I think the blog is in need of some new fiction. Here’s a little some’in’-some’in’ I whipped up just for me, but decided to share with whoever wanted to read.
Looking from the sealed case on the passenger seat to the rear view mirror now filled with glowing lights, Vince knew this was going to end badly. He looked up in time to slam on his brakes. A sea of red brake lights filled the freeway. If the glowing lights behind him were confined to the ground like he was, he might have a chance of getting away.
Vince pulled onto the shoulder and tromped his foot on the gas.
Tammy yelled from the backseat, a leg flying up as he swerved the car.
“Watch it, Vince!”
“Maybe if you wore a seatbelt…”
“How the hell am I supposed to work this thing strapped in?”
Vince didn’t answer. He had a million responses to that, but knew better than to be baited into it. Instead he concentrated on the road ahead, and the lights from behind. If he didn’t get off this freeway now, the two of them only have seconds left.
The clank of latching bolts and sliding metal came from the backseat. Then the twang of a spring and something shot past him to ricochet off the windshield.
“Dammit,” he groaned into the steering wheel. “I can’t drive and put the thing together. If you couldn’t do it, you should’ve let me.”
“The hell is that supposed to–” she cut herself off. “No don’t tell me. Your almighty-ness would be more than I could take.”
Up ahead, a car began to pull onto the shoulder. Whether they had the same idea he had, or one of those jack asses that got off on blocking the way didn’t matter. Vince clipped fenders with the driver and sent a shower of sparks up along the guard rail in the process.
A variety of swears and curses came form the back in the midst of falling metallic pieces. Always dropping something. Couldn’t blame it on the pregnancy this time. Couldn’t tell her otherwise. Couldn’t so this or that.
Well, the fuck he could.
The off ramp came up quick and just as full of slow or stopped cars as the freeway. With more luck than skill, Vince jerked and spun the wheel to maneuver the old Chevy around and through traffic, though he’d never admit it to Tammy.
“I can still get this.”
He could hear her scrambling in the back seat reaching for parts. He didn’t bother with the piece that shot up front. He knew she wouldn’t get it together in time. His eyes dropped an instant down to the case in the passenger seat.
“You can’t do this.”
His voice barely audible over the revving engine.
“What? Just give me a… Dammit! Stop swerving!”
“I said,” and Vince took a deep breath, “you. Can’t. Do. THIS!”
Vince tugged the wheel had to the left and skidded to a stop beneath the underpass. Almost before the car stopped, he kicked his door open and stepped out. He hurried to the passenger side, but didn’t run. The look of blame, hurt, and yes, hatred, pierced his heart.
The lights started to fill the little underpass. Left, right, overhead. He knew there was no getting away. She knew it too. But this time it wasn’t up to her.
He yanked open the door and grabbed the case. As he flipped the latches open and stuck a hand inside. He couldn’t look at her.
“I’m done. With your way.”
I wrote this piece of flash fiction based on the prompts given at The Parking Lot Confessional. It’s been a while since I’ve played along, and frankly, I needed a little push to get me writing tonight. I chose the first prompt, but I think I managed both in one shot. It might not be pretty. It might not be great. But what it is, is writing. Getting the words out as I was thinking them. No revisions. Just raw thought and creation. Enjoy and let me know what you think.