

Suddenly Anthony and Optimus Prime flicker. Then they flicker again. They are still talking but you have noticed a lag now between image and meaning and intent. They will never kno

w who they really are, or what their lives meant...if anything...then they flicker and flicker at an every slowly dying cadence until...one...last...flick....and then....nothing.