August Writing Competition Winner: Toll Gate – Wayne Roux

Each month, SAIAA members are encouraged to partake in our Short Story Competition. August’s winner is Wayne Roux with his short story, Toll Gate. If writing short stories and connecting with other writers sounds like something you’d love to do, but you’re not a member of SAIAA, consider joining one of our Writing Room Chapters. It’s a space for all kinds of writers, whether you’re a poet, a journaler or simply someone who enjoys putting words on the page, this space is for you. It’s free to join!

The wheels on Simi Ramsamy’s neon-pink travel suitcase clicked noisily across the white-tiled floor at King Shaka International Airport as she made her way to the exit. She was still feeling quite shaky from the turbulent flight from Johannesburg by the time the terminal doors opened and released her into the morbidly grey and humid Durban air. Making her way to the taxi pick up zone, she was quickly approached by a tall, lanky African man with impressive dreadlocks and a bright smile. He wasted no time in reaching for her suitcase, trying to secure the trip before any of his colleagues could.
“Where to, miss?” he asked as he wheeled her suitcase to the rear of his taxi, a white Toyota Starlet which looked almost brand new.
“Umhlanga, please.”
“Two hundred?”
Simi wasn’t going to argue or negotiate the rate with the man, she was tired and still amped up from the bumpy flight. Instead, she settled back into the uncomfortable seat and unlocked her phone. There were several text messages from her boss, and two or three from her sister and mother. She tossed the phone back into her bag and stared out the window instead. They could wait.
She was always amazed by how green and fertile Durban’s vegetation was in comparison to the dry and flat landscape up north. Her eyes drifted to the taxi’s rearview mirror, where an identification card hung on a company lanyard, displaying the driver’s name.
“How long have you been driving taxi for, Mazwi?” she asked.
“Nine years, miss.”
“That’s a long time. Do you enjoy it?”
“If I did not, that would be sad, right?”
She smiled. They were approaching the toll gate at the on-ramp to the N3 highway, and it seemed busier than usual for a Friday. She always avoided travelling during peak hours, but in this case her boss had given her little choice.
There were three different lanes of cars lined up at the toll, each queue at least twenty cars long.
“Which lane should I take?” Mazwi asked, glancing into the rearview questioningly.
“You choose,” she shrugged.
She wasn’t in a rush, and honestly, even if they got delayed in traffic, she was quite content just enjoying the air conditioner and the view.
Mazwi thought about it for a moment, and then chose the middle lane. A good choice, as it seemed to be advancing a little quicker than the two on either side. When they finally reached the booth, he tapped his company card to pay the toll fee.
Simi was still admiring the undulating hills and the view of the ocean on the left hand side as they passed beneath the boom gate, when a sudden explosion on their right rattled the windows of the little car. It caught them both by surprise, forcing Mazwi to shout an expletive in Zulu as he slammed on the brakes.
“What on earth was that?” Simi gasped.
The air was filled with dust and smoke, and it took a moment for it to clear. When it did, she could hardly believe her eyes. In what appeared to be a freak accident, a single wheel from the landing gear of an overhead aircraft had dislodged itself and it had come crashing to the ground – directly onto the car next to theirs, as it too had exited the toll gate.
The vehicle was completely crushed, and it was impossible to identify the make and model. All that Simi could tell for sure was that the car was white, and that nobody could have survived the wreck! Debris covered the road on all sides; pieces of red, yellow, pink and black plastic that did not belong, an assortment of metal engine parts, a dislodged license plate with the number ‘NYT666ZN’ in blue letters, a headlight, and even a dislodged wheel still attached to the axle!
Tapping Mazwi on the shoulder she urged him to drive so they could get away from the terrible scene. She needed to get home and pray that her eyes would forget what they had just witnessed. The rest of the short drive home was spent in stunned, nauseating silence.
She thanked him for the trip as they pulled up in front of her house, then waited patiently as he collected her suitcase. He handed her a payment device.
“Add your email address for the receipt after you tap,” he smiled.
She obliged, and left a tip.
He leaned out the window as he started the engine. “Take care, miss.”
“You too,” she replied, adding, “We were very lucky today, weren’t we?”
“Perhaps it was just not your time.”
She gave a half-hearted smile, then watched as he drove away.
Once inside the house, she turned on the radio and poured herself a glass of wine with shaking hands. She waited for news of the incident, but there was nothing on the five-thirty bulletin, and again nothing at six pm. In fact, there wasn’t a single mention of what they had witnessed – not on the radio, not on the local television stations, and nothing in the newspapers the next few days. She found it so hard to believe, as something so strange would surely have made the news? Even family and friends that she told the story to that weekend had not heard about it, and she suspected some of them believed she had just made it all up.
It was only on Monday, as she was preparing for work, that an email notification came through on her phone. It was the receipt for her recent taxi trip.
‘Thank you for using our service! Please feel free to rate the driver below.’
She glanced it over and was about to swipe it away, but then paused. She frowned, peering closer at the screen. She had to reach for the wall to steady her legs as she read the trip details again:
Driver: Mazwi Shangase.
Vehicle: 2025 Toyota Starlet, white.
Registration: NYT666ZN