Short Fiction: Road

A man is standing on the edge of the sidewalk. He is standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change, cars rushing by in front of him when suddenly the road changes.

It is hot lava.

The man glances around at the people near him, taken aback. None of them give any indication that things have changed. He looks at the cars. They're all driving normally, tires passing through the lava, splashing it slightly.

The light changes.

The cars halt, the lava rocking slightly forward, waves heading down the street. The people near him brush past and into the crosswalk, their feet leaving faint depressions in the hot lava, filling back in as they walk. None of them scream or cry out, no indications that the road has changed to molten rock.

The light changes.

The man remembers being a child, playing hot lava in his living room with his brother and sister. Certain parts of the floor were hot lava; you couldn't touch them or you'd die. They changed according to his oldest brother's whims, happily killing off his siblings until he was the only one left on a safe sofa island, ruler of all that he surveyed.

The man smiles. He must just be remembering things. The road hasn't changed. He is having some sort of heat hallucination. It is unusually hot today, and the weather is unseasonably humid too. And now as he looks, the road seems to be solidifying. It is back to normal. He will call his brother tonight and they'll laugh about this.

The light changes.

***

A woman is standing on the edge of the sidewalk. In front of her a man has just melted into the street, a smile on his face.